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nev3rfound · 3 years

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someone i once knew : b.b - p.4

with Fury denying Bucky the chance to stay to monitor you, he and the rest of the avengers are forced to go on a mission leaving you alone. if only they new the dire consequences that decision would enforce. (2.3k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

- i also have an etsy shop and will be releasing wandavision themed items real soon! -

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you again and again for the love and excitement for this series - i am loving the writing process and there are now two chapters left!)

“Look, you’re all going, no excuses.” Fury states as he stands before the Avengers all sat around the conference table with furrowed brows.

Bucky sighs to himself, thinking about you sat down in that lab alone, still unsure of what is even happening like everyone else.

“But Sir,” Steve speaks up, all eyes turn to him as Fury raises a brow as to whom is questioning him. “Y/n isn’t just someone, she needs protecting.” He reasons, but Fury exhales deeply.

“Mr Rogers, let me make this clear,” Fury steps forward. “I don’t give a damn.”

“You should.” Bucky mutters under his breath as his arms remain crossed over his chest, barely able to stop his leg from bouncing up and down.

“What was that, Sargent?” Fury quips.

Lifting his head, Bucky coldly stares at Fury, ignoring Steve’s silent pleas for him to back down. “You should care who she is, as she matters to me.” Bucky bluntly states.

“As I said, Sargent, I don’t give a damn.” Fury reiterates his point. “Stark hired her, she went through every background check there is. She’s perfectly fine here, do I make myself clear?”

No one dares to speak up as Fury turns his attention to Maria Hill standing beside him.

“Get the jet ready, they can finish briefing on the way.” Fury tells Hill.

Maria nods as she places her earpiece back on. “Yes, Sir.” She walks out of the room and Fury follows.

“We can talk more about this situation when you return.” Fury comments before exiting the room, leaving the team sat in tense silence as the thought of you lingers on all their minds.

“So that’s it?” Sam asks as Tony rises to his feet, not daring to look up at Bucky or Steve.

“You heard Fury, we’ve got a job to do.” Tony explains, knowing there’s no use trying to argue any further. “Come on, the sooner we go the sooner we can get back.”

Sitting in the lab, you wish someone was around to keep you company. The last time you had any form of communication was with Bruce before he left last night for a mission with the rest of the team.

All you can hear were his lasting words of advice; "Don't leave this room."

You were bored out of your mind, stuck in the confined space surrounded by cameras and monitors as you remain hooked up to various machines; yet no one will explain what they all do or what is exactly happening to you.

“Hey, FRIDAY?” You call out, desperate for something to do as you lean against the glass wall, flexing your feet.

“Yes, Ms Y/l/n, how can I help?” FRIDAY asks and you exhale deeply, what can an AI do to provide any assistance whilst her creator is keeping you trapped in a lab?

“Any chance Tony mentioned my dinner plans?” You chuckle, having all the facilities beside a kitchen at your disposal.

“I’ll arrange for dinner to be provided by an Agent, Ms Y/l/n.” FRIDAY responds, and you nod to yourself, sliding down against the glass as you lie flat on your back.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” You mutter. “God, I’ve truly lost it, talking to an AI for company.” You groan, covering your eyes.

It has been a few days since you had a ‘memory’ or a snippet of one. It’s as if your brain has gone dormant the moment someone finally was willing to listen and provide help.

Yet, your mind always ends up wandering back to the ever-present thought of Bucky Barnes. You’ll never forget the way he screamed your name before he was forced to the ground, thrown out of sight from your point of view. There was something about him, the way he looked at you with so much pain lingering in his eyes, even when you first met him.

“Come on, seriously where are we going?” You giggle, following behind James as his hand remains in yours, guiding you out from the bar filled with soldiers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky smirks at his best girl, still amazed that you’ve stuck with him through all this. “Somewhere special.” He tells you, quickly turning to kiss you sweetly before carrying on.

After walking for around ten minutes, Bucky guides you toward the old hall you used to go to during dances.

“This is somewhere special, huh?” You joke, resting your hands on your hips as Bucky fiddles with the lock, tearing it off with ease much to your surprise.

Releasing the chains, Bucky pulls the door open and motions for you to walk inside. Without hesitation, you quickly slip in as Bucky follows behind.

Your footsteps echo in the empty space, having barely been used for months since the war worsened. There are still banners from the last dance you attended with Bucky, dust lining the stage and the various blown out bulbs.

Bucky hovers near the entrance of the dim hall as the moonlight shines through the broken roof, illuminating your figure as you look around. He tries to ignore the screams that ring through his mind, the horror he witnessed mere weeks ago.

“James?” Your voice brings him back to reality as your hand cups his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re right here, with me.” You softly remind him, having experienced countless nights of cries and screams of terror leaving his lips as he flails around, wishing for it to all end.

Leaning his head against your hand, tears form in Bucky’s eyes as you move closer, wrapping your arms around him and hold him close.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders rising and falling. “It’s over, James, you’re safe.” You remind him, but his sobs subside as he lifts his head, resting his hands around your waist.

“Doll, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” Bucky admits, knowing it’s going to be more painful to tell you he’s leaving again. “I, Steve’s got a plan, one final mission.” Looking up, Bucky can see you trying to remain composed as you bite your lower lip. “And then we’re done, it’s over and I’m all yours, forever.”

“That’s it?” You breathe out. "One final mission?"

Nodding in response, Bucky guides you toward the moonlit spot in the middle of the hall. “That’s it, and then I’ll be here, by your side until you get sick of me.” He jokes, and your gentle laugh fills his ears.

“Won’t take long, but I’ll put up with it if it means you’re here, with me.” You tell him before tearing your eyes from his as you look up at the birds perching on the rails above you, cooing back and forth.

Bucky admires your smile, the sincere look across your face and he knows it’s now or never.

“Y/n?” Bucky asks, and you hum in response as you lower your face, your eyes practically sparkling brighter than the stars. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course, we danced until everyone else had left.” You remember it vividly, dancing in the silence of the hall together before Bucky walked you home and slept by your side until the sun rose. His lips lingered over your skin as the sunlight beamed through your curtains, burning his eyes with the reminder he can’t stay.

“There was something I never got to say that night, and throughout everything I, I went through,” Bucky trails off.

“Hey, I’m right here,” You softly mutter, gravitating him back to the present.

“I, I always thought of you, my darling Y/n who has been there through thick and thin. I’m in awe of you, I think I always have, ever since we first met. Your defiance for both Steve and I is unmatched, and you’ve weaved a piece of yourself into me and I don’t want it to ever disappear.” Bucky explains, glancing up to see tears forming in your eyes.

“What’re you saying, James?” Your voice cracks as tears begin to fall down your cheeks whilst Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee before you.

“I’m asking if you, Y/n Y/l/n will do me the honour of being my wife, my doll and best friend forever.” Bucky can feel himself going as you bend down, level with him as a watery laugh leaves your lips.

“Yes,” You respond, looking at the beautiful ring that you recognise from his Grandmother. “you and me, James, forever.”

Gasping for breath, you sit upright clutching your chest.

“FRIDAY?” You yell, but there is no immediate response.

Uneasily you stand up as your body shakes, the memory replaying on your mind as the soldiers face is becoming clearer, his name ghosting your lips, but still refuses to leave them.

Looking across to the monitors, you notice they’re all down. Nothing is operating.

With uncertainty, you remove the various wires and pads covering your skin before stepping toward the glass door and pull it open with ease. “Strange.” You mutter under your breath as you walk out, half expecting a series of alarms to blare, but silence follows as you reach the elevator.

As you press the button for the elevator, you watch as it rises from the ground floor. Yet, the closer it gets the sound of voices near.

“FRIDAY, who else is in the compound?” You call out, now backing away from the elevator as it’s two floors away from you.

Silence ensues yet again, and now your heart rate increases as the elevator pings.

Backing away as the metal doors slide open, you rush back into the lab and hide beneath one of the many desks as a series of men yell orders to one another.

“FRIDAY, please,” You whisper to the AI who remains unresponsive as you close your eyes, wishing to remain unnoticed. “emergency protocol seven.” You add as the glass door shatters open, followed by several footsteps crunching across the broken glass.

Lowering your hands from your face, you can see three pairs of feet from where you’re hiding, weapons hanging in their grip.

“Get anything you can whilst the systems are down.” One man instructs, and you can feel your heart sinking further into your chest; you’re on your own, truly, defenceless.

“How long do you think we have?” Another speaks up, his Russian accent thick as the previous man sighs in annoyance.

“Twenty minutes at the most, now don’t waste time.” He spits before turning around nearing the entrance but pauses.

His feet crunch into the glass as he slowly walks back to the other men.

“Do you hear that?” He asks, holding his hand up to his ear as the two men look at him cluelessly.

“Hear what?” The Russian dares to question whilst you bury your body further into your hiding spot, covering your nose and mouth with your hands to suppress your unsteady breaths.

“The elevator stopped here before we planned which floor to go to, so, who called it here?” Your eyes widen in fear as footsteps approach the desk you’re hiding beneath. “Neither of you notice these tubes and wires connected to the monitors?” The man scoffs.

Within a split second, the desk is flipped over, revealing you curled up to the three men with twisted smiles across their faces.

“Hello, Miss.” The leader bends down and kneels in front of you, he extends his arm, revealing a tattoo across his forearm which you recognise from the many files you’ve read. “You and I are going to have a little game, and I can assure you, it’s going to be fun.”

Boarding the quinjet alongside Sam, Bucky wipes his lip, ignoring the throbbing sensation as fresh blood lines his fingertips.

“I told you, we’d be in and out.” Tony comments as the jet door closes behind him as he remains almost unscathed, unlike Steve and Bucky who are slightly worse for wear.

“You didn’t have to go off course like that, Tony.” Steve sighs, sporting a black eye as he takes his seat beside Natasha who wraps her wrist up with Bruce’s help.

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony picks up his phone. “Yeah, well, it’s done now and we can carry on with our little mystery back at the compound.” He mutters, briefly looking to Bucky whose thoughts have remained consumed by you ever since he left. “Hey, can we leave right now? We have to get back to the compound!” Tony rushes toward the pilot with a level of urgency in his tone.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Detecting the change immediately, Steve rises to his feet as he walks toward Tony.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony can see Bucky still staring at him. “Protocol Seven was activated.” Tony explains in a hushed tone, but he should know better considering there were two super soldiers on board.

“What’s protocol seven?” Bucky speaks up, noticing Natasha tense beside Bruce. “What is it?” He repeats, trying to suppress his panic as Steve clenches his jaw.

“How long do you think we have?” Steve asks.

Rubbing his face, Tony sighs. “Maybe forty minutes, FRIDAY will lock the building, but with the systems hijacked it’ll take longer than normal.”

“Stark,” Bucky tries to remain composed as the plates in his metal arm whir, his fist clenching tightly. “what is protocol seven?”

Turning away from Steve, Tony faces Bucky with a heavy heart. “A security breach within the compound, the systems have been hijacked and FRIDAY is on back up mode.” Tony explains, but Bucky can tell he’s holding something back.

“What kind of security breach?” Bucky dares to ask, stepping closer whilst Natasha lowers her head whilst Clint remains sorrowful opposite the Black Widow.

"I'm so sorry, Barnes." Tony softly responds, looking down as FRIDAY's systems begin to reboot, the security camera's slowly reactivating.

“HYDRA, Buck.” Steve states. “HYDRA are in the compound.”

P A R T F I V E

(thank you to the following for all the love so far! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know)

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart @soccer-100000 @sunflowerbunny2 @kickingn-ames @choerriesmotion @why-thats-just-delightful @officialfictionalwreck @romanoff-nataliaalianovna @hersilencedscreams @b-r-stark @dezzxmx

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

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Let’s talk about ‘Friends’ by BTS

by Admin 1

Friends is the subunit song by Jimin and Taehyung (co-written and co-produced by Jimin) from Map of the Soul : 7 which was released in February 2020. Interestingly enough, the Korean title is actually 친구, a word that is only used for friends of the same age, which is how ARMY figured out that it had to be their subunit prior to the release of the album.

On a very surface level, Friends is about the bond between Jimin and Taehyung recounting different little stories over the years, including the now famous dumpling incident which was first presented to us as a conflict that merely took up a few hours. Actually though it was a conflict that grew big enough that Jimin and Taehyung barely spoke to each other for two weeks and it culminated in Jimin getting drunk with Yoongi and then meeting Taehyung at a park at 4 am to make up. Yes, the same park at 4 am that Taehyung and Namjoon sing about in 4 O’Clock. That song, like many suspected, really was about Jimin and Taehyung as well.

But, while Friends might seem simple and fun on the outside, especially due to the upbeat melody and anthem like chorus, I think there is far more to it than meets the eye. Stella Jang, who co-wrote the lyrics, said in an interview with K-Pop Herald that BigHit sent her an email which contained the song as well as long stories about Jimin’s and Taehyung’s bond and based on that she was supposed to write short lyrics. She also had a friend, who is an ARMY, help her truly understand the depth of their bond. That alone to me shows that this goes far deeper than most might assume, and others wish for it.

Hello my alien We’re each other’s mystery Would it be why it’s more special

This verse for me is very interesting, especially since Jimin reclaims a nickname that people used to call Taehyung by which he hated. Instead Jimin turned it into something endearing, something that now belongs to them instead of others. It’s also noteworthy that that specific line is in English, not Korean, and he says my alien, so basically telling the listener that he takes some kind of claim over Taehyung, connects them in a way that anyone would understand, and unmistakably highlights that he’s the only one to call him like this because Taehyung is special to him, much the way you’d call someone dear to you/someone you love by an endearment such as ‘my darling’ or ‘my love’.

More below the cut:

The mystery part could refer to the early days of their friendship, the times when they were just getting to know each other and trying to figure out their dynamic and each other in a more general sense. We know they almost instantly became friends, stuck to each other and spent a lot of time together, despite constantly getting in little fights, but perhaps those struggles were what made the end result that much more special to them. Interesting to note is also how Jimin once said that when he saw Tae for the first time he experienced many different emotions (he didn’t specify which ones though), and how to this day he remembers Tae only wearing those red shorts and snapback and how even then he already looked like an idol/celebrity.

But the line could also refer to something more recent, or something more overarching, like a secret about themselves that only they know about, that they share and guard together.

Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey Stay with me by my side Forever, keep staying here, hey

and

Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey You are my soulmate Forever, keep staying here, hey You are my soulmate

These two might just be the most important parts of the song, and the ones that seem to be the hardest to swallow for some. This is basically Jimin and Taehyung asking each other to stay together forever, even when (or especially when) their careers will be over and BTS won’t be such a main and overarching reason for them to stay by each other anymore, so to speak. It implies that what they have is something they want to last forever, that it reaches far beyond them just being two best friends inside a group, but that they are rather two people who found ‘their person’ in each other. They know they’ve found something one of a kind, once in a lifetime, and want to hold on to it, to each other. It’s also them proclaiming and reminding everyone once again that they are soulmates, that this isn’t just something ARMY made up, some shipping agenda or anything like it, but that it is truly the title they see most fit for each other, that it basically feels like their bond was destiny and they were always meant to be together. You are my soulmate is also in English, something that every listener will understand, something so important they specifically made it this way so you wouldn’t need to look up translations from Korean to get it.

Sidenote--somehow soulmate has become a very debated term in connection to vmin so lets look at the definition for soulmate that wikipedia gives us: A soulmate is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust. Most of these are rather connected to the most traditional way in which people imagine soulmates, as in two people destined for each other, lovers perfect for one another. Of course there are friendship type soulmates, but those are far more rare in peoples minds. The point I’m getting at is that Jimin and Taehyung never defined which type of soulmate they are, and until I saw non-vminies have a fight about how they’re definitely just platonic ones, I never even really saw the word soulmate in connection with ‘platonic’. In a way you could argue that both sides are right, that they are both friendship soulmates but also romantic ones as well, their bond encompassing both. But in the end, of course, that’s something only they can confirm yet I thought I’ll mention it anyway.

Like your pinky, we’re still the same I know your everything We must trust each other Don’t forget Instead of an obvious thank-you, you and I — let’s promise that we won’t fight tomorrow, for real

These lines may seem so simple, short and sweet, but I think there is a lot of meaning to them, a lot that’s written between the lines and potentially only something they understand the true extent of. I know your everything is another reminder that they are each others secret keepers, each others closest confidants, their person to go to and laugh or cry or celebrate with. Jimin and Taehyung have something that is rare, one of a kind, and it’s something beautiful that should be regarded with respect and wonder since it’s close to a miracle that they met and formed their bond in such a manner. After all Jimin is from Busan and Taehyung from Daegu, chances are, if BTS hadn’t happened, they might’ve never met, though looking at everything BTS have said about each other, they seem to believe they were all destined to meet regardless if as members of BTS or as normal people. The same most likely would’ve also have been the case for Jimin and Taehyung, and Friends is a beautiful piece of proof of that.

Many dismiss Friends as just a song about their friendship, but I think once you truly think about the lyrics and the thoughts that must’ve gone into it, you might change your mind. Even more so when you take into account what Namjoon said about Friends in his MOTS:7 vlive, how he wouldn’t even dare try writing any of the lyrics because he could never, ever do them justice, and how just thinking about the bond Taehyung and Jimin have, he gets goosebumps. That alone already says a lot, implies a lot of different things, very deep and (in my opinion) potentially more than just friends type things. There was also a moment during Bon Voyage 3 in Malta where Namjoon and Seokjin were at a restaurant together and somehow they brought up Taehyung and Jimin and both just shook their heads at how they are just--something, something apparently meaningful enough neither dared to voice it.

Friends might not be something you’d call a traditionally romantic or love song by any means, at least sound wise, but I’d argue the lyrics tell a completely different story, one of a bond that binds two souls, that combines friendship and love (both the love you have for a cherished friend, but also the one you feel for a romantic partner, I’d argue). The song, as well as 4 O’Clock are far more than meets the eye, you just have to be open and willing enough to see it.

After all Taehyung did say: “95z is love.” The biggest clue of them all.

(Lyric snippets taken from 친구 (Friends))

#bts #vmin #Vmin friends song #song analysis #song commentary #taehyung #jimin #kim taehyung #park jimin #BTS V #map of the soul 7 #4 o clock #bangtan seonyandan #bts jimin

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

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Egg Meeting 3/14/2021

Alastor visits Valera on Okkylk to “meet” an egg! An egg which hasn’t been laid yet, but like, it buzzes in magic static that Radio Demons can detect, so it’s still an interesting thing to meet if you’re an Alastor.

Alastor and Valera spend way too much time talking about the weird magical interdimensional tricks that Valera’s species can do because at one point Valera went “Alastor mentioned some of his occult experiences and I have decided I will be polite and NOT ask him about them” while Alastor went “Valera mentioned some of their occult experiences and they’re absolutely fascinating so I’m going to crack open my little grimoire and ASK A HUNDRED QUESTIONS and TAKE LOTS OF NOTES.”

He also somehow finagles himself into maybe being a fake-uncle, making the short list for a hypothetical godparent position, and definitely being the official Nightmare PTA Representative at any future school functions.

They also ended up following up on this conversation and it was awful and nobody enjoyed it.

(Starts as semi-OOC chatter and then segues into fully IC)

Alastor

SHOW HIM HIS FUTURE FAUX-NIBLING

Valera

He can meet Eelizzy the spectacular staticy egg

dazzler of, as of now, 100% of the people who've met this literal fetus in an egg in someone's goddamn stomach

Alastor

It’s definitely a lot louder than he generally expects eggs to be. Not, like, *audibly* loud. But still loud.

Valera

it is the sensation of like. those old tvs. the kind of fuzzy when you run your hands in the air right over the glass

Alastor

That’s a good stim

Valera

It's a GOOD STIM and now Val has just accepted that people are going to want to skim their hands over her stomach every time Egg goes brrrr

Alastor

He only does it for a couple of seconds before he’s like what the *fuck* am I doing that is somebody’s belly and stops himself and apologizes, how very rude of him

(But once the egg is laid all bets are off)

Valera

That egg is gonna get so much touching.

Alastor

Everyone with their hands over this egg like it’s the dead of winter and the egg is the only fireplace for miles

Valera

If eelizzy didn't want that she should have thought about it before she decided to be a stim

Egg buzzes rhythmically to music, and the lil beanie baby of A Child inside will kinda wiggle to the beat, which right now Val feels as a vague shifting of weight.

This thing has been exposed to music since it was conceived, it's too late for her

Alastor

Alastor will absolutely play some music for this egg to hear it buzz along

He’s like “You know my mother told me that when she was carrying me, a ghost would come to her and sing for me! She stopped hearing him when I was born. I don’t think I buzzed, though.” And then goes back to playing music like this is a totally normal fact to share out of the blue.

Valera

That's a very normal and not at all weird thing to tell someone. Yep. Fun little factoid to share with a friend.

