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seeingivy · 2 years ago

Text

funeral

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: depictions of grief, talk of addiction/anxiety

an: i am alive (mostly). eat your cake, even though I think it Is bad (this chapter was the hardest to write, right next to the "the third act" chapter

songs mentioned: marjorie by taylor swift

previous part linked here

“What are you thinking, Eren?” Hange asks.

The question is stupid. Eren is thinking of the only logical conclusion that he can draw from the autopsy report. The implication of it, of how Marco really died, is sitting right in front of him.

The patient is a twenty-three year old Caucasian male with no significant medical history. Emergency services responded to the scene of a motor vehicle crash around nine p.m. At the scene, responders found that the patient was trapped in the vehicle, upturned on the side of the road, with no pulse at the time of arrival. Patient was declared dead on scene. Autopsy concluded that primary cause of death was asphyxiation, secondary cause being severe loss of blood due to injuries in the extremities.

“I’m thinking that the paparazzi killed him, Hange.” Eren spits.

“Eren.”

“Hange, don’t. Just-�� Levi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Levi’s eyes are borderline gaunt. Eren knows the past few days have sat horribly on Levi’s shoulders and perhaps the past year and a half have too.

The guilt is excruciating. Because all Eren knows how to do is ruin people.

He dragged Levi and Hange into his mess, when he asked them for help. But it had gone too far at that point, the interview, the night on the beach, the fight - he had exhausted all ends and desperately needed someone on his side.

Levi and Hange all but berated him for it. For letting it get so far, for waiting so long when he should have known that they were always there to help. But this reaction, Levi being the one to side with his outburst is proof enough that he made the wrong choice, that he should have stuck with himself. That them bending backwards and forwards to get him out of his mess has truly taken its toll.

Levi and Hange always mimicked him and you. Eren and Hange, he knows they both have a tendency to get so lost in the emotion, to feel it so deep that the response is too loud, too much for what’s called for. That’s when you and Levi would come in, to soothe them down and bring them back to Earth.

In the same vein, you and Levi, you planted your weeds too deep into the ground. Rooted in exactly what he’s not quite sure - perhaps misplaced insecurities, whatever the two of you seemed to hide in those deep inner walls - but it kept you both stagnant, stuck where you were. That’s where Hange and Eren came in, pushing you both to soar a little bit higher than what you imagined for yourself.

But now Levi’s here, all but exhausted and broken, the same way he’s sure you were. That’s why things got so fucked up. Eren didn’t let you pull him down. He didn’t pull you up.

“They killed him, Hange.” Levi states, tone void of any emotion.

“Levi. It’s almost midnight, we’re all feeling emotional right now. We should look at this all with a clear mind tomorrow.”

“They killed him. There is nothing to look at.” Levi says, enunciating every inflection of his words.

Eren knows it for a fact. And from the look on Hange’s face, he knows they do too. His train of thought is cut off by the knocking - rapid, loud consecutive knocks slamming against the wood.

“God, Eren. Go get it now before they run off with our food.” Hange murmurs, gesturing towards the door.

Eren shuffles past the length of the hallway and swings open the door to find not his UberEats bag, but Lana, out of breath and panting on his doorstep.

“Ew. You just left two hours ago. Why are you back already?”

“Eren. Oh my god.”

Lana wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard, as she cries into his shoulder. Her demeanor settles an immediate panic under his skin. The last time she reacted like this, Eren had to watch the most gut wrenching interview of his life while she held his hand. God knows whatever she’s about to tell him now is going to break him.

Eren brings his hands up and grabs her shoulders, applying pressure to stop her from shaking in his arms.

“Lana. What’s wrong with you? Why are you-”

“Eren. I’m so sorry, you- I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, just-just say it.” she pants, hiccuping in between her tears.

Eren frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her out of the cold Seattle air into the kitchen where Hange and Levi are cooking by the stove.

“Hi Lana Bear! How are you, kid?” Hange says, all but bouncing over to wrap their arms around Lana.

This only upsets Lana more, the discomfort worsening in Eren’s chest as he can’t help but stare at her, at her brown eyes turning almost red from the downpour of her tears and the tension sitting in her shoulders.

“What is it? Who died?”

The question, when Eren asks it, is entirely rhetorical. A figure of speech, meant to emphasize that Lana’s reaction was extreme, too obscene for whatever it is she must be talking about. But when she doesn’t respond and swallows hard, the look on her face so crestfallen, Eren’s chest settles into a panic.

His first thought is you.

“Lana. Is she dead? What are you-”

Lana scrambles for the remote on the counter, switching from the Disney Channel to the first news report she can find. The image is of an overturned car, the metal crushed and steaming in the front, accompanied with words that burn Eren’s ears. The first hit is relief - that it’s not you. The second hit is painful, like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs.

Because it’s Marco.

“What?” Levi says, taking his eyes off the stove to glance at the screen.

Eren can feel his phone incessantly buzzing in his pocket and he reaches for it immediately, Lana leaning into his side as she continues to cry into his shoulder. Levi and Hange are moving closer to the television, like that’ll somehow make the sound better, the image clearer, like they’ll be able to find falsity in it.

jean: the bodt’s said the funeral is going to be near the old house. ask levi and hange if we can all stay in the townhouse together.

bertholdt: reiner and i are heading over tonight.

sukuna: Let me know if you need anything. Give the paparazzi hell for this one.

connie: i’m coming back to seattle. i-i don’t know if i can do this.

Eren’s quick to respond to that one.

eren: i’ve got you man. meet us in new york as soon as you can, we’re all going to stay at the townhouse. don’t leave sasha’s side until you get there okay?

connie: alright. okay, thanks.

eren: phone is on.

“This is bullshit. How do they know it’s him?” Levi says angrily, hands crossed over his chest.

“Levi.” Hange says, voice nearly cracking.

“No, I’m being fucking serious. How do they know that this guy is our Marco? There’s no proof. Call the Bodt’s right now.” Levi says, pacing the kitchen for where he left his phone.

Eren frowns, his head racing as Levi walks the length of the kitchen and Hange settles into their immediate panic.

“Eren.” Lana says.

“Hm?”

“I have to tell you something. You’re going to hate it. I-”

“Just tell me, Lana. No-no beating around the bush.”

“The paparazzi…got to him first before the police.” she whispers.

“What?” Eren says, through gritted teeth as his head all but short circuits.

“They knew it was his car, he’d been driving it around that part of Nashville for a while. They were probably just following him to get pictures wherever he was going. But then he-he crashed and-”

“And what? They took pictures of it? Of him?” Eren asks, squeezing Lana’s shoulders too hard.

“Yeah. They-they only called the police when they were done, Eren. I-”

The tears fill Eren’s eyes as the implication cuts deep. It all but sears the air in his lungs, the tears welling so fast that it’s already obstructing his vision. All he can feel is Lana’s hands, squeezing his biceps, as he tries to control the heaving in his chest.

“How long?”

“Eren.” she says, tone so pitiful it makes his blood boil.

“How long, Lana?” he asks, voice cracking.

“It took them forty-five minutes to get there. They would have been there in fifteen.” she whispers.

And now, the autopsy report tells him enough. With a definitive resolve that the paparazzi killed Marco. Because he died from asphyxiation, from being twisted in the metal, not getting any air. And if the police had gotten there maybe a moment earlier, a second faster, they could have gotten him out, could have at least made sure he was breathing.

They wanted a picture. Marco died for it.

The anger surges through Eren, tenfold when he remembers the paparazzi lining up Jean and Mikasa’s engagement party, Falco’s school, his house the day his grandpa died. When you walked into his garage, drenched from the rain with a deep cut on your face and skidded knees, scared to death.

“I’m done sugarcoating, Hange. Eren is right. They killed Marco.” Levi responds.

Hange sighs, leaning against the counter as Eren walks up to them, resting his head against their shoulder. They all stand there in silence, not even seventy-two hours after the fact, and it still hasn’t hit Eren.

In full flesh, that Marco is gone.

The rapid knocking on the door, real this time, breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Probably Zeke or Armin. I’ve got it.” he murmurs.

“Thanks kid.”

Eren watches as Levi sinks into Hange’s arms, sighing as he shuffles to the door and flicks on the porch light. He swings it open and immediately feels his throat tighten, fully constricted, at the sight of you standing in the lamplight.

You’re looking up at him, swallowing hard, as you stare into his eyes and all Eren can do is wonder if your brain is short circuiting as much as his is. Surely, it isn’t. Eren has every reason to be embarrassed, to be ashamed. And you don’t.

For posterity, he fights all instincts, every urge in his body, to reach forward and hold you. To let your sweet flowery smell take over his nose, to settle his face into that crook in your neck, to have your soft, soft touch running over his skin. To let the mountain of emotions he’s been carrying fall, because you’re here.

But he can’t.

“Hi Eren.”

“Y/N.”

He can’t help but inspect every micro-movement, every gesture you make. Your eyes are nearly glassing over with tears and you’re nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You’ve dropped your gaze to focus on the ground, a habit you always had when you were sad, as your voice breaks into the air.

“Can I ask you something? Please?” you whisper.

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and praying to god you remember what it means, as he nods.

That he’s here and he’s got you.

“Anything. What is it?”

“Is he dead?”

Maybe not anything.

He can’t be the one to tell you. You of all people that Marco died, at the hands of the paparazzi. The same paparazzi who in your very pointed words, gutted your first love like a fish. Who were partly to blame, who drove you out of here alongside him.

“Y/N.”

“Is he?” you repeat, voice smaller.

“Okay. Let’s go inside, you-”

“Is Marco dead, Eren? I’m asking you a question.”

Your anger in your voice is enough to make him stop in his tracks, the second time your voice is laced with that animosity that it scares him into responding. He hears it, in his worst hours, echoing in his mind.

How many times are you going to keep breaking shit without any care in the world? The camera, the fucking award you picked over me, Connie’s fucking livelihood, my heart. God, Eren. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. From the start.

He swallows hard.

“Yes. Marco’s dead.”

And you don’t even know the half of it.

He watches your glass tears, the ones sitting right on the edge of your eyelashes, fall in full force, onto your cheeks as you immediately start hiccuping, hands clasped against your chest.

“I-I saw it on the news. I-I didn’t believe it but I- They always lie about stuff. I thought it was the same as that and-”

“Y/N, come ins-”

Your panic sets in so fast, so quick that Eren doesn’t even register it. Because one second you’re panting and the next Eren’s watching you retch onto the grass Connie mowed this morning. Eren pushes you into the house the second you stop, straight to the kitchen where Levi and Hange are still standing in their spots.

“Wait, is that-”

“Do you guys know if we have something like…anti-nausea? Is that what you do when someone throws up or-” Eren asks.

“Is that Y/N?” Levi asks.

“Yeah, she-she was on the porch, I-”

Levi’s quick to walk up, hands on your shoulders as he talks, voice quiet and calm when he speaks near your ear. Hange moves to Eren’s side, her face wearing that concerned look she gives him too much these days, as they both rummage through the cabinets for anything that could help.

“Y/N. You okay?” Levi asks.

“I-I threw up on the-the porch. On the g-grass. So-sorry.”

“It’s just grass. What’s-”

Eren tries to still it - that pounding in his heart - as he walks over with the glass of water he filled up for you. Your hands must be wobbling too much because Eren doesn’t let the glass go, instead tilting your head up softly with his hands and pouring the water into your mouth.

“Hey. Drink some more for me.” Eren states, voice soft as he instinctively reaches forward to fix the hairs sticking to the sweat beading your forehead, feeling your skin burning under his touch.

“We should take her temperature.” Eren says.

Levi and Hange dart out of the room, to the drawer upstairs where the thermometer is, as Eren takes breaks between helping you drink the water and rubbing circles into your back.

Eren can feel every muscle in his body tense, his skin burning when you lean forward, forehead resting against his chest as you groan out in pain.

“Hey. You with me?” Eren asks, murmuring straight into your hair.

Eren feels your breathing still against him, his hands intuitively wrapping around you this time, cradling the back of your head in his hands. You hum in response to his question, which is a good enough answer for Eren now.

“Found it.” Levi says, all but speed walking as Eren spins you around, watching as Levi meticulously pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and holds the sensor against your head. You’re all standing there in silence, craning over the little plastic as the two consecutive beeps go off.

“98.6. You’re okay, Y/N.” Levi mutters, setting the thermometer back on the table.

“Thank you, Levi.” you respond back, rubbing your arms on your biceps as you stare at the two of them, withdrawn and withholding from you.

Granted, you’d do the same. You wouldn’t rush to their arms either if they ignored you for two years.

“You can take this for nausea. If it happens again.” Hange says, placing a bottle in your hands.

“Sure. Thank you, Hange.” you respond.

The silence hangs in the air between the four of you as you stand there, each of you racking your heads for the right thing to say. Eren wants to tell Levi and Hange to stop being so rude, that they were the ones who were begging you to come back and now that you’re here they won’t even talk to you. Levi and Hange are debating which one of them should yell at you first, for being withdrawn from them and not asking for help the way Eren did. And you’re figuring out who you should apologize to first, between the three of them.

None of you break. Because it’s not the right time. Because Marco is dead.

“Everyone is sleeping together upstairs. There should be an extra air mattress up there, Eren will get it for you….knock if you need something.” Levi says, tone exasperated as he shuffles away.

“Welcome back, kid.”

Hange gives you a full smile as they follow him, leaving you and Eren in the kitchen. The distance Levi is putting in between you and him stings, but you swallow the burn and remind yourself that you’re the one who inflicted it on yourself.

At the time, after the interview, the rationale made more sense. Nonsensically, you decided that you were done with the industry and that, by proxy, meant that you were done with them too. You did your interview and stuck to your word, never looked back.

It’s humiliating now. Debilitating thinking about how much you must have hurt them. Because each of them, they continually reached out until it stopped. Mikasa made every effort to have you come to her engagement party, that she would even stop the press from coming for Vogue the way they had planned for you.

And when you didn’t show, all she did was send you pictures, of her and Jean cutting the cake and of the dress she had bought for you to wear. Hange and Levi were so vigilant about it, on making sure that you were okay, that you had security details, that people really were leaving you alone. You didn’t heed any of their efforts, because for all intents and purposes, you were leaving the girl you were behind.

Her dreams, the love she held, the friends she had.

It seems stupid now. It seems incredibly and gut-wrenchingly stupid that your last words to Marco were over two years ago because you were punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault. That you can’t go to any of them for comfort because the thing that they need comfort from is you.

All you know how to do is ruin people.

“Are you hungry? Or do you want to go to bed?” Eren asks.

“I can go to bed. Levi said air mattress?”

“Yeah, we’re all sleeping together in the loft upstairs.”

“We?” you ask.

“Mikasa and Jean are here. Ymir and Hisu, Bertholdt and Reiner, Connie and Sash. Everyone else should be getting in tomorrow.”

Eren pads towards the stairs and you awkwardly follow, crawling up the stairs behind him. You can hear the loud chatter of voices, talking over each other, as you try to catch the ends of their conversation.

“But where do they go when you pee?” Sasha asks.

“Fuck do you mean, where do they go?” Reiner says, voice incredulous.

“Like in the bowl? Because if you’re sitting on the toilet, they have to go somewhere?” Sasha repeats.

“Sasha. It’s almost one in the morning. Please stop talking about balls.” Ymir groans, earning a good amount of laughs from the group.

“Eren, tell them all to shut the fuck up.” Jean groans, forearm over his eyes as he and Mikasa roll around on their mattress.

Eren looks at you, eyes weary, before he turns to respond to them.

“Y/N’s here.”

They all peek their heads up, curious eyes falling on you, as you give them a halfhearted smile, trying your best to wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your dress.

“Hi guys.”

The silence is deafening. You can’t pick what’s worse - Reiner and Bertholdt squinting their eyes at you or Mikasa and Jean refusing to look at you.

Mikasa and Jean.

Historia stands up, strutting over from her air mattress, to wrap her arms around you, the pressure of the hug so hard you can barely breathe. You breathe in her smell, spicy and sharp the way it’s always been, as she pulls away. Her warm hand is resting on your cheek, the smile on her face so genuine that it untangles the smallest parts of discomfort on your chest.

“Hi princess. Missed you.”

“Thanks, Hisu. I missed you too.”

That’s always been the thing about Historia. That she’ll pick up, even when you haven’t called her in two years, and run to your aid.

“How’d you know we were here?” Jean asks, hands resting on his knees.

“I asked Historia.” you respond.

“Told you I was her favorite. She reached out to me before you.” Historia mutters, flopping back onto the air mattress she’s sharing with Ymir.

“You’re so arrogant, Historia. And full of shit.” Jean responds, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so right, Jean-Boy. This is just like what we fought about earlier.” Connie responds.

The group of them break out into an argument, Historia looking like she’s full on about to wrestle Connie as he only instigates her on. Mikasa’s already resting with her eyes closed as Jean turns pink in the face from his irritations.

And you can’t help but laugh, warm tingling in your chest at all of them, wholeheartedly the same. You look over at Eren and smile, which he returns. But despite it all, that stillness, that outsider feeling sits in your skin. Because despite them being the same, the striking differences in the room tell you things are wholeheartedly different too.

“Okay. Where’s the extra air mattress?” Eren asks.

Connie turns, eyes wide, as he gives the two of you a sheepish smile.

“Really funny story. Sooooo….”

“God. What did you do?” Eren groans.

“Long story short, I was thinking about waterbeds. If you pop a water bed, it should be like a waterfall right? So if it’s an air mattress, it should be like an inflatable air balloon thing. Like the weird noodle guys at the car store? Right? So, I tried to pop it. And succeeded.” Connie responds, rambling.

“Was it cool?” you ask.

“Ugh. Not at all, princess.” Connie responds.

You smile, perhaps bigger than you should at Connie using your old nickname, as Eren starts yelling at him.

“You should be the one to sleep on the floor since you’re the one who ruined the mattress.” Eren states.

“She should sleep on the floor. She got here last!” Connie responds.

“She just threw up. And she wasn’t going to sleep on the floor regardless.”

“Is she contagious?” Connie responds.

“Connie!”

Eren rolls his eyes as Mikasa stands up, shuffling to your side and lightly tugging your arm. You look at her, taking her shorter hair in, as you give her a smile.

“Hey. Want to go change? Your old clothes should still be here, don’t know how well they’ll fit.”

Eren breaks out of his conversation, leaning forward to where the two of you are talking, to interject.

“What’s mine is yours. Take mine if you need to.” he says, before returning in full flesh to the argument he’s having with Connie. You can tell they’re both joking from the way they’re trying not to laugh as you start to walk away.

The two of you quietly pad down the length to the two doors, directly across from each other, as you take in the scribbled signs switched. Your old room now reads Jean and Mikasa with Connie’s handwriting scribbled underneath inscribing please fuck quietly on the door. And consequently, Eren’s room now reads Eren and Y/N with Sasha’s handwriting scribbled underneath reading yall are fucked UP for this.

You turn to Mikasa and give her a weird look.

“Right. We’ve been here for a week, actually. Table reading season four stuff. Jean and I want to share a room so we moved all of his stuff to your room and your stuff to Eren’s room. We’ll put it back.” Mikasa states, pushing open the door to Eren’s room as she starts rummaging through your old drawers in the closet.

“No, no. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to impose on you guys when you’re almost about to be newlyweds?” you ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, next year. And we just moved it because we thought you weren’t going to come back. And Eren didn’t want to toss your stuff and all.” she responds. She pulls out a shirt, most definitely from when you’re fifteen, as you both snicker at the size and she keeps digging.

You walk around Eren’s room, your room too now, as you eye all the boxes filled with your things, tangled in with Eren’s clothes lying around on every open surface. You take a seat at his desk as you start inspecting his little bulletin board, the pictures underneath the pins.

One of him, Lana, and Sukuna - the three of them smoldering at the camera. Eren and Connie smiling, Eren and a little kid with short curly hair, and two pictures of you. The first one is of you and him sleeping on set and the other is the two of you with Falco, both of you crouching down to his height and hugging him from behind.

And hanging around both of the pins are your friendship bracelets, which you take off the hooks to inspect.

So that’s where it went. In all of the fire of moving around so much, jumping from one place to another, you always thought you lost it. But you must have left it here all along.

You run your hands over the beads, yours and Eren’s names, as Mikasa gives you a head shake, indicating she didn’t find anything.

“S’okay. I’ll look through Eren’s stuff I guess.” you murmur.

Mikasa nods as she leans against Eren’s desk, hands crossed over her chest, as the silence hangs in between the two of you. She takes one of the bracelets from your hands, twisting the beads in her fingers, as you do the same with yours.

You find solace in the fact that Mikasa is still wearing her engagement ring - a constant in the sparring mix of changes you just witnessed in the room.

Connie sober. Ymir and Historia sharing a mattress. Eren and Connie getting along. Mikasa and Jean even tolerating being in the same room as Eren. In the same room as you. And the jarring absence of Marco.

“How are you?” Mikasa asks.

“Okay, Mika. How are you?”

Mikasa sinks down, sitting flat on the floor as she hikes her knees to her chest. You follow suit, dropping from your chair to sit next to her, lacing your arm through hers as you both blankly stare at the floor ahead of you, picking what topic to broach first.

I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in two years. Our friend is dead. Eren is here.

“The engagement party looked beautiful, Mikasa.”

She smiles, leaning her head against yours.

“Thank you, Y/N. It was quite nice actually.”

“I watched it on Vogue. Cried quite a bit.” you respond.

She laughs, rolling her eyes at you as she lightly shoves you.

“Should’ve come then. Cried in real time.”

You swallow hard, cheeks warm, as you squeeze her hand. You know she’s joking, but the guilt runs too deep.

“I’m sorry for not coming. I-I really wish I was there. And I know there’s no justification for it but-”

“We aren’t mad at you. Jean and I.” she clarifies.

“I’d understand if you were. I’m your best friend. I’ve-I’ve been with you guys since the start and-”

Mikasa’s hands are soft on your shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes, as she looks at you, eyes pinched in pain.

“You had every right to not come. To be done with this. What they did to you, to Eren- Y/N, god.”

You swallow hard.

“It didn’t warrant me not coming to you-”

“It did. You don’t even know the half of it. You-you and Eren. You just-”

There’s a knocking at the door and Eren pads in, eyes wide as he sees you and Mikasa on the floor, tears gathered in her eyes and your limbs tangled together.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back.”

“No, no. It’s okay, Eren. Her clothes are too small. I can go grab mine for her if you two want to talk-” her words pointed, the emphasis on the last words hard.

“No, don’t bother Mikasa.” he responds, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of clothes for you.

Mikasa turns back to you, giving your cheek a pinch.

“I’ll make Jean sleep on the floor if Connie doesn’t give up his mattress. It’ll be like old times.” she responds, shuffling out of the room as you stay on your spot on the floor.

You hike your knees to your chest as you twist the beads in your fingers again, Eren’s name that you used to wear on your wrist almost every day foreign in your fingers.

“Eren. We’re going to be late.” you groan, impatiently tapping your foot on the ground as you wait for him by the door.

The two of you are already thirty minutes late to Erwin’s going away party, the last car waiting to take the two of you, Marco, and Annie out to the little soiree that Erwin is throwing for himself - in celebration of him being killed off.

“Sorry, sorry. Looking for my bracelet.” he responds, darting back and forth from different corners of the room.

“Well, hurry up. Annie’s getting pissed.”

“I found yours! But where is mine?”

You look down at your wrist to find the pink beads on your wrist, spelling out your name against your pulse point in your wrist.

“Oops, sorry. I’m wearing yours.” you respond.

Eren’s quick to walk over to where you’re standing on the door - giving you enough time to groan at how haphazardly he got ready for the party. His tie is loose against his neck, hair all messy as you reach up to fix it.

“God, Eren. At least brush your hair.”

“Quit moving your hands.”

Eren takes his hand in yours, quickly sliding the bracelet off your wrist and switching it with the one in his hand.

“Well, get ready properly. Your tie isn’t even on right.” you respond, irritated as you reach forward to tighten the fabric and smooth down his collar.

“And if I told you I put it on wrong just so you would fix it, what would you think?”

“That you’re asking for a death sentence from Annie for wasting time.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to lift the hand he just placed the bracelet on. His thumb is straight against your pulse point, blood pulsating under the spot, as he lifts his hand to leave a kiss right there.

“And that it’s cute that you did that.”

He gives you a wide grin, locking your hands together as you both rush out the door.

Eren shuffles out, sitting across from you as he puts the stack of clothes between you and hikes his knees to his chest. He holds his hand out and you place the bracelet in his hand.

“You left it in the bathroom.”

You nod as you try to steady your mind - still running a hundred miles per hour and overstimulated from seeing everyone again. From how familiar it all feels, how easy it all is to fall back into this despite how different things are.

How you and Eren are miles apart, how you haven’t talked to them all in months, how Marco is dead. That Marco’s death is suspending all of you in a weird state of reality, that every angry word spoken and every bit of harshness seems miniscule now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Eren asks.

“No.” you shrug.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

Eren nods, counting each of the beads on the bracelet, as you both sit there in the silence, letting your eyes float around the room as you let your mind wander.

Marco and Colt playing chess everyday when he visited you in Canada, Marco falling for every stupid joke that Connie played on him, the way you all cried when Marco died in the show, Marco at the awards show.

“Eren?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

The question takes Eren off guard. He debates it then and there - telling you the truth full and whole - on the basis that he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him. At the fact that you even asked that, at the implication that you thought he could ever forget.

“Of course. On set, in the-”

“No, no. I mean, for real.”

“At the awards show.” Eren responds, without a beat.

“Yeah.”

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough of you.

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other.

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit a murder.”

“You want me so bad.” you say, sarcastically.

“Obviously.”

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there’s like seven people who just watched you suck face. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard.

“I love you guys.”

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure whatever is going on, without Connie and and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.”

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch.

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.”

“Do you think he’s haunting us?”

Eren frowns, the memory refreshing in his head. One he thought of a few days ago, lingering on the fact that Marco’s probably turning in grave right now. Granted, Marco was very vehement about his stance on you two - your interview and what Eren did, making Marco so agonizingly and uncharacteristically angry that it bothers him now.

For not listening to him. That if he does ever get to cross that bridge with you, at least be your friend again, that Marco won’t ever know.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t just go out there and tell her. You know where she lives.” Marco states, irritated.

“Because I just can’t, Marco! You watched the interview!”

“The entire song was about how she forgave you. How she isn’t holding a grudge against you. And-and the way she was talking about it, some part of her knows that other people had something to do with this, Eren. She knows deep down.”

“The interview was fucking horrible. This entire thing, this thing that I did, fucked her up so bad that she isn’t even doing this anymore. This was all she wanted, ever since she was a kid, she-she was so determined and she gave it up because I said all those things, because I did what I did.”

“Eren. It’s more compl-”

“No, it’s not. And she fucking hates me. You should have seen how upset she was at the awards show…..I-I ruined it for her. I ruined her entire dream, Marco.”

“God, Eren. Your tunnel vision is insane. You’re not even giving her a fighting chance when she doesn’t even know the truth!” he says.

“Maybe haunting is too mean of a word. I think he’d be happy to see us together, right now. Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” he responds.

You smile, giving him a nod.

“He always did like playing cupid, didn’t he?”

“At the engagement party, he walked around telling everyone that Jean and Mikasa were only dating because of him.”

“That’s a lie.” you state.

“No one believed him.” Eren responds.

The two of you fall into silence again, resting your chins on your knees, as more thoughts swim through your head, pain so palpable it’s sitting in your chest. That if Marco were here, he’d be prancing in and giving you two devious smirks, lovingly teasing both of you. Pulling both of you aside, saying that bygones should be bygones if you still love each other.

You look up at him, watch his eyes flutter open and close, as he fidgets with his hands.

You still love him.

“Can we be civil for the weekend? Like…like you’re not Eren and I’m not Y/N, we’re just-” you sutter.

Your question falls short, hanging in the air as you watch the gears in Eren’s head turn.

“I just mean. So many things happened between us. And I know there’s hurt there, on your part and maybe mine too, but…..I don’t want us to be mad at each other at the funeral. Or after.”

You swallow hard.

“I’d hate for one of us to die being mad at each other. Without having talked in years.” you whisper.

