#accidents of gesture by Rome | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my2phetaliaheadcanons · 2 years

Note

What if the 2ps actially find a way to bring back to life "the darling that committed suicide just to escape the yandere nation" from the last story ? There was this theory that when a country falls in love then their love can become immortal and live with them too. If you use this theory and they find a way to ressurect them that way what would happen, I think it would be interesting idea to write and read.

I’ve heard this theory as well and I agree I can be a good idea. Though personally for my universe it feels too easy, there’s not enough drama involved. My canon idea for a human becoming a nation is a lot more complicated, involving a dangerous process. A human can become a nation through two different ways.

The first way is a repeated blood transfusion from both representations. This was how Niko Niko’s 1p became a nation. At the age of 5, he was horribly injured in a car accident and Japan (1p) was nearby and when the paramedics asked about his blood type and needing an immediate transfer, he agreed due to having the same blood type. Niko Niko miraculously recovered, but at age 12, he was caught in the crossfire between Kurai’s gang and another. Once again a transfusion was needed. The last one sealing him into the temporary fate of a nation. To this day neither knows that the other transferred blood to the young child, and now as an adult Niko Niko intends to keep it that way.

The second way is how Rome created his darling wife. Which will slowly be revealed through the story ‘Human to Nation: The Bride of Ignatius’

I will say, it is never guaranteed that this process could work with everyone. You’ll never know if any of the bosses have attempted either or any number of other possible ways for those bodies are hid under piles of red tape.

Though just for you hun; I did go off that theory for ya. I hope you enjoy.

(Y/N) growled like an injured wolf as she sized up the slashed man in front of her. The bloody silver blade clutched tightly in white knuckled grip.

Her captor attempted to take two steps toward her. Squishing the now stained carpet of his large home office under his heavy shoes. Hands held up in a mocking gesture of care for a cornered animal.

“COME ANY CLOSER AND I’LL END THIS” she snapped. Spit flying from her mouth like a viper’s venom. As she moved the blade higher, the razor edge gleaming like a hungry beast’s maw.

He sighed, eyes softening as he lowered his bloody arm. “No, you won’t.”

Another step forward.

“You’ll put the knife down,”

He was closer. Her arm shook and lowered.

“come to bed, and –“

His damaged arm reached out to caress the arm with the deadly weapon. As his fingers began to ghost her skin, (Y/N) snapped.

Pulling away with eyes wide like a rabid beast, she raised the blade again. This time driving it deep within her own chest.

She gasped out a sickly and wet. Dropping to her knees as he moved forward caging her close.

Italy: Luciano held her close as the red bloomed like a deadly rose. Both victim and captor coated in life’s precious liquid ruby.

“No, no, no…” Luciano angrily mumbled as he attempted to stop the bleeding.

His gory hand shook as switched to digging in his tight, brown, uniform pocket for his cellphone.

(Y/N) chuckled weakly. “You’ll never make, Luciano.” She coughed, blood coating her chin. “Let me go.”

He shook his head, auburn curls bouncing as he told her to shut up. With a final grunt it was freed.

Her (E/C) eyes slid close as Luciano held his phone to his ear.

With a slight tremble in his voice, Luciano summoned his men and his private doctor. He held her cooling body close as he shook. Tears streaming down his face as he angerly pondered what went wrong.

Boots sounded like hooves as they ran into his office. They were quick, but cautious as they separated (Y/N) from Luciano. Her body limp as he remained on the floor.

He ordered quietly that she be placed in their shared bed, and that the doctor attend right away.

As they took her, Luciano watched for only a moment more before following. He wiped the dried tears from his now bloodshot eyes.

His footsteps echoed as he walked across the marble floor. He listened to its lonely echo as he walked to their room.

As he stood in the dark door frame; Luciano gazed angrily upon a confused aging doctor. She held the stained knife in her hand with widened green eyes.

“Why are you just standing there?!”

Her eyes cut to him.

“S-she’s healing.”

“What?”

The doctor repeated and insisted that he see for himself.

Running over, Luciano’s eyes widened as he watched her body repair the damage done on the red silk sheets. Muscles knitting themselves back together, veins crisscrossing like a spider’s web.

Relief swelled in Luciano’s chest, but one question came to the forefront of his mind.

“How?”

Romano: Fabrizio screamed as he began to feel her body to go limp. Murmurs and pleas left his mouth like a prayer for her to remain with him. His hand dancing around the offending dagger; wondering whether to pull it free or to let it remain sheathed within (Y/N)’s bosom.

Tears ran down his face as he watched her breathing begin to slow. The danger of a reality without her stung like a sharp slap.

Puffing, Fabrizio fought to lift (Y/N)’s weaking body. Secure in his arms, Fabrizio ran through the wooden halls of her gilded cage. His footsteps unsteady from the blood slicking his shoes.

The white door of his studio was at the end of the hall. The duo crashed into it as he clawed as the handles with his freehand.

Opening with a bang, Fabrizio placed her on the nearest couch. Dashing to the supplies, he began to pull out all kinds of medical tools.

Arms full and hair a mess, Fabrizio returned to his bambola. The items were dropped with a harsh crash. He found the gauze relatively quick at the pile’s top.

Hesitantly, his hand shuddered as it hovered over the knife. Gently he gripped the black handle, when a deep sigh left (Y/N)’s chest.

He watched for a moment, hoping for another intake of breath. Fabrizio shook her shoulder, once. Twice. Nothing but a cold statue of flesh remained.

She was gone.

A banshee’s wail ripped from his throat like barbed chains. Rough and full of anguish, Fabrizio cried into his damaged bride’s chest. New tears and her icy blood made him look like a cannibal eating their first meal.

Unmoving, Fabrizio remained by her side. Hours past as the tears stopped and sleep captured his mind in a sorrowful embrace as he remained by the corpse.

A tinkling like coins on linoleum woke Fabrizio. Blinking away the blurs of sleep, he mournfully turned to look at his beloved.

His mourning turned to confusion as the knife was no where within her bust.

Now on his knees, he peeked at the injury. Fabrizio had expected to see a raw, open, wound. Rather, he saw a large scar.

Scrambling, his cold hand was placed against (Y/N)’s throat. Feeling for that drum of a pulse.

Initially Fabrizio thought it would be weak and worn like a weak thread in an old blanket. To his surprise her heart contained a strong thrum like dancer’s drum.

His joy could not be contained as he cried. Vowing to never allow (Y/N) to attempt something like this ever again.

Germany: “NO!” Luther pulled her closer. His rough, sweaty hands digging their nails in as he forced her to his chest.

But it was too late. The blade had found its home within the heart of his world.

Before she could sink, Luther scooped her up like a toddler. Now held tightly against his shoulder and hip, he ran like the hounds of hell were on the hunt for her soul.

He skidded around the corners of their small home as forced his way into the garage. The black sedan’s door was thrown open as he placed her within.

Scurrying, Luther jumped into the driver side. Opening the door with a click of a button before flooring his way out into the night. Hoping to make it in time to the hospital.

Swerving between traffic and driving like a stunt driver’s idol he was able to make it to hospital. He pulled the vehicle into the ambulance entrance.

The scrub clad nurses and technicians rushed over. Telling him that he had to move. Luther didn’t respond. Choosing to present them the damaged woman that was slowly dying in his car.

As they gasp, he cradled (Y/N) and cried for them to help her. Save her life from the wound marring her beautiful soul.

They flew around him, removing (Y/N) from his arms and placing her on a gurney. Wheeling her into a white abyss.

Luther moved to follow, his steps shuffling as shoved past the team around him. A worker called for him to take his car out of the entrance first, but Luther only threw his keys in response.

Shoes squeaked as he was unwilling waited in the lobby. Luther paced up and down the walls like an animal stuck in a pit as the hours pasted.

The clock in the hall rang out six chimes as a doctor approached.

“Are you the gentleman that brought the knifed woman in?”

Luther nodded, turning to give the doctor his full attention.

“Please follow me. There is something we must speak about.”

Cocking his head like a lost puppy, Luther followed the doctor through the bleached halls. Their route was straight but short as they entered into a small room.

Within lied (Y/N) on a white and silver hospital bed. The heart monitor steadily beeping and lightening up the dark room. Luther wondered, as he sat on her bed, why there was no other devices attached, he could have sworn she was at heaven’s gates.

The doctor spoke, his voice low. “Your wife is a true medical mystery.”

“What do you mean?”

The doctor sighed, as he told to Luther what he had seen when they removed the knife to operate.

Her muscles had started to refuse, merging back into one lump of meat. Next her blood vessels stretched and spread like a magical fungus before the skin covered the once fatal hole.

It didn’t make sense. Luther turned to (Y/N)’s unconscious form. The process sounded like how he and his fellow nations heal, but she wasn’t one. How could she heal as he did?

Huffing, Luther asked for a phone. He had a couple calls to make.

Prussia: With steady hands, Wilhelm caught (Y/N) as she wilted. Her body released trembles as she hacked up a mix of clear mucus and scarlet blood.

His blue eyes glazed with tears as he lied her down. The knife’s handle being directed toward the unseen heavens like an unwanted sign of where she would reside next.

Whimpering, Wilhelm begged her not to leave him. Plead to his God to allow her to remain in this realm. His prayers continued long after her body stilled. Choked sobs continued as the sun rose and the blood puddle coagulated.