Val just has to accept this as a new thing they know!!! "Well, hopefully I won't stop hearing you when Elizzy is born! I'm not too bad at charades, but it *would* complicate things."

Alastor

“Well, you could hear me just fine before then, so it’s probably fine!

Valera

Alastor sure had a WEIRD LIFE and Val is NOT SURE what to make of the snippets they heard. Humans aren't usually so Aware

Alastor

:) a special boy

Valera

On one hand, they almost want to *congratulate* him, on the other, did he get robbed of a normal childhood??? Should they offer condolences??? Help.

Alastor

:) :)

Valera

It worked out for him at least but at what cost....

Val doesn't actually know anything about his home life growing up! Like did he have a dad in the picture? Match and Leal didn't, but This guy has Surprised Her Before

Alastor

:) :) :)

Does Val ask or just Wonder?

Valera

They're still anxious about Alastor getting the wrong idea from them asking questions so they would Not ask.

They kept scwunching at the rehearsal because Leal was sitting with their main body patting them and singing in french to Soothe Their Dumb Ass

Alastor

So he just shares a weird-ass anecdote and then they marinate in the moment. Delightfully awkward

Valera

YEP

A little quip and then several seconds of dead air while Val goes on a face journey.

valera, wildly overthinking the second she doesn't have someone literally or figuratively holding her hand through a Social Interaction With Someone She Is Unsure Of Boundaries With

alastor: I was a haunted baby.

val: ..................... cool

Alastor

Alastor: and now I’m haunting YOUR baby! Haha isn’t that fun

Valera

Valera: A proud and noble tradition of baby haunting. Can't wait to see who she decides to haunt later in life.

Alastor

Alastor: ......... Do Veci have ghosts when they die?

He doesn’t know how Veci work, just that afterlives are something that happens to other people

Valera

Val: Nope, when we die for good our gods destroy our souls and recycle them. Unless you're an Autocrat, then you're turned into one of their little puppets used to enact their divine will and guide the next Autocrat. She'll have to find a mortal soul to haunt as a spirit.

Veci who die get put into the soul blender to get recycled for fresh soul meat

Alastor

Alastor: Pity. Environmentally friendly, I suppose.

Alastor: We just get thrown in the landfill and once a year a bunch of us get scooped into the trash compactor.

Valera

val: It's efficient! Kinda gross though, being made of the ground meat of souls. At least I get to look forward to a continued existence as some fucked up angel analog when someone makes me bite it someday. Wonder if I'll still recognize my kids?

Pat pat belly.

Alastor

Alastor: Can you ask your puppet predecessor?

Valera

val: I could try! He did have a daughter who's still alive, maybe if I made him manifest around her I'd get a reaction.

Alastor

Alastor: For her sake, I hope he does! Can’t imagine how awful it’d be if he didn’t! Although I don’t know how close you folks are to your ancestors. Even on Earth it varies.

Valera

val: Oh, very close! There are rooms in the Reppetto Compound still left exactly as the old owners left them when they died *hundreds* of years ago. There's never been a reason to clear them out, so we don't. I visit them occasionally, pay my respects. That's just the Veci though, I think the other species are much more practical.

Alastor

Alastor: ... And yet most of your ancestors get... “recycled.” They’re no longer around to visit the rooms left for them. That *is* a pity.

Alastor: Do Veci ever recognize shreds of their loved ones in their reincarnations?

Valera

val: Yes! It isn't unheard of for lovers to find each other again through old fragments, or a son to find that his child tugs at his soul to remind him of a dearly departed mother. Plenty of people recognize parts of me, some more strongly than others. Shreds tend to find their way back to their families. Sons, daughters, if you've experienced a loss you may find some glimmer of that person again in a generation or two.

Alastor

Alastor: Hm. Not quite gone forever, then. That’s good—the alternative is just too depressing, isn’t it!

Valera

val: Indeed! Full on reincarnation has even happened a few times, though the odds are, obviously, *incredibly* slim. We did have one guy though, who got reincarnated *three times in a row*. He's still alive, I've met him. Absolutely off the shits, never met someone less sane.

Alastor

Alastor: Hah! Is madness a prerequisite or side-effect to full blown reincarnation?

Valera

val: A side effect, I imagine! That would probably mean remembering getting your essence shredded and then falling back together. He likes to say he's "all there but the mind". What about you though? Was your culture close to your ancestors?

Alastor

Alastor: One side closer than the other. Some humans reincarnate, I’m given to understand, but where I’m from once you’re ejected from your body you tend not to get a replacement. Some stick around, most move on to one afterlife or another—and at that point you mainly reach them through long-distance calls, spiritually speaking. They’re still *there,* but... not on the same *level* that we are.

Alastor: It’s a trade off, I suppose—no reincarnation means no way to see them in the flesh again, but on the other hand they’re always *themselves*—they never become somebody different.

Valera

val: That.. Is very alien, to me. But I don't dislike the concept. Preserved in time, an individual forever, able to be reached but not touched. I guess, for us, since we live such a long time... We get a lot of time with people. By the time they leave us, they've usually said all they'd ever want to. If they pop up again it's just a nice surprise.

Alastor

Alastor: We seem to only get enough time to figure out what we're doing and pass on a fraction of our tricks to the next generation or two, and then we're gone and our descendants have to bumble around just like we did! Maybe we need ghosts more.

Valera

val: Sounds like you need more haunted babies to me, Alastor.

Alastor

Alastor: Why, are there any others around for me to haunt?

Alastor: anyway, I wouldn't make a very good ancestor, considering my distinct lack of descendants.

Valera

val: Just pick a baby and declare yourself part of their life! Step-Ancestor them before they can blink!

val: In all seriousness, Leal's already conceded the title of uncle to you despite you not even asking for it, I think you can figure something out.

Alastor

Alastor: I— Has he?

Alastor: Well—I was about to get all presumptuous and commandeer it myself, but—er. Good. Thank you. Him.

Valera

Val: He has indeed. As he puts it, you were here first, and you're Penny's best friend so *obviously* the role of honorary uncle should be yours. If sinners did godparents, I'm sure he'd ask you to be hers. Or I assume as much!

Alastor

Alastor: ... oh. Well. I'd hoped, actually...

Awkward shuffle.

Alastor: ... I mean, a child can have more than one uncle.

Valera

val: What had you hoped, Alastor? I won't laugh or anything, I just need you to be clear with me.

Alastor

Alastor: ... to be that.

Valera

val: What, to be an uncle? Or a godparent?

Alastor

Alastor: I'm not picky about the term. Someone close enough to matter. Uncle, probably, I suppose. I don't know what a damned sinner would do as a godparent—but I wouldn't turn it down.

Valera

A thoughtful look.

val: I'd love to have you be an important part of my child's life, Alastor. Though, from what I *understand* of modern human customs, a non-religious godparent usually just means that if the parents die, the godparent steps in to either raise the kid or find them a home that would raise them the way the parents would want. Largely symbolic, but important nonetheless.

Alastor

Alastor: It's hard to be non-religious within a religious afterlife. But—just for the record, if anything happened to you two and you *didn't* have a plan in place, I'd probably be charging in to do that myself anyway. I'm not about to leave that child in the hands of somebody who's going to be halfhearted about it.

Valera

Val: Well there you go! Already ready to do your job, and you haven't even been handed the paperwork or negotiated a salary.

Alastor

Alastor: IS there paperwork?

He's giving a Skeptical Look

Valera

Val: What, you think they'd hand over an orphan child to any guy who showed up claiming to be a family friend? They like seeing some documents saying "if I die this guy is who I want protecting my kids while they're vulnerable".

Alastor

Alastor: ... All right, fair enough! I was just going to kidnap her and flee into the night, but I suppose a paper or two would keep law enforcement off my back.

Valera

Val: I'm flattered that you'd get in trouble with the interdimensional magic fish police for Eelizzy's sake, but let's spare everyone the hassle. I'll talk to Penny, see if he wants to do the godparents thing at all, but I know what name I'd be floating.

Alastor

Alastor: Well—that's fine, then. Thank you. It's an honor to be considered either way.

He's all self-conscious now, look at this awkward man

Valera

Val: Of course! And at the VERY least I want you to be close to her when she hatches. Good old _Uncle Alastor_ to spoil her when Penny and I are busy.

Look what happens when you actually tell Valera what you want. Blurses. Blessings and curses.

Alastor

Look at him he's got heart eyes

Alastor: Fortunately, I'm an expert at spoiling other people's children! Don't you worry, I'll be loading her up with penny candy and letting her get in all the trouble she wants. Maybe even nickel candy if I'm feeling generous.

Valera

Val: How generous! And speaking of candy, that reminds me. I visited New Orleans recently on business and picked up a few treats while I was there. Do you want some roman candy? I know you don't have a sweet tooth, but it seems like something one should offer regardless.

Alastor

Alastor: ... They're still making that? Is it the real deal or did the family sell the franchise to some big candy company?

Valera

Val: I bought it from the same old wagon as always, so I believe it's authentic! Wax paper and all!

Alastor

Alastor: Well... sure, I'll have some. Doubt I have the right teeth for taffy anymore, but...

Valera

Val: You'll muddle through somehow, I'm sure. What flavor does it for you, chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?

She will whip out a few familiar looking wax paper rolled tubes to offer him. Crinkly!

Alastor

Takes a strawberry one!!

Valera

Val: I'll be sure to let you be the first one to take her to buy this _particular_ candy, when she's old enough to actually enjoy taffy.

Alastor

Give him a second, he managed to bite off a bit and now he's doing the whole dog-with-peanut-butter routine

Valera

Oh no, that's funny. She is LOOKING and SNICKERING at this man. Who knew the secret to silencing the radio demon was _chewy food?_

Alastor

Alastor: ... You know I don't remember this stuff being so hazardous.

He was expecting a RUSH OF NOSTALGIA but then he was like oh right I didn't eat this stuff more than like twice when I was alive, I just saw at the cart.

Valera

The wax paper is more nostalgic than the candy, understandable.

Val: Not having good molars does that, I only ate the stuff the one time to experience it. I like the paper though, it's a very unique experience.

Alastor

HOLD ON LET HIM GET THE LAST OF IT OUT OF HIS MOUTH, he thinks he'll attempt to eat the rest later.

Alastor: We'll see when she's old enough to attempt to eat these things, but—I don't see much point in holding off on letting her try taffy just for ME to do the honors. Seems like a very little thing to make a whole trip for.

Valera

Val: Okkylk doesn't really have much in the way of taffy, I doubt it would come up.. and it would be funny to see her suddenly be faced with a chewy candy to struggle against. This is _guaranteed_ entrainment.

Alastor

Alastor: Hah! I like your parenting philosophy. All the same—no need to wait on me to go get the taffy. I'm sure you'll have more opportunities to pick some up than I will.

Valera

Val: Nothing wrong with a little light torment, she gets candy out of it! Builds character! But yes yes, I get the picture. We'll see how it shakes out, play it by ear.

Alastor

Alastor: As long as she's being duly compensated for providing entertainment! :)

Valera

Val: Of course! She's still my _daughter_, if anything actually upset her that would be a whole different story. Penny would be _inconsolable._

She would also be inconsolable but let's ignore the wibbly sad eyes Val gets at the very thought

Alastor

Alastor: I'm sure we'd be taking turns supporting him through the grief. One person alone wouldn't be able to support that weight.

He's got no doubt Valera would be duly distressed but somehow, somehow he feels like Sir Pentious would be more dramatic about it. Just a hunch.

Valera

There is a distinct possibility that one of the parents may be A HAIR more dramatic, and it MIGHT not be the one with a degree in musical theater. Possibly.

Val: It's true, he's pretty heavy. Like a weighted blanket of emotion.

Alastor

HUFF.

Alastor: I’m going to be thinking of that the next time he flops on top of me.

Valera

Val: Good, you can share my curse. Every Pentious is full of emotion, genius, and, honestly, horny.

Alastor

Opens mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. Shrugs and makes noncommittal radio noises.

Alastor: ... Frankly I don’t know what a normal quantity of horny is.

Valera

Val: I did research, but I don't know how sound it is. We're outsiders trying to look in to a very strange world.

Alastor

Vaguely nods, yeah, that’s true

Alastor: ... What’s the research say?

Valera

Val: Once a week seems like normal horny, in a relationship? A heightened few weeks or months of activity at the start before it levels out seems normal too.

Alastor

Alastor: Weekly?? For the same activity? That’s not as bad as I’d thought, but doesn’t that get boring?

Alastor: ... No, okay, I could schedule a weekly dinner date and never get tired of it, I’ve got no room to talk.

Valera

Val: I was going to say! I do all kinds of stuff on a weekly basis without it getting dull. Plus it does wonders for relieving tension, which I can appreciate from a medical standpoint.

Alastor

SKEPTICAL LOOK

Alastor: You find it RELAXING?

Valera

Val: Well sure! It's only nerve wracking if you aren't at ease, and after almost an entire _year,_ Penny and I have figured out what we like. Plus.. Neither of us sweat, there's no cleanup to worry about, and after the fact the brain gets flooded with feel good chemicals.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, right, the feel good chemicals, right.

Valera

Val: Not familiar with them, Alastor?

Alastor

Alastor: ......... We’re passingly acquainted

Alastor struggling to figure out how to answer without Discussing Specific Sex Acts

Valera

The STRUGGLE.

Val: Only passingly, interesting. Well, you get a lot more of them with a partner, suffice to say.

Alastor

He's just 8)

Alastor: I would prefer not to!

Valera

Val: You don't have to! I'm telling you why the allosexuals like it so much. Or why I assume they do.

Sex talk with two aces this can only go well!!

Alastor

It sounded like Valera was speaking from a little more than secondhand experience there for a bit but you know what? Alastor isn’t going to ask for clarification. It’s fine. Doesn’t need to know.

Alastor: ... To be quite frank, I prefer far less to be a co-star and more to be a fluffer. I’m sure that’s going to disappoint him sooner or later, but...

Valera

What? The visibly pregnant fish might have firsthand knowledge about sex? Perish the thought.

Alastor

You never know. Mary made it work.

Valera

Immaculate conception of her husband's child, sell that story to the news!

Val: I'm sure you two discussed that before getting together, no?

Alastor

Alastor: ... *As* we were getting together, yes.

Valera

Val: Well then! He knows what he signed up for, and unless he says it's a problem, it shouldn't be treated like one.

Dismissive little hand wave.

Alastor

Alastor: Yes, yes. I don’t intend to treat it like one. Just... making conversation about the whole ‘get more with a partner’ concept.

A similarly dismissive little gesture.

Valera

Val: Ah! Yes, I see, that was perhaps too blanket a statement. Well, he has his other partner, I assume?

Alastor

Alastor: I assume. He hasn’t talked about their sex life. None of my business, I’m sure.

Valera

Wiggly hand gesture.

Val: Yes and no. You ARE his partner.

Val: I tell Penny what Leal and I get up to.

Alastor

Alastor: But do you tell my alternate about how often you have sex with Sir Pentious?

Valera

Val: If he asks! Which he doesn't, really, but we did talk about the finer points of eating pussy.

Alastor

RAISED EYEBROW.

Alastor: ... I don’t think the man I’ve been dating for under a month owes me the details of a near stranger’s sex life. I’ve only met his other partner a couple of times, what business is it of mine what she gets up to?

Alastor: I wouldn’t mind knowing what HE gets up to, but sex is a group sport.

Valera

Val: It isn't like he owes you her life story in hardback, but a frank discussion isn't going to breach confidentiality.

Val: Dating someone who is dating someone else means you're entitled to know what you're consenting to, Alastor.

Alastor

Alastor: I’ve already consented to be with a man who’s probably sleeping with someone else, I can’t think of anything else they could be getting up to that would possibly affect me.

Alastor: Unless their bedroom activities happen to include calling up all my worst enemies and telling them everything they know about me—but if it did, I doubt he’d admit so if I asked about it, would he?

Valera

Her turn to raise an eyebrow.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I don’t think they ARE, I’m trying to think of the most out-there hypothetical possibility.

Valera

Val: Good, I was about to be worried. But really, if those are the boundaries you're comfortable with, that's fine. But I don't think you'd be out of line to ask for more information. Either you'll learn, or he'll tell you it isn't something he wants to discuss.

Alastor

Alastor: Honestly, it... doesn’t cross my mind.

Man has no object permanence when it comes to sex

Valera

Val: Dare I say it, mood. But really, if that's how you like it, good for you, keep on keeping on.

Alastor

Alastor: I intend to!

Unless Telly doesn’t like it, but they’ll cross that bridge when they reach it.

Valera

Val: Then there's no issue, I hope!

Alastor

Alastor: One hopes! ... How did we get on this?

Valera

Val: I... Think it started when I called Pentious horny? And then you got worried about not being an active enough participant?

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, yes, right! But worried, no. Just a passing thought.

Valera

Val: Well, based on my knowledge, as long as the partner gets off they don't often care about the methods.

Shrug! Don't ask where the knowledge came from.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! If it was that easy, I doubt so many people would be so distressed when the have to make do with their own hands!

Valera

Val: Did you know there's an entire subset of men that intentionally make their hands fall asleep so they can pretend someone else is getting them off?

Alastor

Alastor: You know, it just so happens I did. And I do not understand the appeal. It combines all the worst parts of getting your mouth numbed for a dental procedure with something half-dead and dangerously uncoordinated fumbling with your delicate bits.

Valera

WHEEZE... Oh that caught her off guard, give her a second to collect herself.

Alastor

He’ll wait. Smugly basking in his comedic genius.

Valera

Val: You said it yourself, sex is a group activity for a lot of people. Lonely people want someone else to make them feel good.

Alastor

Alastor: But if that’s all it takes, then why for so many people is a hand inferior to a mouth, and a mouth inferior to a more intimate part? No, I’m sure that there’s more to it than simply a desire for company when cleaning one’s pipes. The methods don’t trump the company, but they do matter.

Valera

Val: I could say more, but then I'd have to start talking about my own _alleged_ experiences.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Is the answer going to be something to the effect of “that particular bit of anatomy feels nicer against one’s equipment than other bits of anatomy?”

Valera

Val: Kind of. I'm sure some people prefer various bits, and they certainly feel _different._ I wouldn't say better though, just on physical contact alone.

Alastor

Alastor: ..."Kind of"?

You know what they say about cats and curiosity

Valera

Val: Yes, kind of. A hand can do things a mouth can't, and vice versa.

Alastor

Alastor: All right! That’s more or less where I thought you were going with that.

Valera

Val: Yes! Though there's a lot to be said for the varying degrees of intimacy.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m sure there is! No doubt there’s something special about the moment you finally get to show your loved one the parts of yourself you previously only shared with your toilet. ... So sorry, I don’t mean to be *dismissive* of the whole thing—I can just never quite get over that association, you know?

Valera

Val: Oh, no, I agree _completely._ Not that I'd tell that to Penny, of course. That would be cruel. But if my husband wants to mutually stimulate nerve endings a few times a week I'm happy to make him happy.

Alastor

SNORT. Mutually stimulate nerve endings.

Alastor: Well, what couples are equally interested in ALL their hobbies?

Valera

Val: None, unless it's two alternates of the same person, I guess!

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, you’d be surprised.

Valera

Val: Oh?? That sounds ominous. You know something I don't?

Alastor

Alastor: I know a lot of my own alternates, primarily!

Valera

Val: Yes, and I suppose even they have varying levels of interest in things?

Alastor

Alastor: Wildly varying! Why, sometimes you can meet yourself and wonder where you have anything in common at all! It’s fascinating, really.

Valera

Val: Goodness, that DOES sound fascinating. I can't imagine.. There's only one me, the idea of a me who isn't like me at all is just bizarre!

Alastor

Alastor: Only one? Or only one that you’ve found so far?

Valera

Val: By virtue of what I am, the only one! Unless something goes VERY Wrong.

Alastor

Alastor: Really! Do elaborate?

Valera

Val: I'm a singularity! There is one me, just in a lot of places!

Alastor

Slow blink.

Alastor: ... Like a god?

Valera

Val: Is... Is that a god thing?

Squint.

Alastor

Alastor: I don’t know many other things that can be in multiple places at once and yet remain an undivided entity with a singular source. Either a god or a radio signal—and signals can get distorted.

Valera

Val: ..... I'd rather be a radio signal than a god, honestly, but. Yeah, I guess? I didn't think it was so uncommon!

Alastor

Alastor: I’ve seen people so rare that even when they go looking, they can only find themselves in one universe—but that’s usually a trick of the universe itself, some little chain of cause-and-effect that only worked out once! Move a dimension to the left and their parents never met, move a dimension to the right and their grandmother died in infancy, and so on. But what *you’re* talking about—one person with a simultaneous singular presence in many realities? That sounds to me like something operating a step higher than your run-of-the-mill monodimensional mortals.