Eren gets it. The guilt that must be wracking you for not talking to Marco, when you were one of the people who was closest to him. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, as he fidgets with your fingers.

“He knows you loved him, Y/N.”

He watches the tears pour down your eyes, face pink and eyes swollen, as you talk.

“Did he? Because I ignored his texts. For years. He texted me happy birthday, asked how Falco was doing, wanted to know if I watched Halloweentown on October first like I always do, if I was happy, if I wanted to talk and-”

He squeezes your hand, pulling out his phone, as he scoots to the space next to you. He tries to still the pounding of his heart as you lace your arm through his, leaning your head against his.

“He knows, Y/N.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was with him. I talked to him quite often after….after everything that happened. I promise you, he knows you loved him.”

You shake your head, guilt sitting in your head.

“I have something for you.” he murmurs.

“What is it?”

“It’s from a few years ago. I think he was really, really drunk.”

He hands you his phone, open to a voicemail from Marco, as you wipe the tears on your phone and press play. His voice comes through the speaker booming and giggling and hiccuping as he talks.

“Eren. Eren! Fuck, I love you so much dude. You’re-you’re such a guy. Like I-I just see you and think hmmmm. That’s a guy. Are you with Y/N? Tell her I love her. She’s my best friend. You’re all my best friends. I’m so happy I got to grow up with all of you. Oh, Connie just threw up on the floor, oh Connie- hey, stop! Okay, love you brother, I have to go.”

The voice cuts off abruptly, as you laugh.

“Never could hold his drink, could he?”

“Not everyone can be alcoholics like Jean and Mikasa.”

You both laugh, chest aching from how familiar, how soft this feels. That you’re both sitting in this room, where you grew up, fell in love, slept next to each other every night. Eren can see the tears welling in your eyes, thinking of his best efforts to stop it, at whatever is plaguing your mind.

“So. You said you’re not Y/N and I’m not Eren. So who are we?” he asks.

“I meant that metaphorically, you’re-”

You watch Eren’s eyes flit around his room, scanning till he stops around his bookshelf, and turns back to glance at you.

“Your new name is Margaret.”

“Ew. And I didn’t mean it like that, Eren.”

“Who is Eren? My name is….” he responds, giving you a smile as he elongagates the syllables waiting for your response.

You roll your eyes.

“Bruce. Your name is Bruce.”

“Bruce Wayne!”

“No. Not like Bruce Wayne. Think of someone really boring. Irritating, agitating.”

“Perfect! I’ll just think of you after five shots of tequila.”

You both laugh as Eren stands up, holding a hand out to pull you up. He sets the stack of clothes in your hand as he makes a move to walk out of the room. Except he hangs on the door for a second, voice soft when he talks.

“Does Bruce have permission to say something?”

“Sure.”

“I know he technically just met Margaret because she was born a minute ago, but he missed her. A lot.”

You feel your cheeks burn as you give him a nod, murmuring a quiet me too before sinking into the bathroom to slip his clothes on.

Connie, does in fact, not give up the mattress. Jean and Eren begrudgingly share as you and Mikasa cuddle into the night.

You wake up first, to find Mikasa sprawled over your entire frame. Her entire body is burning hot and you send a silent prayer to the world's strongest soldier, Jean Kirschtein, for putting up with this for so long. After you all but free yourself from her grasp, you spare a quick glance to see Jean must be smothering Eren more than Mikasa was you and silently muse that the two of them truly are made for each other.

You pad down to the kitchen, yanking the hood of Eren’s hoodie over your head, to find Connie sitting at the table, scribbling away in a journal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal next to him.

“Good morning, Con.’”

He looks up, one of his hands going instinctively to cover what he was writing as you take the seat next to him, crossing your legs up on the chair. He immediately relaxes, giving you a bright smile.

“Good morning, princess. You can have some if you want.”

“No, no. I don’t want to impose.”

“What’s mine is yours.” he says, mimicking Eren’s voice.

You snort, reaching for his spoon, as you take a bite of the warm food, soothing the stiffness in your throat.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Mikasa basically strangled me all night.”

“Ew. Of course she has the cuddle bug. I swear, Jean and Mikasa were always goo goo ga ga, but they’re even worse now.”

“They’re getting married, Connie. It’s sweet.”

He smiles, sliding the string through the pages, as he turns to you giving you a smile.

“Yeah. It is sweet.” he responds, voice quiet.

Connie swallows hard, eyes weary as he turns to you.

“I want to apologize.” Connie says.

The elephant in the room. He’s the first one to touch it.

“Oh. That’s okay, I under-”

“No, no. It’s not okay.” he responds, tone almost harsh.

You and Armin share a look the second he breaks the frame, glass shattering over the length of Armin’s apartment.

“Why the fuck would you guys bring me here?” Connie asks, sweat beading his forehead.

From the way he’s moving, all erratic and nonsensical, it makes you think that it’s out of his system. That if Connie had a chance, this would be when he would sneak off to the bathroom to get his fix. But he’s nowhere near that, instead settled into Armin’s tiny New York apartment, screaming at the two of you.

“Connie. You asked us too.” you respond.

“I was fucking high! Why would you guys even entertain a word I said?” Connie states, voice even more agitated now.

“Connie. You…you need help. We looked at some rehab places while you were asleep and-”

“Rehab? I’m not going to rehab. Are you trying to ruin my fucking career, Armin?”

“No, but we want to make sure you’re okay. They’ll be discrete, we’ll make sure the security detail is good so that you can be better and-”

“I am fucking fine. Do I look like I need help?”

You and Armin share a weary glance, before looking back at him.

“Connie. We love you. We-we just want to help you, okay?” you say.

“Does it ever embarrass you when you do this, Y/N?” Connie says, voice laced with venom.

“Sorry?”

“Does you not think it’s embarrassing to beg like this in front of people who don’t fucking care about you the way you do about them? I figured that Eren putting you in your place like that would set you straight but it seems like you didn’t learn your lesson, did you?”

You swallow hard, eyes and skin burning as Connie waits for your response.

“You don’t mean that. You-you’re just mad because you can’t be high right now.” you murmur.

“Am I, Y/N? Or is it true?”

“It’s not true. This isn’t you, Connie.”

“God, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. We aren’t fifteen anymore. No ones sitting here holding your hand telling you that you’ll be the best anymore. I get that you need that ego boost to move forward but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to give it to you.”

“Connie, that’s enough-”

Connie swallows hard, eyes focused on his fingers as he talks.

“I know-I know that I said it wasn’t true. But I really did say all of those things because I was high. Or because I wanted to be high and was in withdrawal and-”

“I know that, Connie. I’ve never held it against you.”

He frowns, twisting his pen to his fingers.

“You always give grace even when you don’t know the whole story. Me, Hisu, Eren.” he murmurs.

“You deserve it…and I partially knew. I mean, addiction is a disease. It hurt at first but that wasn’t your fault. You just needed to be treated and helped and I’m glad you did.”

He smiles, resting his cheek against his hand.

“Thank you, Y/N. Don’t mind me if I spend the rest of my life asking for forgiveness. I won’t ever feel like I deserve it but I’ll keep asking anyway.” he murmurs.

“I’ll always give it to you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder.

You silently wonder that if you ever did come back, sans funeral, if things would be like this. If you and Eren could pretend, if Mikasa and Jean could look past it all. Because some parts of it, they feel earnest, truthful. But you can’t tell if you’re all suspended in some disbelief, clouded by your grief and trying to cling onto one of the things Marco loved most. His time on the show, with you all.

“Honey when I’m above the trees, I SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS.” Connie sings, screams.

“Oh my god, Connie.” you deadpan.

He’s singing happiness. Like the happiness you sang in your interview, when you forgave Eren.

“THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU. BUT THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU. BOTH OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE, THERE IS HAPPINESS.”

You clamp your hand flat against his mouth, trying not to snicker, as he continues to sing underneath your hand.

“Are you insane? They’re all sleeping.” you whisper.

“Not anymore we’re not.” Ymir responds, immediately smacking Connie against the head.

“You’re going to give Eren a nightmare, Connie.” Historia mutters, dragging her feet into the kitchen as Ymir follows.

“I’m already living it.” Eren grumbles, leaning against the counter as he splits a PopTart with Jean.

Slowly but surely, every one of them shuffles down to the room, the deja vu of the situation hitting deep as each person follows suit. Sasha ambles down after a few minutes, finishing off the bowl of oatmeal that you and Connie were sharing while Reiner and Bertholdt murmur quietly over the coffee cup. Eren’s in hushed conversation with Jean and Mikasa, fixing himself breakfast, as Hange and Levi wander into the room, immediately thrown off by all of you in there.

“Jesus.” Levi says, tone exasperated.

“Good morning, Levi.” Mikasa says, gesturing to the water boiling on the kettle for his tea. He gives her a grateful smile, taking a seat in his corner as Hange talks to the group of you. Connie’s resorted to cracking all of your knuckles since his are all worn out as they go on.

“Good morning kiddos!”

“Don’t….do such a cheery voice, Hange.” Levi says, sighing.

Hange’s smile falters, before dropping all together, and giving a thoughtful nod. Eren shuffles over to your side, taking the seat next to yours as he places a steaming bowl of ramen in front of you.

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.”

“Who?”

You roll your eyes as Eren smiles, reaching forward to flick your cheek.

“Bruce.”

“Bruce, indeed.” he responds.

Eren knows he’s in treacherous waters. That this line you’ve drawn, that you’re not you and he’s not himself, works almost too well for Eren’s purposes. That he can pretend, in earnest, that none of the things he said happened. That you and him are just as you always were, untouched in the bubble you were always in when you lived here. .

“The funeral is tomorrow, as we all know. The Bodt’s have requested that we get there ten minutes before the service, so be on time tomorrow. Bertholdt, Sasha, I’m looking at both of you. ”

You all nod, humming in response, as you start digging into the bowl, switching off with Connie and Sasha who are both trying to monopolize the only real food in a five feet radius.

“That being said…” Hange says, swallowing hard.

They’re pacing back and forth almost, teetering on their ankles, when they talk. And when they finish explaining - autopsy report in hand and the gut punch sticking in your chest - you all sit there, blankly staring.

And wander in silence for the rest of the day.

It was one thing that Marco died. And an entirely different one that he was killed.

“Someone go get Eren, we only have thirty minutes.” Levi says, everyone lingering in the kitchen and the living room, in a sea of black.

Almost everyone is here now - Erwin, Armin, even Eren’s parents - all lingering around as you wait to head to the funeral. You give a curt nod to Levi and march out to the pavement, pebbles crunching under your feet as you make your way to set.

Eren’s been in there since last night, never retreating to the room to change into his pajamas before he settled down on the couch downstairs. Despite your protests, he refuses to sleep in the same room as you. Or let you sleep anywhere else besides Jean’s old bed in his room.

You let the pebbles crunch under your feet, ignoring the sting as you pass the tandem bike, and slip onto the set. You can see new costumes designs printed against the walls, storyboards with Levi and Hange’s handwriting on them as you make your way to the back towards the piano.

When you see him, that rage, simmering warm in your stomach over the past twenty-four hours, the deep-seated pain of Marco dying alone, crying out for help, comes to a head when you see Eren. Because he’s sitting at the bench, with his book propped up against the stand, and a bottle of pills in his hands.

You march up to where he’s standing, crossing your hands across your chest as you all but glare at him.

“Oh. Hey, you look-”

“Are you serious?”

You watch his face scrunch up in confusion, that stupid look on his face aggravating you even more. His tie is unkempt, his hair is messy - he’s always so haphazard with these things.

“You’re doing pills in here before Marco’s funeral. Are you fucking serious?”

He looks down, at the bottle in his hand and stands up, and swallows hard when he looks at you.

“Wait-”

“No. No, for once, you’re going to listen to me. You-you’re sick. Marco’s dead. You can’t even give it to him to be fully there while we say goodbye? This means that much to you?” you spit, watching him shut his eyes.

“Y/N.”

“How could you do this? To him? To me?”

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders as he squeezes, and your eyes burn like acid. And every feeling, building up over the past few days, comes tumbling out.

“Why did he have to leave us, Eren? We didn’t get enough time with him. He was only twenty-four, he didn't even get to grow old. He was supposed to die, years from now, so happy, so-so surrounded by people he loved.”

Eren forgoes the rational thought. He reaches forward fully, snaking his arms around you as he cradles your head into his frame, trying his best to stifle your cries into his shoulder.

“And you. He would hate that you were doing this. I hate that you’re doing this. You-you don’t have to. There are other things that can make you happy or-or fix whatever it is that’s wrong.”

“Y/N.”

“What, Eren?”

He pulls back, reaching for the pill bottle, and placing it in the palm of your hand. You read the label, immediately embarrassed and ashamed of your reaction.

Eren Jaeger *Lexapro 5 mg Take one tablet by mouth with the morning meal.

“Oh my god, Eren. I’m so sorry, I-”

You pull back, sitting down on the bench, as you dig your fingers into your temples, trying to stop that pulsating feeling under your skin. The rage, the feeling, coursing through you so hard that you can’t even pick what you’re mad at.

You’re breathing panic in and out, chest heaving, as Eren takes a seat next to you, leaning his elbows on his knees. And the feeling, it lands on feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. Because Eren’s not doing drugs, he’s taking anti-anxiety pills.

“Eren. I’m so sorry. That was so horrible of me, I thought it was-”

“You thought it was like Connie.” he finishes

“Yeah. And I’m sorry for assuming, I just-”

“I’m not mad at you. You were just trying to take care of me. I appreciate it.”

You groan, embarrassment still coursing through you, as you lean your forehead straight against the piano, the smell of the ink on Eren’s book permeating your nose.

“Do you remember that birthday party of mine I told you about? When I was ten, at my old house in New York? It was when we were in Australia.”

You nod.

“I remember feeling it. A paralyzing block in my chest, like I couldn’t move. And when I was able to move, it was only because it all came rushing to me, so panicked, so fast that I-I didn’t even register what happened.”

He was barely even ten. You lift your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard, as he continues.

You’re here and you’ve got him.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought that people feel this way, that it’s normal, but I just felt too much of it. That I just can’t handle things the way normal people do.”

You frown, reaching up to cup the side of his face. Your fingers brush over his dimples, soft under your fingers, as you talk.

“Eren. There is nothing wrong with you. That’s just an anxiety attack.” you whisper.

You’re not sure what it is about what you said but when you look up, there are soft tears flowing down Eren’s cheek, the voice coming out of his mouth so garbled you can barely understand what he’s saying.

“Hey, Eren.” you whisper,

“No. No, no. Stop.”

Eren stands up, retreating to the other side of the piano, where he’s leaning over, his entire frame heaving up and down as you walk to his side.

“Why are you-”

“I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t be helping me.” he says, his voice shuddering.

“Why not?” you ask, frowning.

“I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t deserve your help. You-you should be cussing me out, so mad that you can’t stand me, that you want me to suffer and you’re not. And it’s agonizing for me that you aren’t.”

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around him from the back, as you feel him sigh. You lean your cheek flat against his shoulder, squeezing as hard as you can as Eren continues to cry, fists clenched so tight on the piano that white.

“You’re not you and I’m not me. We agreed on that.” you murmur.

“Y/N. We can’t-”

“Who?”

He snickers, amidst his tears, as he turns around, and you slot your arms under his. You can feel his heart thumping under your ear, loud and fast, as you place your hand over the spot. The two of you stay that way for some time, Eren's tears falling onto you, as you try your best to remedy whatever it is that's burning inside of him.

“Just calm down and breathe. Falco says it always helps to talk about something else, when he feels like this.”

He tenses at the mention of Falco, which you realize was a mistake.

“Why were you in here?” you ask.

“The Bodt’s asked me to write a song for the service.”

The perfect distraction.

“Can you sing it for me?” you ask.

He looks down, green eyes - full and round - as he nods, shuffling towards the piano bench as you take the seat next to him. You can see that the lyrics are scribbled on the book resting against the stand, the paper stiff from blotches of Eren’s tears. He starts playing the piano, his voice echoing on the walls of the set.

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

You rest your hands against the keys next to his, slowly following his pace, as he continues to sing, the hum of his voice filling the air. You can’t help but think it. That he’s beautiful. That this is your Eren, miles away from whoever he was when you saw him last.

I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, straight onto the piano keys and your hands, as you cry.

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

When you and Eren get to the service, you walk hand in hand to the piano. And play the song together, for Marco and Marco only.

You knock on the door, padding into the room to find Levi, hunched over his computer and leaning his hand on his cheek. You take the seat next to him, crossing your legs against the chair, as he looks over at you, expressionless.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” you say.

Four days after the funeral and all of them have cleared out. Forced to go back to wherever they were before, to push down the beating pain and move forward. The grief, perhaps it did suspend reality for the rest of you. Leave you to pretend that nothing that happened was real, that you were still teenagers running around on this set together.

That wasn’t how it was for Levi. Because in almost a week of being there, he had yet to talk to you with a straight face.

“What are you working on, Levi?” you ask, cracking your knuckles.

He turns the laptop towards you, one of the old hard drives from the earlier seasons pulled up on his computer. He plays the video, one of Jean sitting in a chair behind the green backdrop.

“Okay, Jean. Tell me your goal for the end of the show.” Levi asks.

The video, Jean must be barely sixteen, wearing one of the old costumes from season one. You remember now, that Hange was insistent on documenting everything - that you all were going to grow up so fast that they should keep videos. Obviously, Hange is too disorganized to do it themselves, so Levi bit the bullet and did it for them.

“I don’t know. That’s so far away, Levi.” he groans, scrunching up his forehead.

“Just answer, Jean. Where do you see yourself at the end of the show, when you’re in your twenties?”

“With Mikasa.” he responds.

You both smile as Levi switches to the next videos, the two of you watching all of them in silence.

“I want to be myself. That’s all I want to be, not embarrassed or ashamed, I-I just want to be me.” Historia says, smiling into the camera.

“I don’t know. That’s a weird question, Levi.” Mikasa grumbles, glaring at him.

“You’re horrible, Mikasa. Jean said he wants to be with you.” Levi responds.

“Well, that’s a given. Of course, I’m going to be with Jean.” she responds, giving one last eye roll to the camera.

“Doing something important. That means something to people.” Connie responds.

You swallow hard, as you see Eren, fifteen and so smiley, as he crawlsl onto the little stool.

“My turn?” Eren asks, giving Levi a bright smile.

“Yes, kid. Your turn. Why else would you be sitting here?”

“Okay. This is a secret so don’t tell anyone.” he says.

“I’m not broadcasting to a news channel, Eren. Just hurry up, I still have to get through half of you.”

Eren nods, reaching up to fix his hair, before he talks - his voice filled with that confident resolve, that one he always sported when he was fifteen.

“I want to get the Best Actor in a Lead role award. And on the same night, I want Y/N to become a triple threat. And then I want us to tell her that I told her so. Me and her, at the top.” he says, giving the camera a bright smile, before jumping off.

The next one is of you, what you said being entirely lost to you in your memories.

“What do I want to do when I'm in my twenties? Hm.” you echo.

“Today would be nice.” Levi deadpans.

“Well, I don’t know! That’s so broad. I want to be doing stuff like this. Acting, making music, To have people enjoy the work I make, and making it with my friends, like Eren and Mikasa and Armin. I want to be here, more than anything. It feels so right to me, that I get to do this. It’s special, it’s a privilege and I’m really thankful I get to do it.”

“Note to anyone watching. This is one of our only kids with manners.” Levi says, setting the camera down to give you a hug.

You bite down on your cheek, looking over at Levi, as he plays the last one. Of Marco.

“Okay, Marco. What do you want to do when you’re in your twenties?”

“Well. I know what I’m going to be doing.” Marco says, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“See. Spoiler alert, but Hange and Levi just killed me off this show. But we made a deal. That I get to be in each season, even if its a super minor role like a flashback or whatever. So in my twenties, I’ll be here. Surrounded by all my childhood best friends, making this show that’s always meant so much to us.”

You swallow hard as Levi wraps his arms around you, the two of you watching Marco’s smiley face disappear from the screen.

“So I’ll see you in four months? For season four?”

“Damn right you will.” you respond.

And for the first time in a week, Levi breaks a smile.

“Good.”

next part linked here

an, again: SEASON FOUR ERA (this shit abt to be so awkward when they're not all sad/grieving )

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly-y-blog @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi

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analoceits · 2 years ago

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raven wings chapter one: spiraling smoke

A03 Link

note: ahh im super excited this is finally out!! massive and i mean massive thanks to Oatmeal_Archive, also known as @oatmeat-stans-the-trash-rat on tumblr and ChaosIsMyName, both of my beta readers for this fic!! they were both AMAZING moral support and oatmeal is a grammar wizard tbh. check out their stuff, they’re great writers!!

tags: Wings, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Winged Logic | Logan Sanders, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Minor Body Horror, Minor Gore, Religious Guilt, Morally Neutral Morality | Patton Sanders (hes well intentioned just.. a bit messy), Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides) (they care about eachother sm)

The wings shot out of his back like spiraling towers of smoke, and in the blurry bathroom mirror - they might as well have been. Logan carefully traced his fingers to where they poked out of his back, right under his shoulder blades and felt the muscles. They were real.

He didn’t hesitate before raising them in the air, arching over his head like a deep shadow in the dark light. He bit his tongue to stop himself from gasping out loud with his shock. It looked like a biblical portrait.

He ran his fingers over the dark feathers while thinking back to what could’ve caused this - to be fair, he didn’t have many leads. When he had woken up like this, he didn’t even realize he had wings at first. He could’ve sworn it was one of Virgil’s thick weighted blankets he often borrowed (not that he needed it), but he realized when he sat up.

They were real, that was at least proven - considering how as he stumbled to the bathroom, one of the wings dragging behind him knocked into the table and one of Patton's favorite plants smashed to the floor. He was lucky it was easy to clean up, and the pot was only a little cracked.

He let the wings fall back down to his sides, slightly rocking with their sheer weight. They were much more dense and strong then he had previously imagined. He hadn’t previously thought he could actually fly with them, but with this realization - there was a possibility.

He gripped as tightly as he could along the edge of the counter, and started to flap them as strongly as he could. The muscles themselves were young, and therefor weak. Despite this, after a second he was barely putting weight on his feet, and next thing he knew he was in the air.

He levitated just briefly, not breathing at all for that silent second. Then the wings gave out. He crashed back to the tile floor, scrambling to hoist himself up with the bathroom counter. It definitely bruised his ribs in the process (ow), but facing himself in the mirror - he couldn’t stand to count it as a disappointment.

He set himself back up right and let his thoughts flow. These were not.. particularly planned for, mayhaps, but they weren’t the worst possible change in the Mindscape. Really, the sheer convenience of them was worth their existence all on its own.

He also spared a thought for the possibility of the other sides’ reaction. Despite how emotionless he was, the thought of their wonder made something deep in his chest burn like a lit candle. He could imagine Patton awwing and oohing over the wings, while Roman insisting it was good potential for ‘adventuring’, and even perhaps Virgil finding solace in the thought that it was a safety net for Logan.

Though, for all he knew, these were an impermanent change. The mindscape did not often pull stunts like this. Despite the fact that the sides had small varieties, in the end, they all mostly resembled Thomas. Did any side even have any changes this significant, like animal features- oh.

Oh.

How had he forgotten?

(Thomas was young at the time. Patton and Janus were in charge, but it was more arbitrary then anything - they were all the same age in the end. King had seemed older, seemed more in charge, but now it was just the twins - with big eyes and little hands just like the rest of them.

There was distant yelling, and despite how far the voices were, there was no question who it was. Logan put his book down on his lap and looked up. Roman stared at him from across the room and frowned with concern. Jan and Pat had been arguing more recently. Logan nodded at the implicit question, getting up and taking Roman by the hand as they wondered down the hall.

The words became clearer as they became closer.

“I’ve told you that lying isn’t worth it, Jan.. Thomathy’s in trouble and I don’t know how long it’s gonna last!” Patton practically wailed, throwing his arms out through his distress and desperation. He was always emotional in these scenarios.

“You’re acting like I pushed it over myself. It is not that serious of an infraction, Patton. His parents will get over it!” Janus snapped back, arms tucked over his chest and face furrowed with his anger.

Thomas had knocked it over earlier while they were playing. Their mother had valued it a lot, but Thomas thought he could hide it by cleaning it up, with the encouragement of Janus. He got a shard stuck in his hand in the process, and their parents were now worried and furious.

Patton hadn’t coped well. Any time when they were in trouble, or needed to get treatment, he was the most upset. Thus, the intersection was the worst possible scenario. It made sense as he was the center for Morality and Emotions; he was prone to being upset. Nobody blamed him for that. The main issue was that he projected that onto Janus.

Logan turned to face Roman, who gave a steady nod as the argument droned on around them. Despite being the most ‘mature’, and therefor heads of house (so to speak). Janus and Pattons’ arguments could get ugly, fast. The other sides luckily had learned how to separate them in these scenarios and avoid such problems.

Logan motioned that he would take Janus and Roman could take Patton, their usual arrangement. Roman nodded in agreement. Logan was about to step in so they could object to this, but then he stopped. No. Something was wrong.

“Why are you acting so cold-blooded-” Patton yelled, his eyes welling up with angry tears, and Janus’s expression dropped. Despite everything - he hated such insults to a special degree. As if he didn’t care, as if he didn’t try, he would say every time.

Then, it happened. Scales tore through the skin under his eye and seemed to envelops half his face one quick go. His right eye was like a snakes, gold with a thin black slit. His teeth sharpened to little blades in his mouth.

The silence was overwhelming, and the tension in the air was so palpable Logan could barely breath. He felt Roman’s hand tighten in his, and he gripped back the best he could. Patton clamped his hands over his mouth and slowly paced back, hovering over Roman and Logan protectively in the process.

Janus’s expression went from pure single-minded anger and to confusion, then fear just as the rest of them. He spun his head around behind him for a second, clearly looking for the threat, before he put a hand on his own face. Then, he felt the scales.

He opened his mouth, and even now Logan wondered what he had planned to say - an apology? An explanation? Maybe he was planning to beg with Patton, or maybe he would of never been able say anything at all. It didn’t matter, of course, because Patton cut him off.

Patton clasped his hands together in front of his face, turned his head down and started to pray. He prayed quietly, as always. Once Logan asked him to explain why, and he said that he already had God in his heart - he didn’t need to speak anywhere else. Logan thought it cowardice, but he didn’t say so. Of course, that didn’t matter now - it didn’t take a genius to guess which prayer he was saying.

I come to Your refuge with joy for You shelter me against the attack of the Devil. Protect me, O Lord, from the craftiness of the enemy, and save me from his evil plots.

It was one of Patton's favorite prayers.

Janus stared, and Logan knew he wasn’t the only one to guess the prayer correctly then. Soft anger rested upon his expression. He hissed something under his breath - Logan couldn’t hear it, but Patton must have, because he turned his head up and stopped praying. The look was indecipherable.

Then Janus walked out, hands in fists but head held as high as always. Patton paced back to his room without even seeming to have seen Logan or Roman, and they both ran to their room after. Virgil, Janus, and Remus’s rooms were gone the next morning.)

.. Maybe these weren’t an act of the mindscape. These types of events, with the context of the incident with Janus, seemed to be after negative events. Nothing had occurred. (It was nothing.) This was simply just an accident, or glitch, possibly.

It was nothing that adjusting his form couldn’t fix. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tracing his fingers along where the wings poked out of his skin. His flesh seemed to crackle as he tried to push the wings back into himself, letting the bones and muscle nestle into his back.

After a long, awkward moment of this, his skin wrapped back over itself and he placed a palm where the wing once sprouted from. Nothing.

He opened his eyes again and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he still was faced with nothing. He took a few deep breaths, glad that the problem was resolved. He shoved it back into the far corners of his memory. It was noth-

Then he felt it. Burning fire under his skin as bones and feathers reformed into one, with no care or consideration for the rest of his body, tearing muscles apart and shoving his ribs to the side. He covered his mouth, and when that wasn’t enough, he dragged his blunt nails against his cheeks in a desperate attempt to stay silent.

He tried his best to focus and attempted to disperse the wings once more, stop them from reforming desperately, lest they break through his skin. His entire back burned with pain at the attempt. He was sent careening downwards, gripping onto the counter for dear life.