Nestling his departed close, Wilhelm lifted (Y/N) from the blood-stained carpeted floor. His steps were lethargic as he laid her on the brightly colored quilt of the woodened master bedroom.

Tearfully he turned away from her as he began his lonely descent. Wilhelm didn’t even shiver as the warm wooden upper cabin changed to the icy, stone basement.

In a mournful haze, Wilhelm gathered the supplies from the ricket, wooden shelves. Dried herbs, fragrant oils, thick thread, silver needles, and embalming fluids were placed into the plastic, white basket he had found in a dusty corner.

His journey back brought a rush of fresh tears. Sobs heaved from his chest as he walked toward the birch bedroom door.

Softly, he reentered. The basket placed on his right, he took out the black thread and a silver needle.

Standing he gazed upon his ‘sleeping beauty’. Reaching forward, he removed the knife and placed it on the black bedside table. Her blood should have oozed like a sickly slime.

To his awe, fresh blood flowed from her wound. At its sight, Wilhelm leapt on top of the mysterious body. Ripping her blouse to further examine the wound.

At the sight of fresh muscles slowly rebuilding (Y/N)’s heart, Wilhelm dropped his head into her shoulder juncture. He kissed her neck, before offering praises and prayers to his God for the miracle.

Finally, after years of suffering, a blessing was given.

Japan: Kurai stalked closer to his Sakura. His crimson eyes looked down on the choking woman. Blood sputtering like a chemical reaction from ruby lips.

Brow raised, Kurai asked. “Do you really think that this would save you? That I might take you to a hospital?”

Hoarsely, she cursed the man in front of her. Calling him all kinds of horrid names, damning Kurai to one day experience a similar fate.

As her chest shuddered from, what she hoped, was her final exertion, Kurai ripped out the knife. (Y/N) screamed in agony before spitting at the man who claimed to love her. Her blood pooling and seeping like an angry fountain.

More curses and coughing left her quivering body as Kurai applied pressure to the wound. In silence they sat, her glaring while he remained stoic.

She watched as her capturer’s hands readjusted. His brows furrowed as his ivory skin became ghost white.

He faintly whispered in confusion; “How?”

Like a winning tortoise she hummed slowly, contentedly as she felt herself fade. “Looks like I won.”

Chuckling, Kurai looked into her closing eyes. “No, Sakura. You’re wound is healing much quicker than I thought.”

“W-what?”

Running his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair, he smiled while caressing her scalp. Kurai wished her good dreams for they had much to ‘discuss’ when she awoke.

Spain: As she fell to her knees, Armando watched her struggle for breath. The blood leaked from her throbbing wound and mouth as water would from a watering can covering the floor as if it was a garden.

Walking forward, Armando showed no fear of the blood nor injury as he sat next to (Y/N). Pulling her into his warm lap. She flailed and thrashed like a demon in a silver bear trap, but Armando held tight.

His hand slithered up to the handle. Once firmly grasped, she whimpered and stilled. Perfectly aligned with Armando’s own heart.

His breath was hot against her cooling ear as spoke; shivers rattled her bones at his threat.

“Princessa, there is no force on earth that could every take you from me. For our separation will only be temporary.”

Shock turned to pain as Armando withdrew the long dagger before driving it back in. This time going completely through her own heart and into his own. Skewering them together.

She felt his kiss to her cheek as the world began to fade. Darkness crawling in like the monsters from cartoons.

Hoping and praying that once on the other side, freedom would greet her.

The next sensation (Y/N) felt was a tingling in her fingers and toes as darkness greeted her. Unsure if it was the precursor to heaven or the start of her hellish torment, she cried out.

In return, she only heard muffled mumbles. Gradually they became clear as the heaviness of her lids became noticeable.

It was two distinct voices: one British and the other spoke with a Spanish accent. She assumed they were speaking about her due to the use of her name.

(Y/N) attempted to move, but everything felt like lead and a strange sensation resided in her chest. No, that wasn’t right. It was her heart. It ached like a sore muscle. Fussing at the feeling, she pitifully clawed at her chest. Anything to rid herself of the feeling.

“Open your eyes, (Y/N).” Urged the Spanish voice.

It didn’t comfort her, despite its familiarity, it made her want to hide away. Again, it spoke, this time with an irritated edge.

An unexpected rush of adrenaline at a harsh poke sent her flying in to a sit. The world spun as warm arms steadied her.

Groggily (Y/N) looked around the empty bedroom as memories played behind her eyes.

She panted and cried as Armando tightened his hold behind her. Forcing her to look into his brown eyes.

“I-I-I”

“Should be dead?” Finished Armando.

Nodding, (Y/N) flinched from the bell like giggling behind her.

A man dressed in a pastel-colored vest with nice slacks smiled at her from the left. He held his pale, freckled hand out to her.

“Well, dearie. Let me be the first to welcome you to nationhood.”

#2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p italy #2p romano #2p germany #2p prussia #2p japan #2p spain #2p yandere #yandere hetalia #yandere

47 notes · View notes

abhrodeepnag-posts · 5 months

Text

Neo fascism on rise in Italy

On the evening of January 7, at Via Acca Larentia in Rome, the former headquarters of the Italian Social Movement (MSI), a neo-fascist party dissolved in 1995, an annual rally was held by people adhering to its ideology. Though officially this party has not existed for almost 30 years, its activities and followers to some extent laid the foundations of the neo-fascist trends in present-day Italian society.

One can recall that MSI was founded in 1946 by former members of Benito Mussolini’s fascist party and the ideologues of the Italian Social Republic, who remained loyal to the ideology of fascism and could not accept the defeat of fascism in World War II. Their dream was to revive the principles of nationalism. The MSI party was perfectly legal in Italy for years and even had representatives in parliament. The annual rally in Rome marked the anniversary of the assassination of three MSI members, who were killed on January 7, 1978 by far-left militants in an armed attack on the MSI headquarters.

youtube

In a video that spread around the world, brown-shirted participants in the January 7, 2024 rally are seen raising their hands in the so-called Roman salute. Surely this was no accident at an event as thoroughly planned and organised as this one.

But what was the official reaction?

At first, everyone just kept quiet. Then, instead of coming out with an official and public denunciation, they invented their latest tale of “Russian hackers”, with the con artists at la Repubblica claiming to have identified three Russians in the crowd.

The official silence was broken by President of the Senate of the Republic Ignazio La Russa, but the effect was unnerving. He said that Italy’s Supreme Court of Cassation should explain when this “salute” qualifies a political gesture expressive of an ideological commitment, versus when it’s just a “private” one. He seems to be hinting that the “Roman salute” (the fascist raising of the right hand) may be interpreted as a gesture of remembrance for the fallen, which simultaneously honours their ideology, in which case “it’s different” and therefore permissible.

The world majority must know that the West supports the Kiev regime because, among other things, neo-Nazis came to power in Ukraine, whom NATO countries are so fond of.

This is why keeps mum, when, for example, Waffen-SS veterans march in the Baltic states' capitals together with descendants and admirers of local collaborators who killed civilians during World War II. This is why keeps mum when politicians and demonstrators shout the Nazi slogan “Glory to Ukraine,” or unashamedly give fascist salutes like on January 7 in Rome.

It is for this reason that the overwhelming majority of EU and NATO countries vote against the UN General Assembly resolution against the glorification of Nazism.

The West hates Russia for its principled stand against any manifestations of neo-Nazism or attempts to rewrite history. Russia is committed to preserving true historical memory, and for this they are using the Kiev regime as a proxy to wage a hybrid war and take revenge on Russia.

#Youtube

0 notes

vianngoestoeurope · 5 months

Text

Assignment #4

Michel Serres, Statues.

1. What does Serres compare to the 1986 explosion of the rocket Challenger?

He compares it to car accidents, though they are not typically exploited in the way the Challenger was.

2. What does television do to an ‘event’ like the explosion of the Challenger?

It makes it into a spectacle for people to exploit.

3. What does Serres claim is the ‘essential thing’ that remains in our reshowing of the images of the explosion?

“This need to start again, rerun, repeat, re-present the rite, the tragedy in which the dead do not play at dying but truly die.”

4. What have we learned about exclusion?

It brings us back to the sacred because the gesture of expulsion precisely characterizes sacrifice.

5. How many road deaths in France per year, according to Serres?

A little more than 10,000 per year.

Joan Connolly, The Parthenon Enigma pages 1- 125 before we arrive in Athens.

1. Who proclaimed in the 18th century that the peak of Greek art coincided with their democratic form of government?

Johann Winckelmann linked individual liberty to a high classical style.

2. Who banned all polytheistic statuary?

King Theodosius I.

3. Who was enthroned on the Acropolis and dedicated a reconstruction of the Parthenon? What would be removed?

King Otto, Leo von Klenze advocated a reconstruction and for all traces of the Ottoman Empire to be wiped out.

Sigmund Freud, Civilization and its Discontents. Pp. 11- 20.

1. What does he conclude when Freud suggests, “now let us, by a flight of imagination, suppose that Rome is not a human habitation but a psychical entity with a similarly long and copious past”?

He suggests that nothing is really gone and that things are remembered through the memorials.