Valera

Val: I could turn on the TV right now and show you what the me in another reality is doing right now, I'm fully aware of myself. Are you saying you _don't_ have that?

_When you are suddenly hit over the head with the fact that you're actually an outlier and not the standard_

Alastor

Alastor: If I want to know what another me is doing, I have to call him up and ask! And sometimes I’ll find out he’s been hearing salacious details about my best friend’s oral skills. I can assure you I wasn’t fully aware of THAT, hah! I’ve heard of people with psychic sensitivities to their alternate selves—a sudden sense of disembodied alarm when something goes wrong elsewhere, emotions without a source, that sort of thing—but that particular sensitivity doesn’t come naturally to me. As far as psychic abilities go, I’d say that one in particular is notably rare.

Valera

Blink.

Val: Oh. Uh. Well. All of my species is like this. _All_ of us are singular individuals.

Alastor

Alastor: ARE you singular individuals? Or do you have alternates just like any other species, but because all of your alternates are... psychically linked, as it were, your thoughts are so inextricably intermingled that the whole lot of you consider yourself one person with one identity?

Valera

Val: At that point, what's the difference?

Alastor

Alastor: It’s the difference between a radio transmitter broadcasting the same song to a dozen different radio receivers, versus a dozen individual radio transceivers that play the same songs because they’re directly broadcasting to each other. Is it one singular thing that’s being witnessed in many places, or is it many separate things that have synchronized and homogenized with each other? In day-to-day life the difference might not matter; but philosophically, spiritually, magically, I think it all makes a great difference!

Valera

Val: Fair enough! But I still believe it's the former. The me you see now is the me that all the information goes back to. We've never cared enough to investigate it in depth.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Do you mean information *doesn’t* go back to the other versions of you?

He’s fascinated, he’s taking mental notes, he’s going all metaphysical occultist on this.

Valera

Val: Of course it does, if I don't intentionally restrict it, which is not something I'd be inclined to do. I'm simply aware of them the way you are aware of your arm.

Alastor

Alastor: So all versions of you get all the information from all versions of you.

Valera

Val: Yes! Unless I'm playing one of my games. Sometimes I'll make myself think I'm a normal mortal for a while. It's fun!

Alastor

Alastor: ......... Let’s unpack that a little.

Valera

Val: Sure! Where do we start?

Alastor

Alastor: Your “games”?

Valera

Val: Yes! A lot of Veci do it as they get older. They'll go to a universe and have one of themselves live a very normal mortal life, unaware of what they actually are.

Val: It's a fascinating perspective.

Alastor

Alastor: So, you cut off one version of yourself from the hive mind. And this version, I take it, then forgets for the duration of the game that they were once a part of a hive mind? Their memories only consist of what they experienced in their own home universe, and anything that they thought or did due to the influence of their other selves, they... what, make up a new false memory to explain away, something like that? And they aren’t receiving information, but they’re still sending out information for the rest of you to receive?

Valera

Val: Yes! Exactly so. A one way broadcast back to home base.

Alastor

Alastor: Huh! What about the people around the game piece who know they ought to be connected to other dimensions—or do you disguise yourself and drop yourself on some alien planet before you start the game?

Valera

Val: The latter! It's no fun if other people know things you don't, they could ruin the game for you. Unless you're going somewhere dangerous, then a lot of people will ask someone to send in an aware variant of themselves to help keep them in the game longer. Istoph does that for me in some places!

Alastor

Alastor: Does your game piece go in cold, wandering around like an amnesiac? Or are they given some sort of... of false set of memories, to blend in with the locals?

Valera

Val: Depends which is more interesting. Usually the latter, unless I can think of a reason that an amnesia story would work better.

Alastor

Alastor: And when does the game end? Death? Discovery? Is there a way for your game piece to "win" or is the game only supposed to be watched?

Valera

Val: It's usually for a set amount of time! A year or two, a decade at most. I don't let them Reproduce or anything, I don't want to go sowing any wild oats. That's how you get overly sensitive humans half the damn time.

A shake of her head.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Yes, that *would* do it.

Valera

Val: ... I don't.. I don't mean to imply _you_ were a result of that or anything. There is more than one way that could happen.

Alastor

Although he doesn't much like the thought that someone somewhere could use that information to dismiss particularly psychic humans as partially inhuman.

Alastor: I should hope I wasn't! I come from a long line of magically gifted people—we don't need the outside help!

Valera

Val: Hah! I know, I could practically smell it on you. If I turned you loose on Okkylk you'd get swarmed.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Swarmed like a dog in heat, or swarmed like a bleeder amidst sharks?

Valera

Val: .... Considering how violent Veci are in the act, uh. Both.

Alastor

A slow, slow nod.

Alastor: ... To steal my traits.

Valera

FACE JOURNEY

Val: I take it he told you about that one, eh? Not his finest moment

Alastor

Alastor: It will be my most carefully-guarded secret. ... But you knew about it already, so.

Valera

Val: To be fair, it's hilarious. I was minding my own business and then the guy I just started dating calls me to accuse me of stealing his traits like some kind of succubus.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I think succubi reproduce with humans because it’s easier, rather than because they want human traits. But don’t quote me on that, I don’t talk to many succubi.

Valera

Val: Neither do I, honestly. Plus, come on. Really? I could have just seduced him, I'm the one that insisted on a relationship.

Alastor

Alastor: Well, how many traits did you *want?* It could take a while!

Valera

Val: Oh yes, of course. If I'm going to get traits I may as well get a full set out of him! However many that is!

Alastor

Alastor: Only one way to find out!

Valera

Val: You're just saying that so you can flex on your alts with all the kids who'd call you uncle.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m willing to share unclehood with as many of my alternates who care to claim it!

Hand over heart, how magnanimous.

Alastor: ... So, are you only pregnant in this universe or all of them?

Valera

Val: Only this one. This is the only body that's gotten plowed by anyone and that's how I'm keeping it.

Snrk.

Alastor

Alastor: Then which universe any given Veci has... copies, facets, whatever—of themself in will vary wildly, depending on whether or not their parents happened to have synchronized date nights across those universes? I suppose it would be *easier* to synchronize up, if every version of you is connected—just like a whole line of dancers doing the can-can together—but what if one body sneezes and an egg doesn’t get filled, does that Veci just have one less version of themself than everyone else? Will Eelizzy have no other selves across the universe?

Valera

val: ..Do you think I'm going to sneeze too hard and shoot this egg across the-- Nevermind. Veci children aren't stable enough to exist in multiple realities, they have to grow up and get more control of their magic before they can manifest across realms.

Alastor

Eyebrows shoot up.

Alastor: No, I was talking about the conception, splash one or two drops the other way and... never mind, that’s the boring part! You’re telling me you start off as one singular entity in a singular universe—and *then* you split off into separate versions of yourself... deliberately?

Valera

Val: Well of course! There's only one Pelagios right now, he won't split off until he's fifteen for his first practice run, and then in earnest in his twenties. Rite of passage and all that!

Alastor

AMAZED BLINK. And then he’s opening a portal and hauling out his grimoire, ‘scuse him, don’t mind him.

Valera

She watches, slow blinking. What, did THAT catch his attention?

Alastor

Alastor: I should have been taking notes all along—I apologize, I do believe you were right, you *are* a lone tower transmitting to many receivers—or at the very least you do start off as one tower! How do you split, does it follow the natural branching of timelines—when two paths of history split over somebody’s decision, you just keep conscious contact with the two versions of you formed at that fork? Or do you create your duplicate self and then assign it to some pre-chosen timeline?

Scribble scribble SCRIBBLE scribble.

Valera

Val: The latter at first, I see a reality that interests me and drop in, and then as it progresses, it becomes the former. As the timeline I chose to investigate develops and changes, I follow the branching paths and observe the varying realities. It is *fascinating* stuff. Though sometimes a branch seems doomed, in which case I'll usually withdraw and send that variant elsewhere instead. Start the whole process over.

Alastor

Alastor: So you can pick and choose which path you follow—but you don’t AUTOMATICALLY form another version of yourself, only when you want to? That means that more versions of you AREN’T forming every single time a timeline you’re in branches, correct? But a single timeline can branch countless times, a hundred times an hour—I’m pulling that number out of my you-know, just as an example—if a timeline branches a hundred times an hour, then that means that in ninety-nine percent of all those timelines, a Veci living in it will suddenly... vanish into thin air? Is that right?

Valera

Val: Close enough, which is *generally* why we try to live very lowkey lives. Making new branches of yourself isn't.. *energy consuming* or anything, but you have to be able to process that amount of information. We don't vanish into thin air, but we'll often arrange a swift withdrawal. A sudden move, a staged home invasion, or, in a pinch, just erase ourselves from people's memories. Though that one is imprecise and often leaves lingering traces. Not ideal.

Alastor

Alastor: I imagine it explains an encounter with the fae or two.

Valera

Val: Probably? That's my theory.

Alastor

Alastor: And how often DO timelines branch around you, would you estimate? Are you abandoning thousands of iterations of the same place a day or... Well, I sort of *imagine* that time branches at ridiculously high rates, but I don’t actually know.

Valera

val: Not as often as you think honestly. Obviously it happens, but most people aren't wildly changing reality with every move. The butterfly effect is not as impactful as people believe it is.

Alastor

Alastor gratefully waves away the nightmarish thought of a million sad snakes wondering where his wife went.

Valera

Thoughtful hum....

Val: *You* probably caused a split, back in the day. There's a reality out there where you're dating the Pentious of your Hell. That was a fairly significant moment with pretty obvious impact on the rest of the population.

Alastor

Alastor: I’d always wondered about that! The whole ‘butterfly’ effect thing—particularly considering how often universes seem to CONVERGE on each other. Those of us who have more conventional alternates—it’s *amazing* how often I can talk to myself and think “why, you and I are so similar—our realities must have split no more than ten minutes ago!” and then I find out my other self has completely different parents and a big sister to boot. If two universes that started out in utterly different places can drift back together—

Oh. He stops talking with a noise like a motor dying.

Valera

Slow nod.

Val: It's not like every breakup causes a split in realities. But a drastic choice that results in explosions? Yeah.

Alastor

From 100 to 0 with one sentence.

Valera

Shoulder pat.

Val: It's weird to think about.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I hope he’s doing better.

Valera

Val: ... You're doing better too, Alastor. Better than you were.

Alastor

Alastor: I didn’t mean my alternate.

Valera

Squint.

Val: Your Pentious.

Alastor

Alastor: The one over there isn’t “my” Pentious. ... Sir Pentious. He’s just an alternate of my Sir Pentious, just like the one I’m seeing is an alternate of my Sir Pentious, and the one you’re married to is an alternate of my Sir Pentious. He just branched off a little more recently, that’s all.

Alastor: “My” Sir Pentious will always be the one that I backstabbed.

Valera

Val: He's fine. And *yours* will be okay too. We both know Sir Pentious is stubborn and unstoppable.

Alastor

Alastor: Stubborn, yes. ... We’re going to fix all that, though. So that this never happened.

Alastor: The original plan was to... to wrench the course of this timeline off its current path and onto the path it *would* have had if that decision had been different. But if you think the timeline *already* split there—then it’s not so much a matter of relocating this timeline as it is—just erasing it entirely, so that the other one is the only one left. Right?

Valera

She grimaces. That's a *lot* of people she'd be killing. Erasing from existence. Whatever.

Alastor

She agreed to it once before.

Valera

Val: Yeah, essentially. Not pleasant to think about, but... Yeah. And it's theoretically possible, but. Again. Fifty fifty shot.

Val: I'm... Surprised you'd still want to do it, though. You've got a boyfriend now. What about him?

Alastor

He squeezes his eyes shut and looks pained a second. That’s the same thought that he had. And that he HAS had about a thousand times.

Alastor: This was never about what I want, it was about him. Putting him back on track. Where he deserves to be.

Valera

Val: .... Not to... Okay, you know what, *yes* to be that person. But you want to help one Pentious by hurting another? If you wanted to spare the man you backstabbed, you shouldn't have started dating Telly. You *know* losing you is going to hurt him, *if* it works.

Alastor

Another pained wince.

Alastor: No, you’re right, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and I shouldn’t have. And I knew I shouldn’t have, and... well. Here we are. But I can’t just—just change my mind, not when I have my first chance to make this right!

Valera

Val: I know. I understand. I—I wish I didn't but I *do* and I hate it. And I'm still going to try and help you. If you're sure you want to try. Even though this is. *Awful.* And only going to hurt people. Penny. Telly. Gods only know what will happen if we succeed. If we don't.. You'll hurt him anyway. You know this isn't something you should keep secret from him.

Alastor

And we’ve got a triple pained wince combo!

Alastor: How can I *not?* How can I just—just... happily go about my days, having picnics with one version of him and cuddling up to sleep with another, merrily getting ready for my big Broadway debut, dreaming about infernal conquest like I haven’t been able to dream in half a century—when he’s Hell’s laughingstock because of me?! Everything’s finally coming together for me, but the man I loved first and longest is a joke! How can I live out his dreams with an echo of him? What the Hell gives me the right to let a world like that exist?

Valera

Val: I know we've discussed this before, but. Tell me. Why haven't you tried to make amends? You'll never be friends again, obviously, but surely you could take out some overlords, or anonymously provide supplies... Do some networking, find allies to thrust his way without your name ever crossing his mind?

Frown...

Alastor

Alastor: ... I’ve done a bit. Taken out some of his rivals, that sort of thing.

Valera

Val: That's good! If your major grievance is that you've ruined his life, isn't it right to fix the damage you've caused, even if it's hard?

Alastor

Alastor: And then I heard him whining about how somebody else took down his foes before he had a chance to.

Wan smile.

Valera

.... Somehow, she doesn't look surprised. She just rolls her eyes.

Val: Okay, yeah that sounds like Every Pentious I Know.

Alastor

Smiles a little wider for a second

Alastor: Doesn’t it?

Valera

Val: I love my Penny, truly, but he's a _brat_ and so are his alts. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, Alastor. Literally. You might as well be damned handing the man an overlord on a platter. Even if he complains, at least he's getting a chance to rebuild.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I—*hm*—but—It isn’t *right.* It shouldn’t be just, just... He’s had half a century wasted. All that should be gone. Not just made up for after the fact, but—GONE. Shouldn’t it? Throwing him favors after the fact is, it’s... it’s...

Gestures vaguely and throws out meaningless sound effects. You know!!!

Valera

A sympathetic nod.

Val: I know. Erasing it seems like the kindest option, but is it? Would that be what _he'd_ want? To simply undo everything? Or would he want to claw his way back to the top and spit in the face of every overlord who tried to keep him down? You know him better than I do, so this is not rhetorical. It's a genuine question.

Alastor

He’s gotta stop and stare into space while he thinks about that.

Alastor: ... If somebody asked the Sir Pentious of today if he’d want the last century of troubles retroactively wiped away... I don’t know. I don’t know if he’d rather *have* the throne or *earn* the throne. He’s never had any shame about using an unfair advantage, the only reason he was able to conquer half the States was because he was filthy rich for no good reason and he’ll tell you so himself, but... he wouldn’t want somebody else to do his conquering *for* him, but I don’t know if that’s what he’d consider somebody changing history for him. But if I asked the Sir Pentious of ‘66 which route he’d like to go on, the one where he’s got a loyal ally and can get on with the business of conquest or the one where he’s betrayed and has to start at square one just for a fun extra challenge, he’d ask me if I’m crazy and say he’d rather have the first route. No question.

Alastor: ... But he already HAS that route, if you’re right. If it split then. If it *did* split then, then I’m not... I’m not giving the one I know a little mind wipe and transplanting him sideways into a better reality. That reality is already there and populated. I’m just... destroying him. Right?

Valera

Val: Correct. Is that mercy? Is that making amends?

Val: Wouldn't it be better to improve his life, rather than erase him entirely?

She almost reaches for Alastor's hand, but thinks better of it. Fiddle with her necklace it is.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Is there a way to see? If that universe already exists? If it doesn’t then we can proceed as planned.

Valera

Val: Oh, yes of course there is. I could try to find it, put myself in it the way I do any other universe. Would you like me to?

Alastor

Alastor: It could settle things.

Valera

Val: True. Do I have permission to peek under the hood of your reality?

Alastor

Alastor: ... What, right now?? You can just do it on the spot?

Valera

Val: I could, but I'm not going to. I'm _heavily_ pregnant and my baby is liable to start spitting static that could mess with my spells. I'll have to wait until she's tuckered out, play something energetic until the little thing wiggles herself senseless.

She pats her belly affectionately, but with a roll of the eyes.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! Right. Of course.

... Plays something energetic.

Valera

The egg, predictably, seems very excited about this sudden turn of events and starts throwing hissing nonsense static fuzz into the air with a sensation not unlike static electricity.

Valera raises an eyebrow at Alastor.

Alastor

Valera

Val: Spoiling her already, are we? She's getting big enough to actually feel her moving, you know.

Alastor

Alastor: It was your idea. :) But really? Through the egg and all?

Valera

Val: Yes! Soft shelled eggs are a lot easier to feel through than hard shells, and she is _wiggling_. It's not obvious like a human baby kicking, but there's definitely weight shifting.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, right—they WERE soft, weren’t they! I was trying to be polite and not look too closely.

Valera

Val: Understandable! Amusingly similar to snake eggs, really. Which means by the time May rolls around I'm going to be strangling any radio demon brave enough to try and get this baby active.

She's grinning, but not in a way that says she's joking.

Alastor

Alastor: You were the one who suggested getting her to wiggle herself senseless, I’m only following your sage advice.

Valera

Val: You're evil. How _dare_ you listen to me. If my daughter wants to learn the trumpet when she's older it's your fault. She's being seduced by _Jazz music_.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m setting her up for a life of vice and villainy, EXACTLY as I’m sure her father would want.

Valera

Val: He'll want her learning the pipe organ and how to cackle maniacally. That classic Romantic ideal of brooding and fits of murderous passion. You'll have her _flashing ankles_ on the dance floor!!

A mock gasp!! Perish the thought!

Alastor

Alastor: All the better to shock and scandalize her enemies, right before eliminating them! If they’re staring at her ankles, they’ll never see her gun.

Valera

Val: Bold, I like it. But you'll have to explain that one to Penny, I can already tell he's going to be one of those dads who fawn over their daughter. Leal too, even if he insists he's not attached.

A VERY dramatic roll of the eyes.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! Then I can do one better—I’ll get *her* to explain it to Sir Pentious.

Valera

Val: Oh that can _only_ go well. I'm holding you to that one, Alastor.

Alastor

A wink.

Alastor: My alternate can fawn over her—I think instead I’ll conspire with her. I just hope she’s a rascal.

Valera

Val: Well I don't know about _Penny_, but I was a rascal without equal in my youth! I knocked over half the shelves in a library and pinned it on another kid. I'm sure she'll give me as many headaches as I gave my caretakers.

Alastor

Alastor: Never you fear, I'll do my best to make sure she lives up to the precedent you've set!

Valera

Val: I appreciate that, Alastor! I'm sure I'll be much too busy doing boring parent stuff. Not sure what, but it'll catch me. Maybe I'll go to a PTA meeting.

Alastor

Alastor: A... what meeting?

The man hasn't been around children in almost nine decades, he'd forgotten such esoteric acronyms. It sounds like a military thing.

Valera

Val: A PTA meeting! A parent teacher... SOMETHING meeting. I don't know what the A is for.

Alastor

Snaps fingers! Now it’s familiar.

Alastor: Assassination.

Alastor: ... Wait.

Valera

Val: I don't think I'm supposed to assassinate the teachers. Although, if they're doing a bad job...

Kombucha girl face journey.

Val: No. No. It's probably association or something stupid like that.

Alastor

SNAPS FINGERS AGAIN.

Alastor: THAT was it! Association! Pity, “Parent Teacher Assassination” sounded far more fun.

Valera

Val: It DOES sound more fun. Now I'm disappointed.

Alastor

Alastor: Sounds like a fantastic parent-child bonding activity, too!

Valera

Val: Take the teacher with the lowest reviews and hunt them for sport? Sounds like something you'd enjoy.

Alastor

He’s got to pause and think about that for a moment.

Alastor: Who’s reviewing them?

Valera

Val: Not sure. The students, I imagine?

Alastor

Alastor: All right, seems fair! I’m for it!

Valera

Val: Good! You'll be handling the PTA meetings then, that's _one_ less thing for me to worry about.

Snrk snrk. She's kidding. Probably.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, CAN I? I’ve always wanted to be a problem at school events! An *adult* problem, I mean. I imagine it’s a somewhat different experience from being a student problem.

Valera

Val: What, you want to get saddled with my kid for an evening to go to a school and scare the hell out of the staff?

Alastor

Alastor: Scare them, annoy the hell out of them, say wildly inaccurate things that they’re forced to agree with because they know I’m there on behalf of the autocrat... any of the above, really!