He bit his bottom lip and before he knew it, blood was welling up in his mouth. Every attempt to try and calm himself, breath deeply or count, eventually just made it worse. He gasped and choked on air, while his lungs desperately strained to keep function. The pain was unbearable.

Virgil - Virgil had told him that after the incident, but before they left the Lightscape, Janus tried to get rid of the scales. Only once. Only once because the first time taught him to not try again, then Virgil had refuse to elaborate farther. Logan understood what he meant now.

The black wings finally broke through his skin and it took everything in Logan’s body to not scream at the top of his lungs. The world swam around him as he felt blood well up around the wings and drip down his back. He spit blood into the sink, and his entire body shook.

The pain slowly eased off of him until he could think again. He propped his head up in his hands and looked up, facing himself in the mirror. The wings were limp against his back, but now he could see the blood on them. They felt more like the burnt and charred wings of a fallen angel instead of anything biblical. He could practically hear Patton’s response, telling him he had fallen from grace. But.. maybe he didn’t have to be aware.

He cleaned the rest of the blood off of himself as gently as he could, before heading back to his room through the dark. He tucked the wings tight against his back and made a point to not spare the cracked flowerpot a guilty glance. After a few achingly long minutes of shuffling through his possessions as the sun rose, he got what he needed and returned to the bathroom.

He spread the items out on the counter, assessing them all equally. A typical black collar shirt of his, a tie, and a laced corset that Roman had left him. He picked up the corset. This could work.

He sinched the corset around himself with steady hands, tucking the wings underneath. Pain flared up and burst through the bloody things, which objected to being tucked so tightly. He bit his lip raw in the process, but by the end the wings were tucked sturdy against his back, if a bit painfully.

Then, he dawned the shirt and tie, and tried his best to see through all angles in the mirror.

It wasn’t the best disguise, that was to be sure. The wings poked out a little, harsh little spikes of bone against his shirt, but that was just because he knew what he was looking for. The other sides, even if they noticed the odd shape, would be unlikely to comment on it. At least, he hoped.

He barely registered the noise of Roman sitting up, and taking his usual morning stretch with an average amount of dramatic flourish. It was his turn to make breakfast, after all. Biting back his reservations, he fled to the kitchen.

////

“Popstar Padre - is it really worth it to give Janus a ‘fair place at our table’?” Roman ranted between thick bites of waffle, waving his fork like any weapon. “No offense, but the snake isn’t exactly the fair and friendly type that I want influencing Thomas.”

Patton wrung his hands, staring to the side, then down, then at the table. Anywhere but at Roman. Virgil looked between the two, with semi-wide eyes waiting for movement, before sighing deeply like he realized the task at hand.

“Sorry Ro- actually, not sorry at all, but got to agree with Pat on this one.” Roman’s face practically dropped to the core of the earth, looking like the world’s most kicked puppy, but Virgil continued without a hitch. “Janus can be.. the worst, definitely, but he’s getting better. We got to.. ugh, give him a chance, like you gave me.” Virgil’s face curled up like he was being forced to eat dirt with every word he spoke.

Roman snapped out a response, pointing his fork with an accusatory glare. Logan happily tuned out the words, for once content to fade into the background of a debate. The wings continuously shuffled underneath the corset, so having less eyes on him was for the better.

The argument droned on around him, like he was a rock in a river. Silently, for once, he ate his breakfast. Nobody noticed him and that was for the best. With luck, these would simply disappear in a week or two, and nobody would ever know-

“Lo?” The voice was thick with concern, and he nearly bit his tongue off attempting to not flinch. He hesitated, and then very carefully drew his attention back up to Virgil. His heart dropped at the mix of worry and suspicion that rested on his face.

“Yes?” He asked, after choking down a quick bite of pancake. The wings shuffled under the corset, and he cursed his stupid fleshform. Then Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, directly above the wings. He cursed existence, trying to keep the new muscles locked still.

“You’re quiet. You aren’t usually quiet. What’s wrong?” The words made Logan spare Patton and Roman a glance - knowing if they even got the slightest hint he was in any way, shape or form, wrong they’d get worried too. For once, seeing them continue on with their bickering was a blessing.

“I was making up for a small error in Thomas’s editing schedule last night and stayed up a little later than intended. I am simply tired from such activities.” The lie slipped out of his throat like honey. He was sure, with his luck, that Janus was about to pop up behind him.

There was a moment of silence, with Virgil practically glaring into his very soul. Thankfully, he oh so slowly he let go, suspicion still written on his face nonetheless. “Take a nap later. I mean it too, Lo. You aren’t Remy - you can’t do all nighters like that.” His expression softened slightly, and he turned to take a bite of pancake - instead ending up butting into Patton and Roman’s debate once more.

Logan practically breathed all of his lungs out and then some with his relief. His heart was pounding like a war drum. The wings shuffled awkwardly under the corset, trying to find a comfortable resting position again.

It was alright, he reminded himself with the logical part of his brain; Virgil was unaware. Realistically, Virgil would be the one of the light sides to care the least about his.. er, sudden change, but he’d rather not risk it either way, considering that the other option would be him caring the most.

(“You’re just like that fucking snake.”)

He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his skull, and the wings awkwardly ruffled once more under the leather. He was honestly shocked he hadn’t accidentally cramped one of them at this rate.

And then he felt a pair of eyes burning into his back. He didn’t dare look up, because he knew it was Virgil; he knew looking up would just make things worst for him.

Virgil slowly spoke, not like Logan couldn’t understand, but as if he struggled to form words. “Did-,” he hissed and Logan thanked God it was quiet, “did something just move under your shirt?” Fear laced his tone like a thick blanket, and Logan’s muscles tightened slightly.

He turned to face Virgil, carefully angling himself so the wings could fold behind his back and Virgil couldn’t see them. “Nothing moved under my shirt,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows in his best concerned expression. He felt like Janus with this much lying, “Virgil, how much did you sleep last night?”

Virgil scrunched up his face, making it very clear he didn’t believe a word that came out of Logan’s mouth. “No, no no nope,” he popped the ‘P’ for extra effect, “listen, Lo, I’ve already gone down the whole ‘did you sleep enough last night’ she-bang with Janus. That doesn’t work on me.” He insisted.

“It isn’t a trick,” he insisted as calmly as he could, putting his hands up and leaning back slightly for the best kindly demeanor he could give off, “I’m just saying that insomnia, or lack of sleep, can cause minor visual hallucinations - such as seeing something move under ones shirt, and I am aware you’ve struggled with such in the past.”

Virgil stared at him as hard as he could. Logan’s heart twisted with guilt as he watched Virgil’s expression drop, and he seemed to convinced himself that Logan was right and he was just seeing things. “Sorry,” he muttered, and turned back to his dish.

“It’s quite alright.” Logan insisted, turning back to his food himself just as quickly. It was for the best, he reasoned. No reason to tell Virgil and have him in charge of such a big secret, considering his anxiety.

They ate in silence for what felt like an infinite eternity. Though, Logan knew logically it could’ve only been five, ten minutes more. The argument between Patton and Roman slowly fizzled out, neither of them none the wiser to Logan and Virgil’s.. disagreement.

He finished his plate and got up, calmly announcing as he headed to the sink, “I believe the chore chart indicates that it’s Virgil turn to do the dishes, correct?” He asked, quickly rinsing off his plate.

Virgil nodded and said, “Yeah. I’ll get them once I’m done.” His voice was still the barest bit somber, and Logan could feel the way his eyes traced Logan’s back.

Logan gave him one last acknowledging glance and ducked down, before crumbling back to his bed. He automatically snapped his shirt and the corset off in one moment. The wings splayed out, exhausted and sore. He covered his face while they stretched.

He turned over and put his arms out. He counted each glow-in-the-dark star on his ceiling and felt every single feather already out of angle. The agitation was unbearable, and he could only pray this was a temporary curse. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

#sanders sides #tss #ts sides #sasi #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #ts logan #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton #analoceits writing

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melishade · 2 years ago

Note

How are things going in the Dark Timeline? Especially now that Megatron has a mental link to Porco?

Previous Episode of the Dark Timeline

Just got back from Texas yesterday. Saw Phil LaMarr at the airport and said hi

But back to the Dark Timeline!

So it has been...a while since Megatron's messed with dark energon to this degree. About two years in the Dark Timeline. And his last experience was having his body hijacked by fucking Unicron so it wasn't fun.

But getting to Porco through the noise and the screams of horror and terror that surrounded him on all sides wasn't easy. It was like going through a house of horrors. Normally sorting through dark energon wouldn't have bothered him this much, but because of how things have changed for him during this time, it's been too much for him.

Then he hears sobbing and mumbles and follows the noise to Porco's form, completely damaged from the dark energon. Porco keeps on mumbling on how it hurts. Megatron calls out to him, and Porco snaps his head to Megatron. He recognizes him, and Megatron sees the dark energon in Porco's optics. The titan shifter gets angry and screams at him to get out, knocking Megatron out of the psychic link he created for the two of them. He practically crashes into the wall, causing Optimus to run over to him in concern. Megatron tells him he's fine and that he's managed to create a link with the titan shifter.

Optimus is relieved, because he's been worried about whether or not Porco is even alive at all. Megatron tells him that Porco screamed at him to get out, so he assumes that Porco hates his guts. Megatron laments that maybe if Optimus had the link, he'd have an easier time convincing Porco to help. Optimus suggests asking the Warriors about Porco. Megatron retorts by asking him, but Optimus replies that Porco was emotionally distraught when they were together. Shockwave experimented on him constantly...and he felt like he was abandoned by his comrades. Megatron notices the guilt on Optimus' face and reasons that he didn't abandon the titan shifter. Optimus retorts by saying that he waited too long to break out with the too, and Porco is now paying for his mistake.

After Megatron tries one more time to establish a link, but is ultimately kicked out once again. Megatron goes to talk to the Warriors to find out more about Porco. It's a very uncomfortable experience for the remaining warriors. Annie wasn't there to help out the others; she was locked away underground at the time. Reiner and Pieck feel like shit because they made an active decision to flee instead of grabbing him. Reiner more so because he abandoned not one, but two of his comrades. Megatron even asks Magath about it but considering how everything in Marley was more of a front, he's not entirely sure if the information he's providing is entirely accurate.

Megatron tries again, but this time, he's confronted with sheer agony. He finds Porco and sees the boy screaming out as his body's getting electrocuted and realizes that Shockwave is torturing him. He calls out to him, but his cry falls on deaf ears. Megatron then grabs Porco's arm, and is immediately met with agonizing pain, but as Megatron takes on Porco's pain, Porco's screams grow weaker and weaker. Megatron is taking on Porco's burden, and providing the titan shifter with some relief. Porco is stunned while Megatron is recovering and demands to know why he helped. Why the hell did the Flying Titan help him after leaving him behind?!

Megatron explains that he and the island launched a rescue operation for Optimus. They managed to get Optimus and Gabi out, but Optimus begged for them to try and get Porco back somehow. Porco feels both happy and conflicted. Optimus and Gabi were alive, but...he was still left behind! Why didn't he grab him when he was at Shockwave's base?! Megatron explains that he couldn't without exposing the wrath of Shockwave on the island. Refugees were there, people were in danger, he had to think things through! Especially with the deal happening!

And Porco's angry! So once again, it's always about someone else! Someone who never gave a damn about Eldians in the first place! Or about him! Megatron...apologizes to Porco. Apologizes that he wasn't able to get him out sooner or even in the first place. He couldn't risk Shockwave getting all the titans and made a decision on that. Porco then demands to know why he should even trust him at all. He took his brother! No doubt killing him!

And Megatron knows about Marcel. He knows what Reiner did and that Reiner lied, but he...doesn't rat Reiner out. He takes full blame for Marcel's death and keeps up the lie to spare Reiner the pain. Megatron apologizes for Marcel's death and says that it was war. He made a decision that would benefit his side. But Megatron now explains that the entire world and everyone they care about will be at risk if Shockwave gets what he wants: Zeke Jaeger. Megatron asks for Porco's help in sabotaging the trade and keeping both of them. Porco demands to know why is Zeke important, and Megatron tells him he's a royal blood. Megatron reminds Porco of Shockwave's torment and experiments he's no doubt seen firsthand. The damage Shockwave will do if he gets the power of royal blood will be catastrophic.

Porco's too tired to really keep up the conversation and the link is severed once more. Megatron explains what happened and Arcee can't help but ask why Megatron doesn't just take over Porco's body. He's done that to Bumblebee. Megatron says he's not that person anymore and refuses to put Porco through more suffering than he's already dealing with. Hanji reminds Megatron that they have less than a week to come to a decision. They need information from Porco; they don't have time to wait. Megatron refuses to use Porco as a tool and immediately shuts down whatever protests that come out.

Megatron contacts Porco again, who's in a calmer state, and asks the teen for his help. Porco says he agrees, and Megatron asks to describe his surroundings to him. Porco slowly does, and Megatron absentmindedly relays that information to Optimus.

As the days grow shorter, Megatron and the others formulate a plan with Porco's information. Megatron notices that Porco's getting weaker due to the dark energon in his body, and grow more and more unsure if they'll be able to get it out of him. Porco can't help but ask Megatron whether or not this will work. Megatron admits that he's not sure, but they have try for the sake of the people they care about. Porco knows he's dying, and asks Megatron to relay a message for the Warriors if things don't work out.

A day before the deal happens, Megatron tells the Warriors and Warrior Cadets that Porco wishes he had more time with them, and he forgives them and understands why they did what they did. He loves them all, including Reiner. And the Warriors are now more determined than ever to get Porco back.

The week is now over, and the deal starts to go down.

(Okay, I'm going to have to think about what happens next if the next ask for the Dark Timeline comes up so just...give me some time for that. Okay? Okay.)

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legacygirlingreen · 3 months ago

Text

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 1 "Breaking the Silence"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 9k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena ; Echo x OC Aiko ; Crosshair x OC Kayden

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up, so much Angst in this bad boy, brief mentions of losing Fives, did I mention Angst? marital arguments

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

Masterlist | Next Chapter

The counter felt unnervingly sticky under his fingers, its residue clinging to his skin with every movement. His clothes—far too tight and constricting—made every breath a little more labored, a constant reminder of how out of place he felt in this moment. The music, an incessant hum in the background, seemed to dull his senses, blurring everything around him. Even the taste of spotcha, which he had once tolerated, now tasted like bitter regret on his tongue. Tech’s thoughts spiraled as he longed to leave, to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere, and part of him felt apathetic to anyone’s disappointment—he just wanted to be anywhere but here. But Omega had begged him to join, her pleading eyes too much for him to resist. So, he stayed.

The quiet thud of Echo’s cup meeting the wooden table snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, and Tech followed suit, setting down his own shot glass with a deliberate, almost mechanical motion. It was a small, mundane action—but in that moment, it felt significant. The weight of unspoken words coming alive as the sigh left his lips and his eyes turned downcast once more.

He despised being the cause of their worry. Tech would have preferred enduring another of Chori’s harsh verbal reprimands than to face the silent weight of their concerned or disappointed gazes. He had grown accustomed to those looks over time, but they never lost their sting. The mixture of confusion over his actions and the pity that seemed to drip from their eyes made his stomach twist. He hated it. No one should pity him—not for his failure to see the warning signs long before things spiraled out of control.

He had made a mistake. A critical misjudgment, one that he couldn't shake from his mind. Admitting that, out loud, felt like swallowing glass. The weight of it, the knowledge that he had lost his usual steadiness, gnawed at him relentlessly. Every time he spoke the words aloud, it was like peeling back a fresh layer of shame, the guilt never fading, only deepening.

Tech had spent countless hours over the past few months retracing his steps, attempting to unravel where everything had gone wrong. At first, he had convinced himself that the root of the problem lay in his failure to recognize the significant differences between himself and Leena. He had told himself it was an understandable oversight—one that, in hindsight, could be chalked up to a simple error in judgment. But as he sifted through his older records, documents, and notes from the time of their crash landing on the planet she called home, a harsh truth began to emerge. Even then, when he first met Leena, he had been acutely aware of the chasm that separated them, of the vast divide in how they viewed the world, approached problems, and saw their futures.

What he hadn’t fully grasped, though, was the true depth of that disparity—the way those differences could unravel the very fabric of a relationship. He had underestimated how much those discrepancies could sow instability, the kind that would slowly erode any foundation they tried to build. And that realization struck him like a gut punch: it wasn’t that he hadn’t seen the differences, but that he had been blind to their consequences.

Being so vastly different from your partner wasn’t necessarily an impossible challenge to overcome, provided both people were willing to make compromises. Tech, ever the problem-solver, understood this concept early on. However, he quickly realized that in their relationship, he was often the one making those compromises. And as time passed, it became clear that the differences in their emotional needs were the root cause of the issues that began to surface.

Tech valued mental stimulation above all else—he thrived in the presence of a partner who could engage his mind, someone who challenged his thoughts and kept him questioning, growing, and expanding his understanding of the world. For him, problem-solving was more than just a skill; it was how he expressed affection, how he showed care and dedication. He also valued quiet moments of companionship—those peaceful, unspoken times that allowed him to connect with someone on a deeper level without needing words or physical touch.

Leena, however, had a very different approach to intimacy. She was a constant, tactile presence, her need for physical connection apparent in every gesture. She craved the touch of others, and while at first it had seemed endearing, it gradually became something more stifling to him. The frequent, insistent grasps on his arms, the constant kisses in public, the overwhelming need for physical closeness—what had initially been affection in her eyes slowly became a suffocating force in his. It was as if her touch was a demand, one that gradually pushed him further and further out of his comfort zone, until what had once been a loving gesture began to feel more like a constraint. This mismatch in needs—his desire for mental engagement and quiet, her hunger for constant physical closeness—formed the crux of their early problems, the friction that would only grow more difficult to ignore with time.

As the more significant differences in their needs began to settle in, Tech found his own feelings increasingly neglected. He had been the one constantly compromising, trying to accommodate her desires while putting his own on the back burner. As that pattern continued, even the smallest issues seemed to evolve into major points of contention. Things that once might have been overlooked or shrugged off now became flashpoints, chipping away at the connection between them and deepening the gap that had begun to widen.

Tech’s understanding of time was unwavering and meticulous. He had a rigorous, almost intrinsic sense of schedules and the value of time. To him, if you made plans, you were obligated to respect the structure and timelines you set. There was an unspoken expectation that punctuality wasn’t just a courtesy—it was a reflection of respect, not only for the time you’d agreed upon but also for the people you were meeting. In Tech’s mind, the system was simple: schedules existed to be followed.

But Leena was the antithesis of that structure. Her free-flowing, almost carefree nature didn’t see time as something to be rigidly adhered to. She would often show up late, dismissing punctuality with a casualness that baffled and frustrated him. What seemed like a small, harmless disregard for the clock grew more maddening with each passing day. Her tendency to break free from schedules, to let time bend and stretch to her whims, was something he struggled to accept. To him, it felt disrespectful—not just to him, but to everyone involved in their plans.

Her tardiness, once a mere annoyance, began to feel like a constant breach of trust, a sign that her priorities were out of sync with his. The lack of consideration for time—something that Tech valued deeply—felt like an affront to his need for order and predictability. It wasn’t just the lateness; it was the underlying message that her world didn’t revolve around the same sense of respect for time that he held so dear.

In addition to the mounting frustrations, Tech came to a quiet, unexpected realization about himself—one he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. Tech had always been a confident man, comfortable with who he was and well aware of both his strengths and weaknesses. He didn’t dwell much on the opinions of others, nor did he feel the need to constantly prove his worth. But even he, despite his composed exterior, was still human. There were moments when he found himself uncertain about how to explain why certain things bothered him—why something as seemingly small as a comment could gnaw at him for longer than he cared to admit.

One such issue had been his hairline, which had started to recede earlier than most. It wasn’t something he dwelled on, but Leena’s frequent remarks about it made him more self-conscious than he ever thought he could be. She had been persistent, especially in the early days, pointing out how the bold hairstyle he’d chosen after the removal of his inhibitor chip suited him, almost as though it was a way to cover up his “imperfection.” At the time, he’d brushed it off, believing her reassurances, seeing the change as something simple and even freeing. Yet, as time passed, her comments—meant to be affectionate—began to sting.

The more she gently acknowledged that his bold look “worked to hide” his receding hairline, the more it hurt. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the implication that his physical appearance was something to be covered up, something that needed fixing. It was a vulnerability he hadn’t fully been aware of until now. What had once seemed like a harmless observation became a constant reminder of his insecurities, of a defect he had never been overly concerned with before but now found difficult to ignore.

There were times when he yearned for the simplicity of those earlier days when he hadn’t cared about the slight recession of his hairline. He missed the confidence he had once carried without a second thought. He longed for a time when he hadn’t had to question whether or not he should let his hair grow back, or whether it would be met with more gentle nudges to change it. He wished, more than anything, that his partner would stop pointing it out—would simply accept him as he was, imperfections and all.

Then, the final blow—the proverbial nail in the coffin—came in the form of their profound misalignment in the bedroom. Tech, despite his lack of romantic companionship before meeting Leena, had always found it difficult to settle into a repetitive routine, especially in matters of intimacy. Early on, he had sensed that their needs and desires in that area weren’t quite in sync. While he didn’t have the same physical demands as others, he still harbored a deep need for connection in that space, one that extended beyond simple, predictable interactions.

Tech wasn’t a man who could easily be satisfied with repetition; his mind, ever curious and open, yearned for new experiences, new ways to engage. He longed for variety, for exploration, for the kind of intimacy that pushed boundaries, that was full of discovery. Yet Leena, in contrast, was more traditional in her approach. She was drawn to a simpler, more romantic atmosphere, preferring the comfort of routine and the quiet familiarity of a steady, uncomplicated connection. For her, intimacy was something sacred, a space to nurture feelings of closeness and affection through consistency and tenderness.

It didn’t take long for Tech to realize that their differing expectations in this area might be a larger obstacle than he’d initially thought. While he had no shortage of emotional depth, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the lack of variety in their intimacy was starting to erode something fundamental between them. His growing desire to try new things, to experiment, to explore uncharted territory, felt increasingly distant from her preference for simple, romantic gestures that often left him feeling unfulfilled.

As these differences grew more pronounced, Tech found himself grappling with a sense of frustration he couldn’t easily express. It wasn’t just about physical needs—it was about a deeper longing for something more dynamic, more exciting, something that matched the way his mind constantly sought novelty and challenge. The mismatch in their desires in the bedroom began to feel like the final layer of the disconnect between them, the one thing neither of them could seem to bridge.

“Tech.” The sound of his name was gentle but laced with concern, followed by the familiar weight of a hand resting on his shoulder. Echo was trying once again to pull his attention, a subtle but firm reminder that he hadn’t escaped the questioning for long.

Tech sighed quietly, his eyes lifting reluctantly to meet Echo’s gaze. He already knew what was coming—the inevitable barrage of questions. It was the same pattern that had unfolded with each of his brothers, each one taking their turn to pry into the situation, all demanding an explanation for something that had felt like it came out of nowhere. The tension had built up over time, and now it was spilling over, each of them seeking clarity.

Hunter had been the first to confront him, though in his own way, seeing Tech’s actions as a disruption to their team’s harmony. Wrecker, in his typically straightforward manner, only seemed concerned with the surface-level issues—the impact of Tech’s personal decisions on their already fragile family dynamic. And then there was Crosshair, who had a different sort of frustration, one tied to his own personal stakes. His concern seemed more self-centered, worried about how Tech’s split might affect his own impending nuptials, rather than any deeper emotional fallout.

Echo, however, had held back, waiting, observing. He hadn’t yet launched into the interrogation like the others. For now, he was the last remaining one, the only brother who hadn’t yet pressed for an explanation, and Tech knew his patience was running thin.

Tech couldn’t help but wonder why Echo had held back, why he was the only one who hadn’t bombarded him with questions. There had to be a reason, and Tech couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps Echo had already consulted Mae—one of the few people who had known about his plans to separate before they had fully unfolded. Mae’s quiet understanding of the situation had always been evident. She had listened when he had spoken of his concerns, her response simple and devoid of pressure. She hadn’t pushed him to keep fighting for something that no longer felt right; instead, she had accepted his feelings, honoring his exhaustion and the mental toll of trying for so long. Mae’s gentle acceptance, without judgment or insistence, had given him space to breathe and think, something he hadn’t realized he needed until it was offered.

Given how close Echo’s wife was to Mae, Tech couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Echo, in his own way, had approached her about the matter as well. Perhaps Mae had provided him with the same understanding, which in turn had kept Echo from pressing him further. After all, Echo had always been the quiet observer, never one to jump to conclusions. If Mae had supported him, then Echo might have felt no need to pry, knowing the weight of Tech’s decision without needing every detail laid bare.

But there was another possibility, one that lingered in the back of Tech’s mind. Echo had been married longer than most of them. Maybe he understood better than anyone the complexities and quiet struggles that came with a long-term partnership. Marriage was never as simple as it seemed, and Tech had to wonder if Echo was quietly acknowledging that fact within his own relationship. Perhaps Echo was beginning to face his own challenges in that area, and out of respect—both for his own experience and for Tech’s—he had decided to withhold his judgment. After all, some things couldn’t be fixed with just a conversation or a solution; sometimes, the complexities of a relationship were too tangled to dissect in a single breath.

“If you’re going to ask, go ahead,” Tech said with a dry scoff, frustration bubbling up despite his best efforts to keep it contained. “Though I doubt any explanation I give is going to make me look better.” His words were sharp, edged with a mix of self-doubt and anger. It was hard to find any way to frame his actions that would cast him in a sympathetic light. The truth of it all felt like a weight he couldn’t escape, one that only seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

He had broken Leena’s heart—there was no way around that fact. The quiet, painful way he’d slipped away from her on an ordinary evening, had left scars deeper than he cared to admit. And the timing? It couldn’t have been worse. The same night he walked away from her, Crosshair had proposed to Leena’s twin. It was supposed to be a moment of joy, a turning point in their lives, yet his abrupt departure tainted it all. His actions hadn’t just hurt Leena, they had disrupted something beautiful, something that had been meant to be celebrated. The weight of that, the realization that his own choices had overshadowed someone else’s happiness, made the guilt gnaw at him in ways he couldn’t explain.

“I wasn’t going to ask about that,” Echo started, his voice steady but carrying a note of concern. “I was going to ask how you’re holding up. It’s a big change, Tech…”

Before Echo could finish, Tech cut him off, his words spilling out in a practiced, rehearsed tone. He had said them a thousand times to himself, hoping to convince anyone who would listen—and maybe even himself—that everything was fine.

“Change is a fundamental part of life,” Tech interrupted, his voice flat. “Unworthy of dwelling upon.”

But Echo wasn’t buying it. He didn’t let the words hang in the air. “Would you cut the crap and just speak to me? Honestly.”

Tech flinched, the sharpness of Echo’s voice catching him off guard. He hadn’t meant to snap, but the interruption was instinctive, defensive. His eyes briefly dropped, a wave of sullen guilt washing over him as he realized the frustration behind Echo’s outburst. Echo didn’t deserve to be met with the walls Tech had built, walls that had become so automatic, so deeply ingrained, that he didn’t even notice when they were up.

For a moment, Tech said nothing. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He had been avoiding this very conversation, but now it was impossible to ignore. He had alienated those closest to him, built walls around his own emotions, and Echo, of all people, wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

Tech’s shoulders slumped, and his voice softened, losing some of the rigid professionalism he often hid behind. “I’m not sure how to... process this, Echo,” he admitted quietly, the words feeling heavier than he expected. “Everything feels... disjointed. Like I’m going through the motions, but none of it feels real anymore.”

Echo paused, his gaze lingering on the figure before him, as if his mind had drifted far beyond the moment. After a beat of silence, he spoke softly, almost as if recalling a distant memory. “I felt something like that... after Skako Minor,” he said, his voice thick with a past that still haunted him. He fell quiet for a moment, looking around as if the present had suddenly become too sharp. His eyes, however, soon found something that grounded him—Omega, laughing joyously as he swung from Hunter’s outstretched arms. The sound of Omega's laughter echoed, a brief, fleeting reminder of simpler times, and for a moment, it seemed to pull Echo back to the here and now.