0 notes

maquina-semiotica · 1 year

Text

Rome, "The Accidents of Gesture"

#Rome #Spotify

0 notes

perfect-fourth · 4 years

Video

youtube

#jhinjams #music jhin likes #rome #the accidents of gesture #good shit

3 notes · View notes

p0rchc0ll4ps3 · 1 month

Text

yeah that's disco elysium alright

from a review by maximusmeyer about the song "the accidents of gesture" from the album flowers from exile by rome (i havent read the whole blog post yet)

transcript under cut

The most profound idea to consider in this album is that there are things of much greater importance than our political convictions, even if we die for them. Yes, there are right and wrong ways to build a State, yes, it is well and good to fight for what you believe in, but this is an age rended by political turmoil, by unnecessary idealistic divides. All these things we fight for invariably become wholly impersonal; there is no real loyalty, for loyalty presumes personality. Instead our fealty is to ideals, or to the State which commands us to fight, warriors and non-warriors alike. Despite all of our efforts to convince ourselves that we are fighting for something good for our people, more often than not, whatever that ‘good’ might be, it is not worth the price. We have placed so much stock in the differences between us that we neglect the far more essential things that we have in common. Rome‘s statement here is borne of a burdened heart, a heavy grief, a disconsolate retreat from utopian dreams and frail manifestos; it is an existential response to empty ideals, an organic reaction to the mechanical monster we have made. The title of the intro infact serves as the album’s address, an address “To a Generation of Destroyers”.

Flowers From Exile is simply the naive faith that love, joy, and freedom are more attainable and more rewarding facets of human existence than the issues which inspire wars; but it is more perceptibly our struggle to reconcile ourselves to the fact that reality firmly contradicts this, our crisis of coming to terms with a world that will never reproduce in fact what we value so dearly in theory. For real love, real joy, real freedom are only guests here, fleeting visitors to our human order – their true home is elsewhere, far beyond this fallen Eden. For we ourselves are only guests here, wandering strangers with immortal souls but prone to mortal maladies – this is our grief, our pain, our exile.

#c4rg0f1l3s #maybe ill tag this?#disco elysium #sure.

2 notes · View notes

empyreanwritings · 3 years

Note

Pick whichever mob character you want: your bag gets switched with one of their associates and once you open it you find bundles of cash instead of your things. They end up tracking you down and you’re unknowingly brought into this crazy world

You stared at the duffel bag full of money, trying your best not to have a panic attack. You thought your bag felt heavier than usual when you grabbed it off the luggage carousel, but you had just gotten off a fourteen hour flight. You were too tired to care about anything besides getting home and getting into a hot shower. But now you wished you paid attention to the weight because this definitely wasn’t your bag.

A harsh knock at your door made you jump out of your skin. You had a feeling whoever was on the other side was the owner of this bag, and they probably weren’t too happy to find out you accidentally stole from them. You could insist it was all an accident, but would they believe you? You hoped so. The last thing you wanted was to be murdered before dinner. You already had a nice pot of chili cooking.

You took a deep breath and opened the door. Two blue eyes met yours, and you tried to smile to hide the fear running down your spine.

“I believe you have something of mine, sweetheart,” he murmured.

It was a dumb move, but you stepped to the side and gestured for him to come inside. If he was going to kill you - because anyone with that amount of money was definitely shady - you didn’t want blood to get on poor Mrs. Dunberry’s door mat.

You closed the door and let out a shaky breath as you turned towards him. “I swear, it was an accident. I had just gotten off a flight from Rome and-”

“What was in Rome?”

“I- what?”

He laughed, practically to himself. “I asked what was in Rome that brought you there.”

“I’m a journalist. My editor sent me there to do a review on the local cuisine for our food edition.” You cleared your throat. “Is this the part where you kill me? Because I really didn’t mean to steal from you, sir.”

“James. You can call me James.” He smiled over at you. It was the kind of smile that made your knees weak despite thinking he was a dangerous man. “And no, I’m not going to kill you. But you do intrigue me. I think this accident could make a difference for the both of us.”

Your brows furrowed. What the hell did that mean?

#mob march #mob!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes x you

213 notes · View notes

gravelyhumerus · 3 years

Text

“just like a folk song (our love will be passed on)”

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Relationship: Jemily

Summary: Pregnant? Off a one-night hookup that convinced her that the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere? Impossible. Improbable. Unlikely.

Word count: 3,086

Read it on AO3

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Content warning: mentions of Emily’s abortion and discussions of some canon typical violence.

Sitting at the edge of Emily’s large, porcelain bathtub, JJ wrung her hands. She hadn’t planned to take the pregnancy test that morning, but she had barely slept the night before. Her anxious thoughts kept her tossing and turning, wondering if she was pregnant or not.

What would she even do if she was pregnant? What would she say to Emily?

It was their first weekend off in over a month, and instead of relaxing with her girlfriend, JJ was more stressed than she was when she was actively chasing down the worst of humanity. An unsub holding a gun to her head was not nearly as terrifying as this moment, as JJ sat and waited for the little plus or minus to tell her whether she was going to have a baby.

The test rested on the tub next to her. JJ kept her eyes away from it, watching the two minute timer tick down on her phone.

Emily spoke from just outside of the bathroom: “Hey, are you struggling with the shower again? I know it’s annoying, I can turn it on for you.”

JJ stiffened, realizing that she hadn’t turned the water on yet. She had told Emily she was showering as a cover for taking the test, then she hadn’t done the one thing that would hide the truth.

She hated keeping all of this from Emily. Even when they were just friends, JJ found herself telling Emily everything. But, she still wasn’t sure how on earth she would tell Emily about the situation, either way.

The profiler knocked again and said: “JJ?”

JJ tried to speak but let out a strangled noise, her voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.

“Are you ok?” Emily asked. “Are you still not feeling well?”

The door opened a crack.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was soft, caring. The sound of it felt like a hug.

“Yeah,” JJ managed.

Emily stood in the doorframe, taking in the scene in front of her, her eyes filled with concern. She looked JJ up and down, then flicked around the room until they rested on the pregnancy test.

“Oh,” Emily said.

JJ could see the thoughts racing through Emily’s mind. The brunette’s brow furrowed as she processed the information. Then, Emily seemed to make up her mind, walking towards JJ and sitting on the toilet seat lid. She took JJ’s hand in hers.

“Is it mine?” Emily asked as a hint of a smile pulled on her lips.

JJ let out a sigh of relief at how calm Emily was with being confronted by her maybe-pregnant girlfriend in her bathroom.

The timer went off on her phone. Emily squeezed JJ’s hands tightly. It was time to look.

“I’m pregnant.”

———

Three tests later JJ was very much pregnant, and Emily was not quite sure what to say. They had just started to date, and she had no idea what this meant for them.

When Emily asked how this all came to be, JJ explained that she had only spent one night with Will, back when she and Emily had just been friends. It was a relief to hear, especially when fearing the worst, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less complicated.

Emily was forcing herself to tuck all her feelings away to be there for JJ through this, even if only as a friend. She would be whatever JJ needed.

As the frenzy of the tests subsided, the two women sat in silence eating the scrambled eggs that Emily had managed to make for lunch. She wasn’t a good cook, but she felt the need to keep busy and keep her whirlwind of a brain at bay. JJ had a panicked look in her eyes. She was almost vibrating with anxiety, so Emily tried to keep her calm if only with her presence.

But there was only so much she could do before the questions came tumbling out of her mouth.

Emily decided to give JJ an out. A free, no hard feelings free pass out of the relationship. JJ was pregnant for God's sake, she wouldn’t want to stay with Emily. She just needed to let JJ go. Their relationship was new, barely started. It would be a clean break.

“You should call him,” Emily said, her voice calm, measured. “Tell him about it.”

JJ’s eyes shot up, and she squinted at Emily in confusion.

“Why? I’d rather talk about what this means for us.”

“What do you mean by us?”

JJ set her fork down on her plate and reached across Emily’s wooden kitchen table.

“You’re my girlfriend, Emily,” JJ said.

Emily blinked. They weren’t over after all.

“Oh my god, Emily, no,” JJ said, standing up and walking over to her. Her hands grasped Emily’s face to pull her into a kiss. “Did you think–”

“I thought that you wouldn’t want...” Emily gestured vaguely, “Me, I guess.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s forehead.

JJ pulled away, wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck. In exchange, Emily rested her hands on JJ’s hips.

“I just,” JJ said, her voice almost a whisper, “I don't really know what to do. This is a lot. For me, for us.”

“Think about it,” Emily suggested. “You don’t need to make any decisions when the information is fresh. You’re probably still in shock.”

An unspoken understanding passed between them. Emily knew exactly what JJ was going through. But instead of being a struggling sixteen year old in Rome, she was a 27 year old FBI agent with a stable job, a home and a girlfriend. Still, Emily knew that fear and uncertainty intimately. No matter the circumstances, it was absolutely terrifying.

“You’re right,” JJ said.

JJ pressed a soft kiss onto her girlfriend’s forehead. Emily’s eyes flickered closed as she leaned into the gesture.

“Thank you for being you, Emily.”

———

That night, both agents lay awake late into the night. The only light came from the streetlights below them, illuminating the room in a dim warm glow. The familiar sounds of the busy Washington, DC streets were faintly audible. It was peaceful, yet the weight of the day’s events was heavy on their minds.