Valera

Val: Well damn! Alright, I'll make sure you go to at least a couple of them. If I send you and one of your alts we can _really_ get a show.

Alastor

Oh look at him he’s ecstatic. This just opened up a whole new world of pranks.

Valera

Val: I've never seen someone so excited about going to a PTA meeting. But hey, who am I to deny you fresh victims? Congratulations on your upcoming career in school harassment.

Alastor

Alastor: Thank you, I eagerly anticipate it!

Valera

Egg probably wore herself out while they were discussing the finer points of PTA sabotage

Alastor

yeah there IS a secondary timeline where Sir Pent and Al are Hell's most feared power couple. Airships are everywhere. Lucifer is going "oh shit the prisoners are unionizing." Alastor and Sir Pent wear matching outfits. They have a kid, where did they get a kid, did they adopt a baby imp or something??? what the fuck

Valera

Oh my god

Val takes one look at that timeline, looks at that Alastor, looks at this one. Looks back. "Well you're a dad in this one." And does not provide context

Alastor

Alastor just. Sits on the floor.

Valera

Well she can't exactly pat his head so they just have to sit there. Timeline confirmed welcome to die

Alastor

"What's their name?"

Valera

"What, the kid? I didn't think to ask. Does it matter?"

Alastor

"Just wondered." He's gotta lay down.

Valera

Guess she's gotta go try to learn the kids name now if Alastor is gonna be a sad floppy man. Feels bad.

Alastor

He was gonna be a sad floppy man regardless.

Valera

It is in the nature of Alastors to be sad and floppy men

Valera

But only under SPECIFIC circumstances

Alastor

Selectively sad and floppy

Valera

"...... Alternate timeline you's kid is named Codie Grace." Alright that is enough telling Alastor things about the future he doesn't have

Alastor

In one universe The Alastor That Didn't Fuck Up is probably giving Valera this c: look like do you get it. do you. do you get it. And in this universe The Fuckup Alastor is squinting at the ceiling and then suddenly goes "WE NAMED OUR KID *COUP DE GRÂCE*?!"

Valera

VAL GETS IT AND SHE ISN'T SURE IF SHE LOVES IT OR HATES IT

But it is VERY like them, the bastards

Alastor

Alastor just covers his face and laughs. It is the laugh of a broken man. Yeah. Yeah that's what he would name a kid, dammit. It's true.

Valera

Poor Fuckup Alastor

Alastor

"... Are they successful, over there? Are they happy?"

Valera

"They wear matching outfits and have airships all over the place so yes and yes."

She's gonna need a broom to pet this man with. There there.

Alastor

It's just a high pitched static whine noise. *Matching outfits...*

That's BASICALLY the exact same thing as marriage. You're married when you wear the same outfits.

Valera

What is marriage if not an elaborate excuse to wear matching outfits? Just keep doing it, forever.

Pat. Pat. "And now you know. There's a reality out there where you and your local Pentious are basically married with a kid and have airships over like, half of Hell."

Alastor

He's gonna. Lay there for a second. And process that.

And then sit up and cradle his head in his hands and process that some more.

Valera

Would he like.... Well. Not tea but she can get him some water. Maybe a coffee.

Alastor

Coffee would be nice

Valera

She can do coffee. Does he want any cream or sugar?

Alastor

Black as his soul. Like an edgy hottopic goth kid.

Valera

She'll get him some pourover, let him have a good coffee while his brain wheezes and stalls.

Alastor

He eventually gets himself up in a chair with his coffee. Look at that, he's almost human again. "So there's already a place where it all worked out."

Valera

"That seems to be the case, yes." The power of coffee, clearly. If only sitting upright really fixed your problems.

Alastor

A nod, and then he’s silent again a moment as he processes this. “So there’s—I wouldn’t be helping him. I can’t help him like this.”

Valera

"You cannot. You can't just wave away what you did to him. Not without ruining another Pentious' life."

Alastor

“It’s not just ‘waving away’! Don’t forget that doing this would erase me, too! It’s not *running* from the consequences of my actions, it’s *paying* for them!” He’s gotta hop up and pace. “‘Waving away’ what I did is what I’m doing right NOW—getting to—to move on and be happy like it never happened! How is that fair?!”

Valera

"How is it fair? Good question, let me counter with another." She sips the tea she got for herself, watching him pace. "Have you forgiven yourself?"

Alastor

He pauses for half a second, and then continues pacing. “Now, why would I go and do a damn fool thing like that?” He laughs wryly. “I don’t see how it matters.”

Valera

"Because you're in Hell, and why would Hell ever _really_ let you win?"

Alastor

“*Hell* wouldn’t—and that’s why I’m outsourcing the job. I don’t see what that has to do with forgiveness and fairness.”

Valera

"Didn't you think Hell has some measure of control over you, or am I misremembering?"

A stretch, and a hand lays over her belly. Rub rub. "Now. I am loathe to admit I could still try to break your timeline like a bone and forcefully reset it into a shape similar to the one I saw, but. I could. Though THAT is something I've never tried at all, I've got no idea if it would work."

Alastor “‘It’s not my fault, the devil made me do it’?” Alastor shook his head. “It’s my fault. Hell is pulling some strings, sure—it can, say, nudge things around to prey on your worst character flaws—but it doesn’t give you those character flaws.”

He stops pacing again. “What would that involve?”

Valera

She opens her mouth, closes it. Clicks her tongue. "That's what I'm figuring out. It *can* be done. I've never done it. But I said I would help you, so I have to offer it as a possibility. It would probably take something fairly drastic. There was a window between you making your decision and actually betraying Pentious, right?"

Alastor

A slow nod. “Ten or fifteen minutes.”

Valera

"There are... A few options. I don't know how *viable* they actually are, right now. I'll have to do research. But I *think* I could try to remove you *entirely* from the timeline at that point. Most likely through a faked assassination or kidnapping. That would break the timeline off the track that was set, an outlier that was not within reasonable bounds. Then give the timeline a few hours, maybe days as it tries to course correct and *cannot*, and then I... Drop *you* back in. Let you run back to Sir Pentious, alive, if not unharmed. At the very least, I'm sure he'd be too busy being glad you were alive to be angry that whatever scheme he was currently enacting got thrown off."

Alastor

He stops breathing for a moment as he thinks about Sir Pentious having to deal with Alastor so suddenly disappearing.

And he tries not to too deeply analyze his disappointment when Valera says they’d put him back. He starts pacing again. “And that would be—like we discussed before? This version of the timeline disappears completely?”

Valera

"It would be impossible for the timeline to continue as it was, so. Yes. You cannot betray Pentious if you aren't there. Everything would get thrown off the rails entirely. Timelines account for a reasonable margin of circumstances with everything people do. Most people rarely do things outside of their norm, so even small changes rarely mean anything and that's why they don't branch as much as people think."

She taps her stomach, lips pursing. "Again. Remember, I can't guarantee it would work. But it does seem the most *likely* to work out of all the options. The first obstacle would be me taking down the Radio Demon. I don't know if you're aware, Alastor, but I don't actually relish the thought of fighting you to what you'd believe to be your death."

Alastor

He laughs humorlessly. “You won’t need to fight. I can tell you exactly what to say to make me come willingly.”

Valera

Blink. Wait, what? She looks back up at him, eyebrows raising. "What, really?"

Alastor

“You think I don’t know myself well enough to know exactly what would make me shut up and listen? Don’t you have secret things that would immediately catch your attention if a stranger said them to you?” A shrug. “Anyway, I wasn’t exactly hard to persuade at that point! I’d just decided to escape a relationship by destroying everything he owned and running—if a stranger magically appeared in front of me and said ‘come with me, we need to fake your assassination,’ I’d consider it a miracle.”

Valera

Valera raises a finger. "Alastor, I am a stubborn, paranoid bitch of a politician. My own parents could miraculously spring back into existence and promise me anything I wanted and I would probably try to bite them. I can't be blackmailed because any time someone tries, I get my PR team to leak it themselves to control the narrative. I am TRULY the most contrary piece of work to get dragged into existence."

A pause.. Then she grins. "Lucky for us, you're not me. If you think that would work? *Good*. That's one of many obstacles down. A question, though, and possibly a dumb one. Would you even *want* to go back? If I ripped you from the timeline, that is."

Alastor

“Does what I’d want matter? Either you put me back, you exterminate me, or you drop me somewhere outside of Hell and I end up having to go back eventually. A disembodied soul can’t last forever outside of Hell, and I can’t move into a neighboring Hell without stepping on an alternate’s hooves.”

Valera

She rolls her eyes, sighing noisily. "Yes, it matters. Even if we can't figure out something better, I want to *try* and help you get a happier ending. Because right now, it's sounding like you're about to give up Telly to go run into your Pentious' arms. Which I don't think Telly would like much."

Alastor

“No! That’s not what I want! I keep double checking that this will delete the current timeline for a reason! If some different Alastor *just slightly* removed from me ends up with him, dandy, but it had damn well better not be me! I’m not trying to get back with him, I’m trying to get ERASED!”

Well. That’s sure something he said and can’t unsay.

Valera

She freezes, her eyes locked on Alastor's face. So, the truth comes out, does it? But is this the eye of the storm, or a defeated gasp? This may require some care.

A slow inhale. A shift of her weight as she sits more upright, face neutral. "I *see*."

Alastor

Those weren’t quite the words he expected out of himself, either. But he’s nothing if not impossible to shut up, so he swallows hard and soldiers on. “Didn’t I say, the very first time we discussed this, that when you made that other timeline, I didn’t want you to combine my memories with my past self—I wanted you to let me get deleted with the rest of this timeline? *This isn’t for me.* I don’t want to get him back—I want him to win. How isn’t that clear? If I wasn’t worried about what it would do to Sir Pentious’s psyche if his lover is assassinated on his airship the morning after they hooked up, I’d tell you to put a bullet through my head the moment you see me!”

Valera

She nods, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she watches him dig his hole deeper with every word he rattles out. She'd known this, really. He'd said it. But she didn't realize..

Well. Better late than never, one supposes. "And what about Telly, Alastor? What are you going to do about *him?* What of *his* psyche?"

Alastor

His face almost cracks completely, brows drawing and smile half wilting. He slumps down onto a seat again. “I shouldn’t have gotten him involved.” It’s not really an answer.

Valera

"No, you shouldn't have! But you did, and now you have another problem to solve. Because Alastor? I do NOT want to explain to that poor man that I helped his boyfriend erase himself from existence for the sake of the man he betrayed, and had planned on doing so before you two even met. You may not have to deal with the fallout, but *I will.*"

Alastor

He inhales sharply at the thought of it. “Isn’t there a way to... As long as we’re altering timelines, can’t we just... make it so he never met me? It was under three months ago, all it would take...” He can’t even finish. It feels like knives just to think about.

Valera

"I already find the idea of breaking your timeline dubious at best, and now you want me to alter the reality of my friend? An innocent party in all this? You *know* he wouldn't want that, Alastor. I agreed to help you with one very specific problem, it isn't my fault that you decided to dally with another snake and complicate matters when you knew your time was potentially limited to months. I wont help you fix that."

She struggles to her feet, empty mug in hand. "I am going to get a refill on my tea. Do you want more coffee, Alastor?"

Alastor

He glances at his cup. He still hasn’t quite emptied it. He shakes his head.

Valera

A nod. "I will be clear. I am not angry, I am not saying I wont help you. But I cannot fix all of your problems so easily. Your actions have consequences, and erasing yourself wont leave everyone happy and everything tied up with a bow." Her thumbs rub over the smooth finish of her mug, brow furrowing in thought.

"I am sorry, Alastor. If I could guarantee, one hundred percent, that I could erase you from Telly's life, take you back to your timeline, and wipe you out before you ever hurt your Pentious.. I would. I would obliterate your mind on the spot and let whatever version of you sprang forth, happy and in love, carry on with your day like it never happened. And I'd take that to my grave. But I can't make that promise." Okay she'd better actually leave, standing around holding an empty cup to rant at someone is stupid. Give her a bit.

Alastor

He nods vaguely, but although he absorbs what Valera says, most of his focus is on his own thoughts.

Telly. If he leaves, who’s there for Telly? Who’s the one who will bargain, threaten, or assassinate whoever it takes to get Telly the supplies he needs for his ship? When all his machines are broken, who’s going to be the one to fill the gaps with magic until they’re repaired? Who will tell him that he’s beautiful, brilliant, unstoppable, every day until he believes it himself? Who’s going to *feed* him?

Every single day, Alastor sees more of Telly’s real self—the person Alastor met just shy of three months ago is hardly a ghost compared to the person Telly is now. It doesn’t matter how Alastor leaves. If he just vanishes, then everything he’s tried to give Telly will be lost. If they never met, then Alastor never gave him those things at all.

He’s still brooding on these thoughts when Valera gets back.

Valera

Valera lets him have some silence, settling back down with her tea as she observes Alastor's stewing. Good. He's thinking. Maybe he'll think his way *out* of this idiocy.

Alastor

He’s working on it.

His Sir Pentious, though—the one he *betrayed*—nothing is fixed for him if Alastor *doesn’t* follow through. He’s still stuck where he is. So which is worse? Which weighs heavier? Never paying the price and making amends for the sin he committed before, or committing a fresh sin now? If no matter what he does, he’s got to knowingly and deliberately doom one of them to an afterlife of broken hopes and unfulfilled aspirations, which one of them is worse?

“... I made a deal with him.” Instead of trying to repeat it, he just plays it back, his own voice slightly cracklier than usual as if it’s playing back from a phonograph record: “*I swear I will never knowingly and deliberately or callously break your heart; and I swear that if I do ever leave, I’ll leave with kindness and honesty; and I swear I’ll never betray you like I did the Sir Pentious of my universe; or I forfeit my soul and all those I have to you.*”

He looks at Valera. “As far as you can think of—is there no possible way for me to do this without violating all three of those?”

Valera

Valera pauses, rolling the terms over in her mind. "You could tell him you can't be with him anymore because you realized your goals are incompatible. That would be a _kindness._ You would be leaving with honesty. Your goals _are_ incompatible."

Alastor

Nods, he accepts that. There are ways he could be honest without telling too much of the truth. Debatable on the idea that he’d be leaving with kindness, but he’s willing to let that sit for the moment. “The other two, then. I wouldn’t be knowingly and *deliberately* breaking his heart, since breaking it is just a side effect instead of my goal; but it would be knowingly and *callously.*”

Valera

"Is it callous, to try and spare him from further harm by stepping away? Because that's what you'd be doing, I imagine."

She leans back into the cushions of the couch, tapping her chin. "_Knowingly_ breaking his heart is the real issue. You've essentially _trapped_ yourself in the relationship. You can't leave while he has feelings for you, no matter how kind and honest you are, because you'll break his heart doing it."

Alastor

“I was damn careful with my wording to make sure I wouldn’t be trapped.” He shakes his head. “That’s why it has to be both. Knowingly-*and*-deliberately or knowingly-*and*-callously. If I know it will break his heart, but the heartbreak isn’t deliberate or callous, it’s legal.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m *not* trying to spare him harm by stepping away. I’m trying to... disappear, to undo a prior betrayal; and, in the process, I’d be knowingly adding to the parade of people who have promised him the world and then ripped it away—and—and I’d be doing untold damage to his ability to follow his ambitions.” He clears his throat, his voice is starting to sound a little hoarse. “He wouldn’t be spared harm. Knowing the extent of the damage, I—there’s—there’d be no way to proceed without callousness. Would there.”

Valera

Valera has an argument already half formed, but stops. Cocks her head to one side. Why the FUCK would she try to convince him around to her side. This was basically a get out of jail free card. Her perspective didn't matter here, it was *his* contract.

"Y-yeah. If that's the way you interpret your contract, you're well and truly stuck."

Alastor

His shoulders slump, the tension draining out of them all at once. "So that's that? It's undoable." If he can't think of a way and Valera can't think of a way...

Valera

She lifts a shaky mug to her lips, squeaking out what MIGHT be the affirmative. "Mm-Mm!"

Alastor

“All right. That’s that.”

He expects to feel... maybe relieved. Maybe resigned. Instead, what hits first is an unexpected wave of grief. He tries to disguise it by rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, as though he’s just tired. “So—“ Ahem. “So. You and I shook. If we can’t proceed, then what’s... How do we dissolve that?”

Valera

Valera frowns, fins drooping as she wavers. But no. This is for the best. "Well, how do *you* negate a deal that is no longer viable? All you need to do is say you've released me from the contract, on my end."

Alastor

“You’re released from the contract if I’m released from the contract.” He’s not *unilaterally* releasing somebody else from a contract, that’s just common sense.

Valera

Her eyes are ROLLING. Of course, even now he's being difficult. "Well we shook on it. What does your magic need to terminate the agreement? Blood? Another handshake?"

Alastor

"For you to agree to the same out loud." It's not THAT complicated; but a release from a contract has to be mutual. Otherwise anyone could cancel a contract at any time, and then where would the exploitative dealmakers of the world be?

Valera

"Alright. I release you from our contract under the same terms."

... She doesn't know why she always expects something dramatic to happen, it never does. At least she can lean back and sigh, now.

Alastor

If it helps, Alastor plays a little *ta-daaa* trumpet fanfare.

Valera

It helps, but also makes her primary heart clench. She didn't lie, but she wasn't honest. And it digs into her like a splinter.

A sigh. "Are you okay, Alastor? I know you wanted _very_ badly to help the Pentious of your Hell." That came out more gently than she'd intended, but she's too tired to try and force a casual demeanor right now. Deal with her concern.

Alastor

He's silent for a moment, then sighs and sort of shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. "It just puts me back where I was a few months ago. No great loss."

Valera

"Sure, but you got your hopes up, only for them to be dashed by a contract of your own design." She isn't going to comment on that being incredibly dumb. She isn't. But she's thinking it. Even though it worked out for her.

"I suppose that means you'll have to do things the old fashioned way if you want to make amends."

Alastor

"If the contract wasn't there, I would have had to *decide* which one of them I want to hurt. At least this way the choice is out of my hands. And it means the contract did its job, didn't it?"

He rubs his eyes. "Still. Having the end in sight, and then watching it disappear..."

Valera

Most people would be happy to live another day, but a man craving oblivion? Maybe not so much. She frowns.

"At least you've got Telly. That leaves your local Pentious still suffering. And lest we forget, I entered that contract wanting to help _him_. Still do."

Alastor

And there is nothing he wants more than to go home, curl up in Telly's coils, and not come out for a week. He nods. "I know."

Valera

A low sigh. She could WANT to help, but she couldn't really *do* much. "Well. I suppose there's nothing to be done, at least not now."

Alastor

"I suppose not. Maybe another time." It's hard to even think about an alternative plan right now. How can he even consider a plan that doesn't involve completely erasing all of his mistakes in one fell swoop? What's the *point*?

Valera

"Another time? Yes, absolutely. The politician in me already has five concepts to workshop with my imaginary team. But I am tired, and nauseous, and I want to go hide against either Leal or Penny, whichever lucky man I find first."

Alastor

"Cheers to *that.*" He limply picks up his almost-empty coffee mug. "I think I'll be following your lead." Now that for the first time he HAS someone to hide against.

Valera

She waves her tea at him in what could pass as a pale imitation of a toast, slamming back the rest of her drink like a shot. "At least that's one thing we get out of *love*. Somebody willing to let us use them as *emotional support*."

Alastor

That feels like an attack. Why does that feel like an attack? "Or a warm pillow." He finishes his coffee and stands. "Well, that didn't quite go the way I wanted it to. But thank you for the introduction." He nods toward the egg. "And I suppose I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Remember that part? After all this, they've got JOBS they've gotta go to tomorrow? Harrowing.

Valera

She opens her mouth to remind him that she and Penny are both coldblooded, but then remembers that Leal is a furnace on legs, and just nods instead. "It was... Well. Parts of this visit were fun. I'll see you tomorrow, Alastor. And I'll remember to talk to my beau about your role in Eelizzy's life." Thumbs up.

Alastor

Listen, Alastor's spent the past few decades crying himself to sleep on a pillow with a faux snakeskin pillowcase. Who wants to argue with him if he says he feels warmer when he's wrapped around Telly.

His expression brightens a little bit. "I'd appreciate it."

Valera

She wheezes out a breathy laugh as she stands, smoothing her dress over her stomach. "Hey. I know this was rough, and I wish our talks didn't always end so stressfully, but I do think you'll be a fantastic uncle. With allowances for Penny and Leal, there's nobody I'd trust more to make sure my daughter was cared for if something happened to me. And I mean it."

A flick of a wrist, and a familiar portal opens in the wall, the Hotel's lobby visible through a shimmery haze. It could have gone worse, all things considered.

Alastor

"I doubt we'll need to have any other conversations on this. It's not like we have anything else to discuss on the topic." A crooked smile, but a slightly pained one. "Just let me know when the first PTA meeting is!" And out he goes.