Echo cleared his throat, the weight of his words lingering in the air before he continued, his voice quieter, yet tinged with an intensity that made every syllable feel heavy. “Everything I knew… was gone. My brothers, my squadmates—one by one, they fell during the war. Fives, even, after I was gone. It was as if the world I once knew had vanished, and I was left standing in a place that no longer fit me. The 501st, the camaraderie... it all felt distant, like I was someone else entirely. I could see it in Rex’s eyes, the way he hesitated, the way he couldn’t look at me without that weight of guilt and confusion. That look stayed with him the whole ride back. He was angry—angry at the war, at the situation, maybe even at me. Ashamed of what had happened, what we’d lost. It made me feel confused... so damned confused about where I fit into this new world.” Echo’s voice softened, a touch of bitterness creeping in as he finished, “It’s why I haven’t—”

Tech turned towards his brother, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as he realized how freely his own thoughts had spilled out. He had expected an interrogation, perhaps even a stern lecture, urging him to swallow his frustrations and push through, to return to Leena despite the strain. But instead, Echo was speaking to him, revealing the rawness of his own struggles. He was opening up about the overwhelming challenge of returning after his imprisonment, attempting to show that he understood the deep, emotional turmoil that came with such life-altering changes. It was clear now why Echo had been the last to address his split—it wasn’t just about his connection with Mae or his own marital difficulties. No, it ran deeper. Echo's silence had come from a place of empathy, of understanding how difficult it could be to navigate personal turmoil when the world around you was shifting in ways you couldn’t control.

Tech's mind raced as the realization clicked into place, and his words followed, almost as if completing the thought that had been left unsaid. "That’s why you haven’t discussed my recent separation from Leena," he murmured, his voice quiet but full of understanding.

“I trust that you would never make a decision without weighing all the consequences first,” Echo began, his tone steady but firm. “I think the others... they’re coming at this situation from a different angle. They’re focused on how things might look, how it might reflect on them, maybe not fully understanding that you’ve been carrying this for a long time. You’ve thought about it, mulled it over, worked through every possible outcome. That much is clear.” Echo’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “If you’ve come to the conclusion that this is the best decision for you, then who am I to judge? It’s your call, not theirs.”

“It feels… selfish,” Tech admitted, his voice tinged with doubt. “I worry that I’m admitting defeat, like I’m saying I can’t make it work when I made a commitment. Isn’t it unfair to her if I just give up when things get difficult?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, the bitterness he’d been holding inside finding its way to the surface. He stared down at his hands, nervously gnawing at the dry skin around his nail beds with the edges of his teeth, his mind swirling in frustration. The habit was one he often relied on in moments of discomfort, a way to distract himself from the anxiety that gnawed at his insides. The need to do something, anything, only heightened his unease as he waited for Echo’s response, as if the silence between them would somehow make the weight of his doubts heavier.

Echo studied him for a long moment, his expression softening as he took in the turmoil written so plainly on his brother’s face. “It’s not selfish to acknowledge that something isn’t working,” Echo said quietly, his voice surprisingly gentle. He stepped closer, his words thoughtful but firm. “It’s okay to admit that things are hard, that not everything you thought you could fix is going to be fixed. That doesn’t mean you’re giving up; it just means you’re recognizing your own limits, and that’s… that’s something most people never do.”

Echo paused, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. “You made a commitment, yes. But that commitment doesn’t have to mean staying in something that’s hurting both of you. It’s about finding what’s best in the long run, not just for you, but for her too. Sometimes that means letting go, even when it feels like failure.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Tech muttered, his voice quieter now as he looked down, his hands slowly falling into his lap. The weight of Echo’s words lingered in the air, and for the first time, Tech felt the full force of a truth he had been avoiding. There was a chance—no, a strong possibility—that the differences between him and Leena ran so deep, so fundamentally incompatible, that no amount of effort on his part could ever truly fix them. He had spent so much time focused on wanting to make things work, on believing that his commitment and determination could overcome any obstacle. But now, the reality hit him: some differences couldn’t be bridged, and no matter how much he tried, they would only lead to more pain, more misunderstandings, more hurt feelings—for both of them.

Tech had said something similar to Leena when he told her he couldn’t continue the relationship, that staying together was only going to cause more damage. He had framed it as a way to stop the hurt, a noble reason to walk away. But even then, he hadn’t truly internalized it. It had been easier to speak the words than to accept them fully, to acknowledge the depth of the situation. He’d told himself that they could still work things out, that the discomfort would eventually fade. But now, faced with the weight of Echo’s perspective, the truth felt heavier. It wasn’t just about wanting to fix it; sometimes, some things couldn’t be fixed, no matter how much you wanted them to be.

“Permission to speak freely?” Echo asked, his voice low as he reached for the bottle and refilled both of their glasses. The sounds of the party faded into the background, a few yards away, giving them the necessary space to talk without interruption. Fortunately, the distance also meant they were out of earshot of Leena, who was somewhere in the crowd with her ever-present shadow, Chori, keeping a watchful eye.

Tech gave a slight nod, his throat tight as he swallowed the contents of his glass in one smooth motion. He knew, logically, that drinking when he was already feeling this way wasn’t the best choice, but tonight, he allowed himself a rare indulgence. He was allowed to be irrational, just this once.

Echo watched him for a moment before speaking again, his voice soft but direct. “I’ve known something was off for a while, Tech. Not just with you and Leena, but with you in general. The way you’ve been... holding on to something that wasn’t quite there anymore. It’s not my place to say, but I’ve noticed. I’ve always been quiet about it, kept my thoughts to myself. Didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make you feel like I was intruding on something that you were still trying to make work.” He paused, his eyes meeting Tech’s, a quiet understanding passing between them.

“I could see the misalignment from the start, though. It was subtle at first, but it was there. The way you both reacted to each other, like you were trying to fit into a mold that didn’t suit either of you. I didn’t want to say anything because I know how much you wanted it to work—how much you tried to make it work. But after a while, it started to feel like an invasion of your space, like me saying something about it would have made things even harder for you, like I was pushing where I had no right to.”

Echo let out a quiet breath, his voice more thoughtful now. “I guess I held back because I didn’t want to be the one to make you face it, if you weren’t ready. I’ve always known you needed time to process things on your own. But I think, deep down, I knew this was coming. And now, it’s not about blame, Tech. It’s just... reality. Sometimes, the hardest thing is to admit that something you’ve put so much into can’t be fixed, no matter how much you want it to be.”

In many ways, Tech wished this were just another engineering problem. Something he could break down, analyze, and put away in a box, only to revisit when he had more time, or when he had acquired more knowledge about how to make it work. Machines had always made more sense to him than people ever could. They were predictable, logical, structured—everything he could understand with precision. People, on the other hand, were messy, complex, and far more difficult to navigate. It was how he was made, a soldier whose talents were inherently tactical, built for problem-solving in ways that had always been about mechanics, not matters of the heart. None of them had been created for domestic life, not in the way it demanded.

Perhaps, with more time, he could learn to approach this differently—to be gentler with himself, to stop holding himself to a standard he’d never been taught to meet. But that, too, would be a process. Tech wasn’t sure he’d ever fully figure it out. He wasn’t a man who excelled in emotions, not the way he excelled in finding solutions. He was just… a man, caught in the middle of something he didn’t have the skillset to process, trying to make sense of an area where his usual logical approach simply didn’t fit.

Tech cleared his throat, suddenly feeling the weight of Echo's words settle in his chest. He glanced up at his brother, eyes steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. “Thanks, Echo,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “For saying what you did. It’s… it’s a lot to process, but it helps, more than you know.” He took another breath, the familiar knot of anxiety in his stomach tightening again. “You’ve always been good at providing a different perspective I hadn’t considered-”

His words trailed off as his gaze unconsciously shifted across the room. There, standing just outside the group, was Leena. She wasn’t looking at anyone else, her eyes locked on him with a focused intensity that made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Her posture was stiff, almost as though she were waiting for him to approach, or maybe for him to make some sort of decision.

The silence between them stretched, and Tech suddenly felt exposed, as if the weight of his conversation with Echo had somehow carried over into the moment. He swallowed hard, pushing his glass away and standing up abruptly. His legs felt unsteady as the room seemed to narrow in on him, and the very air around him thickened with an uncomfortable pressure.

“I… I need some air,” he muttered, the words half to himself, half to Echo. Without waiting for a reply, he made a hasty exit, his footsteps quick as he moved through the crowd, trying to shake the feeling that Leena’s gaze was still burning into him from across the room.

Tech didn’t dare look back as he moved through the party, the voices of the crowd muffled in his ears. His mind was racing too fast for him to focus on anything other than the need to escape, to put distance between himself and the uncomfortable knot that had settled deep in his gut. As he stepped outside, the cool air hit him like a sudden shock, and for a moment, he stood there, letting the breeze wash over him. The night sky stretched above, the stars sharp and distant.

He leaned against the wall of the building, eyes scanning the dark horizon, but all he could see were the images of Leena’s eyes—those eyes that felt like they were reading him, peeling back the layers he’d carefully built up, exposing every doubt and uncertainty he had tried so hard to hide.

He clenched his fists, the tightness in his chest growing with every passing second. He didn’t want to face her—not yet. Not with everything still so unresolved in his mind. But the longer he stood out there, the more it seemed impossible to avoid. The conversation with Echo had helped to clarify some things, but it hadn’t solved anything. He still didn’t know how to move forward, how to reconcile the commitment he had made with the growing distance between him and Leena.

The sound of footsteps approached, and Tech stiffened, his heart rate quickening. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. He could feel it, the shift in the air, the pull of her presence that seemed to demand his attention. Leena stepped into the dim light, her expression unreadable.

“You didn’t have to leave like that,” she said softly, her voice steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. Disappointment? Hurt? Or maybe it was just the strain of everything that had been left unsaid between them.

Tech swallowed, turning slightly to face her, but keeping his distance. “I wasn’t—" He paused, frustrated with himself for not knowing the right words. “I just needed some space.”

Leena’s gaze softened for a moment, but there was still a quiet sadness in her eyes. “I don’t want you to shut me out, Tech. Please don’t keep shutting me out. We can talk about this, we can talk it over-” She took a tentative step forward, but stopped herself, as if unsure whether to push or to wait for him to make the next move.

Tech could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of her words settling into the air between them. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have the solution. He didn’t know what to say to fix this.

“I—” He started again, but once more, the words failed him. And for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t just facing a problem he could solve with logic. He was facing something far more complicated than that.

On one hand, Tech felt a gnawing sense of obligation to honor her request, to not shut her out. He knew it was important to communicate, to not close himself off entirely. But something deep inside him resisted the idea. He had been down this road before, hadn’t he? It was that very mindset—putting her needs ahead of his own—that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Time and again, he had neglected his own well-being, sacrificing his peace and his happiness to make sure hers were met. Until, one day, he found himself so emotionally drained that even the simplest breath felt like a struggle.

He was used to yielding, used to bending to her wants because it felt easier, safer, but after his conversation with Echo, something had shifted in him. Maybe it wasn’t selfish to take a step back for himself. Maybe, for once, it was okay to deny his own instincts to always give in. The decision to split was one he knew, deep down, was for both their benefit. This relationship, as much as he had wanted it to work, had slowly chipped away at him, leaving him in a constant state of compromise without ever feeling like his own needs were truly met.

In giving in to her request now, in allowing himself to be swept up by her pleading, he’d be undoing everything he’d just begun to understand—everything he had started to rebuild, for his own well-being and for the sake of a future where both of them could heal.

“I want space, Leena,” Tech said softly, his voice quiet but firm, the words laced with the uncertainty of his own conflict. He wasn’t sure how harsh his tone had sounded, but he knew, deep down, it was the truth.

Leena’s gaze was intense, almost desperate, as she stepped closer to him. “Space?” she echoed, her voice tinged with frustration. “You’re just going to shut me out again? Tech, I’m right here. All I want is for us to work.” Her hands wrung together, a subtle sign of the growing tension she felt. “Why can’t you just let me in? I’m trying to help, to make this better.”

Tech’s chest tightened, the familiar feeling of guilt gnawing at him. He could feel her words pressing against him, tugging at his resolve. But inside, something shifted—something he couldn’t ignore. I need this. I need this distance. Separating is how we make this better for both of us.

“I already have explained myself to everyone, including you. I am so tired of explaining myself-” he said, his voice low and increasing with frustration, the words slipping out before he could fully steady himself. “I just... need space, Leena. I’m not sure what else to say.”

Her eyes began pooling with tears, but the change in her expression only seemed to fuel her determination. She took another step forward, her voice growing more and more hysterical by the moment. “I don’t want space Tech. I don’t want to lose you.”

Before Tech could respond, she reached out, her hand brushing gently against his arm, a silent request for him to listen, to stay connected. But the contact, the closeness, was too much. His pulse quickened, and a wave of discomfort washed over him. His skin felt too tight, his heart racing in a way that made him dizzy. Not only that but her very bold emotional reaction working to undo all his commitment to the split he desperately needed, nearly coming undone by her outburst.

“No,” he whispered, stepping back quickly, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at her, and for a moment, it seemed like the world had slowed down. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”

Leena froze, her hand still suspended in the air, a slight frown creasing her brow as she tried to process the shift in his demeanor. “Tech—”

His gaze hardened, and he swallowed, the words finally coming out with the clarity he’d been searching for. “I don’t regret this,” he said, the certainty in his voice surprising even him. “I don’t regret ending things. I don’t feel it is unfair to ask for space. I am asking you to respect that.”

At that, she began crying, mouth opening as the only coherent words slipping past her lips as she continued to step forward were mumbles of his name and unintelligible pleading.

“I can’t be the partner you need me to be. I have tried-”

Her gaze was intense, hurt flashing across her face as she took another step forward, hand once again seeking his as he once again pulled away, stepping back. “This isn’t just about you, Tech. This affects me, too. Don’t I deserve that effort-”

Tech closed his eyes for a moment, his head dipping in a slow, almost imperceptible shake as the familiar weight of guilt crept in once more. But the decision had been made. He couldn’t go back, even if it was uncomfortable. He had given everything he could, and no matter how much she refused to see it, that effort had been genuine. “You do deserve more, Leena,” he said, his voice quiet and gentle, the words softer now, as though they hurt to say. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this. Because you deserve someone who can give you more than I’m able to. I can’t keep pretending this isn’t just as unfair to me as it is to you.”

He took a breath, the words flowing with a quiet conviction he hadn't expected to find. “You deserve a partner who doesn’t pull away, someone who can embrace your spirit instead of stifling it. I’ve failed you in so many ways, Leena. I’ve let you down, and it’s not right for you to keep asking me to continue failing you.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them—heavy and thick. Leena’s lips parted as if she was going to say something, but the words faltered, as if she was weighing her options, unsure how to respond without sounding desperate. Before she could reach for him again, a voice broke through the tension, sharp and direct. “Leena, stop.”

Kayden’s figure appeared at the edge of the conversation, her stance confident, arms crossed as she watched her sister with a knowing expression. “You’re not listening. He’s asking for space. And you need to respect that.”

Leena’s head snapped toward her sister, her eyes wide with surprise. “Kayden, I—”

“No,” Kayden interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re so focused on your own hurt that you can’t see it. He’s made his decision, Leena. He’s telling you he wants space. And you need to respect him.”

The words hit Leena like a physical blow, her face crumpling for a moment as if she hadn’t expected her sister to be the one to call her out. She glanced at Tech, her expression wavering, but there was no turning back. Kayden’s voice was like a fresh breath, cutting through the clouded air around them.

“You can’t keep pushing him into something he doesn’t want. He’s been clear, Leena. It’s not fair to either of you to keep holding on to something that’s already broken.” Kayden’s eyes softened just a touch, but she didn’t look away from her sister. “You deserve better than this... and so does he.”

Leena opened her mouth as if to protest, but her sister’s words hung in the air, silencing any further arguments. Her hands dropped to her sides, her gaze dropping as her shoulders slumped in defeat. For the first time, she wasn’t trying to convince him to stay. She was just… listening.

Tech took a deep breath, the tension leaving his body slightly as he glanced at Kayden, giving her a silent nod of gratitude. Then, his attention returned to Leena. “I’m sorry, Leena. I really am. But I need to do this... for both of us.”

There was a long pause before Leena finally nodded, her face unreadable as she turned away, walking slowly toward the door, her sister following behind her with a glance back at Tech. The room seemed emptier in the wake of their departure, but the weight on Tech’s chest lightened just a fraction.

He had stood his ground. And though the weight of it hurt more than he could have imagined, he knew, deep down, it was the right choice. As he made his way back to his home, the quiet victory settled within him—a sense that this could finally be the end of the cycle. Maybe, just maybe, this was the break they both needed to move on from the pain and the hurt.

Because, in the end, that was all he truly wanted.

Leena felt the sharp tug on her shoulder the moment she sank into the empty chair, her body heavy with exhaustion. She lifted a trembling hand to her eyes, wiping away the tears that had fallen too freely. Her emotions were a chaotic storm inside her—grief, anger, confusion. A part of her felt utterly betrayed. Kayden had chosen his side. Her own twin, the one who was supposed to stand by her, had sided with Tech—the man who was now tearing apart their marriage.

As Leena stared at the smeared mascara on her palm, the weight of Kayden's words crashed over her like a cold wave. The accusation was still fresh in her mind, and she wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if she could respond. Her twin, the one person who should have understood, had now tugged her into this painful conversation, pulling her away from the comfort of her own thoughts.

Tech’s revelation weeks ago had left her reeling, blindsided. He’d asked for space so suddenly, and in that moment, it felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet. She hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t known things had gone so wrong. Once the initial shock wore off, all she was left with was a hollow, gnawing emptiness, and a suffocating sense of doubt. What had she done wrong? Was it her? Had she somehow failed him? The questions spun relentlessly in her mind, each one more accusing than the last.

She let out a shaky breath, feeling her chest tighten as the tears began to well again. She hated how weak she felt, hated that the tears wouldn’t stop, but she couldn’t stop them. Not now. Not when everything was unraveling, when her world was crumbling around her. She had given so much to this relationship, to Tech—her time, her love, her devotion—and this was how it ended? With him walking away, with her sister telling her to let him go? It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel fair.

Her mind drifted back to that conversation with Tech, the one that had shattered everything. She remembered his words so clearly, the way he had said it, as if there was no other choice. "I need space, Leena." Those words had cut through her like a blade, leaving her gasping for air. She had wanted to scream at him, to beg him not to do this, but all she could manage was a soft, broken plea for him to stay.

But he hadn’t.

And now, Kayden was standing in front of her, looking at her with eyes that seemed to ask why she was still holding on. Leena wasn’t sure how to answer. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. How could she explain the way her heart had been wrapped around Tech, how she had believed that if she just tried harder, if she just loved him better, everything would fall into place? She hadn’t been ready to let go. And even now, part of her wasn’t.

Kayden’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Leena,” she said softly, her tone more gentle now, though still firm. “I know this hurts. I know you want to fight for it, but you can’t keep clinging to something that’s already broken. You can’t keep sacrificing yourself for a relationship that isn’t right for either of you-”

"Tech is right for me, Kay!" Leena snapped, her frustration finally spilling over, the harshness in her voice unfiltered. The strain had been building for days, but it was the wallowing, the constant replaying of her pain, that made it so difficult for her to step back and see the bigger picture. Kayden had been patient—too patient—but it was clear that the longer the situation dragged on, the more it tested her own limits.

Fights between them were rare, but the longer Leena clung to her hurt, the more it pushed Kayden to her breaking point. Kayden, once confused and uncertain just like everyone else, had slowly come to understand how deeply this was affecting Tech—how long he'd been quietly bearing the weight of it all. Conversations with Crosshair, Mae, and others had opened her eyes to the toll it was taking on him.

“Is he?” Kayden’s voice was cold now, her patience thinning. “I thought you hated how he spoke to you sometimes—like you couldn’t understand anything unless he explained it to you as if you were... incapable.”

Leena opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She knew her sister wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said out loud stung in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Or how many times you’ve cried to me about how late he stays up working, leaving you alone at night,” Kayden continued, her voice gaining strength. “You’ve said yourself that his need for sleep—or lack of it—makes you feel... invisible. You’re lonely, Leena. And you’re scared to admit it.”

Leena flinched, her chest tightening at the truth in Kayden’s words. It wasn’t something she liked to admit—not even to herself. But the more Kayden spoke, the more she saw the cracks in her perfect vision of Tech and their relationship. Maybe Kayden was right. Maybe it wasn’t all Tech that was the problem. Maybe... maybe it was something deeper.

“Those aren’t too big to overcome, we can work through them,” Leena hummed, her voice lacking the conviction she wanted to project. She acknowledged the points her sister was making about the struggles in her marriage, but she dismissed them, unwilling to believe they were significant enough to drive a wedge between her and Tech. It wasn’t that she didn’t care—it was just too painful to accept the possibility that the cracks might be irreparable.

Kayden’s voice was flat, unwavering, as she asked, “Do you remember when we were kids? The one thing you always said you wanted from a man?”

Leena froze for a moment, taken aback by her sister’s sudden shift in tone. She hadn’t expected this particular memory to surface, especially not now. But before Leena could respond, Kayden pressed on, her words blunt and sharp. “You said all you ever wanted was someone who would laugh at all your jokes. You remember that night? The one where you made us sit through your rehearsed comedy routine? You told us you’d only marry a man who thought you were the funniest person on the planet. Well, Leena, Tech is not that man. He never was. He doesn’t get your humor. He doesn’t match your playful spirit at all, and I am so tired of watching you shrink yourself, stifling that part of you just to keep him happy.”

Leena felt her chest tighten, the words sinking deep into her. She hadn’t expected Kayden to bring up the ways in which she had changed—how she’d learned to be quieter, how she’d stopped being spontaneous, and how she had begun to second-guess herself, wondering whether any of her jokes would be too much for Tech. It had happened slowly, like a shadow creeping over her, but it had become undeniable. She had altered herself, had dulled parts of her personality to fit into the mold she thought Tech wanted. To fit into a life that no longer felt as joyful or free.

Admitting it out loud, even to herself, was painful—like ripping a bandage off an old wound. The realization that she had sacrificed pieces of who she was just to make her relationship work felt like a betrayal, not just to Tech, but to herself.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. How could she respond? How could she justify the parts of herself that she had buried? She glanced down at her hands, the weight of the conversation pressing on her chest.

Kayden’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “I just want you to see what’s happening, Leena. You’ve changed for him, and you don’t even seem to realize it. You’ve become this quieter version of yourself, this shadow of the woman I used to know. And it breaks my heart to see it. You deserve someone who sees you—all of you. Someone who can laugh with you, who doesn’t need you to be something you’re not.”

Leena swallowed hard, her throat thick with emotion. The truth felt like a stone lodged in her chest, and the more she tried to push it aside, the heavier it grew. Her heart ached as she realized that Kayden wasn’t wrong. Tech hadn’t been the one to stifle her; it was her own fear of losing him that had pushed her to change. She had thought that by being quieter, more reserved, she could make things easier for him. But in doing so, she’d lost parts of herself—parts she wasn’t sure how to get back.

Kayden’s eyes softened further, but the conviction in her voice didn’t waver. “You don’t have to lose yourself to make a relationship work, Leena. You just need to be yourself. Same as Tech needs to be himself.”

Leena sat silently for a long moment, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as Kayden’s words echoed in her mind. She felt a tightness in her chest, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. Kayden was right, she knew it, but the truth was so much harder to face than she had anticipated. The idea that she had changed herself to fit someone else's expectations, that she had let go of pieces of who she was just to make her relationship work—it was too painful, too much to process all at once.

“I... I can’t do this right now, Kayden,” Leena whispered, her voice breaking as she pulled her hands away, as if physically distancing herself from the truth. She stood abruptly, her eyes welling up with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”

Kayden was silent for a moment, taken aback by her sister’s sudden withdrawal. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Leena shook her head quickly, her face flushing with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

“I just... I need space, okay?” Leena snapped, the words sharp but muffled by the weight of everything she was feeling. “I need to be alone.”

Kayden frowned, her brows furrowing in concern, but she didn’t press further. She knew pushing Leena right now wouldn’t help. The walls were up, and trying to break them down would only make her retreat further.

"Leena, you don't—" Kayden began, but Leena cut her off, her voice strained with an intensity she hadn’t shown before.

“Please, Kayden,” she said quietly, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. “I just need a moment. I can’t deal with all of this... not right now.”

Kayden bit her lip, watching her sister step away from the conversation, her heart heavy with the weight of what had been said—and what had not been said. She knew Leena was hurting, but some truths were too hard to confront all at once.

Leena turned on her heel and quickly made her way toward the door, pausing just before she stepped out. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said softly, barely above a whisper, before disappearing into the quiet of the night.

Kayden stayed seated, her gaze following her twin’s retreating figure. She didn’t chase after her. Leena needed space, and if she was going to find her way through this, she needed to find it on her own terms.

Kayden just hoped she’d find it soon.

Chapter 2 HERE

Art by the lovely @leenathegreengirl!

#the bad batch #leena the green girl #tbb #legacygirlingreen’s writing #legacygirlingreen #pabuverse #pabu au #the bad batch fanart #the bad batch ocs #techna

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hellsurvivr · 2 years ago

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THROUGH COLLEGE THE RUMOURS HAD BEEN THERE, about who he was. about the family he had been linked too. but she'd ignored them. let it all drift into the background as white noise. as it didn't bother her back then. she was there to do her schooling, and getting to know cezar and his girlfriend, and then Andrei. it hadn't bothered her because she was unsure of her future. Yes she was andrei's girlfriend back then. but it had been with the knowledge she didn't know what happened when she graduated. a bit of harmless fun in reality. till they'd confessed how deep the feelings ran for each other. till he told her the truth of the whispers she'd heard. and it had caused her whole world to crumble beneath her feet. to look at things differently. and back then she knew she'd have handled it different, if not for the pregnancy news, and the run in with his father. after that, she blew up their worlds. rather proficiently.

right now though, she was more lost than she'd ever been ━ drowning in a sea of uncertainty. and it was causing her to become timid, fragile in how she handled things. she knew her plan for the day and it had been thrown into upheaval, the moment her ex, her sons father, appeared at her door. forcing her to face her past, and the ghost she knew had been haunting her for years. ( a ghost she'd stupidly pretended didn't exist! ) and it was leaving her reeling. attempting to scramble at any semblance of normalcy she could grasp. and whilst she'd like to do the same, whilst looking at him. to see something along the lines she could cling too. SHE SAW NOTHING. nothing but coldness, ice wrapped around his heart and in his eyes. eyes she could once read like an open book. and for the first time sine she met him, she was scared of him. a fact she never thought would become reality, and yet it rattled around in her bones. for this was the man his father had threatened her with, and she couldn't even say for certain. if he wouldn't kill her now, should he know the truth of why she left. and it was just another thing, that left her reeling.

his words regarding luca made her want to laugh. as he was about to learn that their son had the same, observing nature that she did. and by now his small brain was no doubt already starting to put some pieces together. forming them in his brain. and payne knew without a doubt that come that evening. her truth would be exposed for even her son to see. but still she says nothing, and nods with his words, after all it was more than she could ask for. given she'd stolen his heir. and instead settles into her new reality as best she could. grabbing the stuff she knew they'd both need. as well as small things she knew she'd have to share with andrei one day. to let him into the world, she had stolen from him. it was what he deserved. and her guilt was too powerful now, to keep the two apart much longer. ( not when the truth of how alike the two truly were! ) and the reality of such had crashed into andrei the moment Luca had asked for Apollo to come. his determination easy for anyone to see. a determination that was as strong and stubborn as his fathers. but with eyes, that could break a man. as hers had once done.

the appearance of Cezar was bittersweet ━ knowing he was putting the pieces together. but also for payne, it was more her own memory able to conjure up the last conversation she had with him. of how he'd explained their world. helped her to understand. and she'd all but promised she'd stay. that she could handle the world. that she'd try and make it work. ( that she'd be andrei's girl! ) but that had come before she found out she was carrying luca, before the conversation with his father. and after that she'd offered cezar nothing but silence. NO COMMUNICATION. and she had thus come across as a liar. trepidation filled her, wondering if he'd shared that conversation. he had no loyalty to her after all, he was andrei's friend first. and she was just the woman who ruined everything. so she wouldn't blame him, if he had.

the hug was very much needed ━ giving her the strength to continue to wear her mask. as she drags in the scent of her old friend. clinging to him with tattooed fingers momentarily. he was the first she'd gotten to know, and was one who knew how to read, when she was drowning. ❛ it's one of the reasons old friend. ❜ she whispers back. leaving the words for the two of them alone. and not feeling scared to reveal such a thing. ( given the history of their last conversation! ) as he pulls away, her eyes close hearing her old nickname once more drift into the air. 'Cass'. someone she'd killed off five years ago and even now couldn't resurrect. she was scared too. for it had been Cass who loved andrei with every fibre of her being. Payne couldn't afford to let those feelings out. Payne was the new mask she hid behind. She nods at his words before momentarily looking up at Andrei. her grip on Luca never wavering as she turns to follow the taller male. but stops momentarily to look back at Cezar, mischief bleeding into her eyes for the first time. ❛ good to see you too 'Zar, tell your better half i miss her. ❜ A SIGN THAT SHE'D SPOTTEN HIS RING. unable to be hidden from her gaze, as she quickly moves, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning and following andrei. another sign that his friend was still within her, and if he wished, the door was still open for their friendship. for him and his wife, it always would be.

luckily for her, thanks to her photographic memory, she didn't need to be given a long drawn out tour to remember where she was going. and instead looks around quickly, before concentrating on keeping her sons head covered. away from the prying eyes she could feel looking. once more adding to the anxiety that was rocketing through her at a ridiculous pace. a reminder this wasn't her world. ( it was her sons in reality! ) luckily apollo was more than happy to walk beside them, growling at all who got close to his owners. giving her a small semblenace of safety. hazel hues take note of the floor they were on. and is aware of the room she's led away from. knowing instantly who's it is, and it makes her stomach clench. the distance between rooms a physical representation of the one between them. one she'd have to come to terms with. she wasn't his girl anymore. had no rights to him at all. even if her heart clenched to touch him. ❛ thank you. ❜ she mutters shyly walking past him, the skin of her hand brusing against his and she has to bite back a groan. as she quickly walks over depositing their son on the bed so she can look around. already knowing she'd end up painting on these walls, simply for something to do. a way to ease the turmoil inside

❛ what h - . ❜ teeth violently cut off her words. stopping the sentence from even forming. another thing that showed how different she was. never before had she been scared to voice her words to andrei. handing out nothing but blunt truth. but this wasn't how it was anymore. ( he wasn't who he was anymore! ) looking at the ceiling and then back to andrei, she bites down on the piercing that went through her bottom lip, as acrylic nails, idly pick at a tendril of loose string on her jacket. eyes momentarily flicking behind him to where a suited male stood silently. and then back to andrei. ❛ i get the feeling we're to be watched at all times. to keep luca safe. any other changes i need to learn to adjust too, sir?. ❜ despite her turmoil, her sarcasm comes out. her protective armour, as it wraps around the final word. it was enough to keep the memories away, of how shed used to utter that word in a different scenario. as it also showed her displeasure at having a bodyguard. but that she'd do it. for their son. not herself. after all she wasn't important here. but for the sake of her anxiety. she needed truth from him right now. about everything else. she would now have to get used too.