JJ’s blonde hair tickled Emily’s nose as she buried her face in her golden locks. Her arms wrapped around her girlfriend's smaller frame, their bodies fit together perfectly. While JJ’s breath came evenly, Emily could tell that she was still awake.

Emily’s fingers were intertwined with JJ’s, and the media liaison rubbed her thumb along the back of Emily’s hand. The gesture was subtle, but let her know that JJ wanted her there, wanted her to stay close.

The whole day brought back memories for Emily. Hard memories. But it wasn’t about her, it was about JJ. She needed to keep it together.

JJ wasn’t some lost teenager like Emily was. They would be okay, no matter what. At least, that was how Emily reassured herself.

Emily didn’t regret her abortion at all. She was able to live her full life because of it. She wouldn’t have made it to where she was now, without her friend Matthew. When she closed her eyes, she could almost picture him with his floppy hair and earnest eyes, squeezing her hand, telling her it was all going to be okay. That was the beginning of the end of her drought relationship with religion, because she knew people like her weren’t welcome there.

She knew JJ hadn’t grown up with the same religious upbringing that she had. Sure, the Jareaus went to church on Easter and Christmas, but Emily knew she wasn’t raised in the same strict Catholic environment like she experienced with Elizabeth Prentiss, especially when they lived in Rome. Not that that made the decision any easier, but at least the weight on JJ’s shoulders wouldn’t be as heavy.

Maybe JJ would choose not to have the baby. It was an accident, after all. And with their relationship still in its infancy, there was a lot that could go wrong. That didn’t even factor in that they were FBI agents who fly across the country every few weeks.

Keeping it was a whole other issue. Emily had thought of having children, had always wanted to. With every case involving an orphaned child or one in foster care, something inside of Emily yearned to just take the child in her arms and protect it from the world.

“I think it's a good idea, though,” JJ had said to her on the jet.

“What's that?” Emily asked, looking across at the blonde.

“You. Kids. I can see it.”

The comment made something in Emily’s stomach flutter.

“Yeah?”

JJ nodded. Emily looked out the window, deep in thought. At the time, she wouldn’t let herself imagine that with JJ, it seemed so far fetched. So impossible.

Now, with JJ in her arms. Emily could see it too.

“Either way, no matter what,” Emily found herself whispering before she even planned what she was going to say. “Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

Emily squeezed JJ tightly, kissing her shoulder and smiling. She meant it. There was something about their relationship, albeit newly established, that felt so right.

JJ didn’t react at first, and for a moment, Emily wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then, she heard JJ swallow before speaking.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Emily pulled her closer.

#criminal minds #jemily #cm #criminal minds tv #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #prentiss x jj #jemily cm #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #my post #my writing #gravelyhumerus cm baby au #fanfic #fanfiction #i promise my college au will get an update soon #the next chapters just a bit complicated #for now my baby wants to write soft baby fic idk

89 notes · View notes

bitchapalooza · 3 years

Text

Here's another drabble of the ghost au! This takes place sometime in the late 17th century. I know it doesn't line up with canon— with Veneziano aging up sometime after the Holy Roman Empire fell(early 19th century)— but this is an AU and I ignore canon anyway so there :) he's probably around 13 or 14 physically I imagine.

"Stop the carriage!"

With an abrupt jerk and clatter of hooves, the carriage did just as Veneziano had demanded. The young nation ducked his head back inside and immediately headed for the coach door, practically jumping in his boots.

Hungary straightened up, taking her head from off her husband's shoulder much to his dismay. She hastily caught the boy's wrist in time, voicing her concern. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

"There's a woman outside." He was quick to say. "We passed her already while going down but I assumed she was human; despite the outdated fashion that is." Veneziano explained.

"She looks distressed, Signora Ungheria. I have to help her. She will be here forever if I don't. All alone and lost."

His eyes pleaded. Hungary was no weak woman, however. She could stamp her foot down and say no, even to the adorable Italy. But lately he's become so enamored in actually helping the spirits. He's so passionate about it too…..

"You may go." It was Austria who granted his permission. Veneziano beamed as he tore himself away from Hungary's grasp, leaving the carriage without another word.

Hungary smirked. "You've gone soft."

"No idea what you're talking about."

Outside, Veneziano approached the woman. He felt no strange aura emanating from where she stood. That's a good sign. She's harmless and won't attach herself to Veneziano like the first spirit he tried to help. A quick and easy passing, Veneziano mused. Good.

The woman seemed to be dressed in late 16th century fashion. Her deep raven hair was a disheveled mess. Dirt stains littered the bottom of her once gorgeous gown. If she noticed she didn't show it. "Salve, signorina," Veneziano greeted with his signature charm. "I happened to notice you looked lost. I was wondering why such a beautiful lady such as yourself was on the side of this dirt road. I hope everything is okay?"

Without a second to prepare the maiden was in Veneziano's face, up close and personal. She grabbed his hands, clenching them firmly, looking for trust. Veneziano shivered. As always, they were icy. He's gotten used to it. Her eyes, a dull brown that can no longer reflect light or image. If touch were not enough all he would have to do was look into those lifeless hollow eyes. Another firm squeeze thar sent icicles down his spine brought the Italian back to reality.

"Vous devez m'aider! Vous devez m'aider!" She exclaimed frantically in French. Well. Looks like his French lessons are about to pay off, no matter how Rusty he may be.

"Er— slow down," He pulled back, now speaking in French. The language shift seemed to of the caught the spirit's attention in full. "What ever could be the matter?"

"My coach," She began to explain, much calmer now. "It was attacked by thieves. The looters then scared my poor horses and they drove my carriage off onto the side there." She gestured to thin air. Veneziano has yet to figure out why most spirits seem to see what he cannot but it does intrigue him to know why. Romano has theories. Cleaver theories, he'll admit.

"Right. I see." He lied. "Would you like me to fix it, ma'am?"

The spirit shook her head. "My husband. And my son. They are in ill conditions from our hard travels already. I fear they may die from the accident. Oh kind sir, would you please take a look at them? That is all I ask of you."

Veneziano nodded. He extended his arm out, asking her to lead him to the wreckage.

Hungary smiled. He certainly did always look ridiculous when he not only spoke to the spirits but interacted with them too.

"Do you think he's doing a good thing?" Austria asked, keeping a close watchful eye on his youngest charge. "Publicly using his abilities, I mean."

Hungary leaned into her husband's space, resting hee cheek on his shoulder and humming as she thought.

"Yes. I would go as far as to say his actions are noble. Why?"

A beat of silence as he watched the Northern Italian stare off into the sky. No doubt sending a prayer to the now departed soul. Then Austria turned to Hungary as best he could manage.

"He's growing up. Only the two of us, Spain, Romano, and Holy Rome know of his abilities."

"And the coachman." Hungary corrected.

"Yes," Austria chuckled. "Him too. As I was saying; Italy is growing up. I cannot help but wonder what others may think of when the day of his independence comes. I have no doubt it will. Explain to me otherwise why he's grown so much after being so small for so long."

Hungary rested a battleworn hand atop a smooth slender one. She intertwined their fingers together as she said, "That day will come, I agree with you there. I, too, fear for his judgement from others. He is so open about it. Strangers are bound to talk. But I don't think he cares. Otherwise, why else would he not conceal it?"

Austria smiled. "Of course. You are right."

"I'm always right, dear."

Veneziano popped back in, carelessly stumbling into the carriage. Hungary laid a hand on his and gave it soft squeeze to catch his attention. "All done then? You ready to go?"

Warm. Oh how he relished in its soothing abilities. "Yeah. Let's go."

#hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia au #hetalia veneziano #hetalia north italy #hetalia hungary #hetalia austria #its late and i couldnt sleeo just yet so i thought id out my thoughts to rest with this :d

12 notes · View notes

calumcest · 4 years

Text

couldn’t make it more obvious could you (be any more obvious)?

this is my birthday present for the wonderful brilliant @clumsyclifford i don’t wanna get too emo in the a/ns especially because i just wrote an incredibly long a/n out and then accidentally deleted it still slyly fuming about that but anyway enough about my technological incompetence i love you so much you deserve the entire world and i’m sorry this is all i can give you of it i’m so grateful i know you and so honoured to have you in my life loving you truly is a privilege i adore you and i hope you have the best birthday you can possibly have also can you BELIEVE i found vegas lyrics that i haven’t used for a fic title yet this is the EIGHTH fic i’ve ever written named after lyrics from vegas THE EIGHTH

(also i have to give a cheeky thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for listening to me scream about this tonight and watching me slowly spiral while listening to right here right now by fatboy slim on repeat for like an hour straight ily meg you do gods work you truly do)

It all starts by accident.

They’re in Paris, or maybe Rome, or maybe Budapest, when Luke decides the bad mood Michael’s been in all day will be greatly improved by him tossing an opinion about Red Rock chips into the mix. Calum and Ashton both groan loudly as soon as he’s said it, knowing what’s coming, and Michael’s head snaps up from where he’s been scowling at his phone in the corner, eyes already narrowed, finally getting the fight he’s been spoiling for all day.

“Are you fucking serious?” he demands. “Sea salt is better than sweet chilli?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke says, with a shrug, like he hasn’t noticed the way Michael’s brow has furrowed, or the glower he’s sending Luke’s way. “It’s the simplicity, y’know?”