Valera

[[ NOT LIKE SHE CAN DUMP HIM ON TELLY'S SHIP BUT SHE *WISHES*

Alastor

((He's gonna be teleporting himself STRAIGHT to Telly's ship anyway))

#((warning for suicidal ideation. ... this thread went some places ok))#autokrates #chat log

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zoryany · 4 years

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Hi! I REALLY liked that Skysolo AU where Han has to meet the royal family, if I prompt you ‘8. I know of your reputation all too well.’ could you possible continue it so he meets Vader? 🥺 (totally understand if not, great AU either way!!)

I’m glad you enjoyed it and I ABSOLUTELY can continue it with that prompt, thank you !! (I’ve definitely blurred the line between “ficlet” and full-blown fanfic at this point tbh…)Imperial Royal Skywalker Family AU Pt 1 || send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters

After they’d finished their tea, Luke was quick to excuse himself and Han, ushering his guest towards the suite he’d prepared earlier. A wave of relief rolled off Han the moment they left the parlour, and Luke couldn’t help but share the sentiment. Everyone had been civil enough for the duration, but Luke had felt the tension that lingered beneath the polite conversation. Mother and Leia were both furious with him, he could tell, and though both would maintain a proper amount of decorum in front of their guest, Luke knew exactly what he was in for once Father returned.

That was not something he was looking forward to.

As he led Han through the corridors between the parlour and the guest room, Luke tried to stay relaxed and exude as much nonchalance as possible. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I’d say you’ve won over two out of three already. Probably helps they’re both so upset with me that it’s easier for them to speak to you without snapping right now. Though I will be getting an earful later…”

“Gee, that makes me feel real great about this whole thing,” Han grumbled. Luke couldn’t help but feel sheepish at that, which Han instantly noticed and grimaced in response. “No, I just meant that – look, I’m sorry you’re in this mess, and I’m sorry if it’s ‘cause of me…”

“Hey,” Luke said sharply, “none of that. You didn’t make me leave home in the first place, and while I’ve definitely been enjoying our time together, don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re the reason I’ve stayed away this long.” Chuckling lightly at the look of offense he was getting from the smuggler, Luke continued. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no way I would’ve stayed on Ord Mantell as long as I did if not for you, but truth be told… well I actually would’ve stayed away longer if we hadn’t met – just on some other planet.”

He could feel the curiosity burning within Han. They never really talked about why he ran away or what he was doing on Ord Mantell. That was part of the reason the two of them had gotten along, initially – no obligation to speak about their pasts, just focus on the present and the future. Even now, Han wasn’t pushing him despite his clear curiosity, but Luke couldn’t avoid his responsibilities forever.

Reaching the door to the guest room, he let out a sigh as he pushed the door open and gestured for Han to enter first. The smuggler hesitated slightly before breezing past the threshold and into the suite. It was not nearly so resplendent as the Royal Rooms, but it was still the height of luxury. Luke had been sure to select one of the smaller rooms and furnish it modestly enough so Han wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but he was all too aware of how extravagant it was. Simple yet tasteful artwork lined the walls, a large window revealed a magnificent view of Coruscant’s upper levels, and the bed that dominated the space was a plush four-poster with a dreamsilk canopy draped over it. Most of the bedding in the Palace was expensive and made of some form of soft, silk-like material, but Luke had managed to dig up a set of lighter sheets made of Alderaanian cotton that would better suit Han’s comfort level. And, sitting on top of the bed was –

“Mother…” Luke groaned as Han held up the finery and examined it. “She wants you to dress for dinner. Probably sent Threepio to set these out for you while we were distracted by tea, and I’m willing to bet my lightsaber that those will fit you perfectly. I’ll throw in my speeder and guess that I’ve got an outfit set out, too.”

“She seriously expects me to wear this?” Han was holding the dark-coloured suit as though it was made of tissue and would shred if he gripped it too tight. “I’m pretty sure the shirt alone cost more than I’ve made – or ever will make – in my entire life.”

Grimacing, Luke felt a pang of embarrassment, knowing full well that he couldn’t deny that. It was part of the reason he’d left in the first place. He’d never felt comfortable with his status, preferring instead to tinker with mechanics or get to know the people or practice flying over the city. Being a prince just never sat quite right with him. But his parents insisted on nothing short of the best for their children, and nothing quite surpassed their desire to keep the twins safe. They meant well. Luke knew they meant well. They were just… stubborn.

He wasn’t ready for that conversation with Han yet, though, so instead he just let out a breezy laugh and shook his head. “I think you’ll look dashing in it. Mother does have impeccable taste, after all. You don’t gotta put it on yet, though. We still have a bit of time before dinner. I can give you a tour, show you all the places I hid and the secrets I discovered growing up.”

***

Tugging lightly at his collar, Han shifted in his seat, hoping he didn’t appear too awkward as he tried not to stare at Luke sitting across from him. When the two had met, he never would have guessed that the scruffy blond with grease on his cheek and dirt under his fingernails could possibly be anyone even remotely noble. He looked like just about every other down-on-his-luck scoundrel just trying to scrape by, even if the kid had a lot more enthusiasm than most. But if Han thought the difference in his voice when speaking to his mother was jarring, seeing Luke dressed up and put together was staggering.

Though his hair wasn’t quite slicked down – Han wasn’t sure if that was even possible, anyways – it was obvious that Luke had at least put some effort into making it presentable, and it lay a lot smoother than usual, framing his face. A white shirt was visible beneath a black tunic, and he wore matching black trousers, all made from the same, expensive-looking material. The real highlight of the outfit, however, was the deep blue cape secured around his neck with a bright golden clasp and a silvery pattern woven throughout the material like constellations. Luke wore the night sky, which only served to make his features appear even more like a radiant sun.

Han had been mostly quiet through the meal in an effort to keep himself from saying anything overly foolish, sticking to polite acknowledgements and general courtesies. He was so caught up in maintaining decorum that he didn’t even really hear much of the conversation around him, catching only snippets here and there.

Luke looked much more at ease than Han was, and he even appeared to have relaxed since the tense tea session they’d had earlier. He was sharing lighthearted banter with his sister (who kept shooting Han suspicious glances, albeit less frequently than before) and chatting pleasantly with his mother (who seemed far warmer and more genuine than earlier). It was clear that, despite the conversations the family still needed to have, they maintained a strong bond and genuine love for one another.

(Han was decidedly not jealous of that. Not at all.)

The pleasant air in the dining room carried on into dessert, by which time even Han had relaxed a bit and would make the odd remark or share the odd barb with the Princess. They had almost finished working their way through the decadent assortment of cakes and pastries when the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

The change was most obvious in Luke, whose eyes blew wide and a shudder rippled through him as he stiffened in his seat. Gasping with a shaky breath, he lifted his gaze and fixed it on something behind Han’s chair.

“Father.” Oh. Kriff. He probably should have been able to guess that. “I, uh – you weren’t due to return home until after dinner.” It was incredible how quickly the kid’s composure could crumble, switching instantly from the picture of Imperial Royalty to the naive, stammering vagabond who could not lie to save his life.

“No, I was not.” The basso tone produced by the vocoder seemed to fill the entire room, and Han had to suppress a shudder as the towering dark form crept into his field of view like a shadow. Darth Vader loomed over Luke, who looked absolutely tiny next to him, and Han had to give the kid credit for not cowering when a gloved finger was pointed between his eyes. “I do, however, have every right to alter my schedule when matters arise concerning my son.” Luke did cringe a little bit at that. Vader wasn’t done. “My son, who I have not heard from in several weeks, who has returned home with… company.”

Han could not say he deserved the same credit as Luke as he cowered the moment that death mask turned to face him. “Ah yeah, hi, that’s me, uhh nice to meet you, Mr. Vader, sir, I’m –”

“Captain Han Solo.” His jaw dropped and he gaped at Vader as he cut him off. “Yes. I know of your reputation all too well.”

Luke’s eyes had gone wide again, and his jaw dropped down as well. Even the Princess seemed taken aback, though the Empress seemed unfazed.

“You – you know who I am?”

“I make a point to know who the Hutts choose to have dealings with.”

Oh. Kriff, he’d forgotten about Vader’s vendetta against the Hutts. “Hey, hey, I don’t go makin’ a habit of it or anything, just a few jobs for Jabba – who didn’t even like me, anyway. Put a bounty on my head when I dropped a job after realizing the cargo wasn’t spice. I don’t smuggle people. Far’s I’m concerned, the galaxy’s better off without him.”

Vader inclined his helmet slightly while keeping his gaze fixed on Han. The dark, deep crimson of the eyeplates felt like they would burn twin holes right through him. “I must admit,” Vader finally said, “that I can agree with you in that regard, at the very least.” For the briefest second, Han got the impression of amusement before the temperature in the room plummeted again and he had to work to keep his composure. “That does not, however, change the fact that you are still a criminal, nor does it excuse the rest of your misdeeds.”

“Well,” said Han, silently cursing his uncontrollable disregard for his own wellbeing, “ya got me there. But I’m a changed man, honest. I’m pretty aware of your reputation, too, and I got no interest in experiencing it firsthand.”

From across the table, he caught a glimpse of Luke’s expression, which was a confused jumble of amusement, horror, mortification, disbelief and resignation. Beside her brother, the Princess concealed a snort, passing it off as a cough. Han was pretty sure he was done for when Vader took a step forward, his arms uncrossing from his chest as he reached a hand towards him, but the Empress had fluidly risen from her seat and appeared at his side.

Resting her hands delicately on his arm, she gazed up at him with a gentle, soothing expression and whispered something that sounded like “Ani.” Her next words were clearer while still remaining gentle and placating. “Captain Solo here is Luke’s guest, and I have personally offered him our hospitality. Please refrain from terrorizing him tonight. You know how our children feel when you frighten off their company.” Luke and Leia both flushed pink and sunk in their seats.

On the surface, it was a standard family interaction, mother holding back father, father upholding authority, children doing all they could to mitigate their embarrassment, but Han could not think of anything more surreal. The mother in question was the most politically powerful person in the galaxy, dressed in resplendent garments of deep crimson as she looked lovingly up at her husband. The father was the most dangerous man in the galaxy, cutting an intimidating figure and dwarfing his wife while still, somehow, managing an unexpected level of tenderness. The children were set to inherit the galaxy, twin Highnesses -- one of whom he was involved with -- and no less dangerous than their parents.

And Han... had no idea what to do with himself.

Far more gentle than he would have ever expected possible, Vader rested a hand on his wife’s cheek and the two shared a brief embrace, seeming to exchange something entirely private and intimate. In their seats, Luke and Leia flushed deeper, and Han found himself wishing he was anywhere else. Withdrawing his hand, Vader seemed somewhat reluctant as he took a step back.

“Very well. This is clearly not a conversation for the dinner table. I shall retreat to my study to tie up what loose ends I can while you conclude your meal. However,” Vader turned to face his son, “your mother and I have much to discuss with you, boy. Do not attempt to needlessly delay this discussion.”

Luke, who had slid about as far down in his seat as he could without falling right off, grimaced and looked up at his father with an expression of contrition. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled before stuffing a small pastry in his mouth.

Vader turned on his heel and swept out of the dining room, leaving it in a thoroughly uncomfortable silence. The Princess was resting her hand on Luke’s shoulder and giving her brother, who appeared mortified, a sympathetic look. The Empress had returned to her seat, looking nonplussed, though she had regained some measure of her former severity.

Once again, Han shifted in his seat and avoided everyone’s gaze. He was starting to get a clearer picture of what he’d gotten himself into. Now he found himself wondering if he’d finally manage to get in over his head.

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galaxybrunost505 · 3 years

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66 "Stay over" + trixya!

Thanks for the ask honey! Who’d guess I’d end up incorporating another project I had in mind into this? I’ve been wanting to write a “Tiny Dancer” songfic forever! <3

Touring is exhausting, but Katya loves the chaos of it. She hasn’t slept in three days, barely managing to nap between performances. Her eyes are darkened by tiredness, her skin is already showing signs of dehydration, her muscles ache and all of her joints are sore. There is nothing she doesn’t love about it.

Heathers is what younger people like to call a “vintage group”. They were big in the late 80s all the way to the early 2000s and decided now would be a good time for a reunion tour, endearingly titled “Who the fuck is Heather?”, all across the biggest cities in America. Katya was happy to finally get a somewhat stable job, at least for a good amount of weeks, but getting to hang out with Carmen, Delta, Manila, and Raja turned out to be a cool bonus. They were accessible and funny, didn’t abuse any kind of substance (at least not in front of the crew), and always made sure to thank everyone for their hard work. No other artist Katya has ever danced for had been so attentive to their staff.

“It’s nice working for them,” Trixie, the seamstress, told her in their first costume fitting. “I think you’ll feel right at home.”

“Are you coming on tour with us?” Katya asked, observing the girl with a mouthful of pins work her hands around her waist and nod. She looked back at the mirror in front of her. “Then I guess I might.”

Trixie has been the best part of touring so far. Feeling her hands running up and down her body under the girl’s watchful eyes during fittings was enough of a reason to convince her she’d have a good time on the road. They spend all of their free time together, visiting restaurants in every city they stop at and telling each other about their lives outside of being a member of the Heathers’ staff. She learns Trixie is originally from Wisconsin and has been an LA lady ever since she finished college, having moved there trying to pursue a career in fashion. She learns Trixie’s favorite singer is Dolly Parton and she taught herself how to play the guitar, but always knew music wasn’t for her. She learns Trixie’s eyes sparkle under white lights and that her hair smells of fresh mint, maybe lemon. She learns Trixie’s laughter flows through her entire body and that she always raises her eyebrows before telling a bad joke. She learns Trixie can handle three shots of tequila before she starts rambling about how sure she is Bill is Sophie’s father and that her cheeks are drained from all color when she has a hangover the next day. She learns Trixie likes to call her Tiny Dancer, but hasn’t nicknamed anyone else in the crew.

She realizes she’s fucked when they spend the night in Louisville and Trixie knocks on her hotel room door twenty minutes after they should’ve gone to bed with a pirate smile and a bottle of Jack. Katya has no choice but to let her in. It becomes an easy routine to fall into. Three cities later, Trixie starts getting rowdy with her drinks.

“Who’s the hottest Heather?” she asks, facing Katya on her bed and playing low music on the TV.

“I know everyone says Carmen, but I’ll go with Raja. I think it’s the gray hair,” Katya answers, sipping straight from the bottle before passing it to Trixie, who takes a big gulp. “And she’s always been nice to me, especially when we had to learn the choreo for the closing number.”

“So that’s your type, tall, lean, and gray-haired? How could I ever stand a chance, Tiny Dancer?”

Katya’s heart falls out of her asshole, but she giggles instead of frowning. “I think Raja is the one who doesn’t stand a chance. Not while you’re around, at least.”

Trixie uses her arms to support herself closer to Katya, shifting positions to kneel on the bed. Katya can feel the girl’s breath on her face but keeps looking into her eyes, pretending she isn’t intimidated by the gorgeous blonde. “So you’re saying you think I’m hotter than Raja?”

“I’m saying you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever met.” Trixie smirks. “What?”

“You sure don’t act like it.” Katya blushes.

“What do you suggest I do about it?”

“Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.”

***

Trixie doesn’t say anything about it once they get to Nashville. They spend the day as they usually do, and Katya doesn’t feel the seamstress leaning into her touch any more than she did before, she doesn’t feel Trixie’s lips hovering over hers when it’s just the two of them alone. It doesn’t take her long to realize Trixie thinks it was a mistake.

“Don’t you think we should talk about last night?” Katya asks, referring to the cigarette they shared and the snippets of sleepy pillowtalk she can still recall.

“It wasn’t a big deal, was it?” Trixie responds. Katya knows that while she was letting her own eyes glimmer as she looked up at Trixie, the girl’s touch on her was still on skin level, no deeper than that. She gulps remembering how wrecking it was having Trixie get up, get dressed, and leaving her alone with her thoughts. “I had fun. I know you did too,” she winks. They don’t talk for the rest of the day.

She expects to spend the night lonely, bitter, and exhausted in her hotel room, but a knock on the door surprises her. Trixie greets her with a hungry kiss and a bottle of cheap rum. Once again, Katya lets her in. Once again, Trixie is gone as soon as she’s done for the night. She keeps letting Trixie in and out until they get down to New Orleans.

“You fit right into my hand,” Trixie hums, tracing Katya’s naked waist with the tips of her fingers. The headlights on the highway illuminate the room through the gaps in the curtains. Katya leans closer to her as Trixie searches for her eyes. “I have to go.” Katya watches her brown eyes, looking for the place where the words come from, but for some reason, she feels like it isn’t there. Her hand reaches out to touch Trixie’s face, which earns her a peck on the palm. “It’s getting late.”

“Why do you always go?” Katya blurts out in a whisper. Trixie licks her lips. “Every night you come here and you give me the world, and before I know it you’re gone.”

“I didn’t think you minded it,” Trixie says. “You let me go every time.”

She grabs Trixie’s arms before she can turn to get up, letting her heart fall right from between her lips. “Stay over,” she asks. “Please.” Their breaths melt together in one as Trixie kisses her softly, slowly.

“Then hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.”

#ask #writing #tiny dancer #i finally got to write the tiny dancer thingy!!!#i hope it isn't terrible #also lola convinced me to give it a happy ending #but i think by now y'all know me well enough to guess it wouldn't have ended like this if i had my way lmao

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geometricalien · 4 years

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oh dear i'm super duper late but I have a lot of questions about your wips!! I wanna know more about sick Akashi, nekoma pirate crew, BoKuroo/BokuAka midsommer, Pining + Jacket, The truth burns and destroys, feeling good, Punk Noya, Strawberry Blonde, sunspot and the merman au!!! Thanks babe <333

Hi Vee!!! This is it, I spent wayyyyy too long on this, I think my finger is cramping from typing. But thank you for asking, I love sharing my ideas, sorry if it’s incorherent.

This is super long so it’s under the cut, saving people room

Sick Akashi

So, it’s based off of a line prompt “I’d like it if you’d stay” and as the title suggests, 3rd year Akashi gets sick, sorry Vee it’s not fatal, Furihata comes to Rakuzan to check on his friend after he doesn’t answer his phone. The entire premise is Akashi works himself sick with his various responsibilities he takes on as “perfectionist who can’t show any cracks at all”. I don’t want Bokushi Akashi showing up so it’s minus the mental break elements. (also technically in canon terms it's after they have merged so yeah) I feel like they deserve a cute little “nurse” the other from a sickness ficlet. And… maybe… sick Akashi confesses…….. It’s almost a writing challenge for me because Akashi has a more polite sophisticated way of thinking and speaking, so cough yep

The rest are Haikyuu aus so buckle in

NEKOMA PIRATE CREW

Admittedly this is more loose, less of a solid idea. It’s Yaku centric, and how he went from a merchant from his grandfather’s company searching for lost merchandise and became the first mate who keeps track of the ship's finances and keeps their captain Kuroo on track. Other things of note, he meets Kuroo first as a pirate on another ship who stole his merchandise, Kenma is a sea witch (is that science or magic? That's always the question), and about halfway through the adventure they get Lev on board as a new member. So yeah! Kinda a fetch quest but on of my favorite fanfics is legitimately a fetch quest so it's okay fjdkaljf

BoKuroo/BokuAka Midsommer

This is based off of a fanart by desdelasombra my friend Shayla showed it to me and we threw this idea around together, we really don’t want to write it but it's also spectacular. So it's the movie Midsommar, right? Bokuto is a “gatherer” bringing his friends to come join in his village’s rituals. But we didn’t want anyone to die (except for Kenma sorry he’s dead as the substitute for the main character’s sister), so a grieving Kuroo comes with his boyfriend Bokuto, joined by their friends the smart studious and jaded Oikawa and bright bubbly Hinata. Obviously the three react badly to the first ritual and Bokuto doesn’t understand because for him it’s always been a joyful experience and he wanted to share it with his friends. A Lot of things happen, but most important is Akaashi and Kuroo dancing under the may pole together. BokuAka was in the past when Bokuto was home so part of this is them coming together as poly and escaping the final scene of the movie. Again this is very painful but that art is beautiful and the world is better for it being created

Pining + Jacket (KuroLev)

Again this is a line prompt about lending a jacket because it’s cold and it had so much potential for pining and who is the most pining bastard that I know? LEV and Shayla told me about KuroLev and somehow this happened. It’s currently going to be a sequence of drabbles of Lev pining after Kuroo, what else could you ask for? Uh? Lev confessing to Kuroo and them going out??? Sorry I can’t hear you over the exquisite angst and pain of one sided love that I want to explore

The truth burns and destroys

GOOD CHOICE, I began this on saturday night and it has earned a very special place in my heart. Sometimes I fear that my writing is like a lazy pool, sure it's nice and easy and smooth but there isn’t an intensity or raw emotions, BUT THIS this accomplishes what I want. And I’m really glad, its metaphor and imagery heavy but it really captures their emotions and thoughts without it sounding like I’m a 7th grader writing my first fanfiction glances to my abandoned wips from that time. Okay, Vee, I am a glutton for punishment and angst and I choose to pursue cheating fics. But specifically where and how they build the relationship up again after finding out. So, I was reading a KageHina cheating fic and how the character’s reacted felt off somehow so at midnight I wrote this snippet to fullfill my craving, you know what they say the best fanfiction is self indulgence. Here is a short excerpt,

He wants to brush this aside and continue their lives. He wants to wake up next to Tobio and still be seen the same way. He doesn't want anything to change.