Things had changed since she last saw him. The warmth she had known from when he was younger, the heir to the family, had left him. It had started to leave him soon after she left, having nothing else but to lose himself in the family business. After all this was what he was meant to inherit and without much of a distraction or anything holding him back, he threw himself in it more than he had before. The final nail in the coffin had been when he took his father's life. The day he killed him almost five years ago. Something else that came not too far after she left. But from that moment on? He was the cold mafia boss with a dark reputation. The rumors were there in his world about what he had done, but he never confirmed or denied them. The fear was what kept others in line, kept people easy bowing down when he came around to take what he wanted from them. What she had known in college was effectively gone. He was the monster others warned you about. And she was seeing that now, even as he saw their son because he couldn't let himself falter. This was who he was and she had to accept that as he 'offered' protection.

Their history, however, didn't mean she was allowed to know what was fully going on. What she did know was enough. Though using their son at the end felt like a dig and his jaw tensed, his harsh gaze still baring down on her. "It's better you know what you know and that's it." He says plainly, his tone dark and cold. And he leaves it at that, not planning on addressing it further. Though it doesn't get by him how timid she is about the whole thing, so different than what he was used to from their past. But he figured it was because she was scared and in unknown territory. To comfort her, however, wasn't his right any more and he accepted that. Five years had passed since he last saw her, since she left, and with it his right to even be able to show any kind of emotion towards her. Besides, he was sure she wanted none of it. She would have stayed if she had felt strongly enough towards him, despite knowing what he did and she didn't. That had told him enough. What told him enough of that on top of it all was when she mumbles in Greek, something she knew he didn't understand. His gaze narrows slightly at that before shrugging it off with a small shake of his head.

As much as he wished to fix this by pulling her into his arms, that wasn't where they were anymore. Even if seeing her, seeing his son, tugged at his heart and made him realize all the feelings he'd had locked within, no one could see it on the outside. Too good had he become at hiding his emotions. However, she sees him crack just a little when she pulls out the Romanian. Calling herself a devil hadn't been what he expected, nor the opportunity to even be a father to the son he had only just met. His jaw tenses again as he collects himself and takes in a deep breath before replying. "Nu știe că sunt tatăl lui. Vom vedea cum se instalează mai întâi… Nu vreau să-l pun prin mai multe schimbări decât este acum." It hurt him to say but it was the truth, Luca was already being told to leave and go with him without so much as an explanation. He wasn't going to start acting like a father to boy who may not even want that. And so she would have to live with that answer, for now. But it was also him protecting himself, knowing this might not even last. In the end, it was more of a see how things go while his focus would be to stay protecting them.

The ringing of her phone snaps him out of that thought, the feelings, the daze it all made him feel. His green gaze snapping to the device in her hand as his expression grew stern. He didn't like the face she made at the number, so when she walks over to him with it in hand he reaches out and takes it. Turning off the device, he pockets it to be handled later when they got to his estate. Watching her walk away afterwards, the guilt made his shoulders fall as he knew he was ruining what life she had built up for the two of them. This was his fault and he had to live with that, put on the front that he wasn't bothered for protecting them. Leaving for the doorway at that point, nothing else for him to do but wait until they came back downstairs with their bags packed. Thankfully she listened, not making him wait long before leading her to the car for their belongings to be taken by his men. But what he hadn't expected was for his young son to bring up a dog, the eyes pleading to go with his request to take him. It was the first time he gave in, letting out a sigh before giving a nod to show that it was indeed okay. He was finding he couldn't say no to him just like he wasn't able to with his mother those long five years ago. So, with that settled, they got into the car and drove off to his home.

He sat on the opposite side, letting them have some space as he watched the two huddle close together. It had to have been disorienting, frightening even, but he was glad they were at least handling this well. He was ready for her to resist him when she hadn't, for breaking his word. Andrei had to make himself look away not long after the trip got started, attention out the window or to his phone to conduct business. Anything but looking beside him at the woman he loved and their son. A way to occupy his mind, avoid thinking about it, as he would have to grow used to the fact they would be in his home for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, his estate approached, the gate opening up and letting them in along with his other car behind them. Eventually they pulled up to the front door and he got out to go to the other side and open the door for them. It's in that process he sees Cezar come outside, giving a silent nod to his best friend before opening the door to let them out. Andrei doesn't see the shared glance, his gaze down to the floor because in this moment he knew his best friend was putting everything together.

Without even a second thought, Cezar pulls her into a hug to give her some sense of comfort he knew Andrei hadn't. The blond wasn't angry at Andrei for it, he knew it was hard for him to do this, so it was why he stepped up and gave her the hug he knew she needed. "I see why you left." He whispers into her ear before pulling away. "It's good to see you again, Cass." Cezar says louder before stepping to the side to let them in. "I shouldn't keep you outside long, I know he probably wants to set you guys up as soon as possible so you can relax." His blue gaze lifts to Andrei who towers over the three of them. The Romanian's green gaze meets his friends, narrowing slightly before letting out a huff as he mumbles to himself in Romanian. He moves to begin his walk inside, motioning for Cass to follow with Luca. "I will show you to your rooms and everything else you might need while you're here." He half mumbles, looking over his shoulder as he motions for his men to take the bags and follow. "I'll see you around, Cass." Cezar says with a small but friendly smile before turning away to go to his own home and family.

With that small reunion done, Andrei lets out a breath as he walks inside and into the foyer. "This is your new home." He half motions out to his side so she can take a small look around. But he doesn't exactly give them much time, not until he's leading them towards the stairs and up towards the third floor. where his master bedroom was as well as several guest rooms reserved for those he trusted most. However, he was leading them in the opposite direction of his bedroom as he promised. She would have her space and wouldn't need to see him if she didn't want to. It didn't take long but eventually he opened a door to a large room, one that connected to the room next to it. "Your room, Luca's is next to you and that door opens to it so you don't even have to go out into the hall." He steps aside and let's her have the space to walk in and see it for herself.

#razorfst #interactions.#private verse: mafia #Q .#the way these two are breaking my heart right now!!

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pastanest · 2 years ago

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A/N: I’m really sorry but read-more links aren’t working on my blog atm, I’ve raised a ticket with Tumblr and they’ve registered it as a bug that they’re looking into but for now I can’t use them because they mess up the whole post :(

Nine x gender neutral!reader

The Doctor Sees You Hurt

Having only recently lost so much, Nine copes with this scenario the worst, without a doubt. Knowing he couldn’t possibly get to you in time reminds him of everyone on Gallifrey that he had no way of saving, either. The guilt he felt, having lived in their place and having escaped unscathed from a situation that caused you such a great amount of harm.

He was too furious to cry as he picked you up and ran with you in his arms, towards the Tardis, and she was in flight the moment the doors closed, knowing where he needed to take you without him having to action anything on the console to tell her. He couldn’’t bring himself to look at you, just stared straight ahead with you in his arms until the Tardis landed, and then he was running through the doors again, this time yelling at the top of his lungs for everyone to come to your aid. He was barking orders at them as they moved you to a bed in the greatest hospital in the universe, telling them what they already knew needed to be done, as though emphasizing how powerless he felt in sharing their knowledge but not being able to help you with it, not like they could.

The Doctor left the room then, unable to bear it a second longer. He stared at the closed ward door with his arms crossed and frown fixed, replaying the moment of impact continually in his mind, torturing himself with every way the situation could have ended differently, if he had been in your place, if he had remembered - just for a moment - how much more fragile you are than him, as a human. If he lost you, it would be an apt punishment for his own negligence, he thought to himself cruelly. To lose you, the first glimmer of hope he had found since losing everything and everyone he knew, would be the greatest joke the universe had played on him, to date.

It was only when a nurse exited the ward in search of him that the Doctor was forced back to reality, and acknowledged he had been standing in place for several hours, having lost himself completely without you there to keep him moving, keep his hearts beating in a way that felt like living, not just surviving. The nurse explained that you were in a stable position but were not awake yet, and he was nodding along with every word, but desperate to break free from his concrete stance and be with you again, just to see you alive.

Being led through the ward and back to your bed, the Doctor didn’t miss the blood stained sheets that the other doctors and nurses rushed out of the room. Your eyes were closed, but your expression was exhausted, having fought a battle in your own right, one that the Doctor would rank above the Time War in his emotional state, given how deeply it wounded him just to know how hard you were fighting, how little he was able to help. Pulling up a chair, he sat beside you and didn’t say a word. His gaze was mainly fixed on the window at the other side of your hospital bed, the asteroids floating by in a purple sky, though he was too distracted to count them. Every other second, his eyes glanced down at your face, ears refocusing on the sound of your breathing to ensure you were still with him and he hadn't tricked himself into thinking he could hear your steady breaths at his side.

Every time you stirred, he could swear both his hearts stopped beating, just for a few seconds.

It took 8 hours, 46 minutes and 21 seconds from the moment the Doctor entered your ward, for you to regain consciousness completely. The wave of relief that crashed over him was like nothing he had ever known, and he grabbed your hand without thinking.

Frantic, your eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings as you struggled to sit up, but the grip of his hand grounded you again.

“Doctor, where-”

He shook his head, a soft smile on his usually harsh features. “Don’t panic, you’re safe. This is the greatest hospital in the universe.”

You nodded slowly, trusting him as you always did and allowing yourself to relax. “What happened?”

His smile fell into a grim expression. “Later. All you need to know is that you’re fine, but you should rest. We’ll stay here as long as you need.”

Laying back down in your bed, you studied his face and the sensation of his hand holding yours, tighter than he ever had before, but never tight enough to hurt you.

You frowned at him. “Whatever it was, you’re not allowed to blame yourself for it.”

The Doctor sighed, avoiding your eyes and staring out of the window again. “(Y/N)-”

You cut him off. “No, I’m serious. If all I need to know is that I’m fine and safe, that’s all you need to think about, too.” Glancing around the room again, your brow furrowed further. “Space hospitals don't have tv’s on the wall?”

And as you predicted, such an out of place line in such a stressful situation was enough to pull a hearty laugh from your favorite person, bringing a smile to your face in turn. With his free hand, the Doctor dipped into the inside pocket of his leather jacket to retrieve his sonic screwdriver, which he then aimed at the ceiling above the end of your hospital bed. In mid air, a screen materialized as though filtering into view on an invisible wall that ended at your feet. With another electronic whirring buzz from the sonic screwdriver, he managed to display a stream of your favorite tv show on the floating screen. The elated gasp you let out was enough to plaster a grin on his face. He helped you arrange your pillows to sit you up comfortably, and without tearing your gaze from the floating tv screen, you smiled.

“Usually, you’ll find any excuse not to watch this with me.” You said, knowing he hadn’t suddenly changed his tune or sarcasm on your preferred choice of television, or your preference for having the odd ‘evening in’ as you would put it - two words that would always bring a frustrated groan and an eye roll from your Doctor.

“I might’ve judged it too harshly.” He shrugged, hoping to pass it off, but you caught it, you always did. There was a glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t being completely honest with you, but you knew he was too vulnerable in that moment to address it, so you chose not to bring it up and settled in to watch television with him, in an outer space hospital.

He may not have said it, and he may never be able to say it, but from that moment on the Doctor knew he would never complain about spending an evening in with you again, even if you selected the worst television of all time.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #ninth doctor #ninth doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #9th doctor #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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awritesthings1 · 2 years ago

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When it's Time to Go (Anakin Skywalker x Reader)

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Jedi Reader

Summary: The realisation of regret drums through your body to the rhythm of explosions outside the cave wall. All the things you should have done itches at your skin. Especially the ones with Anakin. If only you could make up for it.

Warnings: NDE

Word Count: 3.2k

AO3 link

The ground trembled beneath your feet as you reached out to the cave walls to find your footing. You heard the group behind you crying with each shake. Through the glow of your lightsaber, they huddled together for support. With snotty noses and flushed cheeks, the people howled in fear. Guilt sat on your shoulders, licking its bitter tongue into your thoughts. It sits there chattering its rotten teeth. Here you were, assigned to protect these people and the best you could do was herd them into a cave like sheep. You couldn’t even use the Force to pull a boulder to close the opening. The tremors had caused a slip in the foundations concealing the entrance for you. Together you listened to the whistling shots and thundering explosions outside.

Adrenaline pumped like a drum, and you hadn’t even noticed the crowd shivering behind you. Your eyes were intensely trained on the rocks that piled upon each other keeping you from finding help. The comm on your wrist had fallen off long ago. You wonder if Anakin was looking for you.

It wasn’t until you felt a small hand tug on the sleeve of your Jedi robes that a little face bravely stepped out. “Do you need that robe?” A little boy no older than ten, “my sister is cold.”

In no less than a second, you had knelt and wrapped your robe tightly around his shoulders like a blanket. Squeezing his shoulders, you whispered gently, “of course. It should be big enough to keep you both warm.”

He gave a gentle nod before walking back with a hand firmly pressed against the wall to balance. You stood, watching the boy worm himself to the end, where his sister was curled into what you assumed was the mother. Her face was buried in the shadows, but you didn’t need to see her to know this was wrong. Sadness burned your eyes. These people were innocent, stripped of their lives for a war no one was winning. How could anyone let this happen?

The vibrations beneath your feet were growing stronger and the noise outside was becoming defeating. You tried feeling out with the Force, hoping in some way something would call back to you. Nothing did. Your jaw tenses and you try to find light between the gaps of the rocks. Give me a sign, you begged. Patience was sewn together with nimble threads as fear cut through it when the sound of a ship crashing into the mountain threw you to the ground.

More crying and yelling ensued. The cave’s hard edges scraped and clawed at your skin, but you didn’t care. Debris was falling, pelting down on bodies like rain. Time trickled slowly, you screamed in fear, listening to stuttering heart beats. No, you couldn’t fail them like this. With haste you reached out with the Force. Luck must have coursed through your veins when the stones parted in an arc, attacking the ground around them. Debris bounced off the invisible shield and eyes watched with amazement, worry, confusion, terror and endearment.

The Force strained, flexing and pulling to break free, but you held it tightly like a leash. Never had you been any good at wielding the energy, especially not relying on it like this. Desperation fueled every thought and action, consuming you in its grasp. With haste you began to count each head. You wouldn’t lose any of them; you couldn’t.

One, two, three—

A piercing, skin crawling scream from outside.

Four, five, six—

Another lurch: the Force wavered. Breathing into it helped, the Force hummed to the rhythm. Steadily you hold it until the quivers subside. Gently you let go, curious eyes all watching when you slouched to the ground, shaking harder than the earth. Your hands were no doubt blistering from the way they gripped onto rocks for relief.

Resting your check on the ground, your body slumped with exhaustion. Flipping onto your back wasn’t a good idea as another tremor struck, knocking the back of your head into a boulder hard. First, it was the pain shooting down each nerve in your body. Twitching in agony, you screamed in reflex, only nothing came out if not for a quivering gasp. Then the begging; Pain, pain, pain, pain, make it stop, please make it stop, make it stop. Colored shapes floated across your vision, swirling in different patterns until they grew bigger, consuming your eyes. You think your muscles were cramping, it was too overwhelming. A racing wave of numbness ran through your fingers, down to your toes, and you couldn’t even feel where they started or ended. You were choking on your saliva while your head lulled to the side, heaving for oxygen.

The crowd had shuffled over your body, forming a protective layer. Hands cupped your head to lay on a lap. No! You wanted to scream. It hurt so much, every touch, movement, noise. A drawn out shrill built in your ears, leaving you a screaming mess as you desperately tried plugging them only to find it sung within your head. You couldn’t feel or see anything and were plagued by the screeching sound of your blood passing through your head. Long forgotten was your lightsaber you had dumped carelessly when you laid down.

Bucking helplessly, you felt the vibrations of your sobs. It was too much, you were losing. Clinging so desperately to life only for your face to drain of it. With a whimper, you let the Force carry you home, following its soothing tempo out the cave and through the cliffs. From the top you could see the village burn. The screams tear your heart to pieces; you want to reach out and pluck them all from their pain. Ships rip through the skies, some dropping explosives, others colliding. Smoke rises and fire catches, licking at every house like a starved animal.

You think of the people. How you failed them and left them in that cave to die. You would fight the Force if you could, beg for a second chance at life so you could return to help them. Only then would you accept your death.

Then you think of Anakin. Would he be disappointed? Would he be mad? You had made a promise to each other that morning, a promise you had broken. It’s with a stuttering realization that you wonder if he even made it. You weren’t sure if you could live with yourself if he hadn’t, not that you needed to anymore. Of all people, you could never let him down. He didn’t trust a lot of people; it meant a lot that he leaned on you for support, and you would not take that for granted. You just wish you could have told him more. How he was so beautiful; how you wanted to kiss each tear away, how you would have stayed up at night to watch for nightmares.

Time was precious and you think of all the things you missed. That time you and Anakin were locked in a cell in Geonosis sitting shoulder to shoulder? You should have held him. When he came to tell you that he was leaving on another mission, you should have begged him to stay. As Padawans on Tatooine when he stood from the table to find his mother, you should have followed him.

If you were given another chance, you would have acted on your attachments. Cherish every moment and cocoon them deep in your heart to keep them safe. You hoped the memories you did create would stay with you in the afterlife.

The Force cradled you like a baby. Letting go, you are swept into the wind, leaving behind everything you loved.

“Can I see it?”

Anakin is glum. You see it in the way his head hangs under the candlelight. Beneath the floors of the Jedi Temple, was a narrow slip of a room, if you could call it that. No taller than the height of a youngling, you both had to crouch to fit. It was no luxury, but something about the humble space moved you. Together, you had made it a second home, somewhere to escape when it all became too much.

“I don’t want you to think less of me.”

It breaks your heart, truly. Anakin had been avoiding you ever since his fight with Dooku on Genosis where he had lost his arm. Never had it occurred to you he might have been embarrassed of his metal arm. He was your friend; how could he think you would turn him away over something like this? Especially when he needed you the most.

“You know I could never do that.” A promise.

You leaned your head back on the wall next to his, staring up at the light through the grate on the low ceiling. Above, Jedi walked past, sometimes casting a shadow over your face as they passed over the grate. Usually it would cause the two of you to snicker, knowing you were snooping around under their noses. Today, it only made you sad.

He looked so small, hunched over with his knees tucked into his chest, burying his arms there. His Jedi robes were pulled over his body, and if it weren’t for the context, you might have thought it was rather cute.

And so you sat there, waiting, giving him all the time he needed. Patience wasn’t something familiar in Anakin’s life. Headstrong, he jumped to a challenge. Often going against his Master’s wishes, only to be slammed on the breaks. Thrown back and forth, he only knew how to live life fast. If you could be that precious pause in his life, wiping that habit, you would wake up each morning and personally march to his chambers to be there when he woke.

When you looked down, you found his gloved hand on your lap. It was leather, with a few metal notches keeping it securely in place. You hadn’t noticed the smile on your face as you ran your fingers up and down his arm. His eyes relaxed on you, finally able to catch his breathing back into a steady rhythm.

It’s not long before he is pulling it off to reveal his new metal arm. Your throat catches, lifting to meet his eyes to check if he was sure. In them you saw trust, although through his stiff shoulders you felt his nerves building.

“What do you think?” He whispers.

You don’t think when you lace your fingers through his metal ones. Through the light of the grate, you figure the arm is between a gold or silver color. The craftsmanship was well detailed, watching all the mechanics flex with each of his movements. Nothing repulsed you about the arm, perhaps because it was still Anakin: a piece of your best friend. How could you ever hate it?

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“Is it sore?”

“No… I don’t think so.”

Anakin cupped your hand between his. The leather glove brushed your tender skin back to life. Although you were numb to the feeling, it warmed you to know he cared enough to try. Clone troopers filled the transport ship, huddling close in the tight space. The shoulders of one bumped into your cheek with each jolt of the ship.

Your eyes must have trailed off when Anakin drew your chin to face him. He was smiling, saying something you couldn’t make out. Maybe a joke? The frigid storm from the icy planet had frozen your head. Worst of all, the thick material of your thermal suit had failed, leaving behind a layer of ice. To put it lightly, the mission was the least of your problems. Teeth chatted with each shallow breath you took. Your body an empty shell, tossed to the side. Left to put the pieces back together.

“…me?”

His voice didn’t register in your ears as he wrapped your hands in a thick wooly fabric. He continued stroking a fire back into your fingers.

Anakin must have noticed your blank stare when he repeats, “are you still with me?”

He is patient and his hands pause. Still, he doesn’t let go even as you let yours limp in his hold.

Even with a short-circuiting brain, you don’t need to think.

“Always,” you say like a prayer.

“Anakin!” You shout across the loading dock.

He turns around with a smirk as you run to him.

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” You frown.

His lips fall as he holds both your shoulders close.

“This isn’t a goodbye; it’s a see you later.”

You don’t think you could say the words either.

You waited for him beneath the grate of the Jedi Temple.

Anakin was coming home.

It wasn’t long until he was crawling through that hallowed slip of space and into your arms. You heard him swear when he bumped his head on the low ceiling, gasping out a laugh as you soothed his curls back. Though Anakin was no longer the little boy who could easily fit in the tight space, he was still here, pressing a smile into your neck.

“See? I told you, I’ll always come back.”

You would hold him to it.

Maybe you did some things right.

First it was a pulse.

Then came the aching and burning. It roared to life within your veins, draining your body of energy. You felt weak and tired, but you fought it. A light behind your eyes drawled you to the surface, and you greedily sucked in a gasp of air. Your memory becomes blurry after that until you are awakened by a squeeze of your hand.

Peeling your eyes open, you blink away the sleep. There is a deep dull ache at the back of your skull. Although you can ignore it because you find Anakin leaning over the infirmary bed with puffy red eyes. Tears are streaking down his face and his breath is stuttering. There are thick bags beneath his eyes and you can hear him sniff as you give him a weak smile.

He looks like an angel, holding your hand to welcome you back. Nothing mattered anymore because he was here in front of you, safe.

His locks were tousled from running his hands through his hair, stressed out of his mind. When he had found you, he thought that was it. You were dead, and now he had to wonder through the rest of his days, absentmindedly thinking of what he could have done better. It frustrated him that you would never know how you had saved all those people. You were a hero and you would never know.

The world owed him this much, he thinks. To have you back in front of him, with color painting your face. Not that dreadful pale color he had found you with. He never wanted to feel the way he had when he found your limp lifeless body. Never again. It was dark and consuming and felt so easy to slip into. He had been warned before how the dark side fed off emotions like that.

“Anakin,” you breathe.

And he’s falling apart again. There was so much he needed to tell you. How many things he regretted not telling you, how afraid he was, how much he needed you.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You’re safe.”

“What happened?” You choked, voice coarse.

A deep exhale. His blue eyes were a warm blanket you wanted to bury yourself in.

He leaned closer, clutching your hand between both of his. “You were a hero. You saved all those people in the cave.”

Your relief was short-lived when the tube lodged up your nose itched at your throat. You reached to pull it out, but Anakin stopped you.

“Leave it,” he whispered gently, “please.” He was worried.

The room was sickly quiet for both of you. Like a ghost hung on the tip of your tongue, you were stunned for words. Tears swelled and you choked on the tube again. He reaches a hand out to rub against your shoulder, hushing the cries. You couldn’t breathe, tugging out the tube, you erupted into a fit of coughs.

Swallowing, you called out, “Anakin,” another cough, “hold me.”

And he does, without any hesitation. Your nose buries into his neck, a hand reaching to brush into the curls at the nape of it. He was so soft here. You feel the goosebumps on his skin and the Force sings. Lips brush against his skin and like clockwork, you press a kiss there. It’s firm as you cling to him. His shoulders tense, but he pushes closer to you, leaning into your touch. You find his hand curling behind your neck, unsticking your hair from the sweat. He touches you like a fragile doll, gentle to not disturb your wound as he cradles your head, pressing a kiss there in return.

You are both shaking in the others hold. His forgiving caress molds into your waist in worship. It is sweet and soft: you never want to leave. His Force swirls into yours, cradling your presence. After everything you went through, you knew you needed to tell him. Jedi Council be damned. You would not waste another second living in denial.

Slowly, you pull away from his neck, but close enough to feel his breath on your face. He watches you while he sucks in his bottom lip. Pausing, you breathed in this moment, you never wanted to forget the way he was looking at you. Words couldn’t express your admiration, your feelings, your thoughts. His tongue passes over his lips as he trails those blue eyes across your face. What better way to tell him, you think. As you lean closer, you see his eyelids grow heavy. Your lips brush and you can feel his breath hitch. You wait for him, and before long he presses them to yours.

He tastes the salt from your tears first. Then the feel of your swollen lips has him running his fingers through your hair, gentle to avoid the wound. He groans at the drawn-out moan from your throat. The kiss was patient and gentle. Not until you parted for air and looked up at him with that longing look on your face. He leaned back in, kissing you with more passion to show you how much you really meant to him. You kissed back in earnest, sucking his bottom lip to relieve your aching heart. He was everything you ever wanted. His comforting lips swallowed your pain and you knew he was here to stay.

Anakin pulled away, pupils blown wide and cheeks streaked with tears. A light crimson dusted the peaks of his cheeks as his bottom lip quivered. He swallowed before rasping, “I thought I had lost you.”

You kissed his tears away, “me too.”