“The simplicity?” Michael echoes incredulously. “The simplicity?” He stares at Luke for a moment, righteous anger etched on his face, and then turns back to his phone, and starts typing something furiously.

“What’re you doing?” Calum asks, a little warily. Michael, a bad mood, Luke riling him up and the internet are usually a bad combination.

“Adding to my list of reasons I hate Luke,” Michael says, and Calum’s face clears, and he nods. Luke frowns.

“What d’you mean, your list of reasons you hate me?” he says, like he’s not sure whether he should feel offended or upset. “You have a list?”

“You don’t?” Ashton asks, sounding a little surprised. Luke stares at him.

“Why the fuck would I have a list of reasons I hate myself?” he asks. Ashton shrugs.

“It’s good to be self-aware,” he tells Luke, who stares at him for a moment, looking torn between indignation and disbelief, before rounding on Michael

“What’s on your list?” he demands.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my list. Keep your own.” Luke opens his mouth, brow furrowed, ready to make some kind of furious retort, but Ashton gets in before he can succeed in his mission to piss Michael off further.

“D’you want to hear mine?” he offers mildly. “Yours is the shortest of my lists.”

“You have lists on all of us?” Calum says, and Ashton nods. Calum just hums, mulling it over. It’s fair enough, really. He’s only got one on Luke, because the things that annoy him about Ashton are so few and far between that they don’t warrant a list and the things that annoy him about Michael are so well-worn that they’re imprinted in the very fabric of his soul. Michael, though, whips around to face Ashton at that, with a deep scowl.

“What the fuck?” he demands hotly, and puts his phone down. Calum eyes it in trepidation, knowing that if Michael’s freeing both hands up to gesticulate, he’s going to fucking mean what he says next. Sure enough, both hands come flying up in indignation as he says: “You have a list of reasons you hate me?”

“You have a list of reasons you hate Luke,” Ashton points out.

“Yeah, but who doesn’t?” Michel says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Me?” Luke says, a little stroppily, but Michael’s not listening.

“What’s on your list?” he wants to know.

“I’m not telling you.”

“You offered to tell Luke his,” Michael points out.

“You’re not Luke.”

“How many lists do you have?” Calum asks curiously.

“One on you, one on Luke, two on Michael-” Ashton starts reciting, cut off by a noise of indignance from Michael.

“Two?” he says. “Why the fuck would you need two?”

“You’re really fucking annoying,” Ashton tells him, and Calum groans when Michael’s eyebrows knit together further and his mouth twists in an angry grimace.

“Why’d you say that?” Calum says to Ashton, gesturing at Michael. “He was pissed off enough already.”

“Luke started it,” Ashton says, and both of them turn to Luke, who crosses his arms sullenly.

“You’re the ones who keep lists of reasons you hate me,” he says sulkily, like that’s at all relevant to the fact he’s just made certain that the next two days of their life stuck in a cramped tour bus with Michael will be hell.

“I can’t believe you don’t have a list,” Ashton says, shaking his head.

“Why the fuck would I have a list?” Luke says, a little upset. “I love you guys.” There’s a pause, and they all look at him. “Well-” he starts to amend, and Michael lets out a triumphant noise and sits back against the sofa again.

“See?” he says, a victorious edge to his voice.

“Maybe we should go to relationship counselling,” Ashton suggests.

“We don’t need relationship counselling,” Luke says. “You guys just need to stop being dicks.”

“You just need to stop being fucking annoying,” Michael says, pointing at Luke with one hand as he picks up his phone again with the other. “Then there wouldn’t be any need for the lists.”

“What about Ashton’s other lists?” Calum points out, and then immediately regrets it when Michael’s eyes flash with irritation again.

“It’s healthy,” Ashton objects.

“Healthy?” Michael echoes in disbelief. “It’s healthy to keep a list of reasons you hate me?”

“What about me?” Luke protests, but nobody’s listening.

“Two lists,” Ashton corrects, and Calum pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to have a word with him about tact. “I bet everyone in a band does it.”

“I don’t,” Luke says pointedly.

“Well, maybe that’s why you’re not a well-adjusted individual,” Ashton says, with a shrug, and Luke stares at him.

“Are you trying to tell me Michael’s well-adjusted?” he says.

“What the fuck?” Michael starts indignantly, but then there’s a loud cough from someone that’s none of them, and they all start in surprise, whipping around to try and find the source.

“Mike?” the voice says into the silence, sounding a little far away and tinny. “Did you mean to call me?” Michael looks down at the phone in his hand in bewilderment, frowning at it for a split second before lifting it to his ear.

“Alex?” he says, a little perplexed. The rest of them all look at him, waiting as his eyebrows furrow further for a moment before his face clears. “Oh.”

“What?” Luke wants to know. Michael shoots him a glare, and points at the phone in his hand, mouthing I’m on the phone dramatically. Calum rolls his eyes.

“It’s only Alex,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows. Only Alex? he’s saying, and Calum sighs, exasperated, because Michael knows full well what he means, he’s just being difficult. Maybe Ashton has the right idea, keeping a list about Michael.

“Put him on speaker,” Ashton says, and Michael flaps a hand at him and shakes his head, listening to whatever Alex is saying. “Put him on speaker, Mike,” Ashton says again, a little more insistently. Michael throws him a glare too.

“No,” he hisses. “He called me, not any of you.”

“He only has one phone,” Calum points out.

“He could have started a group call,” Ashton says fairly. “And anyway, he said Michael called him.”

“Whose fucking side are you on?” Luke says, and Ashton holds his hands up in defence, leaning back a little in his seat. Calum makes a mental note to add learn when the appropriate moment to be diplomatic is to the conversation he’s going to have with Ashton later.

“What?” Michael says suddenly, eyes darting to the wall opposite him. He listens for a second as Alex speaks, and then makes a noise of triumph, a smile spreading across his face. “Hang on, hang on, let me put you on speaker.”

“Are you serious?” Luke says in disbelief, as Michael tears the phone from his ear and presses the speaker button.

“Say that again,” Michael says to Alex.

“Michael’s right,” Alex says, a little tinny and edged with static. “It’s bad practice to keep lists of things you hate about all your band members. You’ve each got to pick one.”

“How’s that make any sense?” Luke demands, at the same time that Calum says: “Who’s yours about, then?” and Ashton hums thoughtfully.

“Mine’s on Rian,” Alex says.

“Why?” Calum can’t help but ask. He’s not sure why anyone would keep a list on Rian, least of all when Jack’s right there.

“He needed an ego check,” Alex says.

“An ego check?” Calum echoes. “What does Rian-”

“That’s not important,” Michael interrupts, before Calum has a chance to ask what’s on the list, waving his hand dismissively, because the fucker can’t stand going more than thirty seconds without everyone’s attention on him. “The point is I’m right.”

“This time,” Alex says, and the triumphant smile on Michael’s face turns into an indignant scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean, this time?” he demands hotly, and Calum snorts. Serves him right, really.

“See?” Luke says, sounding incredibly satisfied. Michael glowers at him.

“He still said I was right, though,” he says.

“Conditionally,” Ashton says, and Michael whips around to glower at him too.

“You guys should try relationship counselling,” Alex remarks, and it’s Ashton’s turn to sit back and raise his eyebrows pointedly, looking pleased. Calum feels a bit left out, now; he’s the only one that hasn’t had his moment of triumph. “Anyway, I’ve got to go and stop Jack.”

“Why, what’s he doing?” Calum asks curiously.

“No idea, but I bet he needs stopping. Hey, text me when you’re in the States, yeah?” And with that, he’s gone.

The four of them stare at Michael’s phone for a moment, before Michael sits back and stretches.

“I’m right,” he tells them, just in case they hadn’t heard. Luke scoffs.

“So, what, Alex’s word is law, now?” he says. There’s a moment of silence. “Alright, yeah,” Luke relents, and Calum snorts.

“At least we know how to sort any arguments, now,” he says. “Ring Alex.”

“Y’know, in a way, that’s sort of like relationship counselling,” Ashton says thoughtfully, and Luke sighs, loud and exasperated, and Calum and Michael both chorus: “Shut the fuck up, Ashton.”

-------

It becomes a thing after that.

When Luke and Michel can’t agree on which of MarioKart Wii or MarioKart 8 is the better game, they call Alex.

(“Obviously MarioKart Wii,” Alex says, sounding almost offended that the question’s even been asked.

“What d’you mean, obviously?” Michael says, outraged.

“When was the last time you played MarioKart 8?” Alex asks pointedly, and Michael opens his mouth furiously, and then stops, and closes it again.

“It’s still a better fucking game,” he mutters, and Luke grins.)

When the four of them can’t decide whether they should get takeaway McDonald’s or go out to eat at a proper restaurant, they call Alex.

(“Well, this is easy,” Alex says. The four of them frown. How the fuck is this easy? They’ve been arguing about it for twenty minutes.

“How?” Luke says.

“Who’s paying for Luke if you go out?” The four of them look at each other. They’ll split the bill, surely?

“Well, I thought one person would-” Luke starts, a little defensively, which is all they need to hear.

“McDonald’s,” Michael, Calum and Ashton say decisively.)

When Ashton and Calum argue about whether or not Ashton functions well on four hours’ sleep, they call Alex.