Tobio is his favorite book. He has read it time and time again. Highlighting, underlining, cherishing. So Shouyou is able to read the silent begging in his eyes. The right clenched fist.

"Shouyou," a deafening pause "What is this?"

Please lie to me.

…

It stretches on. The eternity of silence. They sit together holding on to the last hope they have. Shouyou memorizes those beautiful hands, each crease and bump. Hands that helped shape him become who he is and that reached out unwaveringly.

Tobio sighs a world ending sigh.

Shouyou was the one who created their world, it's only fitting that Tobio is the one who destroys it.

In summary I like angst, I want to feel something

Feeling good

AAA, okay uh, This is a BokuAka pop star au. Akaashi sings “feeling good” at a big charity event hosted by Akashi (... yes I am AkaFuri trash and I can and will sneak them in anything and everything I write) while he is singing he walks down a big staircase remembering moments in his relationship with Bokuto, how much they have grown and how much he loves him. I love the concept! But I tried to write smut in the beginning of it and OOF THATS A NO. I actually have the majority of it written but I do want to add more emotions and thoughts (the lazy pool writing) and make it Ao3 friendly because I have all of the lyrics for feeling good in it as “post signs” for what he sings and that’s against their rules. 1 major aspect of this fic is it's all leading up to the point where Akaashi says “I love you” for the first time to Bokuto after finishing the song, on stage, in front of everyone and on every screen broadcasting it.

Punk Noya

I have a love for feral boys, especially feral alternative punk boys (and girls and humans) so this whole idea is that Noya goes to another school for high school, embraces more punk aethsetics, and on the first day of the preliminary tournaments he hears the rumors about a high schooler in a gang, getting up to nasty things, and he decides to confront them. He finds Asahi, rants him out and leaves. The plot then follows canon, at the winter tournament Karasuno faces Dateko, Karasuno loses even more badly because Noya isn’t there. Asahi quits volleyball, BUT Asahi and Noya run into each other at the store and talk leading to friendship which leads to romance. Idk man, I want more punk haikyuu characters, it gives me life. Alt Yamaguchi is my favorite but onwards we go

Strawberry Blonde

!!!! So this is Mitski’s song and to give a vague idea this is a pining Kageyama fic where he tries to pull away from Hinata and that back fires. (I do have more to say but I’ve been typing this for over an hour and I’m getting really tired fjkdaljl) There is one paragraph that I love, so here it is! Kageyama and Hinata are practicing by themselves outside of school and they are playing pepper (its a volleyball warm up practice routine where you partner up with someone pass, set, and spike the ball to each other sesquentially) Hinata goes to spike the ball and for a moment Kageyama sees it,

They are at nationals and they made it to finals. The crowds are screaming, but everything except the court is thrown into shadows. They are at match point of the final set. Everything is at peak intensity and at the center is him. Flying in the air. Orange hair waving with the momentum. His loud take off echoing in the gym. Arm poised for the kill. Eyes sparking with ferocity and passion as he aims. And finally, tipping the world over is the loud slap of his hand, sending the ball to the far side of the court-

This was actually going to be finished and posted in time for Haikyuu season 4 coming out and the manga wrapping up.... clearly I failed my goal fjdaklfj

Sunspot

You don’t know this about me but I love royalty aus, and this is BokuAka Prince Akaashi and Knight Bokuto. This was a short snippet of this grand idea I have for them where they run away from Akaashi’s inherited destiny together. It has potential to be really wide and expansive with the differnet teams as different kingdoms (AGAIN ILLUSION OF CHOICE, that fic really influences me doesn’t it fjdskalj) But this was a short glance at Akaashi taking a break from studying and watching Bokuto and the other knights practice duel. The title comes from the fact that Bokuto is a sunspot in Akaashi’s life, and his day is substantially better basking in his golden shining light.

Merman au

I’m so glad you asked about this and its technically the one I’ve written the most for since it's actually the one I posted on my haikyuu writing side blog. But brief recap, long term it’s a BokuAka little mermaid au but instead of a sea witch it’s an underwater deity who makes “wishes” (it's a deal) with every royal who is born. And Akaashi has a lot of siblings: Ushijima, Oikawa, Suga, Terushima, and Hinata, and its in that order. So I have information on every sibling’s deal, what they wish for, what they give for it, what happens to them in the future, romantically and otherwise. But, this is the one I haven’t updated in over a year, I am working on it!! I’m currently on Koushi’s (suga’s) wish/deal, its just taking forever. If you want to learn more about it I’ll link it in parts 1 2 3 4

BUT I will work on Suga’s part and then Terushima’s and then to the meat of the idea with Akaashi.

If you have made it this far, thanks, you are cool as always. My brain and fingers is ded.

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loafingdragon · 4 years

Note

who are your favorite top ten black clover characters & ships? talk about them!

A question? For me? 🤭 Let’s see if I can collect my thoughts long enough to answer! I’ll put things in no real order under the cut~

Kaiser Granvorka, captain of the Purple Orcas (sing that title. You will not regret it.)

Sometimes less is more. I love his design. I love his chill. I love his love of his wife. I love how he stepped up to clean up his trash squad.

Reve

I LOVE the elves and I really wish that they would get some recognition. Did you know that Phantom Knights just calls Reve and Charla “Dorothy (reincarnated)” and “Charlotte (reincarnated)”? They’re different people!! They have NAMES. Why wouldn’t they use their names?? The elves have so much lost potential!

Anyway, Reve is also very chill. A sleepy queen. I have a LOT of headcanons about her. I also have an au where the elves stay after reincarnation and share their bodies with their hosts, and she and Dorothy are best friends and girlfriends and hang out in glamour world together and I love them.

Nebra and Nozel Silva

Listen,,, she’s so pretty,,, I’m gay,,,

But in all seriousness, she’s my favorite Silva. She’s just sort of a mean, sexy lamp in the manga/anime, but she gets slightly more character development in Phantom Knights, where you see that she’s at least an honorable knight who really cares about getting things done right and even goes above and beyond the call of duty; she’s a lot more mature than Solid, and it even seems that she’s more concerned about capabilities than status at some points (much to Solid’s surprise.) That doesn’t mean she won’t go out of her way to make trouble, which is fun. The wiki also suggests she has confidence issues which is super interesting to me. I’d like to see her grow as a character or get like... even a little bit of attention at all besides backing up Nozel and Solid and getting stabbed. I also think her magic is really cool... would love to see her actually use it sometime.

-coughcough also since she gets so little screen time i can write her how i want in my fics and as far as we know it’s canon coughcough-

There’s more to her than her pretty, pretty face!! She’s probably my #1 favorite.

1) I love powerful fictional royals in general. 2) I love to write fics where he is embarrassed and vulnerable. Silvas deserve a healthy dose of humility whenever you can give it. He is an easy target with his uptight nature and silly hair. I’d also like him to grow as a character.

hehe look at Nebra peeking out of the corner of this pic lol

Fuegoleon, Mereoleona, and Leopold Vermillion

I am still a simp for powerful fictional royalty, okay? Everyone love the Vermillions. There is nothing I could say here that has not already been said, except that I love writing fics where Fuegoleon gets to be embarrassing and oblivious.

Dorothy Unsworth

She’s so cute and the coolest witch. Love her chaotic energy. Love how she knows things she probably shouldn’t. Always shaking it up. Another sleepy queen. I wish I could sleep all the time and still get my work done. Also since I made her my icon on discord, I have been cheerier.

Charla

I’m so deep in headcanons for this one but see my earlier elf complaint with Reve before continuing. Okay, understand? Charlotte is awesome, but the sheer hilarity of Charla and Charlotte sharing a body is what make Charla so, so good. The LAST thing Charla did before going away forever is SNITCH on Charlotte to her crush. This elf loves drama. She would help Charlotte so, so much, but also make her life a living hell. We stan a queen who can’t mind her own business.

Alecdora Sandler

This man is hilarious. He’s a full grown man ready to throw hands with a 15 year old because William gives him attention. He fell in a hole and had to be saved. Yuno let him declare all his love for William and then obliterated him. It’s so funny. It’s what this asshole deserves. A perfect, satisfying character arc and a hilariously embarrassing personality wins him his place among my faves. I love to hate him so much. I’d like to put a picture of his stupid face in a locket to look at and give me strength in any situation. “At least I’m not this man child,” I would say. A smile would tug at my lips as a single tear ran down my face. “Thank you, Alecdora,” I would whisper, holding his image close to my heart.

---

My favorites tend to change around with my moods, so maybe on any other given day, you would find Charlotte Roselei, Paplo Espuma, or Kirsch Vermillion (post royal knights exam humbling) on this list. Charlotte is badass, Paplo cute, and Kirsch is funny with cool magic. Also working with Charlotte on my blog, @lawstaverse makes me fond of her, and I have some fun party boy headcanons for Kirsch and the Coral Peacocks. Mimosa Vermillion is also super duper cute. Honestly, Jien Du could even be on here for being accused of being evil and then going “let me clear things up” and then just doing the super villain laugh- also for having rainbow lights flashing around him when he fights. I can hear carameldansen playing in the distance whenever he’s doing stuff.

Now for my favorite couples!

Fuegoleon Vermillion x Nozel Silva

This one is probably #1! They obviously care for and respect each other and a lot of Nozel’s dialogue gets... debatably romantic. I just really enjoy writing them in sort of ‘boys will be boys’ situations, where they can let their guard down around each other and their friends and be stupid and silly. I also love the idea of Fuegoleon being oblivious about how flirty he comes off. Nozel is pining but more in an annoyed way than a sad way. “No homo, bro,” says Fuegoleon, as he kisses Nozel on the lips and gives him a ring after they eat together and wrestle in the woods. Nozel rolls his eyes into the next solar system and admires his new wedding ring. Currently working on a 150k+ word slowburn bisexual disaster Fuegoleon fic with @thespiralgrimoire that involves this ship and the third on this list, along with tiny snippets of others.

Leopold Vermillion x Asta

Leo saw Asta do something cool and said “I’m done being classist. Actually I’m in love with you,” and never looked back. Every single Royal in Asta’s age group being obsessed with him is very very funny. I picture their relationship is much like Nozel and Fuegoleon’s as described above, but they’re BOTH extremely oblivious bros being romantic bros.

Fuegoleon Vermillion x Nebra Silva

Less my fave but still on here bc it’s fun. Nebra is fun, she can push Fuego out of his comfort zone, and also feel comfortable and confident with him. It’s nice. Ngl, anything that gives Nebra a chance to develop her character, whether it be in a friendly or romantic setting, is good.

Nebra is sexy. Fuegoleon is sexy. Together they are super sexy.

Reve x Dorothy Unsworth

I mentioned this briefly earlier, but they finally get someone who can share their world with them! Dorothy was so happy to have Reve in her head, and didn’t even regret being possessed at all. Also, Reve’s chill personality can balance out Dorothy’s excitable and unpredictable one! I think that them both being in dream world, with the magic power to look into each other’s minds(even more than other elf/human cohabitants) means that they can pretty easily become super duper close. They also have a space where they can physically meet. It’s kind of the best of both worlds.

Zara Ideale x Ina’s Father (did he really not get a name???)

There is no way you can convince me that Ina is not Zara and that man’s child. Look at their eyebrows. Rewatch episode 138. You’re lying to me if you tell me you don’t see it.

Nebra Silva x Zora Ideale

🤷🏽‍♀️ Punk and Prep is a fun combo, I like pitch romance, and the more info we get for Nebra, the more likely I see her willing to go vigilante and have a good time working with/ playing around with Zora. They both like to mess with people, Nebra appreciates a job well done, and Zora likes seeing people improve themselves. Nebra would def need to develop a bit for this to work, but I like to believe that would happen.

#Anonymous #black clover #ask #thank you anon #<3

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holdthosebees · 5 years

Text

Memento Mori

A/N: Here we are again! Reposted w/out the horrifically embarrassing typo, which I’m sure y’all would have forgotten about if I hadn’t just mentioned it. Shoutout to @screechfoxes for reminding me! Anyway I’m still thinking about Mike Crew/Oliver Banks, and I will be until I die. Fic is rated M for mild, nonexplicit sexual content and canonical character death.

It’s storming on the day that Oliver meets Michael Crew, which feels appropriate enough. Later, Oliver jokes that, if Mike were more of a drama queen, he’d think he’d done it on purpose: the lashing rain, the heavy wind, the crack and roll of thunder shivering through the air. A summer storm, out of season. It’s driven away most of Oliver’s usual customers, the alternative kids and the middle aged hippies; he’s rearranging a display of cat-themed tarot cards for the fifth time for want of something better to do when the bell above the door rings.

The vertigo is immediate. Oliver raises his eyebrows as his stomach lurches; it had been a while since something impacted him like this. Ever since point Nemo, physical sensation has been... not numb, but dulled, certainly. Even the anxiety, once a constant companion, doesn’t leave him nauseous the way it used to. Then he registers the smell of ozone, and he sighs.

The man in the doorway is short and narrow, with a friendly, square face and sandy brown hair dripping rainwater onto his forehead. He’s dressed down for the weather, no raincoat or umbrella, and above the collar of his plain blue button-down Oliver can see a branching white scar.

“Good afternoon,” Oliver says, to be polite. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, I’m just browsing,” the man says. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, as if to indicate how uninterested he is in touching anything. “I’ll try not to drip on your stuff.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Oliver says. Then, because he feels a little silly, playing retail associate with a fellow monster, “Sorry--you’re Michael Crew, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael says, with a quirk of a smile. “But please, call me Mike. Who was it that told you about me? Simon? Jude?” He looks at Oliver’s expression, and laughs. “Figures it would be Jude. She’s such a gossip, that one.”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. His conversation with Jude hadn’t been long, but it had left an impression. He’d felt rather like she was trying to recruit him into some sort of alliance, and when he hadn’t been receptive, her demeanor had been... unpleasant. She’d mentioned Michael--Mike--as something of a casual acquaintance, and so he’d expected him to be somewhat like her: so full of gleeful malice that it oozed out the edges.

“Anyway. I figured I’d drop by, see the man who hijacked Harriet’s plans for Point Nemo.” Mike punctuates this with by giving Oliver a slow once-over, up and down. Oliver smiles reflexively. It’s hard to tell whether he’s being threatened or checked out; neither option is as daunting as it might have been, once, but if Mike is planning on starting something he’d rather they not do it in his shop.

“Oh,” Oliver says, “sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly thinking much, at the time.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sea water under the bridge.” Mike says, and smiles, taking a hand out of his pocket to wave the matter away. He has a nice smile, Oliver thinks. Not too wide, not the tooth-baring threat that most of the avatars he’d met seemed fond of. Nice. “To be honest, I don’t have much to do with what the Fairchild’s are up to, these days. I don’t really bother with the macro. Yes, I know, ironic.”

“Seems very reasonable,” Oliver says.

“I thought you’d approve. Your lot doesn’t bother with that sort of thing, right? Everyone dies, after all.” His smile quirks up at the corner; a shared joke between two dead men.

“Memento mori,” Oliver says. He’s beginning to suspect that he actually is being chatted up, a suspicion confirmed when Mike asks him out for a pint a few minutes later. He considers saying no, citing the shop: it’s too early in the day to close up, after all. But there aren’t any customers coming, and Mike’s cute enough, and it’s not like he has many options. And it’s been a very, very long time.

They talk shop a bit over drinks--”Most people just don’t understand how big eternity actually is,” Mike says, all quiet intensity, and Oliver finds himself nodding along--and then, tentative, like he’s actually nervous, Mike asks Oliver over to his flat.

Oliver hesitates. He hasn’t gotten mixed up in any of the inter-avatar politics; he’s had no need to, and an entanglement just seemed like a pointless bit of risk. Besides, he’s always found the delight in death and pain paradoxically distasteful. He loves it, worships it, recognizes it as the truth that underwrites the universe; that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it.

But Mike seems reasonable enough, and he’s handsome in an anemic sort of way. And there’s--something, in his eyes, the tilt of his jaw, an echo of defiant exhaustion, a coldness that Oliver recognizes. He is fairly cold himself, after all.

Going to bed with Michael Crew is--well, it would be overwhelming, if Oliver were capable of being overwhelmed. Touching his skin is vertigo, is free fall, the first crack of thunder when a storm breaks. Oliver licks the scar on his chest and tastes ozone. He can only imagine what Mike feels, touching him. They aren’t human, anymore; their bodies are vessels for something monstrous and huge, beautiful in their horror; but they can still sweat, and bite, and gasp so gently at the shock of sudden pleasure. Afterwards, Oliver lays his head on Mike’s chest and is relieved when he doesn’t feel a heartbeat.

It becomes almost a regular thing. They don’t date. They don’t have a relationship. The part of themselves that could be given to another person was already dedicated to something else; Mike will never look at anyone the way he looks up at the night sky, and Oliver will never feel as sadly tender about anything as he does when he sees the soon-to-be-dead walk past. The secret that Mike keeps is that the world is very big; the secret Oliver keeps is that your experience of it will be small. The space they make fits somewhere in-between.

The truce that they keep between them is simple. Mike comes by the store every few months or so. They make smalltalk, discuss the state of the powers, have sex sometimes. It’s nice. Mike, it turns out, is just as much of a homebody as Oliver; he lets the silences between them stretch on, doesn’t both texting ahead, doesn’t make demands of Oliver’s time. This is, of course, ideal. It is hard to care about investing in another person when you keep in the center of your heart and in your bones the knowledge that they, too, will die.

But still. It’s nice. One evening Mike swings by the store just before closing, and Oliver looks at his grey eyes and narrow shoulders and feels--something. It isn’t joy, and it isn’t exactly lust, and it’s certainly not love--Oliver does remember what it was like to be in love, although the memory feels like a reflection in water, murky and warped and far away. But something unclenches, somewhere in his chest, and he smiles without thinking when he says hello.

“Hey,” Mike says. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all kinds of windblown directions. It suits him. “I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Oliver says. Mike isn’t the gift-giving type; they aren’t exactly in a gift-giving business. Mike nods, rooting through the pockets of his faded grey trousers. What he pulls out looks at first like a lump of pale rock, but Oliver can feel the cold emanating from it, familiar and soft. He holds out his hand, and Mike presses the lump into it.

A chunk of bone, worn smooth, the pockmarks of its structure exposed all along one side. A piece from the spine of a sea creature long extinct. Oliver can feel the layers of dead things condensed on the ocean floor, the sediment of thousands of years of endings. It was, not the last of its species, but second to last. With it died the last chance they had.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the dark ocean stretching out forever.

“Thank you,” he says. He rolls the bone back and forth, savoring it. “It’s--very nice.”

“You’re welcome,” Mike says. He sounds uneasy. He puts his hands back in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t seem self conscious, not exactly, but--this isn’t something that they do, and they both know it. Still, Oliver smiles as he tucks the bone into the pocket of his work slacks, and after a moment, Michael relaxes again.

“Drop by my place, yeah?” he says. “When you’re done closing?”

Oliver doesn’t ask why he doesn’t want to linger. When Mike opens the shop door the is a rush of wind strong enough to tug at the covers of the paperbacks on display. Then the door shuts and the bell rings, and Oliver is left in stillness.

He rings up his last customer, a middle-aged woman buying a crystal pyramid and a book on chakra manipulation. There is a black tendril wrapped around her middle, and Oliver allows himself a moment to feel the soft, cold whisper of his god. It feels good. He knows, intellectually, that he might have felt guilty about that, once.

He closes up, and goes to Mike’s flat. Mike has a cup of tea and some takeaway already waiting for him. While they eat Mike tells him, in dreamy snippets, about his trip to the ocean. The sea, he said, that was big, but the sky--the perfect black, stretching on forever, unmarred by light pollution, the incredible, indifferent distance of the stars--that was something else. He closes his eyes while he speaks, savoring the memory. Oliver doesn’t ask what happened to the sailors he was with. He doesn’t have to. All the avatars serve the End, in their own ways.

They go to bed. When Mike removes his shirt Oliver sees a new scar, a patch of raw red skin in the shape of a handprint on his shoulder. Mike’s mouth twists when he notices Oliver looking.