Anakin pressed his lips to your forehead and held them there like a prayer. You smile into his chest, holding him tightly as his body shakes. Maybe you were given a second chance. You thanked the Force and everything that tied you back home. Each memory you would cradle in your arms until you had nothing to give. And with Anakin nestled in your arms, you had all the time in the world.

Love was a knife. Sharp at the serrated edge to polish words into promises. Smooth down the blade to slide away any doubts. A handle sturdy enough to withstand searing insults.

And when it slipped into your heart, you worked the blade deeper.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #sw anakin #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #anakin imagine #jedi #hurt/comfort #jedi knight

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shmothman · 3 years ago

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Judgement | Forgiveness

Part Eighteen

Previous Chapters

AO3 Link

Tags: @veethewriter

“You.”

At Irida’s feet, Glaceon stands at attention, its hackles raised.

“Hold on,” you say, panicking. “Irida, please just let me explain.”

There’s hurt in her eyes—hurt and anger and betrayal—and guilt crashes over you like a wave, pulling you beneath its tides. Behind you, Volo is wide-eyed, terrified, his hands up in front of his chest in a gesture of submission.

“Yeah,” Irida says, eyes narrowed—her tone isn’t venomous, but it is wounded. “Yeah, why don’t you explain what you’re doing here with him.”

She glares daggers, and Volo shies under her gaze, his eyes fixed firmly on the snow in front of him.

She wasn’t there, in Jubilife, the day you brought him back from the Distortion World, but you know that she heard about his apology. His banishment. And, beyond that, she knows what you told her the day you came to her home, weeping of his betrayal. She knows how you felt for him. She knows how he hurt you.

If you have any chance at salvaging this situation, Irida needs the whole truth, now—even if there are some things you’d rather keep secret. Even if it might put both of you in danger.

“We’re looking for artifacts,” you tell her, speaking slowly as if to calm a frightened pokemon. “The verses, like the one I brought to you.”

She seems unimpressed, but gives you a look that says to continue.

You do your best to tread carefully. “Volo is an expert. He knows myths like nobody else. And we aren’t violating the terms of his banishment.”

Although, Irida sees right through that, her jaw dropping as she realizes: “you’ve been helping him this whole time, haven’t you?”

You sigh. There’s no hiding it. “Yes. I have.”

The anger builds in her eyes, but you cut her off before she says anything else, your voice growing desperate.

“What did you expect me to do, Irida? Leave him to die? He’s my friend!” You can’t help the way your voice cracks on the word ‘friend,’ and you know you’ve given yourself away entirely when she shifts her weight and looks between the two of you—back and forth, back and forth.

Mouth agape, she shakes her head, incredulous. She’s looking at you almost pleadingly now. “After what he did to us? To you?”

You grit your teeth, growing slightly angry yourself. If she would just listen to the whole story... “Yes, and will you please stop talking about him like he’s not here?”

Though, the look on his face says he much preferred being ignored as she swivels on him, irate. His eyes flick to you, wide and terrified, and you give him an encouraging nod, your eyes pleading—though pleading for what, you aren’t sure.

“I…” he says, quietly stuttering, before taking a shaky breath that steams in the frigid air. “I know that I caused harm. To Palkia and to your clan. And for that I am sorry.”

“Sorry,” she repeats, rather sarcastic and disbelieving. “Well, that fixes everything, doesn’t it—”

“I know that it doesn’t,” he says quickly, interrupting her. “I know that I cannot make up for what I’ve done.” He looks to you, then back to her. “But I will say it anyway. I promise you I will not ever hurt you, Palkia, or your clan ever again.”

Her brows furrow, and she looks to you, then back to him, then back to you. “And you believe him.”

It’s not a question.

You nod, swallowing hard. “I do.”

And you tell Irida the whole story. You tell her of bringing him back from the Distortion World, of offering him help after his banishment. You tell her of his injury, and of finding the first piece of poetry; of seeking his help with it. You don’t bring up the emotional moments you’ve shared with him—you may tell her of your feelings, later, certainly not in front of Volo—but you reiterate that you believe that he means what he says. All the while, he remains quiet beside you, but even beneath his scarf, you can tell that his face has reddened.

When you finish speaking, silence rings through the snowy wasteland. You all but hold your breath.

Finally, Irida heaves a great sigh, and some—but not all—of the anger seems to leave her. “Unbelievable,” she mutters, under her breath.

Despite your better judgment, you reach for Volo’s hand, and when your fingers brush his, he almost jumps. He looks at you, alarmed, and you can see in his stormy gray eyes what he’s thinking: do you want to make her angrier?

But your expression softens, and when you give him a nod, he accepts your hand, trembling just slightly.

Irida sees this and shakes her head again, pinching the bridge of her nose. If she hadn’t already guessed the feelings you still hold for him, well... she certainly knows now.

“Right.” She says. “Great. Fantastic. Any other big secrets you’re hiding from me?”

“No,” you say, wracked with guilt. “No, honestly.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well. You’re not a very good liar, anyway.”

You hold tight to Volo’s hand, anchoring yourself as much as you anchor him.

And Irida sighs. “I trust you,” she says to you, and your eyes snap up to meet her intense gaze. “I trust you not to let any harm come to this region. I don’t trust him—” he tenses as she looks to him, “—but I trust you.”

“Irida—” you start, but she holds up a hand.

“Honestly, I don’t want to hear anything else right now. You lied to me, and I’m angry. I’m going to go home, drink some tea, and attend to my duties as Clan Leader. We can talk more later.”

You deflate.

When she turns to Volo again, he grips your hand tighter. “As for you,” she says, “I’d better not see you again. If you try anything—” her gaze flicks between you, and you blush, her implications clear, “—I will be the first to stop you. Mighty Sin—er, Lord Palkia, is not happy with you. Just know that.”

Glaceon circles her feet with a cry, and she gives it a pat on the head. Then, she gives a decisive nod, looking between you once more, and turns on her heel, leaving you standing in silence, joined by the hands, at the mouth of the cave.

And when her retreating back has grown small in the distance, Volo collapses to his knees.

You follow him down, tears in your eyes, and he breaks entirely, not protesting when you wrap your arms around him and hold tight, both of your breath steaming heavily in the freezing air, coming out between the folds of your scarves.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and although he’s sniffling, he gives a short laugh of surprise.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Great, fat tears begin to spill onto your cheeks, and you scrub at them fruitlessly with your gloves. “I don’t know. I should have told her sooner. I should’ve told all of them.”

“You were trying to keep me safe,” he reminds you. “It’s my fault.”

“I need to be able to do both,” you say. You need to protect him and tell the truth. “I can’t… I can’t keep lying to my friends.”

When he gives a sob in return, you pull back to press your forehead to his, clinging to his coat. He looks at you, wide-eyed and teary. The closeness of him is as dizzying as it is comforting, the look in his eyes tumultuous, fearful, sad.

“Why are you putting yourself in danger for me?” He asks, so broken, so vulnerable—and you know what he’s really asking. Why don’t you just leave him.

And the thought occurs to you that it would be so easy to show him how you feel. Pressed together like this, it would only take a simple tilt of your head to kiss him; to explain why you would put yourself in any danger, why you would lie to the people you care about, why you won’t leave him. It’s because you love him.

It’s because of the way he lights up when he hears about mythology, and the single-minded focus with which he pursues his passions. It’s because of his smile, his laugh, the way he jokes with you; the way his hand feels in yours, the way he hugs you. The way he tries to make things right. The way he’s been putting one foot in front of the other.

But more importantly than that, it’s because you don’t think his mistakes need to define him. It’s because you want to see him grow, to see him have a future. Even if he didn’t want you to be a part of that future, you would want him to be happy.

And so you whisper, “because I care about you, Volo,” and you hope the rest is self-evident.

You wish you could tell if he understands, if he realizes what he means to you, but you don’t know what the look in his eyes means—this sad, hopeful, teary expression that pulls on your heartstrings, that makes it all the harder not to pull down his scarf and press your lips to his.

But you shouldn’t cry out here. Salt water or no, the tears will freeze right onto your faces—so you gently wipe his cheeks with gloved fingers, and try not to lose yourself in the way he leans into your touch, the little of his face that’s exposed to the elements pink in the cold.

You pull the both of you up to standing, still huddled close together, shivering. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s get this verse back to the hut.”

He sniffles. “Do you... need to follow her?” He asks, looking after Irida.

“No,” you shake your head. “She needs some time. I’ll go see her tomorrow. She’ll... she’ll come around. I know it.”

There is a fondness in his tearful voice when he says, “if anyone can convince her, it’s you,” that makes your heart flutter.

“I really hope so,” you tell him.

#volo x reader #judgement | forgiveness #volo #pla #pla spoilers #pokemon #sef writes #sorry this chapter is shorter! in my defense its also early lol

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lordtraco-fanfics · 3 years ago

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Nimbasa Resonance AU: Nightmares

(heavy angst and bloodless major injury warning, but it all ends ok.)

(huge thanks to @fluffy-rulos for the idea and everyone who reminded me of it!! This vacation leaves little time to write, but I hope this is still angsty enough! :3 )

"Keep going!" Ingo heard his brother through a fog. Their resonance was thin, hampered by an exhaustion beyond the simple effects of Sleep Powder.

A flickering spark jolted through them both, a lancing pain that kept them awake but hurt their ability to connect. It was hard to want to resonate with someone causing you pain.

Ingo tried to cover up the guilt he felt rumble around in his mind like the thunder after a lightning strike. Guilt at having left and hurt his family, his teammates, the only ones that could link souls with him. It was too strong to stop. Too deep to hold back.

All at once a deeper rumble built upon his own, crashing through their quiet soul-song with discordant bass. Emmet had nothing to be guilty of in Ingo's mind, but that didn't stop the onslaught of emotions from whirling up a storm.

Elesa kept moving, even as the guilt eroded their connection. She felt Ingo try desperately to reassure his twin through their link, but all their stamina was dwindling. Too much movement in far too long a fight had taken its toll on them all.

The frenzied roserade let out another spew of sleep powder and Elesa was yet again thankful it wasn't poison. She recalled how many of their pokemon fell to that status effect just to ensure that the trainers could survive this fight now. If they could just power through the last dredges of the pokemon's moves, it could calm down.

Another self inflicted zap to the three of them kept her awake. It hurt. Her legs felt sluggish and her lungs were burning and the resonance with Ingo and Emmet was faint as a train horn from miles away. Still, she pushed on, not to win, just to stall for time. It was the best they could do.

"This isn't fun." Emmet said, causing Elesa to pull attention away from the battle to look at the knife in her right hand. The small damaged part of the blade drew her eye. Had it gotten bigger?

The meister saw the chip first a while ago. It hadn't been that concerning. It was just a notch in the blade close to the handle. Nothing to worry about in a blade as durable as Emmet. His resolve was strong enough to strengthen his steel through willpower alone.

Could the same be true in reverse? Elesa never considered it.

She should have.

Reaching the frenzied grass type, Elesa felt the crackling of her electric soul build up charge. Her weapons fueled and channeled it downward into a Thunder Wave attack as she stabbed the ground. They succeeded at paralyzing the pokemon and stopping the assault of pollen.

She felt a bit of relief outside her own as Ingo loudly celebrated. She heard Emmet's soft voice as well but couldn't make out the words.

She should have.

As she pulled the blades out of the packed dirt, a distressing snap left her in sheer horror.

Elesa looked at the black handle, now with barely half an inch of blade past the bolster. The quiet chilled her to the core and she nearly retched upon seeing the rest of the brittle blade wedged in the ground.

The feeling of Emmet's soul was gone. There was no backlash of him no longer resonating. His piece in the equation was just non-existent, like an instrument finishing its part in a song.

"Emmet!" The white handle in her other hand burned hot as Ingo lost control.

Elesa barely flinched, just staring in a blank sea of agony and dissociation at the broken knife in her hand. For a moment she tried to pretend this was a prop. A fake kitchen knife. A prank the twins were playing. She couldn't have done that.

As if to punish her for such hopes, Emmet shifted back, his dominant left arm gouged out along with part of his side. There was no blood, no screams, just a man missing an entire arm and shoulder staring blankly ahead. His smile was gone. The light in his eyes was gone.

His soul was-

It would have been more merciful for his soul to be gone as well. This was worse. Emmet's soul was simply a dull gray orb that looked cracked with a large piece missing.

Elesa felt her ears fill with painful buzzing as Ingo screamed right beside her, shifting to reach his brother. Yet as much as he held Emmet, called his name, pressed his forehead to his, and hugged him close, Emmet might as well have been a doll.

The black of his coat filled her vision. Black, the color that fit with the color of Emmet's handle. Just as Ingo's white form complimented the jacket now held on only by a single arm. She'd never thought to ask if their choice of dress came from their weapon form or vice versa.

She should have.

The handle represented a connection to others. A knife needs a hand to be held by, to link it, guide it, help it reach a goal. The blade, in contrast, represented the purpose, the willpower, the strength to reach said goal.

Emmet now had none of that.

Elesa screamed, but she could not hear it through the ringing in her ears. Everything spiraled as fears piled on top of one another. Digging her nails into the ground and sobbing, she could only plead for it to be a lie.

"-lesa"

This couldn't be happening! She was so careful! What had she missed? How had she let him get so brittle? Why hadn't she noticed? Why-

"Elise!"

\\//

Elesa awoke to the smell of blood and was immediately terrified. She felt her hands, which she'd been so sure were digging into rocky dirt, were actually digging into the flesh of Emmet's arm. His left arm!

Still shaken from the dream, Elesa looked past the little trickles of blood her nails had caused from gouging into his arm, past the pained smile, straight to his eyes. His eyes, so full of life.

"Elise, I am Emmet. I am here." His right hand found her cheek, holding her gently as a pokeball upon handing it over at a pokemon center. His use of that nickname, the one he saved for when she was incognito with a "boyfriend", it felt so tender. It was a name only Emmet called her, as Ingo claimed Elle long ago. Separate nicknames to help her tell them apart back when she'd mix up their voices.

"Shift. Please, I-" Elesa grabbed his wrist tightly with her bloodied hand, a chill piercing through her center. Getting the air to form a full sentence felt near impossible. "-I have to. I have to see."

Emmet looked ready to say something, but folded at her pleading gaze. He shifted into a knife, pristine save for that small notch by the base. Fear enveloped her so bad that her trembling hand dropped him. Flashes of the dream plagued her mind again as the terrible snap played in her ear. But it wasn't real.

"You drop Emmet? You drop Emmet like trash?" Emmet said, the reflection of the blade showing a teasing grin as he quoted one of her favorite memes. "Jail, jail for Elesa for a thousand years!"

Elesa let out a loud laugh despite the trembling hand that came up to hide her following giggles. It was all too much. Relief and laughter only added to the pile of panic her terrors had left her buried in. Even as she laughed, edging on hysteria, nothing was ok.

A hug enveloped her, soul pressing to hers, one not cracked, one still whole, one she hadn't ruined (yet), Emmet, he was still Emmet-

A small zap came through the resonance, bringing her thoughts back around. She felt the panic halve as Emmet helped bear the weight of the emotions. She saw the strain on his smile, a testament to how bad it was. "Stop. Follow safety protocol."

They just took deep breaths together for a while until the dream faded a bit from memory.

"Are you ok?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Good. Help me wake up Ingo."

\\//

Ingo clung to his brother. Emmet felt lifeless despite the beating heart Ingo could feel plainly through the hug. Despite being pressed close, he'd never felt further away from his twin as he did now.

There was no movement, no sound save for even breaths that belied no emotion. Emmet felt empty. Empty and missing an arm. As happy as he was to see that shifting meant that his wound was fully healed, that hurt too.

Emmet's dominant arm was gone. His left arm, the one that Ingo's handle was molded around. He couldn't shift and have Emmet hold him in the futile hope of igniting some spark of personality back inside him. Surely, Ingo knew it wouldn't help if the empty husk wouldn't even return his hugs. But now he couldn't be certain.

Time passed in a blur. Elesa was gone, not even trying to console him after what she'd- what they both allowed to happen. Ingo tried not to blame her. But some level of spite remained, allowing him to not go looking for her.

If Elesa wanted space, she could have Almighty Sinnoh's entire domain. Ingo was staying by Emmet. They would not be uncoupled, even if his twin's train was impossibly derailed. He'd keep hope. He had to.

Every day was a routine of dressing and feeding Emmet. Sometimes he could act as if on autopilot, cleaning up as part of their routine. Each time he did, Ingo had such hope that something would come back. His own memories had recovered in time, why couldn't his brother…

It wasn't the same. His soul was damaged.

"Do you understand?"

"What!?" Ingo turned, no longer seeing the walls of his home, but instead a white expanse filled with black, billowing smoke.

"Heed this warning." The voice spoke somewhere else, but the black obscured everything. "Thou art not invincible. Push not past your 'safety protocols'."

"Who are you!?" Ingo yelled, looking everywhere he could. "Where is Emmet!?!"

"Seek balance. Hear his truth and share thy ideals. A trio is the best combination if run properly." The voice came from everywhere at once. "Be well, Ingo."

Before he could respond, Ingo felt a pull on his very essence. Ah, so it was all a-

\\//

Ingo awoke with a start. He felt a familiar knife in his hand and a warmth in his other. Emmet was in one piece and Elesa was there. He just breathed deep, taking in the truth he could feel.

Joining their worried resonance was second nature. He was sure the emotions would come back to haunt him the moment he was alone to overthink it all. But for the moment, he just let himself be pulled into a hug as tears threatened to fall from his eyes in a mix of grief and gratitude.

A little ways away, a retreating dark type glanced back and caught the gaze of the younger twin. The unbridled hatred in his stare sent a shiver through the pokemon's smokey form.

Darkrai still hoped their team would heed its warning. It sure wouldn't be trying that again anywhere near the terrifyingly protective human. There was no hope of him understanding that Darkrai was acting to protect them all. And that's ok.

#nimbasa resonance au #submas #nimbasa trio #nimbasa trio fanfic #submas fanfic #soul eater au #submas angst #angst #loss of limb #loss of self #nightmares #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #gym leader elesa #i wonder what Emmet's nightmare was about #any suggestions?

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atlasshrugd · 4 years ago

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Hi seeing as you seem to be the only sorta active britin blog I can find lol I wanted to ask you about some of your favourite moments for them, as I'm kinda new to the fandom whatevers around lol, and would like to hear peoples thoughts on them if you don't mind answering 😊

Hey there! Sorry I am answering so late, but WOW this is a big ask because there are SO many favorite moments.

So I have narrowed it down to my Top 5:

1. Prom (obviously)

Okay this is a no-brainer. This is literally the most romantic sequence in all of television history. I still have not found something more beautiful, moving, triumphant, loving, and groundbreaking than when Brian and Justin danced to 'Save the Last Dance for Me' at prom. Obviously barring the horrific events of what followed, this scene transcended all stereotypes and barriers and allowed us as the viewers to feel pure happiness and pride as queer people. I remember seeing it for the first time at 14 and feeling so unadulteratedly happy and validated. This was a scene of two gay people unapologetically showing the world that they did not give a shit what anyone thought of them. The only thing that mattered was this thing between them; this unspoken understanding, solace, love, and pride. I still moves me to this day whenever I watch it, no matter how many times I do.

And of course we must talk about the implications of Brian's character in this scene. Throughout season 1, he has been an emotionally stunted and cold individual who does not believe in love, relationships, or trying to make other people happy. Here, in the finale, we see Brian finally putting away all his ego bullshit ("I wouldn't be caught dead in a room full of 18 year olds"), and going out of his way to make someone he cares about happy. The fact that he even showed up at Justin's prom is a direct U-turn from the moral principles he has been reinforcing all season. And by dancing to a "ridiculously romantic" corny song, waltzing, and kissing Justin in front of everyone without giving a shit — that is pride. That is one of Brian's long-accustomed walls tumbling down.

"And don't forget whose taking you home and in whose arms you're gonna be..."

2. When they make love for the first time after the bashing

Now these scenes...how do I describe the sheer profundity? After Justin's bashing at prom, Brian is left in shambles. He blames himself for everything, and it is just further proof that Brian's love always causes further destruction. Justin has lost all memory of that night at prom, and this is one of the big tragedies. Justin had promised that he'd never forget it, and that it was the best night of his life. That proof of Brian's love that he had for so long been longing to experience — has disappeared as if it never happened. Now, Justin's confidence and surety of the world has been distorted. He is no longer sure of anything, including himself and Brian. He needs reassurance and things spelled out for him.

When Brian and Justin sleep together for the first time after the bashing, it is not like all the other times they had sex. This, in fact, is the first time they make love. Justin is telling Brian that he trusts him wholeheartedly, enough to allow him in his body again after his own agency had been ripped away from him. This is where Justin absolves Brian of his guilt. He takes the blood-stained scarf off his shoulders, lets it fall to the ground. He gives Brian the forgiveness that Brian cannot offer himself.

"Like the first time?" Brian asks, because it is the anniversary of their first meeting, but at the same time—it is nothing like the first time. Now, they are not strangers. They are more acquainted with each other than they have ever sought to be; know each other in such profound depths. They are forever linked by this thing they have both experienced, but it is not just that shared trauma. It is based off deep understanding and love. They have, somehow along the way, become more each other than themselves. They know that they have become irreplaceable and inseparable parts of each other. And Brian has been holding onto that guilt for so long that it has become rooted deeply within him. SO when Justin absolves him of it, Brian allows himself to truly feel for the first time since the bashing. He gives himself to Justin, in that moment, as Justin gives himself to Brian. It is a brilliant and tender scene of trust, devotion, acceptance, and absolution. Something they both needed to soothe their troubled souls, and a new basis for their relationship.

3. When Brian helps Justin walk down the street after the bashing

Again, this is Brian showing nurturing, care, patience, compassion, and selflessness to another person. Justin trusts him enough to rely on him, and Brian doesn't take this trust lightly. These are some of the sweetest scenes of the whole show, because this is when Brian is completely focused and devoted to Justin. He wants to help him, more than anything, to get better. And he accepts and takes up this role of carer, not because he has to, or because he is obligated or forced to. But because he will do anything to ensure that Justin will be okay, and that he gets the life he deserves.

Specifically, my favorite scene is when the song 'Grand pianos crash together, when my boy walks down the street...' is playing. Justin is walking through a crowd and Brian has his arms outstretched. When they come together, they hug deeply and easily. This scene is so simple and pure, so chaste, but it shows the true essence of their relationship, beyond all the facades and bells and whistles. At the heart of it, Brian and Justin care about each other more than they care about themselves. They have established a stable foundation of trust that they can rely on. And it also perfectly encapsulates just how far Brian has come once again. He is showing such selfless care and devotion to a boy in public daylight, kissing and hugging him and not wanting to let go of his hand. Season 1 Brian would have never even considered that. This just shows how much the events of the prom changed him, and shows how his desire for responsibility of another person has matured him. He had been forced to face his inner feelings, fears, and truths. Now, they are out in the open for the first time and Brian accepts this. This alone is a huge development.

Brian is also afraid to let go of Justin. When Justin says he can walk back himself and says 'Later,' Brian repeats it apprehensively as he holds Justin's hand until he can't anymore. Then, he watches Justin go, walking through the crowds. The look on his face is wistful, a little troubled. He hasn't wanted to face just how much he enjoys Justin's presence and how much happier and content he is when Justin is with him. He hasn't wanted to face just how afraid he is to lose Justin again. Their words of 'Later' are a direct mirror of their last words on prom night, just before Justin got bashed. Brian had watched Justin walk away, too. And a second later, he was gone.

4. Pride

This is probably one of my all-time favorite scenes in television ever. I have cried each time I've seen it. There is something so pure, essential, liberating, triumphant and tender about this scene, and the song that plays (Chiquitita by ABBA) certainly shows it. Firstly, Justin accepts Brian in his entirety and doesn't expect him to change. He knows how much Brian has been devoting to Justin in his recovery, and how strange that role is for Brian. Here, he tells Brian to 'go find a stud, ask him to dance,' — because he knows how much Brian has been sacrificing for him. This alone shows Justin's maturity and inner strength. He loves Brian, so he will not try to change him or shackle him. He wants Brian to be free to choose and live the way he wants, and that is what he fell in love with.

But when Justin shows this sacrifical and detached love for him, Brian realises that there is nothing he wants to do; no one he wants to be with more — than Justin. He is aware of the myriads of choices he has. But he chooses Justin. (Technically, for the first time, perhaps aside from prom. But even at prom, he had been running from something [turning 30]. Here, he chooses Justin without pressure for the first time.)

So, he follows him outside. He ask him "Hey, stud. Wanna dance?" Justin doesn't believe him at first, because he is not used to Brian choosing him by his own volition. He cannot imaging Brian passing up getting laid, especially after being celibate for the whole day. He also feels like a burden; like Justin's recovery has been inflicted on Brian, stopping him from living his life normally. Justin loves Brian enough to let him be free, but the biggest part? Brian loves Justin enough to choose him in that freedom.

So this marks another checkpoint in their relationship. Not only is there trust, understanding, and love — there is also desire. Sure, they have always desired each other. But this desire is not the physical kind or one born out of loneliness. This is desire for the other person as a whole. This is desiring another person's company because theirs is the only company you want. This is desiring to be with someone when there are so many other options. This is real desire — the kind that originates from the heart and not the flesh.

"I promise you won't forget this one." Brian is promising Justin that this dance will be theirs, just theirs. Not to stick it to anyone, to show anyone anything, to make some kind of point, or to make somebody happy. This dance is theirs, for the reason that Brian wants Justin to have this: this moment where Brian only wants Justin, where he dances with him simply because he wants to. And he wants Justin to have this memory, to overcome all the vague blurriness of their past. He wants this dance to be the one he remembers when he questions himself. And so they dance, and they sway, and they kiss, and they press their heads together, and the lights are bright and colored on Liberty Avenue, and everywhere people are free and joyful, and there is nothing to prove, no one to run from, nothing to hide. Their arms are wrapped around each other and the sound of 'You'll be dancing once again...and the pain will end...you will have no time for grieving...' tumbles through the air and all around them. 'But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.' Now: there is nothing to be afraid of, and everyday life is full of reasons to be alive. To be proud.

5. Their reunification

This is one of their main checkpoints. This scene is the moment they finally become equals. Justin had left Brian for the reason that Brian could not give him what he needed to be happy, which was: reassurance. After the bashing, Justin lost all sense of who he was. There was a huge gap in his memory, therefore a huge part of himself he could not claim. He had lost partial use of his dominant hand which took away the only thing that gave him solace; his drawing ability. He was no longer sure of anything and needed things spelled out for him. He needed to talk about it.

But Brian was not willing to do that, because he himself was struggling with trauma from the incident that he did not want to face. Where his love language is in acts of service (letting Justin live with him, paying for his tuition, helping him recover) — Justin needed to hear the words. He needed verbal affirmation to prove that he wasn't crazy and just projecting his feelings onto Brian. He could no longer trust his own perception and interpretation of things whereas in the past he could read Brian's mixed signals easily without needing confirmation. This is the part Brian failed to understand. He was not willing to concede his identified notions of 'relationships' and 'love' — no matter how far he came. He had not accepted that his feelings for Justin were love, and that scared him. So he refused to compromise with Justin, believing that his actions were enough when they weren't. But all Justin needed was to be heard, and for someone to love him enough to give hime what he needed sometimes (which was, verbal and emotional affirmation).

So their relationship ended, and Justin thought he could get what he needed from Ethan, which proved to be another big lie. So at the end, Justin still cannot trust his own perception, but — he finally knows what he wants.

He comes to the realization that while Brian could not give him the words, he gave him honesty. He learned from Ethan that words without action had no meaning. So he prioritized what mattered more to him: hearing that Brian loved him? Or, knowing that Brian loved him. So he chose honesty.

And this is when they could get back together without that imbalance and insecurity.

"And you are never to play violin music in my presence again." This single line is the only thing Brian needed to say to indicate to Justin that he was hurt by Justin leaving. Brian has been putting up a front of indifference for their entire break up, only indulging in pain management in private. Justin leaving him irrefutably hurt him more than he could have ever anticipated. But he did not show it.

So, Justin smiles — a little nod of awareness — because that is all Brian needed to say. And he says, "I promise."