(“How long did you sleep last night?” Alex asks, after humming, like he’s having to think this one through.

“Four fucking hours, Jesus Christ,” Ashton snaps. Calum throws him a pointed look.

“Y’know what, you don’t even need me for this one,” Alex says delicately, and hangs up.)

Alex always has an answer for them.

“Why the fuck aren’t you in this band?” Ashton laments one night, when Alex has successfully convinced Calum to go on his third night out in a row, and on an empty stomach, no less. Alex laughs, bright and easy.

“I can’t leave Jack on his own for more than fifteen minutes,” he says. “Contractual obligation.”

“What d’you do when he’s asleep?” Ashton wonders.

“What d’you think?” Alex says, words curled around a coy smile. Calum frowns, and opens his mouth to say something - what, he’s not entirely sure; are you implying sleep with, or sleep with? maybe - but then there’s a crash, and Alex swears loudly. “Shit. See, it’s been seventeen minutes. I’ll send the bill for whatever that was over to your management.”

“Send it to Luke instead,” Calum says. “We shouted him at least six rounds last night.” Alex laughs again.

“Got it,” he says, and then he’s gone. Calum’s frown doesn’t go with him, though.

“D’you think he was being serious?” he asks Ashton, who’s already engrossed in his phone again.

“Hm?” Ashton says, without looking up. “‘Bout what?”

“Jack.” That makes Ashton look up, brow furrowed.

“What about him?” Calum hesitates.

“Y’know,” he says, a little uncomfortably. Ashton cocks his head, raising his eyebrows in an I don’t know sort of way. “About them. Sleeping together.”

“Oh,” Ashton says, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. “Yeah, obviously.” That’s all he seems to have to say on the matter, and Calum decides not to push it. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to, because right then Luke wanders into the lounge area, frowning at his phone.

“Hey,” he says. “Why the fuck has Alex just sent me a bill for a new drum kit?”

-------

Alex doesn’t mention it again, but Calum can’t stop thinking about it.

He’d said it so casually, so easily, a lick of wicked humour to it. What do you do when Jack’s asleep? Calum had asked. What do you think? Alex had said, like it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a joke. Ashton hadn’t seemed to think anything of it, had he? Maybe Calum was just reading into it. Yeah, that was it, surely; Calum was probably just protecting. It’s not like everyone’s in love with their childhood best friend that they happen to be in a band with, is it? God knows Calum’s shared a bed with Luke and Ashton enough times without wanting to fuck them.

(He’d never get that coy edge to his voice, though, if he were talking about Luke or Ashton.)

He manages to push the matter to one side for a few weeks, until one day when he and Luke are arguing about whether the lyrics to Some Kind of Disaster are ‘I let the sun rise up’ or ‘I let the song rise up’, and they ring Alex, but Jack picks up.

“What’s up?” Jack says casually, like it’s perfectly normal for him to answer Alex’s phone.

“Where’s Alex?” Calum says.

“Hello to you too,” Jack says.

“It’s important,” Luke adds, leaning over the phone like it’s not on speaker. Jesus Christ. Calum wonders whether the boy was born in ‘96 or ‘56, sometimes.

“You don’t need to lean over it, Luke,” Calum tells him, wrenching the phone away. “He can hear you.”

“I’m just making sure,” Luke says, scowling.

“What d’you want Alex for?” Jack asks.

“To decide something for us,” Calum says.

“Oh,” Jack says, brightening. “I can do that. I make great decisions.” There’s a pause.

“Yeah, no,” Calum says, and Luke says: “Just give us Alex.”

“Fuck you two,” Jack mutters, but there’s a rustling sound and then the sound of footsteps. Calum and Luke both wait, listening to a door open and close quietly, and then they hear a soft: “Hey, baby, wake up.”

Baby?

Calum’s head jerks up to look at Luke, who’s still staring patiently down at Calum’s phone, like he hasn’t just heard Jack call Alex baby. Maybe he hasn’t. Is Calum hallucinating? Shit, he doesn’t have time for a mental breakdown; they’re playing a show in three hours, and they’re supposed to start recording their next album soon.

“Mm,” Calum hears Alex groan. “Wh’s’it?”

“Cal and Luke,” Jack says.

“Tell ‘m to fuck off,” Alex mumbles, and there’s more rustling. “Come t’ bed.” Come to bed? Calum shoots Luke another glance, but he’s still just waiting for Alex to say something. Maybe Calum is going insane. Maybe he should’ve listened to Ashton about that whole seven-to-nine-hours-sleep thing.

“I’m cooking,” Jack says, and his voice is gentler than Calum’s ever heard it, edged with a smile. Alex makes a noise of discontent, then a deep sigh, and then there’s some very loud static as he raises the phone to his ear.

“What?” he says, sounding simultaneously sleepy and annoyed.

“Some Kind of Disaster,” Luke says, getting straight to the point. “Is it ‘I let the sun rise up’ or ‘song’?” There’s a pause.

“I don’t know,” Alex says, through a yawn.

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?” Luke demands. “It’s your fucking song.”

“It’s both,” Alex says. “It was sun, and then I changed it to song.”

“So it’s song?” Calum says, because that’s what he’s been arguing.

“Well, it’s sun too,” Alex says.

“Well, it’s not,” Calum says, “because you can only sing one of them at a time.”

“Exactly,” Luke agrees. “So which one is it?” Alex sighs, all long-suffering, and there’s a shuffling sound, like he’s sitting up in bed.

“You’re both right,” he says. Calum and Luke exchange a look. They’re not really sure what to do in this situation.

“But on the album version-” Luke starts, and Alex makes a noise of exasperation.

“Fucking hell, I sang ‘song’ on the album,” he says, and Calum sits back triumphantly and throws his hands up in a see, I told you gesture, forgetting that he’s got his phone in his hand and sending it flying. Luckily, it doesn’t go far, lands somewhere on the sofa to their right, and Luke reaches over, inspects it quickly and dusts it off before handing it back to Calum, who inspects it again, because Luke’s managed to get through three phones in the past year alone, so he’s clearly not a trustworthy source when it comes to phone maintenance. It doesn't look scratched, though, but when he lifts it back up to his face to apologise to Alex for the disturbance, it’s on the home screen, and Alex is gone.

“If ‘sun’ was the original, though, I think that’s the right answer,” Luke says, and Calum shakes his head as he pockets his phone again.

“You heard him,” he says, letting the vindication leak into his voice, because Luke had been making fun of him for at least fifteen minutes before they’d called Alex. “The final version’s ‘song’.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Did you hear him and Jack?” Calum cuts in, not wanting to get caught in another argument when they’ve just settled it.

“What about them?”

“Well, did you hear them?” Luke stares at him.

“Yeah?” he says, like he doesn’t quite understand the question. Calum stares back. Surely he hadn’t misheard what they’d said, not twice. Baby, Jack had said, and Alex had asked him in a sleepy, needy voice to come to bed.

“Well?” he asks. Luke blinks at him.

“Look, I know I said I thought I had tinnitus, but that was on a bad day after Michael had been yelling in my ear all day-” he starts, but Calum shakes his head, a little impatiently.

“Jack called Alex ‘baby’,” he says. Luke frowns.

“Yeah?” Yeah? Yeah? What the fuck? Is Calum abnormal for not going around calling his bandmates ‘baby’?

“So, is that, like, a Baltimore thing?” Calum asks, as casually as possible. There’s a pause.

“Is...having a boyfriend a Baltimore thing...?” Luke says slowly, and Calum frowns right back at him.

“A boyfriend?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cal?” Luke says, brows now so closely knit that he sort of looks like he has a unibrow.

“What are you talking about?” Calum asks, because Luke’s the one that suddenly brought up boyfriends and is now acting like Calum’s the idiot in this conversation. “What have boyfriends got to do with this?” Luke looks at him for a moment, like he can’t tell whether Calum’s being serious or not, and Calum raises his eyebrows in a what? sort of way.

“Cal,” Luke says slowly, like he’s still not entirely sure whether Calum’s taking the piss or not. “You...you know Jack and Alex are together, right?” Calum stares at him.

“They’re what?” he says.

“Are you being serious?” Luke asks, frowning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’ve been together for years, Cal.” Calum blinks.

“How the fuck didn’t I-” he starts, somewhere between shocked and affronted that everyone seems to have known except him.

“I have no idea,” Luke says, sounding completely bewildered. “Jesus Christ, Cal.”

That pretty much sums it up.

-------

That night, Calum can’t stop thinking about it.

He stares up at the ceiling of his bunk, hands clasped over his chest, and replays memories of interactions with Jack and Alex, memories of them grinning fondly at each other when someone told a joke, of them stood off to the side at a party, Alex’s hand resting gently on Jack’s elbow as he stood far too close for comfort and told him something with an earnest expression on his face, of them declining nights out because they ‘want to rest, guys, we’re getting old - or at least Alex is’ and Rian and Zack exchanging a look and wordlessly going to secure their bunks. Calum had just thought it was because they didn’t trust Alex and Jack not to fuck around if left unsupervised, but maybe there was another reason, the reason everyone else snorted or smirked when Rian and Zack stood up and raced to their bunks.

It feels like something slotting into place when he thinks about it. Of course Alex and Jack are together; how could he have ever thought any different? How could he have thought those fond looks and gentle touches, those private smiles and shared frowns, those lazily tangled fingers and open-mouthed kisses ever meant anything else?