“Had a bit of a disagreement with Jude Perry,” he says, wry. Then he frames Oliver’s face in his hands and kisses him, all sudden intent, and Oliver feels the vertigo again, twisting with arousal in the pit of his stomach. He smiles.

Afterwards, they lie together, Mike’s head on Oliver’s chest, Oliver’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair. This is another thing they don’t usually do, the cuddling. Mike’s not a cuddly person, just like he’s not a clingy person, or a gift giving person, or--arguably--a person at all. Oliver finds himself remember the last time he did this. Years and years ago. In bed with Graham, who he didn’t let himself think about for so long that it became an unconscious habit to repress.

But his memories are hazy and confused, another life, full of feelings that no longer fit in his body. And there are details that he can’t line up: what color was Graham’s hair? His eyes? It’s all fading away, now, tangling and strange, like an old movie in a foreign language. Oliver gives up. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, listening to the quiet rush of Mike’s breathing.

He dreams. In his dreams he is in the middle of the ocean, water like black glass stretching out in all directions. Forever. And above it the sky, the black and endless sky, full of cold and distant stars.

The water rolls. A huge wave, a wall: the back of some great creature, larger than a ship, than a whale, its bulk enough to change the entire landscape without breaking the surface. Oliver sees miles of barnacle-ridden skin, a single sunken eye. And around it, familiar as breathing: the tendrils of death, black and fleshy, like the arms of a kraken drawing it down. The behemoth groans, and the world shakes.

Oliver wakes up. At first he thinks he is still sleeping: he smells salt, and can feel the press of one of the death-tendrils against his hand, fleshy and cold. But no. He is awake, in Mike Crew’s flat. The smell is Mike’s hair; he hasn’t been able to wash the sea off of him, yet. And the touch--

There is a tendril around Mike’s neck.

There is nothing else to do. Oliver presses his mouth to the top of Mike’s head, closes his eyes. Then he slides carefully out of bed and begins to dress. Mike won’t wonder why he left. He won’t notice anything amiss, not until tomorrow, maybe, or the day after that. However many days it takes. Oliver pulls on his trousers and feels the lump of bone press against his hip. He does up the buttons on his shirt, pulls on his coat. It is raining. A soft, light rain, streaking down the window in the grey dawn.

He stops at the doorway, looks back at Mike’s small frame curled up under the comforter. One hand grasping at the pillow.

“Rest well,” Oliver whispers. Then he turns, and closes the door behind him.

#my fic #tma #the magnus archives #Oliver Banks #Mike Crew #OM #I Bet You Thought You'd Seen The Last Of Me #this will go on Ao3 One Day I promise

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margoshansons · 5 years

Text

The Killing Kind (17/17)

Part Seventeen. 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

MASTERLIST

Final word count: 24.8k

Summary: The kids escape from the trip of hell and finally find some peace back home.

Warnings: Anger issues. Threats.

Notes: Man so this is it. This is the end and final chapter of this amazing series. Thank you all so much for commenting and liking and reblogging. Please remember that while she and Peter are the main ship, this is Y/N’s story. Without further ado, here is the final chapter of the Killing Kind. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Y/N ignored her limp wrist as she made her way to the hotel Mr. Harrington had decided to book last second. She didn’t want to think about how her mother might not be human. She didn’t want to think about her dad locked up in a high profile prison, legally dead to the rest of the world. She didn’t want to think about the fact that the board at her dad’s failing company needed her as the next CEO.

She just wanted to collapse onto a fluffy bed and sleep off the pain that spun through her body.

“Thank god you’re alright!” MJ’s body crashed into hers, the extra momentum sending her spinning. Y/N pulled away, meeting her friend’s red eyes. “I was so worried I would never see you again.”

Y/N stood there, staring at MJ. She was alive. She was here. She was safe. She was real. Y/N pulled her back in for a hug, tears escaping involuntarily.

“Oh my god you’re real” She whispered, voice breaking. “You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe.”

MJ sighed, a smile crawling across her face in relief. “I was worried you would leave me alone with that sweaty guy forever.”

The pair chuckled, pulling away to share a wide smile, tears mirroring each other on both girl’s cheeks.

“Told you I’d be back” Y/N joked, laughter exploding from her chest. Ned gave her a small pat on her shoulder, reassurance. But she didn’t see the person she was worried about most. “Where’s Peter?”

Ned piped up with the answer, “He’s in his room. May called him, wanted to make sure he was okay after everything.”

Y/N nodded, making her way up the stairs.

“Y/N wait!” MJ called, racing up after her. “I uh, I wanted to say that uh,”

Y/N smirked at her attempt to be more vulnerable.

“I’m really grateful to have you as a friend,” MJ said, before turning to head toward her room, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks.

Y/N let out a breath, and she knocked on Peter’s door. The beaten-up boy stood there, phone in hand, EDITH on his face.

“Hey” He breathed.

“Hey” Y/N replied. “Can I come in?” Peter nodded his head, stuttering out an invitation, hastily tidying up what little belongings he had left after the explosion. They stood there, hormones raging as the two tried to figure out their feelings internally.

They had kissed on the plane.

He had given her a necklace. But what did it mean?

“Peter–” She was cut off with a quick kiss. Soft and awkward.

“That uh, that necklace means what you think it means,” Peter confessed bashfully.

She fingered the small charm, placing a kiss near the corner of his mouth before wrapping her arms around him. They stayed that way the rest of the night, snuggling together on the bed, their shared trauma keeping them both awake, but the comfort of their embrace allowing them to fall asleep.

***

The plane ride back was going to be long if the way Betty and Flash were staring at her was any indication. She didn’t plan on accidentally revealing her powers to the two, but she seriously had no idea that they were going to be there with MJ and Ned.

“Everything okay?” Peter’s voice asked.

Y/N stared at her now-boyfriend, grabbing his hand in earnest, plastering a smile on her face. Pretending like her dad wasn’t still alive. Pretending that SHIELD hadn’t just confirmed that everything her father had said was true after testing her DNA for any traces of Aliens.

They couldn’t even pinpoint where she was from. Just that her energy signature matched Thor’s.

“Yeah,” She lied, “Everything’s fine.”

She leaned into Peter’s shoulder, her eye-catching MJ shuffling in next to Mr. Harrington and the other chaperone who had been converted to witchcraft over the course of the trip.

“I uh, I have to do something,” Y/N told Peter, who saw where her eyes were.

“Go ahead,” Peter encouraged, “I’ll uh, I’ll take one for the team.”

Y/N smiled widely, pecking Peter’s cheek while she approached Mr. Harrington.

“Um, Mr. Harrington?” She nervously caught her teacher’s attention.

“Y/N!” He replied, “Is everything okay?”

She shared an apologetic look with Peter. “Actually no, I think Peter’s perfume allergies are acting up around me and I was wondering if I could sit next to MJ”

“Say no more” Harrington stood up immediately, taking Y/N’s former seat, allowing the girl to sit next to her best friend.

“Trouble in paradise?” MJ asked, pulling her earbuds out.

Y/N smirked, “Actually, I just can’t stand him. Needed an excuse to get out of there” She joked, grateful this trip hadn’t ruined the one relationship that mattered to her.

MJ chuckled at the sarcastic humor, offering her dual port to the girl as a peace offering. Y/N took it.

“So which true-crime documentary do you wanna watch today?” MJ asked, scrolling through the movie options.”We got Gacey, Lizzie Borden, Ted Bundy,”

“Oh Bundy for sure” Y/N replied, leaning into the taller girl’s shoulder. “His whole case just proves why assholes shouldn’t be allowed in our legal system.”

MJ clicked on the movie and the two girls snuggled in as the plane took off.

“Hey” MJ nudged her friend’s shoulder, Y/N perked up.”Do you think Peter would be able to give me a ride one of these days?”

Y/N shoved her best friend’s shoulder playfully, the two giggling as they made their way home.

Mid Credits

“Hey MJ!” Peter called, meeting the girl in her neighborhood. “Y/N told me you wanted a ride?” They swung from the highest buildings in New York, MJ’s screams as she free fell ringing through the atmosphere, Peter almost sure that THor could hear her back on Asgard.

They landed in Times Square, MJ’s hair frazzled and her eyes wide in fear.

“Yeah, that settles it” She announced, “I am never doing that again.”

Peter chuckled involuntarily at the blushing teen, her hair wild and frizzy like Y/N’s got every time they went for a swing.

“Where is Y/N?” MJ asked, “I thought she was meeting us here for coffee”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck at the question. “She’s uh, she’s dealing with her dad’s stuff.”

The relationship between the two of them was still a bit of a sore spot between Y/N and Peter, especially since Mysterio tried to kill him only a few days ago. It helped that his girlfriend felt the same way he did about Mysterio, but the relation was still there. She still had to go to the funeral. She was still a part of that fucked up family.

His reverie was broken by the screen lighting up behind him. He turned around to see Quentin Beck’s face.

“I managed to send the elemental back through the dimensional rift but I don’t think I’ll get off this bridge alive” Beck rambled, “Spiderman attacked me for some reason, he–he has an army of weaponized drones, Stark Technology”

Peter shared a look with MJ, wishing Y/N was here instead to soothe his rising nerves.

“He’s saying he’s the one who’s going to be the next Iron Man, no one else” Beck continued, before the video cut to a clearly altered video snippet.

“Are you sure you want to commence the drone attack?” EDITH”s clean voice came in over the speakers, “There will be significant casualties”

“Do It” Peter’s own voice startled him. “Execute them all”

No, no, no, no, no. That was taken out of context. All of it was!

“There you have it folks” J Jonah Jameson spat, “Undeniable proof that Spiderman was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio. An interdimensional warrior sent to protect our planet along with his daughter, who has now become an orphan thanks to this menace.”

Peter shook his head. Please let Y/N refute this, let her take care of this.

“But that’s not all folks, brace yourselves you may want to sit down.”

Peter watched as Mysterio released the most valuable information of Peter’s. He watched as Mysterio tore his life apart with six words.

“Spiderman’s real name is Peter Parker!”

His picture was posted all across the square, everyone knew who he was. Everyone.

“We have an exclusive interview with Y/N Beck aka Stasis commenting on her father’s death and her relation to the masked menace.” Jameson continued.

Peter watched as Y/N stood behind a podium, lawyers on her left, publicist on her right. Her black mourning dress was covered by a green velvet jacket, but when Peter squinted, he saw the sunflower adorning her neck and he knew that she was on his side.

“My father loved creating illusions” Y/N admitted, addressing the crowds of reporters. “He loved them so much he somehow managed to create the biggest one after his death. Spiderman did not kill my father, in fact, he is the only reason I lived through that traumatic experience. My father’s death was caused by his own carelessness, and while I want someone to blame more than anyone, Spiderman is not that person. My father’s last words were about how people want to believe. So let’s believe. This child is not a menace, nor is he the hero you assume he is. Spiderman has saved our lives countless times, let’s believe in him rather than videos that can be easily doctored, thank you”

As she left reporters began to hound her once again, her publicist shooing them away while Peter watched his life and his girlfriend’s life fall apart.

Post Credits

The prison stank of sweat and testosterone but that didn’t deter Quentin as he was escorted from his solitary cell to the visiting room. His orange jumpsuit was hideous and hardly comfortable, but he could ignore all of that.

After six months, he was finally going to see his daughter again.

She looked older. Like somehow she had aged several years in his absence. Maybe she was miserable without her dad. Maybe she was here to help him with his case. Maybe she was here to bail him out.

Her sunken eyes hardened at the sight of him, his smile never leaving his face as he gazed upon the girl that was his light, his life, the only reason he never went mad in this dull excuse for a secure prison.

“New Jacket?” Quentin asked pointing toward the teal that enwrapped her shoulders.

‘I know what you did Dad” was all Y/N said in response. “I know what you did to Peter”

Quentin went silent at the boy’s name.

He deserved it. He had ruined everything. He deserved to have his life torn apart like Quentin’s was.

“It’s not just his life that has been ruined” Y/N urged, eyebrows creasing, “I have reporters daily knocking on our doors, asking all about you and Spiderman.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen honey” Quentin leaned forward to grab her hand. She ripped it out again.

“Don’t call me that” Y/N spat. “You’ve interfered in my life long enough. Leave my friends alone or I will come in here and kill you myself.”

He scoffed. “You don’t have it in you. You said it yourself, You’ll never be like me. You can’t kill me”

His throat constricted, the blue energy surrounding his neck, squeezing his breath from his lungs.

“You forget,” Y/N threatened, anger lacing her eyes, “I inherited your temper. And we’re surrounded by SHIELD agents who wouldn’t care if I stole every last breath from you. So leave my friends alone, because love is like any other emotion daddy,” She taunted.

“It. Fades.”

He regained his air back, breathing returning to his lungs like a drug addict to heroin.

“Do we have an understanding?” Something dark swirled in the eyes of the girl he had raised. Something he had created.

He nodded, the guards escorting him back to his cell, a new cellmate waiting for him.

“Hey, buddy” The grey-haired man offered his hand, “Adrian Toomes, nice to meet you.”

***

Y/N scanned the papers scattered across the table in her father’s old apartment. She officially got it in the ‘will’. It was hers now. Paid for and a home she can build for herself instead of the old musty church she had found months ago.

She and her lawyers were currently working with Stark Industries to buildup her father’s company once again. It was all her idea. A great publicity stunt to show how much her father had respected the late hero, regardless of their rocky past. Unfortunately, that included hiring her as CEO, as well as repairing the shitshow that was their relationship with Spiderman.

Her chest constricted when she thought of Peter. Forced into hiding. Unable to even go to school. The last she had heard from him he was somewhere in Africa. Happy assured her that he was safe. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss him and Aunt May.

She really only had MJ and Ned now. And while Flash was treating her better, she really only wanted Peter with her.

The wind fluttered behind her and she sighed, upset at MJ for leaving the window open again. As she turned around her eyes met green.

A slender woman stood in her living room, dressed head to toe in a green dress that looked like it belonged at a gala instead of a run-down apartment in New York City.

“Who the hell are you?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms in an attempt to look intimidating.

“The names Lorelei sweetpea” The woman’s silky voice uttered, taking in every bit of the teen before her. “But you can call me Mum.”

AHHHH! That’s it! Thank you all so much for your kind comments and follows and likes and reblogs. This was my first time trying something like this and I loved it! I hoped you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Special thanks to:

@petersblake @editsbyjenny @kaylinfayezink @leilei-draws and @santa-feigh for being there since the beginning and commenting on almost every single post, reblogging always, and recommending me.

And a very special thanks to:

@thatsuperherosidekick for always liking my posts and never failing to enter my ask box and freak out with me about this story and everything about it.

For everyone who commented, liked, reblogged, or recommended, thank you so much and for everyone tagged, thank you. You guys kept me writing this and I’m so grateful to all of you. Hugs and kisses.

TAG LIST: CLOSED

@21bruhs @maiabiovillage @spidey-holland7 @petersblake @queen-destenie @thewinchesterchronicles @filthydeatheaters

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My next series will be a Steve Harrington x reader, but that won’t be out for a little while. If you want to be tagged in that, or if you want to request more Marvel imagines, please send me an ask or let me know! Once again, thank you all so much for your support. I couldn’t have done this without you guys.

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shireness-says · 5 years

Text

How can I forget your love?

Summary: Anne is used to not being noticed - except... (A Persuasion modern AU snippet) ~1.1K. Rated T. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Happy birthday, @profdanglaisstuff! I hope you have a great one. Here’s a little snippet of that Persuasion AU I keep swearing I’ll write - I hope it lives up to even half of what we’ve discussed! Rated T for suggestions that someones did Something at some point. Title taken from the Regina Spektor song “How”, which conveniently came up on shuffle while I was brainstorming.

For those of you who usually read my stuff, be aware - this is NOT a CS fic. This is a Modern AU of Persuasion, as in Jane Austen. I’ll be thrilled if you read it, but just know that going in - you won’t see my usual characters!

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services and @welllpthisishappening and @ohmightydevviepuu for their encouragement. Also tagging @thisonesatellite and @thejollyroger-writer, who I know have expressed interest.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

It’s Anne’s least favorite kind of meeting - the kind that’s advertised as a fun “lunch and learn lecture”, but in actuality is a mandatory presentation of the latest employee handbook updates, accompanied by dining hall sandwiches even the students avoid. She attends because she has to, but her attention is anywhere but on the projector screen as she and other department members settle into the auditorium seats.

That’s how she spots Frederick, of course. Not that it’d be easy to miss him; he leans against the stage, chatting with some of the other journalism professors, smack in the middle of everyone’s line of sight. He looks carefree and easy, with his plaid and dark jeans and leather boots and the perfectly coiffed hair he must have perfected after they ended things. He looks like a man of the world, and Anne knows that’s the truth. Nowadays, women giggle and whisper and smile flirtatiously when he passes by in a way they never did when he’d been a student. There’s no denying that the past eight years have been kind to him, as Anne has faded into a dull shadow of herself and the person she might have been. In any room they both occupy, she’s almost painfully aware of his presence, drawn to him after all this time in a way she can’t resist. It takes a concentrated effort not to track his every movement with her eyes, and she’s not always certain she succeeds. After all this time, it’s still him - always him, the only man to lay claim upon her heart, to make her think that maybe her silly romantic dreams were within the realm of possibility. But that was 8 years ago; the time for dreams is over, especially when she’s found herself a more content reality than she most likely deserves. It’s time to learn to live with her hopeless feelings.

If only she could stop noticing him all the time.

(He doesn’t notice her, of course, though that may be on purpose than by chance. In any room they share, he refuses to engage her in conversation, barely deigns to meet her eyes.)

(After everything she did, the way she broke them, she can’t blame him.)

Anne is rather used to passing unnoticed in most situations. It’s nothing new, after all; in a family of loud personalities, it’s all she’s ever known. It’s useful, even, when she would rather work than get sucked into some inter-departmental drama or avoid passing judgement on whatever her father has decided is the latest crisis. It’s all about what you become used to after all, and Anne has always occupied the merest edge of other people’s sight, the dimmest corner of their mind.

Except —

Frederick has a way of looking at her that never fails to unsettle Anne - likely because he’s looking at her, not around her, not at everything and everyone else in her vicinity. Just her. Like she’s worth seeing, worth noticing, worth cherishing.

“I still don’t understand it, sometimes,” she murmurs. It’s the wrong time, of course; timing has never been her strong suit, anyways, and this isn’t exactly pillow talk, especially when Fred is still laying next to her all lovely and naked and mussed, tracing along her face with the most gentle of fingers. That’s the thing that prompts her poorly chosen conversation, however - the way he treats her like she’s unbearably precious, the most wondrous thing he’s ever encountered. She’s never had anyone do that before.

(She almost thinks she could get used to it, given enough practice. Right now, it feels like they have all the time in the world.)

“What’s that, Annie?” He’s the only one who calls her that, and she loves it.

“What a guy like you could possibly see in me.”

“Oh, baby, you can’t think like that,” he chides gently, moving to stroke along her arm and draw her hand above where his heart beats steadily. “You’re you.”

“Be serious, Frederick,” she chides right back, though the sentiment makes her heart warm. “I am perfectly well aware that absolutely no one noticed me before you.” Including my own family she doesn’t say, though she knows it sits unspoken between them. Fred has opinions about her family and how they treat her, Anne knows, few of them good. “I think it’s well within my rights to want to know why you did.”

To his credit, Frederick gives the matter serious thought when she asks. He always does. “I didn’t at first,” he finally says. “You were just another girl I barely recognized in class. You didn’t talk much either, but when you did… I could tell it was because you had something to say. Your discussion points always made me think about things in a new way. After that… I just started paying attention, I suppose. Suddenly I could see everything about you, and I thought you were beautiful. Every bit of you, from the way you look to the way you think.”

He says it so matter of factly, like it should be obvious, like it shouldn’t send her pulse fluttering like a thousand butterfly wings as he fiddles with her fingertips. But to Anne, it’s astounding. It’s been nearly a year now, and she’s still not used to the way he sees her, the way he makes her feel.

“I’m so lucky,” she whispers. There’s a feeling in the air somehow like if she say it any louder, the happy bubble they’re in will burst and this will all just be a beautiful dream. This may just be a little loft apartment, but it feels like heaven, even with dishes in the sink and Frederick’s Converse left haphazardly by the couch. Paradise can be imperfect, as long as you’re living it with the right person.

“Why?” he asks. “It’s nothing more than you deserve.”

“Because you love me,” Anne replies simply. “And I love you.”

“Always and forever, Annie,” he promises. “I’ll never stop noticing all the little things.”

She thinks he means it, too, and tries to hold onto that as tightly as she can in case —

“Anne, are you alright?” Sophie’s voice cuts through the memory. “You seemed far away for a few minutes there. Are you feeling well?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Sophie, thank you for your concern.” At least as fine as she can be at a faculty luncheon, 8 years later, with Frederick across the room doing his best to ignore her and still looking impossibly handsome. “I just got a bit lost thinking about all the things I need to get done this afternoon.”