"And it's time...that we...grow old and so some shit..." plays in the background (Lover's Spit) as they start to undress each other, because they are now on the same playing field. They have no illusions, misunderstandings, and misinterpretations anymore. They are starting anew; a little older and a little wiser than before. Brian knows how painful it is to lose Justin. Justin knows how skewed his perception had been, because he had been so caught up in his isolation that he could not see the truth of Brian's actions.

But they both know at least one thing: that life is better together than apart.

Tbh I could go ON and write a dissertation about each of these individual scenes, but I hope this made sense and gave a little more insight on these scenes and characters. Thank you for the great question!

#queer as folk #ask #britin #qaf #brian kinney #justin taylor #brian x justin #mine

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emilyoftheshadows · 4 years ago

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Deja Vu

Hi! so this is a one-shot based off of olivia rodrigo's new song deja vu. It took a little longer than I thought to write, but here it is in all its questionable glory. Of course it is rowaelin because what else endgame couple would I write lol. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

wordcount// 1838

*****

Aelin felt sick to her stomach as she stared at her phone. The bright screen illuminated the disarray she had created around her. The bed covers were thrown recklessly around Aelin’s mattress, a package of half eaten oreos shoved between the twisted sheets. Bottles of alcohol were towered on the floor and nightstand, creating a maze that she had to maneuver around every time she left the softness of her bed. Tears stained Aelin 's cheeks, the sadness inside of her spilling out everytime she even thought of him. How his touch felt on her skin or how his lips used to kiss her forehead in comfort.

But all of that was over for her. Because he didn’t need her. Her love and her own problems only held him back, and Aelin knew it. She was a stain in Rowan’s perfect new life, and she would die before she let herself be the reason for any sadness he experienced.

So here she was, 6 months and 9 days after she had broken up with him. His face had been scrunched up in confusion, his emerald eyes glistening with tears as she had said her goodbyes. Aelin knew the breakup had hit him hard, but she consoled herself with the thought that once he got over their relationship, he would be free to live his dreams. Aelin would no longer be the unnecessary tether holding him back from his full potential.

Rowan had moved soon after the couple had ended university, taking a high end job at Maeve’s Publishing Co. in Doranelle. He had met his people, The Cadre as they were known to the locals. Working with his new team, Rowan had formed an unbreakable bond with the men he spent so much of his time with. As much as Rowan had found his new home in Doranelle, the opposite could be said for Aelin.

She had opted to stay in Rifthold, accepting her own high end job at Hamel Hotels working as their Brand Manager. At first, the glitz of the hotels and fast paced life had been exhilarating. That was until she had learned her boss was a demanding misogynist and occupied her time with insane projects and endless demands.

Her sour demeanor matched Rowan's exuberance head for head, and every visit she could see the concern etched in that beautiful face deepen with time. But when she went to visit Rowan in Doranelle, all Aelin saw was a makeshift family that he would have forever. The Cadre was working their way up in the publishing world, becoming an unstoppable force and you could practically feel the excitement buzzing throughout Rowan.

It was then when he was surrounded by his men eager for their future, that Aelin knew that she was a distraction. A miserable self loathing girlfriend who was holding him back from immersing himself into this new opportunity. So she took herself out of the picture, doing whatever was necessary to make sure he moved on from her.

She stopped answering his texts, let his endless calls go to voicemail, and unfollowed him on every social media site she had. After the third month, he finally stopped calling her everyday. The month after that, he stopped texting her. Although Aelin wanted this, she couldn’t help but be sad when she stopped getting his streams of i miss yous and hearts.

Aelin had gotten herself a dog after the breakup, focusing all her misguided love and intentions into the white beast that ate all her shoes and furniture. Using his pictures, she made an account for him and used this new anonymous account to stalk Rowan and his Cadre, plus the girl that used to occasionally join the men on their outings. Lyria was Maeve’s assistant and had been through just as much hell as they did, dealing with their bosses' incessant needs. Because of this, the crew often invited her out to the bars as a way to unwind from long days of work, sharing funny mishaps and complaining about Maeve together.

She told herself it was just to check up on him, to make sure he was okay, but she knew deep down that she could never fully separate herself from Rowan. This account was her only link to him, and as shady as it was, Aelin would be damned before she ever gave up the chance to get a glimpse into his life.

But as she focused on her phone, all previous thoughts for Rowan’s wellbeing flew out of her head. Because on Fleetfoot’s instagram feed, Lyria had posted a picture. The scene was innocent enough to any other person looking at it. She sat outside, the sun filtering in through the trees in the background of the photo. On the small table in front of her sat one cup of strawberry ice cream, a spoon poking out of the top of the scoop creating the picture perfect image. Her delicate hand with its perfectly manicured fingers grasped a tan hand almost twice the size of hers, emphasizing her petite features.

But that hand is what stopped Aelin in her tracks. Because as she looked at the post again, that hand led her to the face she adored most in the world. All too fast, she was consumed by his emerald green eyes, a hint of mischief shining in their center. His silver hair reflected the light around him, giving Rowan an ethereal glow as he posed for the camera. Other than slight dark circles under his eyes, he looked perfectly content. A soft smile graced his features and his clothes showed no clear stains or rumpled appearance.

Rowan was okay. He was absolutely fine. And Aelin was not.

Because whether he realized it or not, Rowan had recreated their own first date. As awkward college freshmen, the couple had gone to a family owned ice cream shop run by a friendly old man Emrys. They would return to that ice cream shop at least once a week after that first date, getting to know the owner and his partner Malaki. They had gotten strawberry ice cream, and Rowan had only asked for one spoon, insisting that he could just feed her himself whenever she wanted a bite. The buzzard didn’t even like sweets as much as she did, only wanting to make her suffer. They had sat on a bench outside the restaurant, laughing at how silly they both were and enjoying their newfound relationship. That memory used to always bring a smile to Aelin’s face, causing nostalgia for a simpler time in their lives. Looking at this recreation on her phone though, all Aelin wanted to do was scream in his face for how careless he was with their past.

That moment should belong to them, and them only. Her vision became blurred with tears, the image of his face distorting in front of her. All she could feel was a pit opening up inside her, clawing its way through her body until all she felt was numb. Her tears stopped running down her face, her hands stopped shaking, and she could finally breathe again. But Aelin no longer felt heartbroken for the bird boy who had made her dreams come true. No, all she felt was curiosity. A curiosity for whether or not he got deja vu when he was with her.

---

Rowan sat on his couch, staring at the photo in front of him. He had gotten back from his date with Lyria a couple of hours ago, guilt crashing over him every time he looked at her. Because Lyria wasn’t the woman that made his heart soar or his bones ache when he wasn’t near her. No, that feeling only belonged to his fireheart. The woman who could apparently no longer stand his presence in her life.

Aelin had broken up with him abruptly, pushing him away when he knew she needed him the most. Rowan wasn’t blind, he could see how unhappy she was in Rifthold. Arobynn Hamel was a pervert at best and Aelin deserved to have something or someone good in her life. And he thought he could be that someone, he really did. Rowan had already put in his two week notice to Maeve with hope in his heart and a ring in his pocket. He would do anything to make Aelin happy, and nothing would ruin them, not even the job of his dreams.

But apparently, they weren’t on the same page. Because when he had gone to visit her in Rifthold, ready to offer his life to her, she had crushed his spirits in less than 5 minutes. He had flown back home, but Rowan never figured out why she felt the urge to end their relationship. The lack of closure and the loss of the other half of his soul led him to ruins. For months he texted and called everyday, hoping that she would open up to him about her pain. But Aelin never answered. And she never texted. Next thing Rowan knew, he had stopped trying all together.

The Cadre did all they could to comfort him, but none of them were even close to understanding the aching pain he felt in his heart everyday. Lyria was the only one who could stand his somber demeanor, choosing to spend her breaks near his desk and chit chatting about office gossip during the slow days. At first, the distraction had been nice. But somewhere along the line, Lyria had become more serious about Rowan than he cared to admit.

Now here he was, with an almost-kind-of-talking-maybe-dating situationship that he didn’t understand even started. He mistook her friendliness for just that--friendship. But he also hadn’t stopped her. Deep down, Rowan knew that he was using Lyria, but he couldn’t help but keep the facade going on. Because if he was left alone again, Rowan didn’t think he would ever leave his apartment.

The nights were the worst, where he was alone with his endless thoughts, his regrets, his tears. The past 6 months had been rough, and if this was how he had to pick himself up again then so be it. Aelin sure as hell didn’t want him anymore and Rowan had to come to terms with it whether he liked it or not.

But still, sitting with his phone propped up in his hand, staring at his own face and the scoop of light pink ice cream in front of him, Rowan’s mind wandered to a simpler time. A time where they would be on a bench outside their infamous ice cream spot instead of the random ice cream parlor downtown. A time where Rowan’s eyes would be shining brighter staring into the deepest blue he had ever seen. A time where his fireheart would be taking that picture instead of the woman he strung along like a puppy dog.

Imagining his own heaven in his head combined with the bitter reality around him, Rowan felt a momentary sense of deja vu.

*****

Tag list

@rowaelinismyotp

@morganofthewildfire

@throneofmak

@whimsicallyreading

@live-the-fangirl-life

#rowaelin #deja vu

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cobble-stone · 3 years ago

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broadripple is burning- chapter 7

The second hardest thing to do is remembering the events that ruined you. The hardest thing is opening up about them.

ao3 link

previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

TW: death, semi-graphic descriptions of pain

There were two sitting on the couch, laying out papers and trying to talk through a complicated situation that they both knew they couldn’t solve on their own. The white-haired man holding a journal with a pen scribbling in notes, with the black mask that muffled his voice, and the redheaded woman with torn dark clothes adding on suggestions and recounting everything she could possibly know.

And Bdubs sat, watching the two of them, trying his best to tune out the conversation as all it caused was a headache for him. Any focus he paid to them made the world feel like a blur, made him feel even less alive, if it were possible, like he was fading out of his nonexistence even more. Did he always feel this dizzy, this disoriented?

He tried not to think about the memories that loomed, soon to crash over his head in a wave. Some were helpful, like the spontaneous spark that reminded him of Cleo, of Pizza the stuffed llama, but these ones did not feel so benevolent.

The ring fell from his grasp, and clattered to the ground.

~~~

It was loud, bright, with LEDs that shifted through numerous colors in the crowded apartment. Truly the peak college party, despite the fact that most of them were over a year out of college at this point. It was nostalgic in that sense, almost, reminding him of a different time, one that was arguably a bit worse, but a different time nonetheless.

Bdubs was glad that Etho stayed home, all the noise and people would only have made his headache worse.

A drink was abandoned on the table. He was fairly certain it was Scott’s, who already left. It was arguably a bad decision, especially if Scott were to come back, but who was he to waste a free drink? Sure, he could get one from elsewhere, but it’d go to waste otherwise.

Bdubs took a sip and ignored the bitterness in it, he had no right to judge Scott’s taste in drinks seeing as he stole it. He picked it up and carried it with him, figuring he’d finish it and get something else that was more his taste once he was done.

It was blurred, all a haze for most of that night. But he was fine with that, at the time, he was here to have fun, after all, not remember every minute detail.

He seemed to crash into everyone as he made his way through the crowd, that drink was way stronger than he expected. Maybe he ran into people, talked with them along the way, but it must have not mattered, because either way, he ended up running into a familiar blonde-haired man, and the night quickly devolved

“Tango, hey-” Bdubs started, hoping to make the reunion friendly.”

The voice in response was stern, surprisingly flat for someone who had been partying and laughing a moment before, “Bdubs.”

“How’re you doing, man? We haven’t spoken in forever.”

“Go away, I don’t care. Get out of my face.”

He frowned, not expecting the sudden aggression. Maybe he should have, “What’s wrong? If it’s about what happened back then, I’m sorry, and like, even Etho-” Bdubs started, before getting cut off.

Tango was always an angry drunk. “Etho, this! Etho, that! You never cared about me, you only care about Etho! Hell, you only cared about yourself!”

“I did care about you guys! Why the hell else did we save up to try and pay you back, but you never responded!”

“You never did that! I would have seen it, or Skizz would have seen it- it doesn’t even matter. I didn’t even care about the money!”

“Why are you so mad then?” Bdubs asked

“You used me! You always used me, all of you did! You didn’t care about me, you cared about how you could use me. Tango, can you pay me for this? Tango, can you drive me to this? I might as well have given you all my life at this point, Tango, the life dispenser!” He yelled, his words growing more and more slurred as he spoke.

Bdubs felt guilt grow in his heart. He didn’t even realize he did any of this, that any of them did any of that, “Tango, we had no idea you felt that way, you could have told us sooner,” he offered.

Punches were thrown. Bdubs blocked the first one, trying to push his former friend away so he could get away from this. He should call Etho, he needs to get home.

“You’re so full of crap, ‘talk it out?’ Would you have even listened? You always side with Etho anyway, Skizz is the only one who even cared about me!”

“Tango-”

Before he could even reach for his phone he felt another punch right at his face, sending his world spinning, sending him spiraling down, sending him falling onto the hardwood floor. He heard a deafening crack as he collapsed against the ground.

It became nothing.

It was cold the next time he was awake enough to think. He could barely open his eyes, trying to do so made the searing pain in his head intensify tenfold.

His bones felt like they were made of lead, pulling him down onto the ground, keeping him frozen in place like a statue. He couldn’t even feel his arms or legs anymore, and there wasn’t even the familiar static of a limb falling asleep. Something dripped from his nose onto his lip, he was willing to bet it was blood.

The most painful part wasn’t the splitting headache, or the blistering cold, it was the strange sickness he felt in his stomach, in his throat, which made him want to claw his entire chest out. It felt like he was on fire from the inside out, the type of heat that was so hot that it didn’t even feel warm. But it was painful, it was slowly destroying him from the inside out.

Was he in a coma? Is this what a coma felt like, being aware but not conscious?

Was this even real? Was he dead, and this was his eternal limbo, an eternity of nothing but darkness?

He wanted to scream, to scream for help, yelling the name of anyone who would help him. He wanted Etho. He wanted Cleo. He’d take anyone who would be able to talk to him, to remind him that he was real, to wake him up from this nightmare.

He couldn’t even open his mouth, couldn’t even breathe loudly enough to make a hum.

What he could do was hear, at least.

“Bdubs- are you there? Bdubs-”

Yes. He’s here. I’m him. I’m here-

His thoughts wouldn’t save him, not here, where nobody could hear him.

“Skizz- I think I killed him. Or at least knocked him out, badly.”

Skizz’s voice was heard in the background, “That’s- not good. I’m sure it’s fine, he’s probably just unconscious?”

“We have to get out of here. I can’t- even if he’s just unconscious, I don’t want to be here when he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

Footsteps which slowly grew more and more distant left him alone, leaving him with nothing.

It was dark after that. Nothing but a pure black void, like he was permanently in a state of falling asleep, close but not quite losing consciousness. His heartbeat felt drowning, far too big for his own body. It was the only part of him that felt like he was alive. Everything else was slowly withering away.

The air was cold, if anything the freezing winds felt like the only thing to keep him awake. It was something to cling to, so he wouldn’t fall asleep here, and wouldn't fully lose his awareness. He didn’t want to die here, he didn’t want to die yet. He didn’t ever think of how he wanted to die, but it wasn’t here, it wasn’t like this.

He wanted to see the moon, the stars, the world, he wanted to sing again and laugh, he wanted to say goodbye to his friends once again, he wanted to say goodbye to Etho. He didn’t want to die here.

Maybe he did fall asleep, or maybe this state had warped his sense of time, leaving time to pass faster or slower than it did. Either way, the next thing he remembered was feeling like he was being lifted up, and thrown over someone’s shoulder, his limbs limply dangling over that person’s shoulder.

A British accent, male, high-pitched spoke the first voice. “I think you got the wrong guy.”

A sigh, followed by a slightly lower voice, American.“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened honestly. I don’t even know this guy.”

“Impulse, you quite literally poisoned an innocent stranger. That’s exactly how we got into this mess in the first place!”

If he could coherently think, he would likely start panicking about the use of the word ‘poison,’ but the words seemed to pass through his mind, in one ear and out the other, not even fully registering to him.

“Look, I could have sworn I gave it to Scott-”

The first voice started yelling, “We were so close to this going off without a hitch! We already got his cousin, all we needed to do was take care of his husband! After that, nobody else would be left to look into why Timmy fell off the face of the earth.”

“Look, it was you and Mumbo who accidentally killed the guy, don’t take this out on me! I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get caught for what, three murders now?” The second voice —Impulse?— responded.

The first voice sighed, “Let’s just put him in the woods somewhere, if we’re lucky then nobody will notice this guy’s gone. Mumbo had the right idea when he bailed. I’m leaving after this, and if you have any brain left at all, you would too.”

The two went silent. At least, as far as he was aware. It wouldn’t matter either way, because he felt himself drifting away now. The ever-growing pain suddenly halted, leaving him empty and drained. All of his thoughts, which had already started to slow, had come to a stop.

It was cold. It was lonely.

It was inevitable.

~~~

“I don’t know what could have happened, maybe the talk of his death scared him off?” a voice proposed. It was a comforting voice to hear once again, Cleo’s voice was always nice.

“He has a Shut Up button that he uses to tell me to stop talking about this kind of thing, he usually uses it if we go to far, he usually doesn’t just run off like this,” Etho responded.

He blinked open his eyes, observing the world again. Something still felt off about it though, almost like he was watching it through a screen, from behind some sort of metaphorical barrier. Everything felt slightly off, he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Maybe it’d go away, hopefully.

Bdubs looked over at Etho, noting that he was still wearing the necklace. He walked over and tugged on it softly, which caught Etho’s attention.

“Hold on, he’s here, crisis averted,” Etho said, looking down at the necklace, not quite making eye contact.

Cleo breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.”

Etho took off the necklace, and held it out, “You want to talk about anything, Bdubs?” he offered, “We’re here for you.”

He did not really want to talk, at least, not about whatever memories had just been brought back. Bdubs knew he needed to, but they still felt too fresh, even though they must have been months old at this point, the fear and isolation and pure neverending cold still clawed at his stomach. Maybe he’d at least give the dust time to settle.

He grabbed the ring, and went back over to the keyboard, painstakingly typing in every letter. This entire ghost-thing would be significantly easier if he could have just talked. “I remember my death. Don’t want to talk yet.”

Etho and Cleo went silent for a moment, before Etho spoke up.

“That kind of thing must be rough to think about, but you don’t have to tell us yet, if you don’t want to.” Maybe Bdubs was biased, but even though Etho always said he had a hard time comforting people, hearing him immediately made him feel slightly more at ease, “You have all the time in the world, you don’t need to rush into this.”

Cleo nodded, “Exactly what Etho said. If you aren’t ready to talk yet, you don’t have to.”

“Thank you.”

He frowned, thinking over what Etho said, one thing in particular feeling wrong to him.

You have all the time in the world.

Did he really have all the time in the world? Etho didn’t know that for fact, neither did Cleo, or Bdubs, or anyone, really. It was slow, but it already felt like he was fading. Jimmy wasn’t able to use the flower he once was able to talk through, who was to say that Bdubs would always be able to hold the ring.

He twisted it around, passing it from hand to hand. How long would this even last? What if he ran out of time, ran out of this indefinite time he has to watch over the world?

Bdubs didn’t want to talk about it yet. But sometimes the best thing to do is the hardest thing, and sometimes the hardest thing is as simple as opening up.

He sat down, and typing out each painstaking word or letter, he told them everything.

#last life fic #last life #etho #bdubs #ethubs #broadripple au #you ever just casually murder three people?#grian out here putting the manslaughter in manipulate manslaughter malewife #also i find it funny how session 7 of LL and chapter 7 of this both are bdubs' death scene #it wasn't planned it just kinda happened that way and i rolled with it #mayhaps it's considered bad writing to have this all revealed in a flashback but i simply do not care <3

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karlnapity · 4 years ago

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Some Things Live But All Things Die

AO3 link here.

TWs: Major character death, explicit grief, torture.

Sapnap appears on your doorstep on a gloomy day.

Perhaps it’s apt for the occasion. You’re shivering, and so is he, and it’s more alike than you’ve been in months.

It’s raining, and he is too.

You force open the door with more than a little hesitance; you’d ignore it, usually, but there’s something in his gaze, in the way he’s holding himself.

It’s only once he opens the door that you realize he’s crying.

It pulls at you, makes you want to pull him close. You don’t.

He makes no move to talk. You don’t urge him to.

There’s a sinking pit in your stomach.

He sobs, then, sinking to his knees on your porch step. The lights of Las Nevadas twinkle in the background, a cruel mockery of everything you always did for him.

This isn’t right.

“He’s gone,” Sapnap wails, and you immediately know what he means.

Something in you shatters.

Getting the full story is difficult between it all. You fall to your knees in front of him like a man begging forgiveness, and maybe you are.

He tells you the story in stops and starts as the rain tumbles down, in sobs and heaves, and you want to pull him close but he’s so far despite the distance.

You don’t want this story.

It’s not quite a surprise, really, what happened, when you think about it; you were always going to lose him first.

You’re not sure why it surprises you that he was as fragile as you thought.

He disappeared, says Sapnap, for days at a time, and you think you remember witnessing it a few times yourself. He says he couldn’t remember hardly anything.

It stings. Your absence is irrelevant, now, but some part of you is clawing, dying to know whether he chose not to tell you about his country or if it was all the set-aside madness of an already dying man.

You will never know.

He disappeared, Sap explains, and he thought it was normal, one of his casual disappearances, and he didn’t worry until it had been a few weeks.

Sap sobs, apologizes maybe ten times, for not realizing, and your anger flares for a second before the shame comes crashing down.

You didn’t even know. You knew none of it. You have no room to speak.

“It was George who found his body,” Sap says.

You don’t want to see him, but it’s the fucking least you can do.

It doesn’t feel real until you see him. You hardly have time to think about his kingdom as you’re led through for the first time (and that burns in and of itself), the glowing lights dimmed as though the land itself is mourning.

He looks like he’s sleeping, such a difference from the last dead body you saw.

He’s gray, like one of the ghosts, as though he’s coated in soot and ash. You almost want to reach out and try to brush it off, as stupid as it is.

His clothes, even, are as grayscale as the rest of him, like a washed-out film.

“He was like this when we found him,” George says. You don’t point out his use of ‘we.’

And it suddenly feels real. You feel like throwing up.

“I need to leave,” you say, and you ignore the way you’re running away again.

> You don’t want him to come back. You don’t want to see him shaded in gray, not like his death.

He was always meant to be colorful. This isn’t fair.

> “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, despite the way you are.

“Are you crying?” Dream repeats in delight. He found a weakness and he’s weedling it like a boy pulling off the wings of butterflies.

“Shut up!” You scream, despite the way you are. You take his collar and slam his head into the wall with a sickening crack.

“What happened, Quackity?” He sings.

You wish you knew.

His pain feels useless for the first time.

> You visit his kingdom.

It’s beautiful, but empty, and you know it was all him.

He was what made it special, and without his watch it seems decrepit, as though it’s been abandoned for centuries rather than days.

You don’t look around. It deserved his tour.

> You think of Wilbur, in his grand gestures and the beautiful way he destroyed himself, and you think you understand it, just a little.

My grand symphony, he’d said, forever unfinished, or at least that’s what Philza had said.

Forever unfinished.

When it had exploded, you hadn’t understood it, had wanted to ask how a man could be so destroyed that he’d take the life of his own nation.

The slime helps you collect sand for TNT.

You're too cowardly to use it. > Mourning is a funny word.

You’ve mourned enough, really. Your ex-husband, your relationship, your dreams, and now him.

Your last funeral was a celebration, and you sit back, now, wonder if it was a mistake to let him go at all.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” You ask a ghost.

It blows smoke in your face. “I don’t think I’m the one to give you advice on self-destruction, babe.”

You wave it away. “Maybe not.”

There’s a silence in which you observe its cave. It’s a pale imitation of its character, but then again his ghost is anyways. That stings too.

“Is it right to wish it never happened? So I can avoid the mourning?”

It looks at you, then, red horns flashing. “There’s no right to pain.”

> Your husband’s body was all harsh lines and pained twists. His is soft and peaceful.

You can’t stop thinking of it.

He looked like he was sleeping. You don’t know why that hurts so much.

> Dream can bring him back.

This time it’s personal. You will not let him be lost. >

You let him die. This is your fault.

You were petty, and vindictive, and you are to blame.

“We wondered why you didn’t come home,” Sap says, and it grates, feels like nails on a chalkboard, but you have to hear it. You deserve every bit of guilt.

“And George told us, then, that you didn’t want to, and we were so confused.”

“He never told me,” you whisper.

Sap’s hand twitches, as though he’s resisting reaching out to you. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, unsure where you stand. It hurts.

“I know, Q,” he says. The sympathy doesn’t, shouldn’t belong to you.

“I should’ve come home anyways. I’m sorry.”

“I wish you had. We never would’ve left you that easily.”

It’s not much use now. > Dream doesn’t matter.

You’ve been more vicious, lately, as even Sam grows uneasy, but it doesn’t matter.

You hardly feel in control of the violence anymore. > The slime asks you about the abandoned machines, one day, asking about the matching colors, and you crumble.

It doesn’t much know how to help with tears, but its company is welcome.

You’re taking advantage of its kindness like this. It doesn’t understand what you did.

> Meetings are useless. Technoblade doesn’t seem to understand this.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face, repeats his question, but it doesn’t matter. You push your chair, stand up, prepare to leave-

“Are you alright?”

You let out something between a whine and a scream. “You’re not the kind of person to be asking me that.”

“I know. But I’m asking anyways.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You deserve this guilt. > “I can’t bring him back,” Dream wheezes. “This is useless.”

You push your knife through his shoulder, pin him to the ground. “You’re lying.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” He shrieks, and you let up, only barely.

“Quackity, Quackity, I need a ghost, please.”

You sit up on your heels, scream into your hands. You signal for Sam to raise the lava, leaving Dream pinned. “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you this time, I really will.”

He’s scared of you for the first time, and it’s not satisfying. >

> Sap looks at you like he doesn’t know you.

Did he ever know you? That’s a frightening thought.

If he knew what you were doing, he would hate you.

You don’t care. You just want him back. > And thus begins your search for a ghost. You ask your own. It shrugs.

“But everyone has a ghost,” you plead. “That’s what you told me.”

“That doesn’t mean they want to be seen.” The plumes of smoke obscure its face. “Remember the kid? He hardly showed up at all in the time he was dead.”

“But he’d want to see me,” you whine, and it sounds wrong to your own ears. “So he has to be somewhere around here.”

“Q.” Its voice is surprisingly serious. “If you ever brought me back I’d hate you forever. Don’t force this on him.”

“But-”

“Listen to me. If I came back? My shitty fucking heart would probably give out again immediately. You don’t know why he died, right? Don’t hurt him because you miss him.”

You crumple. “I need to fix this. I need to.”

“There’s no fixing, babe. Just don’t break it more.”

You hate it. > “Q.”

Fuck.

“What, Sap?”

The nicknames are familiar on your tongue, just like the tension in the air.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing?” He comes up behind you, holds your arms like he used to when you got upset.

You never look at people when you’re upset. He’s the one who noticed.

“He was so observant,” you murmur. You’re not sure when the habit started, of needing to tell people about him. As though you’ll forgethimlikeheforgotyou-

No.

“He was,” Sap replies as you curl in on yourself, holding you closer.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. “Just tell me. I can’t lose you too.”

The last part is so quiet you have to strain to hear him. You wish you hadn’t. You let loose a wail, almost a scream.

This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.

“I want him back. I’m going to get him.”

Sap pulls you to the ground, still holding you close. “I know. Me too.”

“Dream has the book.”

You hear him suck in a violent inhale, like he’s been punched in the stomach. “Q. No.”

“He can bring him back!” You exclaim, twisting to look at him.

He looks… sad. It’s an inadequate word, so simple for the expression, for the feeling, that it’s almost useless. He looks like… he looks like you.

“Why don’t you want to? Why wouldn’t you?” You argue. You plead.

“Q, he wouldn’t want to! He told me!”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” You shoot to your feet. “That’s bullshit! Just ‘cause you don’t want to-”

His expression hardens. “I want to see him just as much as you do, Q-”

“No you don’t!” Your hands raise to grip at your beanie. “No you don’t! I need to- I need to apologize I need to tell him-”

“Quackity, shut up for five seconds and listen to me!” He’s sobbing, now, you both are, breathing heavy.