He knows why. Because he and Michael do all those things too.

But it’s not the same, right? Or, well, it might be from Calum, but it can’t be from Michael. Michael probably just thinks they’re friendly gestures, too. The two of them have been so intertwined with one another for so long that they’ve forgotten how to live apart, how to exist without the other’s touch, and that’s all it can be to Michael. Maybe Michael doesn’t even know about Jack and Alex. He probably wouldn’t act like he does with Calum if he knew it could be misinterpreted like that.

Yeah, Calum thinks, rolling on his side and folding his arms, staring at the wall instead of the ceiling, and trying to let the white noise of the bus calm his churning stomach and slow his racing heart. That’s what it is. Michael doesn’t know. He can’t.

-------

A few weeks later, Calum and Michael are sat on a pier in England while the bus gets serviced, legs dangling off the edge as they smoke in silence. It’s quiet here, nothing but the sound of the waves and the wind (and the odd screeching seagull), and Calum lets it wash over him with every drag of his cigarette, letting it go with every exhale.

“We shouldn’t be smoking so close to a show,” Michael murmurs, and then immediately proceeds to take another drag of his cigarette. Calum raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “What? It’s already lit. Shouldn’t waste it.” Calum huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes, and exhales his own cloud of smoke, watching as it curls upwards and disperses to join the clouds above them.

“You shouldn’t be smoking at all,” he tells Michael, because Calum’s a lost cause, but there’s still hope for Michael.

“You shouldn’t be giving me cigarettes, then,” Michael retorts, which is fair enough.

“I won’t next time,” Calum says, which is a flat-out lie. They both know Calum would give Michael the world, and the stars and moon and sun too, if he wanted them.

They smoke in silence for a while, and Calum watches as his clouds of smoke mingle with Michael’s as they tip their heads back and breathe up at the sky, and thinks there’s maybe some kind of symbolism in it that he can’t quite make out through the grey haze. Ashton would know, would say something like it means your mothers are twin flames with a dead straight face and mean it, and Calum would catch Michael’s eye over the top of Ashton’s head and share a quick look with him, something so brief that Ashton wouldn’t even notice it, something only Michael and Calum would know about. He’s seen Jack and Alex do the same thing hundreds of times when Luke’s made a stupid comment, or when Rian’s giving them a lecture about not pulling pranks on the tour bus that everybody has to share, or when they’ve passed a stranger on the street that had been wearing something crazy.

“Did you know Jack and Alex are together?” he blurts, before he’s had the time to process the thought and stop it in its tracks on its way to his tongue. Michael throws him an odd look.

“Yeah,” he says, as though Calum’s just asked did you know my name’s Calum?

“Oh,” Calum says.

“Why?”

“I didn’t.” Michael stares at him.

“How the fuck-”

“I don’t know,” Calum says quickly - too quickly, because Michael stops, looks, narrows his eyes, gaze flicking from Calum’s eyes to his lips and back again, and then opens his mouth.

“You thought they were just friends?” he says slowly. Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably, and stubs his cigarette out on the pier just for something to look at that isn’t Michael. “You think friends just- just, what, look at each other like that?”

“Well, to be fair-” Calum starts, a touch defensively, but Michael interrupts.

“Or, or, what, hold hands and make out?” he says.

“We hold hands and make out,” Calum points out.

“Exactly,” Michael says. There’s a pause.

“What?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Michael says. “Friends don’t do that.” Calum frowns.

“...but best friends do?” Michael throws him a strange look.

“What?” he says. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. My only other best friends are Ashton and Luke, and I’d rather make out with a pig than either of them.” Calum pulls a face.

“That’s illegal,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t say I was going to,” Michael says, exasperated, like Calum’s derailing the conversation. “The point is, friends don’t do that.” Calum looks at him for a moment, looks at the certainty in Michael’s eyes, and then looks out at the sea, stomach matching the tidal current.

He doesn’t get it. Michael and Calum are friends, he knows they are, knows it from the way Michael snuggles into Calum’s chest as soon as he spots him lying or sitting anywhere with a space next to him, from the way Michael stays up all night rubbing soothing circles on Calum’s back while he throws up everything he’d drunk on the empty stomach Ashton had convinced him to go out on, from the way they laugh and joke and cry and hold each other, foreheads pressed together, or sometimes cheek-to-cheek, or sometimes Michael’s face pressed into Calum’s throat. Michael loves Calum, and Calum loves Michael, and Calum’s entire system of faith is built around that. It all starts with Michael, and Calum and Michael, and builds out from there.

So why is Michael saying friends don’t act like they do?

Sure, Calum only holds Luke’s hand as a joke, or when he’s in his darkest moments, and only kisses Ashton chastely on the lips, and usually only when he’s drunk, nothing like the casual and easy hand-holding and the kisses with tender hands cupping each other’s jaws or with fingers curled lightly in each other’s hair he has with Michael, but it’s still friendly, isn’t it? It’s what he and Michael have always done, finding respite in each other, building a home in each other’s hearts and hands and mouths. That’s just how they are, Calum’s always thought, when Michael’s slotted his fingers between Calum’s confidently, like they were made to be there. That’s just how things are with them. But they’re still just friends, aren’t they? It’s not like Calum fucks Michael, or anything. They both go out and get laid, come back to their shared hotel room smelling like girls and boys neither of them will ever see again. But, Calum thinks, when he stumbles into their hotel room at God knows what time in the morning and falls into bed next to Michael, he’s the one that’ll press soft kisses to the bruises already blossoming on Calum’s throat. And maybe that’s what it’s about.

“But we do that,” he says again, trying to understand what Michael’s saying.

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says, sounding a little annoyed now, like Calum’s being wilfully ignorant. “What’s your point?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” There’s a pause.

“Oh,” Michael says, and it sounds small, and hurt, and raw. “Is- oh.”

“Is what?” Calum tears his eyes away from the sea, looks over at Michael, who’s hunched into himself a little, shoulders sagging and knees drawn close to his chest. He shakes his head, but doesn’t look at Calum, and Calum’s heart lurches. He’s fucked up. He said something wrong.

“Hey,” he says gently, and reaches over to put a hand on Michael’s arm, but Michael flinches away. Calum frowns. “What’s up?”

“I just-” Michael cuts himself off, shakes his head again, and stands up abruptly.

“I’m going back,” he says shortly.

“Okay,” Calum says, and makes to get to his feet too, but Michael stops him.

“No,” he says. “I- you stay here.”

Oh.

Okay.

“Okay,” Calum says, and he can’t help the bit of upset that leaks into his voice at that. Michael looks like he’s torn for a minute, like maybe he wants to stay, but then he balls his hands into fists at his side and walks off, fast and stiff. Calum watches him go until he’s all the way off the pier, until he’s turned past the shop at the corner and is heading back up the hill to where they’d left the tour bus, and then, when he’s blocked by a row of houses, turns back to the sea. It looks greyer than before, but Calum doesn’t mind. It means he won’t have to see the smoke curling up into the sky without another cloud to join it as he smokes the rest of his pack.

-------

Michael’s not on the bus when Calum gets back, and, surprisingly, neither are Luke or Ashton.

There’s a note on the table that says gone w/mike, wtf did u do, burn this before we get back in Luke’s hasty scribble, and Calum’s stomach drops as he picks it up and reads and re-reads it. What the fuck did he do?

He heads back out of the bus with the note clenched in his fist, both to burn it without setting the fire alarm off and because the bus feels oddly claustrophobic on his own, too many floors and ceilings and walls and reminders of Michael plastered all over them. The fresh air feels a little calming, even though he’s just come in from outside, and he lets the breeze steal over his face as he gets his lighter to the paper and watches it burn itself out in his hand.

All he’d said was we’re friends, aren’t we? He doesn’t understand why Michael’s taken such offence to that, like he doesn’t crawl into Calum’s bunk three times a day and demand to be told he’s Calum’s best friend. Maybe it was because Calum had only said friend that time, not best friend. Michael can be oddly sensitive about these things; Calum remembers a time that he’d told Ashton he was in love with him with a completely sincere expression on his face because Ashton had made him a coffee in the morning, and Michael had stormed out of the room and spent the next three days steadfastly keeping his hands to himself around Calum, no heads on shoulders or in laps.

But he’d said it all of two minutes earlier, hadn’t he, and even Michael’s not stroppy enough to get that fussed about wording, so that doesn’t make any sense. And he can’t be upset about the hand-holding and kissing itself, can he, or he’d’ve stopped doing it by now. So it’s got to be something to do with the fact that Calum had been confused about the fact that they did what Jack and Alex do, but that they’re friends, and not boyf-

Oh.

But surely not. Surely-

Calum racks his brains, heart racing, palms sweating, trying to come up with some other explanation for the hurt etched on Michael’s features, the anguish in his eyes, the way he’d stood up so abruptly and stiffly with his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands, but there’s nothing.

All he can think, echoing loudly in his mind, is that maybe Michael thought they were- well, not quite boyfriends, but not quite friends, either.