“I know, these things are so horribly boring,” Sophie confides. “It’ll be over soon enough, and you can go back to your office. Maybe you can even sneak out at the end - I’m sure no one would notice.”

And Anne unerringly knows that’s true.

#my writing #persuasion #persuasion ff #anne elliot x frederick wentworth #How can I forget your love?

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 5 years

Note

I can’t wait for your Titanic fic!!! I’m literally so excited! Is there any chance we can get another small snippet pls?

Thank you!!! I’m so excited about everyone’s excitement!

“Good God.” Alex’s voice makes any of that harmony fall to pieces. “Not those finger paintings again.”

Keeping his eyes trained on the painting, Bucky takes it away from the crate to test in various places around the room. See where it’ll look best. Brock has entered the room now, with Alex’s safe. He does insist on carting it around everywhere they go. A constant reminder of his fortune. As if he’d suddenly forget if not for the physical presence of wealth.

“The difference between Alex’s taste in art and mine is that I have some.” The words taste delicious coming off his tongue. He says them as though in jest when, really, they’re anything but. “They’re fascinating. Like… stepping into a dream.”

Though Alex doesn’t undignify himself by snorting, Bucky’s sure that’s something he’d do if he wasn’t so obsessed with keeping his appearance as a gentleman intact.

“Nothing more than noise on canvas,” he says. “I’ve no idea what you see in such nonsense.”

That’s probably because he can’t see past the nose on his face, but Bucky doesn’t dare make such a comment.

“Above the fireplace, maybe?”

Pulled out of his thoughts by this, Bucky shakes his head, taking him a moment to realize that Darcy’s just suggested a place for the painting to go. Funny, Bucky probably would have picked that spot as well. It can be seen from every spot in the room and from each of those spots, Bucky will be able to view it from a different angle. With Darcy’s help, they hang it -- Bucky and Darcy are right, it looks splendid there, and with the fire’s glow it may look hauntingly beautiful

Darcy also steps back to admire it with a soft smile on her lips.

“There’s sense,” she says, “but no logic.”

Glad there’s another person here who shares the same heart he has. Makes him feel a little less alone.

“I thought exactly the same thing.”

“What’s the artist’s name?”

“Um.” Bucky thinks about it. “...Something Picasso?”

Laughter strikes the room. Fast and hard. A bolt of lightning that comes in so unexpectedly it makes everyone jump. A laugh, Bucky thinks, shouldn’t sound so irksome. But Alex’s laugh always sends a chill throughout his body.

“Something Picasso.” He sniggers. “He won’t amount to anything. Trust me. Good thing they were cheap,” he says to Brock. “Talk about a waste of money.”

Bucky can hear what Alex doesn’t come out and say. A waste of his money. Bucky should be grateful that he’d been willing to waste the money on him.

Rather than dwell on such matters, Bucky goes pick another painting to hang. This time, he takes out the Degas and immediately knows where this one should go.

“The bedroom,” he says, wanting the soft, sweet calmness of this one in there with him. “Over here.”

He places it upon the vanity and takes a step back to admire it. There’s a smile on Bucky’s face, one he didn’t even know he still had in him. When he catches it in the mirror, he hardly recognizes himself. His hair is no longer neat and stylish. He’s still clean-shaven but he’s paler than usual. He can see the start of dark circles under his eyes. They might not be noticeable to others, but he sees them. Then again, most people aren’t paying much attention to him these days.

“It smells so brand new,” Darcy says, “doesn’t it?”

She’s laying fresh towels out for him, smiling. Bucky turns to face her, unsure what she means by that.

“Excuse me?”

Finding himself a bit warm, Bucky lifts his wrist up to her. Without thinking. He’s just so used to being waited on in such ways that it’s second nature. Darcy is already pulling at the threads to loosen his sleeve when he realizes what he’s done.

“It’s almost like it’s been built up just for us,” she explains as she works on Bucky’s sleeve, finishing with the first by rolling it up to his elbow and then immediately waiting for the next. Bucky lifts it and she starts. “It’s exciting. Just thinking about crawling between the sheets tonight… I’ll be the first.”

Her enthusiasm is simply delightful; it’s impossible not to laugh along with her. Bucky wishes to hold onto this feeling forever. Not to have it chased away by the demons following him everywhere.

“When I crawl between the sheets, I’ll still be the first.”

Alex, inviting himself in of course, champagne flute held lightly in his hand, smirks at his remark. A remark clearly pointed at Bucky. Not the first time he’s said such a thing. He’s made quite a few implications of consummating their relationship. So far, Bucky’s managed to keep him satisfied with kisses and light touching. Reminding him that they’re not yet married and talks of scandals if anyone ever found out have kept him at bay for anything more than that.

Time is running out, though, and soon enough, Bucky will be left with no choice. Alex will get his consummation whether Bucky likes it or not.

The comment must make Darcy uncomfortable. It might be Alex in general, but, to be honest, Bucky doesn’t think so. Alex wears a smile. Cool and easy. The same smile that made Bucky think he could trust him. He’s learned since how fake that smile is. How the warmth of it only hides the ice behind it.

Alex, jerking his head toward the sitting room, barks to Darcy, “Go find something to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Darcy dips her head. “If you need anything, Bucky, just let me know.”

As soon as they’re alone, Alex scoffs. Already, Bucky knows what he’s going to complain about. He cringes, waiting for it.

“Tell me again,” he says, “what did your parents name you?”

The question, even knowing it’d be asked, sends ice tumbling down Bucky’s spine. He attempts at keeping the eye contact but has to break it. That unyielding confidence -- the idea that he owns the room and everything and everyone in it -- is too overwhelming.

“James,” Bucky whispers. “My name is James.”

“Then why must you insist on making me remind you of that all the time?”

“Because,” Bucky grumbles. “My name is Bucky, too.”

“No.” Alex crosses the room and pokes Bucky’s nose. “That’s a child’s name and I am not marrying a child. I’m marrying a grown man whose name is James.”

Bucky bites his lip to keep it from trembling. This is just one more thing he’s losing. He never thought someone could take his identity from him, but, apparently, he was wrong.

He’s been Bucky for as long as he can remember. No one ever called it a baby’s name until Alex came along. Not his friends. Not his sister. Not either of his parents. In fact, his parents were the ones who gave him the nickname to begin with. They told him it was special. A name just for him and their family. All he knows who to be is Bucky. Bucky is who he’s always been. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else.

“Just imagine,” Alex goes on, his tone cheerful as though he’s only teasing when he’s really about to belittle Bucky now. ��Let me introduce you to my husband, Bucky.” He barks an amused laugh. “How horribly humiliating that would be.”

And there’s nothing worse than losing face in front of his dreadful colleagues. Bucky can already imagine it. Alex and his powerful friends having a good laugh at Bucky’s expense. Over a simple thing as his name. A name he’s no longer permitted to have.

#anon love #kellsreplies #stucky #titanic #titanic au #thank you!#the kindness of strangers #Anonymous

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trippydooda · 5 years

Text

another snippet of the Tangled AU thing, i’ll post a link for its AO3 page soon

Pairing: Kim Seokjin/Jeon Jungkook

Word Count: 2,291

Rating: T

Yoongi’s pub had quickly become a safe haven for the less than endowed in society, and that’s exactly where Jungkook is sitting at present, grinning wildly at a not grinning Yoongi behind the counter.

“One of these days you’ll rot in a cell forever,” Yoongi tells him, entirely fake intent behind the words.

Jungkook smiles against the rim of his mug and drinks down. “Hasn’t happened yet,” he counters.

“I wait with bated breath for when it does,” Yoongi retorts, swiftly turning on his heel.

Swirling around on his stool, Jungkook watches the pub with a strong familiarity and comfort of home. In one corner someone is playing an aggressive game of chess, in another group of people (including Taehyung, of course) are playing a game of poker. Taehyung cheats, everyone knows, but everyone is also too afraid to say anything about lest they invoke the wrath of Jimin, who when Jungkook looks is sprawled across a chair, no doubt trying to sleep. A wasted effort to be sure.

The only two who were missing was Namjoon and Hoseok, who had been out running errands since their faces weren’t as hated as the Terrible Trio. The two of them had made a silent agreement to wear masks whenever they did business with the Trio, and it would have been a good idea all around if it wasn’t already miserably too late for the other three to even try. Besides, Hoseok took more enjoyment enacting acts of violence against the castle guard and having them not have any clue who was doing it.

Jungkook sits back, resting an elbow on the edge of the bar. He’s smiling, Yoongi makes some rude remark about keeping his bar clean thank you, but Jungkook just laughs under his breath.

This was his home.

— — — — — — —

Kim Seokjin doesn’t know what home means.

He reads books on it every day, the same ones he has read hundreds of times, and can only conclude where he is trapped is the closest thing to “home”. And that was the reality, Seokjin was trapped in this tower and doesn’t even know what it is to feel the grass between his toes. He has no idea what a breath of fresh air is truly like, and can only imagine it through dreams and hopes of one day being free.

His keeper is Yi Jihu, a younger man but still older than him who had found him as an infant, helpless and alone. Jihu is a nice man, Seokjin thinks, but has told him the horrors of the word below and although he doesn’t want to believe them, he has no point of reference to counter otherwise. It was his hair, he’s always told, people want his hair for intentions laced with malice. Seokjin tugs at his golden shoulder length hair, playing with it in between his fingers, and finds he resents it.

One night he had tried to cut it, but Jihu had found him and ripped the scissors from his hair and bursting into an anger Seokjin had never seen before. His face turned red and the veins in his eyes popped as he shrieked and screamed at Seokjin, saying he would let him starve if he dared to cut his hair. He hasn’t questioned it since, hasn’t even bothered to try, knowing Jihu watches him constantly under the guise of concern, but Seokjin knows there’s something more sinister hidden underneath.

It’s magic, Jihu had told him the first night he experienced it. Seokjin had been singing mindlessly, letting tunes flow off his tongue and not even knowing the words he sang. It was in the midst of this his brilliant golden hair had started to glow wildly, emitting flecks of what looked like stardust to him in abundance. Jihu had walked in then, holding it in his hands with the look of what Seokjin thought was like how mother looks at her child. He had brushed his cheek against it and sighed deeply, thanking Seokjin for finally giving him what he was hoping for all these years. Seokjin didn’t get it at the time, still doesn’t as much, but it made Jihu happy so it made Seokjin happy.

Seokjin isn’t happy though. At first he was, always happy to be around his books and his small sugar glider (who he named Cane as a pun to himself), and thought he never needed anything else. Anyone else. He had Jihu, he had food and a home, and there was nothing else he was missing. It was only when he first noticed the stars that he had seen the error in his ways.

Up in the sky where Seokjin can’t reach, where he can’t even begin to understand the complexity of, sat balls of super heated light that looked down on him. He watches them every night until he falls asleep at the window, watches them while he sings tunes to no one, and watches them like they’re his salvation.

Kim Seokjin doesn’t know what home is, but when he looks at the stars he thinks he’s getting somewhat closer.

— — — — — — —

“This is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever proposed,” Namjoon says, “And that’s including robbing the brothel that was, if I need to remind you, full of palace soldiers.”

Jungkook shrugs and grins. “It was funny seeing them realise we had the blackmail power to use against them.”

“That’s true,” Taehyung pipes from the chair.

Sighing, Namjoon runs a hand down his face. The pub had recently closed, and it was just the six of them sitting around trying to figure out how to make some quick cash. Boring breaking and entering had lost its luster, and it never made much money. You always had to do multiple robberies, and that made it easier to be caught and it just wasn’t fun anymore. Jungkook liked to raid, and come back with more than a leather cap and a few gold coins. He wanted bigger, badder, and harder to get.

Enter his master plan to steal the crown that belonged to the “long lost” prince, if you believed the stories.

“We have Hoseok to lead us around and find the best way in,” Jungkook reasons when Namjoon continues to stare at him.

Hoseok squeaks, “That’s not a lot of pressure though.”

Jungkook shrugs again. “I’m just saying, imagine how rich we would be if we had that thing.” He smirks, showing a toothy smile, “We’d have the kingdom wrapped around our fingers.”

“You seem to be forgetting the part where you could get executed,” Namjoon grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not, I swear,” Jungkook pouts, “Besides it wouldn’t even be on you if I died, it would totally be on Taehyung,” he finishes just as Taehying yells an indignant, “Hey!” And Jungkook is being hit in the shoulder by a blunt butter knife.

The thing was, Jungkook harbours more than a little animosity towards the king and queen. Ever since he could wrap his head around thoughts beyond he was hungry and pillows were comfy, he had seen his fair share of turmoil surrounding the monarchy. It didn’t care about its citizens really, it only cared about the rich ones. They would try to guilt the citizens by saying the king and queen still mourn their lost son, but if Jungkook can get over his dead parents he thinks the goddamn leaders of a nation can get over their son.

It’s because of this that he wants to steal the crown. He wants to covet it and dangle it above the kingdom’s head, taunting and bribing for them to get it back. He wants to see them suffer like the poor and ill, wants them to know what it’s like to not be born into royalty or the aristocracy. Perhaps it’s a bit childish, perhaps he was just being petty, but it doesn’t change how he feels.

It turns out the best way to get into the castle is through the roof. Jungkook doesn’t pretend to understand, just scales the sides of the castle with a foolish grin and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s always loved climbing, always climbed trees and hills when he was younger, much to his caretaker’s dismay.

Jungkook reaches the place where they will quite literally drop in before everyone else, because of course he does. He’s bouncing foot to foot, squeezing his hands into fists only to let them go in rapid succession. The whole gang decided to come this time, even Yoongi. He mentioned something about being bored out of his ever loving mind in the pub and was keen to see them all fuck up. It was an empty insult, because everyone knows he came because he was worried about Hoseok getting hurt again. Jungkook wishes they would just fuck already and get rid of the sexual tension he can practically smell every time they’re near each other. It literally makes him nauseated, and even more so when he sees them eye fucking each other. Absolutely ridiculous.

“I don’t like heights,” Taehyung idly comments, staring down into the throne room. It’s where the king and queen keep the crown, moping about it every time they held council.

“I’ll go in then,” Jungkook says, already reaching for the rope Jimin is holding.

Jimin keeps it taut against his hip, resisting Jungkook’s grip. “Shouldn’t I be the one to go? I’m the smallest,” he says, gnawing at the bottom of his lip.

The thing is, everyone else is always slightly wary about doing big heists. They’re always quiet as they prepare, quiet as they start, always hesitant. Jungkook, by contrast, welcomes the chaos that no doubt descends upon them. He relishes the fact that he’s in danger, that he could be thrown in prison forever, or even worse he could die. It was exhilarating, knowing he had control over what he could do. And that was the thing, it was all about control. All about the thrill.

So Jungkook forcefully yanks the rope from Jimin saying, “We can’t have anyone be scared or unsure about this, or we’re all fucked.” To that, everyone slowly nods. He’s right, he knows, and he knows everyone else sees it as well. It’s why, despite being the youngest, Jungkook is the leader.

“Ah, bravery,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, “A far better term for stupidity, is it not?”

Jungkook shoots him a look, lips thinning. “No one needs your poetry bullshit right now,” he retorts, but there’s no venom in it, not when he grins wildly right after. Yoongi grins right back, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Don’t die,” is what he says next, and it’s the best evidence of concern Jungkook is going to get out of him.

Jungkook is let down slowly, needing both Namjoon and Taehyung to hold him steady. “You’re all muscle what the fuck,” is what Taehyung had muttered as they first dropped him through the glass ceiling. He dangles more or less stably as he’s brought closer to the crown perfectly sitting on a silk pillow, atop a pedestal adorned with so many jewels it makes Jungkook’s mouth water. If he could, he’d rip the damn thing out and keep it for himself it was so pretty. It’d be like a trophy, since he really has no plan on what to actually do with the crown once he gets it. He’ll figure it out.

A sweat has built up on the nape of his neck when he first grabs the rim of the crown in front of him. He holds it close to his chest, looking up at where Jimin is peering down at him and grins. He motions to be let up when one of the guards sneezes, turning his attention back down.

“Hay fever?” He casually asks, and can feel the grip on the rope stiffening.

“Like a bitch,” the guard says, and Jungkook can tell he’s wiping his nose from where he stares at his back. It takes a moment for the guard to realise where the comment came from, and turns to Jungkook with eyes blown wide. “What the fu—”

“Sorry, got to go,” Jungkook interrupts with the most shit eating grin. He can feel himself be pulled up only slightly, and he’s pretty sure the assholes are considering letting him go altogether.

As he’s being hoisted up there is nothing short of chaos that erupts. He can’t tell if he’s hearing his friends curse or the plethora of guards below him, but it doesn’t matter when he feels an arrows slice his cheek. Still clutching the crown with one arm, he instinctively jolts a hand to where he’s no doubt bleeding, sending an incredulous glare at the trembling guard who no doubt tried to kill him. So rude.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” is what Jungkook is greeted with when he finally clambers onto the roof. “Can you not be a cocky bastard for one minute of your life?” It’s Yoongi snarling at him, but it’s clear he’s afraid. Poor bugger shouldn’t have come along.

“I have to agree,” Taehyung adds, dropping the rope right as Jungkook stands. He points an accusatory finger at him, “If we all die I am so haunting you in the afterlife.”

Wriggling out of the rope tied around his waist, Jungkook grins. “Fair enough.”

— — — — — — —

He finishes singing for Jihu as the sun starts to set.

“Beautiful, as always,” Jihu says to Seokjin, sliding an affectionate thumb across his cheek.

Seokjin smiles, though it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Cane wriggles in his lap, and he softly pets his head. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Jihu kisses the top of his head as he stands, brushing off his knees. He had been kneeling in front of Seokjin as he sang atop of a terribly worn down wooden stool. It had been like this ever since Seokjin can remember, singing for Jihu before bed. He’s always thought the dynamic was supposed to be the other way around, but it always made Jihu happy so he never questioned it. It got old after maybe twenty years when Seokjin realised he doesn’t get much in return. Sometimes a nice muffin, but he hardly considers it compensation.

It started to get old when Seokjin’s back hurt from sitting too long, his hair sometimes not wanting to glow how Jihu wanted it to.

It started to get old when Jihu would strike him for not wanting to do it, and then immediately cradle him and telling him he was sorry.

It started to get old when Seokjin realised he was alone.

He always has Cane, who scurries up his arm to rest in the crook of his neck, but sometimes he wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Cane’s fault of course, and he usually was enough to keep Seokjin sane. But the thing was, Jihu would be gone sometimes for weeks at a time, and instead of welcoming Seokjin into his arms when he returned, he would always drag him to the wooden stool and practically beg Seokjin to sing for him, bags latent and obvious under his eyes.

Seokjin has never denied him in those times either. The pain on Jihu’s face made his heart hurt, and he would stop whatever he was doing to help. Perhaps he was chasing a feeling that maybe Jihu would show him true love, and not just something he has to covet. Seokjin frowns at the familiar sentiment that crawls upon behind him. It’s been getting harder to ignore as of late, and when he tries to be more affectionate with Jihu, he’s pushed away. Seokjin only matters when he sings.

Sometimes he wishes he would fall ill and lose his voice forever. What was the point of being able to sing if he could never share it with the world? He’s always told how cold and unforgiving the outside world is, but when he looks out his window into the endless woods with its singing birds and beautiful elk, he thinks maybe Jihu is wrong. He thinks maybe if he was just given the chance he would be able to think for his own.

He thinks many things, but never voices them.

He belatedly realises Jihu is trying to talk to him when he blinks up to an impatient face. “Sorry?” He asks.

“I said,” Jihu says, “It’s time for you to sleep now. I have to leave early tomorrow and I need to know you’re safe in your bed before I sleep.”

Seokjin rubs his lips together. He has grown accustomed to Jihu treating him like a child despite his age, but there are moments where it infuriates him. Surely they should be equals now. Surely Seokjin isn’t the stumbling infant he once was. In any case, he nods. “Of course,” he replies, standing delicately.

Jihu watches him, a shadowed figure as Seokjin crawls into bed and holds his blankets close to his face. He hides it enough to know when Jihu leaves, obviously convinced he’s asleep already. The sigh that Jihu always lets out as he leaves has not made Seokjin find comfort since he was a small child, and so when he hears Jihu’s bedroom door close, he promptly sits up. Cane comes over to sit atop his head as he does what he’s done as a ritual for years now.

He props himself up, crawls into the expansive window sill he has, and stares at the stars. He stares at the stars and definitely doesn’t cry.

#Jinkook #that's the pairing name i'm going with k #Jinkook fic #BTS fic #i should probably mention this is a slow burn #like trying to make a fire with two sticks sort of slow burn

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