It gets you to shut up.

“He knew. He knew something was wrong, and he told me that if anything happens to leave him alone. And I thought he was joking. I didn’t take him seriously.” He wipes at his eyes, but it’s no use with how hard he’s crying. “And I kick myself for that every single day. We all regret things, Q.”

And when he holds you close this time it feels comforting instead of constricting.

“I thought you left me,” you start. “And I never got to see him or his kingdom or you and I never got to spend time with you because I was too busy being a stubborn asshole.”

“You know he’d forgive you.”

“But I don’t forgive myself.” It hurts to admit. “Because I never got to see him again.”

He holds you tight. “I know.”

> “Were you mad? When I got with Sap and… him?” You can’t say his name.

It shrugs. “I don’t really remember. It doesn’t really matter.”

“I don’t want him to be mad.”

“Don’t let the dead make your choices, sweetheart. We’re past our time.”

You let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t that all the dead do? Make our choices?”

It smiles ruefully. “Only if you let us.”

> “I was scared,” you say, entwining your fingers as you lay on the roof and pulling him down with you, “that it was wrong, to still love you.”

“I know,” Sap does, laying next to you. He looks at the stars. “Me too. But I do. Still love you, I mean.”

“But we’ll always be missing something.”

“That too. But it’s… it’s not okay, but it will be, I think.”

“I hope you’re right. I want you to be.” > And you don’t forgive yourself, but Sap does, but your ex-husband does, and that has to be enough.

You don’t see his ghost. Maybe it’s around, maybe it’s not, and that has to be enough, too.

Grief is awful. Mourning is awful. It hurts, a constriction around your throat.

You grieved your relationship, thought that would kill you, and it was only child’s play. Sometimes you’re certain you’ll die just from the pain of it all.

It’s not fair. Not to any of you. And that has to be enough.

But it will be okay. And that will have to be enough.

#be quiet i'm writing #karlnapity #quackity #sapnap #karl jacobs #georgenotfound #dream #dreamwastaken #jschlatt #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #las nevadas #kinoko kingdom #myctblr #fanfiction

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heejinnien · 4 years ago

Text

bts | roses chapter three

word count: 3.0k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: originally, i was going to end this series at this chapter; however, i think it makes the most sense to end this chapter where i did. note that i updated the rosses masterlist according to my new plans for roses. as always, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm, or just let me know your thoughts! i would be happy to explain things to you, and i would also love to hear your feedback or who you think is suspicious. as always, adhere to the warnings and do not read if any of those things trigger you.

roses masterlist

You pace the length of the ER’s waiting room, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

The rest of your team is assembled around you in various states of being, the same gnawing worry that you feel reflected on their features. Jungkook sprawls listlessly on an overstuffed armchair, Jimin stares stoically at nothing, Hoseok holds an angry staring contest with a potted poinsettia, Namjoon speaks furiously into his phone, and Jin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the locks of his hair. You have never seen your team look so despondent, so heartbroken before, and the sight makes your heart wrench.

The sound of footsteps cause your head to snap up.

“Agents.” A kindly looking woman gives you a sympathetic smile, eyes raking in the various states of your team. Her white lab coat signifies her status, and your heart jumps at the sight.

“How is he, Dr. Chou?” You ask, reading the ID card pinned on the doctor’s coat.

“Please, call me Tzuyu.” She clears her throat, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Dr. Taehyung had a lot of bleeding, both internally and externally, and, quite frankly, it’s a miracle he didn’t bleed out on the way here.”

“Was all of the bleeding from the stab wounds?” Namjoon asks, managing to retain his professionalism and composure despite the fact that it’s Taehyung that you’re talking about.

“The external bleeding was,” Tzuyu confirms. “The internal bleeding was due to damage to some of Dr. Taehyung’s organs. It appears that whoever attacked this young agent also beat him, causing this damage.”

The thought of Taehyung — sweet, loveable Taehyung — being beaten and stabbed by the unsub your team has been trying to catch makes your head swim. Your hand shoots out, using the wall to hold yourself up, to hold yourself together. You feel Jungkook stand, resting a hand on your arm and murmuring something consolatory, but it feels as though nothing can take away the deep ache that has formed inside of you.

Tzuyu continues talking, but you can’t bring yourself to care. After all, who gave you the right to be here, alive and well, when Taehyung lies on his possible death bed?

“All I can say is, it’s lucky you found him when you did, Agent Y/N.” Your name from the doctor causes your attention to return to the current conversation, the crashing guilt pushed aside for a moment. “Much longer and Dr. Taehyung may have bled out.”

Tzuyu gives you another sympathetic smile, before gesturing behind her. “I have to return to work, but you’re welcome to visit your teammate. Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell when he’ll wake up, but we’re hoping for the best.”

Namjoon gives Tzuyu his thanks as you attempt to process the doctor’s words. Jungkook’s hand is warm against your skin, and you’re sure if it wasn’t there you would be lost, ungrounded from the world.

You’re a federal agent, for God’s sake, so why can’t you pull yourself together?

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps up as Namjoon calls your name, eyes coldly appraising you. His face is expressionless, but Namjoon subtly threatening to remove you from the case rings in your head. You notice that sometime while you were lost, drowning in your uncertainties the rest of the team stood from their various positions around the waiting room, faces grim. They gather around you and Namjoon, waiting to hear your leader’s next move. Now that your attention is focused on him, Namjoon clears his throat, no trace of any emotions except professionalism apparent from him.

“Y/N, Jimin, and Hoseok, I would like you to remain here. Jimin and Hoseok, run through a cognitive interview with Y/N and see we can determine anything that might indicate as to why the unsub attacked Taehyung. The rest of you will come with me back to the station. We’re going to be working similarly on the unsub’s motives, but we’ll be using the evidence we’ve gathered so far to see if we can link it to Taehyung.”

Your teammates nod, the team’s usually determined energy following the command of orders now subdued. Jungkook squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before following Namjoon out of the waiting room, Jin giving you a small smile and following suit. You stand after they’ve gone, shifting awkwardly. You’re too embarrassed by your unprofessionalism, by the way that this case has affected you when the rest of your team seems to be keeping themselves level.

“I know after everything doing a cognitive isn’t exactly what you want to do right now, but…” Hoseok’s voice trails off as he and Jimin stand beside you, uncertain.

“I get it,” you say, giving Hoseok a tight smile. “It’s all part of the job.”

Jimin motions for you to take a seat on the overstuffed armchair Jungkook had vacated earlier and you do. Tension seeps through each of your limbs, and Jimin notices, grabbing one of your hands and sitting across from you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. We’re right here with you,” Jimin says reassuringly.

You swallow dryly, nodding. Your free hand taps against your leg, and your back is stiff as you sit as straight as a rod. You close your eyes, exhaling, and force yourself to return to when you found Taehyung.

“Walk us through how you stumbled across Taehyung’s body,” Hoseok says, voice sounding from your right. You nod, swallowing quickly.

“I stayed late to review the case files. It was getting late, and I knew that the team had taken the rest of the unit’s vehicles so I was looking on my phone for a rideshare service app.” You pause, taking a shaky breath. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I remember pushing open the doors to the station, and I had only made it a few feet when I tripped. I remember falling forward, and when I regained my bearings I noticed that my hands were coated with blood.”

You swallow harshly, free hand clenching into a fist. “You’re doing great, Y/N,” Jimin coos, rubbing his thumb idly against the back of your hand. You force yourself to count to ten before continuing.

“The first thing I noticed was a foot, and that the foot was attached to a leg, and I followed it upwards until I saw… Taehyung. He was unconscious, and there was so much blood everywhere.”

“Can you remember anything specifically about the scene?” Hoseok asks gently.

“I just remember the smell of all that blood.” You choke out. “I think it was still seeping out when I found him.”

“So he must have been attacked not too long before you found him, then,” Jimin assumes.

“What was Taehyung doing at the police station?” Hoseok presses. “Did you hear anything from him?”

“No, I thought he left with you guys,” you say, frowning.

“He did, but when we heard that Taehyung had been attacked and we went to drive here, one of the vehicles had been taken,” Jimin supplies. “He must have taken it to get back to the station, I’ll call Namjoon and see if the vehicle’s there.”

You furrow your brow in confusion. What was Taehyung doing at the station that late at night?

“Surely you know something.” Hoseok says, voice infused with a cold undertone that you can’t detect. Your eyes snap open in disbelief at his statement, and Hoseok coldly appraises you, as if you’re lying.

“I’ve told you everything I remember,” you say defensively.

Despite your refusal, Hoseok continues, coiled like a snake about to pounce on its victim. “Maybe you called Taehyung back to the station so you could attack him because he knew something you didn’t want us to find out. The unsub has taken an uncanny interest in you Y/N, why is that?”

“Hoseok, enough,” Jimin stands, his chair rubbing against the hospital’s floor loudly. The sound makes you wince, and Hoseok pounces on the sight, striking.

“Everyone thinks you’re this perfect little angel, Y/N, but why don’t you tell us the truth? I bet you enjoyed hurting Taehyung, feeling his bones break as you beat him repeatedly. You try to act innocent, but sweetheart, I can see right through you.”

The gleam in Hoseok’s eye is feral, sadistic. Jimin shoves him backwards angrily, but the action is drowned out as you’re lost in the anger in Hoseok’s eyes.

You feel so small, so powerless, and something inside you snaps.

“Go to hell, Jung Hoseok,” you hiss, shoving past your teammates. You don’t care where you’re going as long as it’s away, and you swipe furiously at the angry tears that have fallen. You ignore Jimin’s cries for you to come back, your feet on autopilot as you shove open doors and storm down unfamiliar hallways.

Somehow, you find yourself on the hospital rooftop. It’s still dark out, and a soft breeze gently wraps around you, ruffling your hair and slipping under the edges of your clothing. It calms you, and you wander to the rooftop’s edge, leaning against the iron railing wrapping around the rooftop’s length.

Since it’s the crack hours of the morning, the sound of traffic is dimmed. Neon lights and gentle hues paint the city skyline, and it feels peaceful.

You used to be naive until you joined the NIS. You didn’t believe that people were capable of such vile and despicable things, and most of all you hadn’t known the true depths of the evil that reside in the city, in the world, unless you had seen everything that you had. You don’t think you can ever get used to the sadness you feel whenever someone innocent loses their life, the disgust or horror you feel whenever someone commits a heinous crime.

The soft creak of a door being pushed open pierces the night’s tranquility. Quiet footsteps sound behind you until you see a familiar profile from your peripheral lean beside you. You aren’t ready to speak, to face the reality that is outside the peacefulness you’ve constructed for yourself here, and so you are content to remain, unwilling to break the fragile silence.

“It’s beautiful up here,” he says finally, and his voice drags you back to reality, forces you to accept the truths of the world all over again.

“It is,” you say honestly. “It makes you forget the horrors that happen down there on the streets.”

He hums noncommittally, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. Out of all of your teammates, he always seems to be the most collected whenever you hear news that makes you want to vomit, the most unflinching when when trying to reason with the most depraved souls, the most calm when you hear that yet another innocent life has been taken.

“Things won’t always be like this, you know.” He says, pulling you out of your once more spiralling thoughts. “I was like you, at first. There will always be bad guys, but it gets easier.”

You shudder at the thought that one day, the loss of an innocent life may not bother you anymore, may not matter as much as it should.

“I hope not,” you admit, and you know it’s true. You turn, scanning the face of your teammate for any traces that he feels the way you do. Jimin’s face is unreadable as he studies you in return, pain and frustration filling the void between you and melting away to tenderness and care.

“For your sake, I hope not, too.”

“Let’s review our profile.”

Your team gathers around the conference room table, grim expressions adorning their faces. Taehyung’s vegetative state weighs heavily on your minds, and you’re all blatantly exhausted. You feel powerless — usually you’re the cat in a game of cat and mouse with your unsubs, but this time you’re the one being preyed on. Namjoon speaks from the head of the table, pinning crime scene photographs on a bulletin board behind him as he speaks.

“So far we know our unsub is calculated, controlling, and sadistic. They’re most likely a he due to the strength required to subdue the victims, as well as the violent nature of the wounds inflicted upon each of the victims.”

“We also know he loves taunting us, which factors into his control,” Jin adds. “He took a huge risk using lamb’s blood and leaving roses — both of those could have easily been traced back to him.”

“But they weren’t because he’s smart enough not to get caught, which speaks to who he is,” Hoseok chimes in. “Maybe he has some sort of criminal background.”

“He chose high risk victims,” Jungkook says, clearing his throat. “Speaks to his confidence in his abilities.”

“For the first few victims he dyed their hair,” Jimin adds, confirming Jungkook’s statement. “He used excessive overkill when he murdered them, and then dumped their bodies in alleys to be found.”

“The coroner confirmed the victims had been dead for at least twelve hours by the time they were found, but each victim went missing a few days before then.”

“He even sent me notes directly, which means he wants us to feel that he’s in charge.” You stare at the mahogany table as you speak, Hoseok’s gaze burning. You refuse to meet his gaze, instead choosing to flicker your gaze between your other teammates as you speak. Hoseok’s accusation still rings in your head, and you’ve refused to speak to him since then. Your other teammates have noticed the icy distance you’ve kept from Hoseok, but nobody has dared to mention anything. “He’s toying with us, this is all a game to him.”

“Yet he said it was our fault, as if he’s telling us we’re supposed to stop him,” Jungkook says. He nods once in your direction — brief, but you know that it is his way of showing you support. The action causes a warmth to spread through you, as if he has helped you to gain footing in a tumultuous storm.

“As the unsub murdered more victims, he got sloppier. The stab wounds were less deep, which is probably due to the decreased amount of time the unsub kept the victims for.”

The sound of a phone ringing cuts Jin off, and Namjoon turns, pulling out his phone in one motion and setting it on the table, saying, “What is it, Yoongi?”

“So, I was doing some digging and apparently the cardstock that each of the notes were written on can only be bought online from a specific retailer.” He snorts, and the sound of typing fills in Yoongi’s silence. “Our unsub has expensive taste, I’ll say that. That cardstock is not cheap. So, I tracked the most recent shipping to an abandoned apartment complex, and, get this, the address also had a bouquet of roses sent to it recently.”

Your heart races as Yoongi’s words register. Around you, your team is already in action and you struggle to keep up, shoving your case file in your bag and checking that your gun is holstered.

“Thanks, Yoongi,” Namjoon says, already grabbing his phone and turning on his heel. “Let’s get this guy.”

“Hey, Taehyung.”

You stand by Taehyung’s bedside, staring at your teammate’s broken and listless form. The steady beeping of a monitor sounds in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the smell of chemicals makes your nose burn. Taehyung’s cheeks are hollow, sunken, and his skin is ashen. You grab your teammate’s frail hand, fighting the rising sadness within you.

“I stopped by to tell you we’re going to capture the person who did this to you.”

Your voice cracks, and you quickly swipe at the moisture forming at your eyes. The sight of Taehyung’s listless body makes your heart break, and anger and pain rush through you. “Jimin and Jin are waiting in the car, but I just had to see you first. I’m so sorry that this happened to you. It should have been me, not you.”

You close your eyes and fight to breathe, your inhale shaky and ragged. You force your feelings down, wrestling them away. You’re so focused on evening your breaths that you miss a slight rustling, miss the feeling of the hand against yours pull away.

“Y/N?”

You gasp as a familiar voice calls your name, your eyes snapping open. Taehyung moves, head lilting from side to side. His eyes flutter, and he groans.

“Taehyung, oh my god.” You quickly move closer. “How are you — ”

“I was on my way to tell you it’s someone on our team.”

Taehyung’s confession is like a splash of cold water, dousing you. You blink your eyes rapidly, trying to process his statement.

“What are you talking about?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond and is cut off by an intense bout of coughing. He doubles over, the beeping of his heart monitor increasing in frequency. Your hands flutter as you panic at the sight, unsure what to do.

“I’m going to go get a nurse — ”

“Stay.” Taehyung’s hand shoots out unnaturally fast, capturing your wrist and halting your movements towards the door. He turns his head as he lets out another cough, his grip not loosening for a moment. “I have…to tell you…about what I found.”

As Taehyung speaks, his voice loses its power. His grip on your wrist weakens, and he leans back against his bed, groaning. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out another cough.

“Taehyung?”

You receive no response, and you shake Taehyung’s hand desperately.

“Taehyung, please, I can’t do this without you,” your voice cracks as the realization that Taehyung has left you once again hits you. You close your eyes as a single tear escapes. You count to ten slowly before opening your eyes, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Taehyung’s forehead.

“We’ll catch the person who did this, mark my words,” you vow, turning on your heel and storming towards the vehicle where Jimin and Jin are waiting for you.

Whatever happens next, you’re ready. And you’re determined to make someone pay.

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canvas-the-florist · 4 years ago

Text

Not Very Realistic

Ships: platonic prinxiety, platonic logince,

Warnings: Car accident, injuries, PTSD, swearing, food mention,

Summary: Roman considers his feelings about his car accident. This is basically a vent fic about a car accident I was just in, I’m okay, but that does mean it will be extremely full of angst and if that’s not your thing I wouldn’t recommend this specific story. AO3 Link

Word Count: 2.5K

There’s something weird about trauma that Roman just didn’t understand. He knew that logically, that the car had crashed, but he wasn’t a very logical person. Even looking at the wreckage in full, talking about what happened to his family, part of him still refused to believe that none of it had happened. Despite looking at the cuts showing blood on his hands were right there as evidence. None of this felt real, but it was. How does he deal with that?

Roman ran his hands through his hair. It had been a few hours. His arm had gotten washed up. He was completely fine, except for a few bruises around his fingers. But was he fine? Roman had stopped crying a while ago and mostly just felt denial. Thoughts in the back of his mind were whispering ‘you wouldn’t crash a car, you wouldn’t make that kind of mistake’ and ‘you didn’t even break a bone, car accidents are worse than that.’ They were silenced when Roman breathed in, almost believing he smelt the smoke. Everything should have been fine, but he had gone and messed it up. He didn’t want to, he genuinely thought that things were going to be okay.

But they weren’t, and they aren’t.

It had been a few hours since the accident. Roman felt like he should be more phased. A car accident was an extremely traumatic event that he had experienced that same day! And all he could think about was the fact he couldn’t remember what it felt like. Roman knew what happened before; He was trying to make a turn on a green light and didn’t see the other car. And he also knew what happened after; calling Patton in a panic because he made a mistake he forgot that can just happen to anyone. Roman remembered the police officers and his family rushing to him, asking him what had happened, only for him to choke out that he didn’t know. He laid back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Realistically, he had been extremely lucky and he knew that. Car related accidents kill so many people every day. And he just spent one afternoon watching his car getting towed before going home without saying anything.

Logan said that it wasn’t productive to think about how past events could’ve better played out. But, Roman wasn’t a logical person. He couldn’t help but imagine it. Replaying how he reacted. He could’ve been looking better, he could’ve registered how the fucking rules of the road work. Hell, he could’ve been quieter instead complaining about whatever song Virgil was playing on bluetooth. He rolled over to the side that was less hurt and took a breath.

Virgil. He bit the inside of his cheek. This entire event wasn’t okay, and was absolutely Roman’s fault. Virgil shouldn’t have been stuck with the consequences of someone else’s actions. Roman’s thoughts helpfully reminded him that he had been in an accident, something that his brain decided to forget to process once more. Roman felt so incredibly guilty for all the pain he put everyone in. He knew that he was hurt too, but did that matter? It was all his fault, anyways.

The door creaked open and Roman heard someone clear their throat. Roman looked up to see the other victim of the car accident. Virgil seemed tired and awkward in the doorway. “Logan made food. Said eating and drinking water can help with the effects of everything.”

“Okay,” The way his voice croaked out the word sounded like Roman’s mouth forgot how to form words and he hadn’t had water for a decade. He cringed at the sound of it. Roman started to say something, an apology maybe? But Virgil started closing the door. So he whispered another sentence. “I’ll be right out.”

Time and time throughout the day Roman could go from joking about what had happened, to feeling bad about it, to almost completely forgetting about it entirely. He felt weirdly guilty about his own emotions about it. Like he wasn’t reacting necessarily as he should. Roman couldn’t even tell how he felt about it all, he was just tired. Too much had happened and his body was tired of experiencing all these things. So it wasn’t, not properly anyway.

By the time the sun had set, Roman was sitting outside, watching the clouds go by, not really putting any effort into thinking. And still his mind was bombarding him with fear, pain, and guilt. So much guilt to the person in the other car, and to Virgil, who had to experience it with him. Mostly he felt guilty to everyone around him for having to deal with it because he was too busy being sorry that he couldn’t move or breathe. He wasn’t crying anymore, and his breathing was fine. But it didn’t feel like that. Should he be in more pain? Is that something that he deserves? If you’re going to wreck a car, why go for the simplest way to do it? Car crashes feel like a very dramatic experience so why does Roman feel underwhelmed?

Everything was too much or too little for his brain and Roman wasn’t sure how to handle it. He held himself with his arms, wondering why this had to happen. If he hadn’t been overly ambitious for once, this wouldn’t have happened. Right?

“How are you feeling, Roman?” Logan asked him. Roman had almost completely forgotten that he was there. Roman blinked and gave a huge smile.

“Well, specs, can’t say that I planned for any of this to happen.” Roman shrugged, his smile dropping as he looked down. His arms loosened up. Logan nodded, like he wanted Roman to open up about everything. Or maybe just to show that he was listening. “I was so sure that I wasn��t going to get hurt. Which isn’t true and I know that. Everyone can get hurt, I was caught up in some sort of main protagonist complex that I didn’t even realize that my mistakes matter. I fucked up and I don’t know if I can move on. My brain isn’t even letting me confirm that it happened, despite me knowing that it did. I blinked and the car was full of smoke.”

Roman laughed bitterly, and Logan furrowed his eyebrows in concern, but didn’t say anything. “I didn’t even register what had happened until Virgil told me to get out of the car. I truly don’t believe that I would’ve moved without him. Which is pathetic. I caused that accident but Virgil had to take charge of the situation because my brain wasn’t able to process it. And now I don’t know how I’m going to react to having to drive again! What if I fuck up and this time it’s even worse? None of this feels okay but I don’t know what to do…”

“Do you want advice?” Logan asked, calmly.

He decided to nod, focusing on trying not to cry instead of speaking.

“Alright. I believe that some of your thinking is similar to the cognitive distortion called ‘catastrophic thinking’. Catastrophic thinking is when after a person experiences a traumatic event starts reacting to every possible danger at the same level of the event they experienced. This is because it takes away the thinking that you’re constantly safe and not going to get hurt, so your brain is trying to make you feel safer by taking your ability to EVER get put into danger, which is not something that you can avoid.” Logan took a breath and stopped to make sure that Roman was still following. He was looking down at his fiddling hands, repopping his fingers repetitively. “You’re going to have to slowly break through this habit of thinking by giving yourself alternatives that aren’t just ‘safe’ or ‘dangerous’ because that is not how the world functions.”

Roman nodded, mostly to himself while Logan was talking. “Okay.” His voice was smaller than he wanted it to be but he was too tired to attempt to change that. Roman stood up shakily, not from the accident, but from his own fear enveloping his head. “Thanks Logan, I mean that, I really appreciate this. I’m going to try going to bed now.”

“Of course, Roman.” Logan responded, as Roman opened the backdoor back to the inside. He made no attempt to move, just watching his friend walk away from his sight. “I am here for you whenever you need me.”

As the door closed, Roman could see that the sky had gone dark as the sun disappeared.

Virgil had apparently decided to check on Roman one last time before going to bed. If him walking in after knocking a few times meant anything that is. Roman made eye contact with Virgil, wondering if that was going to be the end of their friendship. He would completely understand if it was, seeing as how badly everything had gone. Roman took a deep breath and got ready for any chastising that could occur.

“Princey?” He tensed up, waiting for Virgil to finish. “Are you okay? Today was… a lot.”

Oh, huh. “I mean, not really, but that doesn’t matter as much. How are you feeling? It wasn’t your fault that the whole thing happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Dude, I know you’re sorry.” Virgil stated, sitting on the bed next to Roman. “I didn’t ask about that. I know you didn’t mean to crash a car, that isn’t your thing. And the question was kind of a formality anyways. I just wanted to know if you were open to talking about it.”

Roman groaned. “All I’ve DONE today is talk about it. It’s the only thing in my head and my brain is still trying to convince me that it didn’t happen.” He fell backwards onto the bed, while Virgil watched him without a readable expression. “It’s all so much but also just… Just not. Y’know?”

“Yes,” Virgil said plainly. “I do know. Believe it or not, I was there. And I don’t blame you, man. You made a mistake. One that might traumatize us, but I’m not going to hold that against you. We’re both equally messed up here.”

The two laughed, and Virgil laid down next to Roman. Roman took a breath, something he wasn’t able to do when talking to the police. While looking at the ceiling he decided to think out loud. “Can you believe how many people honked at us when we got out of the car? I mean I know it was in the middle of an intersection but also the car was like half destroyed. The audacity is unreal.” He vaguely remembered hearing some of those cars stop to call 911, and the words of what they said echoing in his mind.

Virgil rolled his eyes dramatically. “I know. Two cars, one on the sidewalk and the other in the road after the car crash, how dare we be focused on other things than what everyone else needs to get done? I’m actually surprised how well we held it together for a while, before we both started crying on the concrete, at least.”

The room stayed silent for a while, both of them still processing what happened to them. Roman was tired of every moment of silence being interrupted with thoughts of the accident. He remembered yelling out as soon as he saw the other car and it was too late. One moment they were going to go shopping, and the next he blinked to see the airbags and smoke coming from everywhere. When Patton, Logan, and Remus arrived he was sobbing apologies into their shoulders, wanting to believe that none of this was real. It certainly didn’t feel like it. Roman wiped off the tears that were starting to form and looked at Virgil.

“How do we move on from this? This is just… So much.” Roman asked. Virgil had been in a few car accidents as a child, some better and some worse. Still traumatic.

“Well,” He started. “It took a while, and I mostly associated the fear of being in a car to the exact situation I was in. Like an icy road or something. But this just… happened. And there’s nothing we can do to change that. We… I don’t know what we’ll do, but we can figure it out.”

Roman tried not to look discontented. “That’s not exactly as well thought out as I would like, I kind of just want to move on. How can I focus on the future when every other thought is reminding me that we could have died?! We could have killed that person and our future and their future would have been ruined. I should’ve waited, I should’ve looked, I should’ve-!” He sat up, and Virgil soon followed. Roman wasn’t crying but he looked like he was about to. Virgil held his arm and he fell limp onto the side of his friend. “I just wish it didn’t happen at all.”

“No one wanted it to happen,” Virgil muttered. “It just did, and we have to accept that.”

“I don’t want to,” Roman complained weakly. “None of this is fair.”

There was no arguing that, and both of them knew it. Time kept passing by while the two considered everything. The topic could get distracted or happy, but eventually it would lead back to the car wreck. Evidently, it was going to be on their minds for a long time. Roman didn’t exactly enjoy the fact he couldn’t automatically move on, but tried to take what everyone had else said to heart. It was okay to acknowledge that the accident sucked without letting it control him, however long that took. Virgil left the room to sleep and suggested aggressively that Roman should do the same. He didn’t even notice that it was late until it was pointed out to him.

Lights were turned out, and Roman curled up in a fetal position under his blankets. He still felt kind of sore, more so than he did a few hours earlier. That also wasn’t fair, but whatever. Roman was supposed to be accepting things, so he could start healing. He moved around to try and get comfortable with little success.

Trauma was weird to Roman. One moment everything was fine until it wasn’t. One moment you could be having an entire mental breakdown over a small mistake with big consequences, and the next you’re under the covers like nothing had happened. But all of this was normal, and he was allowed to be like this. Allowed to react to the events that occurred. It would take a long time, and maybe that was okay too.

Taglist: @ghost-in-haunting @logan-sanders-enthusiast @imjustvibingyaknow @hailcap85 @brilliant-and-a-bit-mad

#car accident #food mention #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman centric #sanders sides fanfiction #emile writes #fake shitpost #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sander #remus sanders #police mention #ao3 #not very realistic

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