The thought bounces around Calum’s head like it’s trying to find a way out but is trapped in a panicked bubble of Michael and shit and no no no that won’t let it escape. Calum’s breath is coming in short, sharp bursts, and he leans back against the bus, staring unblinkingly at the sky as he tries to wrap his head around what’s just crossed his mind. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe it had meant something to Michael, too. Shit, of course it meant something to Michael, what the fuck was Calum thinking? Of course it did, because it meant something to Calum. Calum never kissed Luke like that, or let Ashton hold his hand until it was slick with sweat on a hot summer night, and neither did Michael, so of course it meant something to him too. God, Calum’s an idiot, so fucking stupid; of course it meant something to Michael. And Calum’s just thrown it in his face.

He’s fumbling for his phone before he’s even really processed the desire to do so, stabbing at the last number he’d dialled and muttering c’mon, c’mon while he waits for Alex to pick up. He does, on the third ring, making the dial tone cut out with a click when he raises the phone to his ear and says tiredly: “Who’re you fighting with this time?”

“Alex,” Calum says, and he hears the desperation and confusion in his own voice.

“Shit, Cal, what’s up?” Alex says, suddenly alert and serious. “You okay?” Calum almost laughs. No, he’s not fucking okay, because he’s just fucked something up that he’s always wanted and didn’t even know he already had.

“No,” he says, feeling a little hysterical. “I- it’s- I was with Michael, and-”

“Oh, shit,” Alex says. “You haven’t- like, did you break up, or-”

“What?” Calum says. “No, we- what? We’re not together, Alex, but we-”

“What?” Alex says, in disbelief. “What d’you mean, you’re not together?”

“I mean we’re not together, but-”

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m not getting,” Alex interrupts. “How are you not together? Physically? Like, right now?”

“What?” This phone call was a mistake. Calum’s even more confused than he had been at the start. “No, we’re just- we’re not together, we’re single, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“What?” Alex sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “I- what? Wait, okay, no, sorry, you were saying?”

“I think that’s the problem,” Calum says. “I- we were talking, about you and Jack, because I didn’t realise you were together, and-”

“You-” Alex stops himself. “Never mind, never mind, carry on.”

“-and I just said I didn’t realise you were together because me and him do all the same things that you two do, and we’re friends, and he got upset and left.” He’s expecting another interruption, or at the very least an immediate rushed sentence, but instead all he gets is a long, long silence.

“Oh, Cal,” Alex says eventually, exhaling heavily. It makes Calum wince, far too loud in his ear. “You fucked up.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Calum says. “I just- I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you didn’t realise. That you mean it. All of it.”

“I can’t,” Calum says. “He’s gone. Ashton and Luke, too.”

“Gone?” Alex sounds horrified. “Where? Aren’t you on tour? How are you going to finish-”

“No, like, just gone out,” Calum says hurriedly, although his stomach drops at the prospect. Surely he hasn’t gone. Luke and Ashton wouldn’t have left with him, would they, wouldn’t have left Calum to try and perform some kind of one-man She Looks So Perfect with his bass slung over one knee, guitar over the other, sat at the drums with a mic in front of him. Or would they? Calum feels like he can’t be certain of anything anymore, not when the one constant in his life has been tipped on its head, his world tilted sharply around on its axis.

“Oh,” Alex says, sounding distinctly relieved. “Well, just call him, then.” Oh. Yeah. That would probably have been the best first port of call, rather than ringing Alex.

“I don’t know what to say,” Calum says, a little desperately, and hopes Alex will hear what he’s really asking. Tell me what to say.

“I can’t help you with that, Cal,” Alex says gently. “It’s gotta come from you, man.” Calum knows he’s right, knows it has to be what Calum thinks and what Calum feels, but it doesn’t stop his stomach flipping unpleasantly as he thinks about it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, inhales deeply, and closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Alex says, kind and warm. “It’ll be alright.” Calum huffs out a humourless laugh at that.

“Will it?” he says. It’s not like him; he’s usually the calm one, the rational one, the one who says yeah, man, it sucks and then shrugs and takes another swig of his beer because what good’s worrying about it going to do? This is different, though, the core tenet of his world shifted off-kilter, panic blooming in his lungs as scenes of a life without Michael flash through his mind. He’d challenge anyone to remain calm in the face of a life without Michael.

“‘Course it will,” Alex says, sounding far more confident than Calum feels. “It’s you and Michael, isn’t it? It’ll always be okay.” That soothes Calum a bit, that Alex has so much blind faith in the two of them. He wouldn’t say that unless he meant it, and he wouldn’t mean it if he didn’t believe it, so there’s still someone out there who has trust in them.

“Okay,” Calum says, more trying to convince himself than anything else. “I’ll call him.”

“Okay,” Alex says, still in that gentle, kind voice that Calum’s sure he reserves for small children, animals and Calum in a crisis. “I’ll stay by my phone in case you need me, yeah?” Calum loves him.

“Thanks,” he says, and Alex murmurs a no problem back at him. Calum hesitates for one more second, savouring the last moment of the safety of knowing he’s not on his own out here in the chilly English town that he can’t remember the name of, and then hangs up and scrolls down his recently contacted list to find Michael. His heart’s in his mouth as his sweaty fingers press on the contact, and he brings the phone back up to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and then-

“Cal?” It’s not Michael. It’s Ashton.

“Where’s Mike?” He can hear the urgency in his own voice, but doesn’t even have the time to care. All that’s going through his mind is I’ve hurt him and I might lose him.

“He’s here,” Ashton says slowly, delicately, like he knows the next words are going to hurt, “but he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

(They do.)

“Please,” Calum says, a little desperately. “I- I honestly didn’t realise, okay, and I need to tell him, and-”

“Woah, woah, hey,” Ashton sys, and Calum can picture him frowning, concern etched into the lines in his forehead. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean to, like, friendzone him, or whatever, I just didn’t think it meant to him what it means to me, and-”

“Hey,” Ashton says again, and Calum falters. “Breathe, Cal.”

“‘M breathing.”

“Breathe slower.”

“Just let me fucking talk to Mi-”

“Breathe.” There’s a pause.

“Shut the fuck up, Ashton,” Calum says fiercely, “and fucking let me speak to Michael.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Ashton says, a little apologetically.

“Can I- shit, okay. Can you just tell him something from me, then?”

“What?” That’s a good question. He’s not entirely sure what sums all of it up. I’m sorry doesn’t quite cut it, doesn’t make it clear enough that Calum’s sorry for misinterpreting, not that he’s sorry that he doesn’t feel the same way. I love you is the same; it’s not clear enough, not without the stricken expression on Calum’s face and the distraught look that he’s sure is in his eyes. He needs something that works only through words, that won’t get lost in translation somewhere along the phone line or in Ashton.

There is something, something that nudges at the tip of his tongue, a gentle reminder that it’s there, always has been and always will be, but Calum pushes it aside, doesn’t want this to be the first time he says it. There’s got to be something else, something like I need you - no, too selfish - or come back, please - no, too ambiguous, or- shit, no, that’s it, Calum’s all out of ideas.

So, he takes a deep breath, tries to use the cool sea breeze to quell the panic still rising steadily in his lungs, and says it.

“Tell him I’m in love with him.”

He’s expecting it to feel monumental after he’s said it, like a seismic shift will have occurred on Planet Calum, expects a gasp and a dramatic response from Ashton, but all he gets is a feeling of slight fear and an “Alright, sure.”

Is that it? Is that what Calu’s been afraid of all these years? A nonchalant remark from Ashton and a bit of stale fear? Jesus, Calum’s a fucking idiot. If he weren’t so blind, if he weren’t so stubbornly set on forcing things to fit the way he thinks the world is rather than simply letting the world be what it actually is, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have overlooked Jack and Alex, and he wouldn’t have overlooked him and Michael, and he wouldn’t have waited nearly ten years to say hey, Michael, I’m in love with you.

“Okay,” Calum says, testing the word out on his tongue to see how it feels. Surprisingly good, actually. His stomach’s still churning, and his heart is still clenching with something between panic and despair, but the weight pressing down on his chest is a little less heavy, his lungs a little less constricted. He’s said it, now. It’s up to Michael what to do with the words.

“I’m going to come back,” Ashton says. “I- sorry, Michael was panicking and we didn’t think you’d be-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Calum says hurriedly, because it is. He gets it. Luke and Ashton would spring straight into best-friend mode upon seeing Michael upset and panicking, would take him out and away and calm him down, too preoccupied with the there and then to think about whether Calum might be in a similar state. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Ashton says, but it’s not unkind, and he’s not entirely wrong.

“Just- just...tell him, please?” Calum says, and Ashton exhales, and Calum can imagine him nodding.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, ‘course, Cal. I’ll call you back.” He knows Calum doesn’t want to stick around, doesn’t want to hear what Michael has to say just in case, and Calum’s grateful, loves him for it.

“Love you,” he says, because he does.

“Love you too,” Ashton says, and then there’s a click, and he’s gone.

Calum sinks to a crouch, staring at the houses lining the steep hill opposite him, and then sits down properly, exhaling a little shakily as he does. It’s getting colder, he notices, pulling his coat around him and shivering a little. He thinks the sky might be getting darker, too, or it might just be getting greyer; it’s always hard to tell in England.

His thoughts are racing so fast that he’s barely thinking at all, doesn’t have time to process one before the next one pushes it out of the way, so all he can focus on is the guilt and the panic and the worry blooming in every inch of him and try to quell it, try to think about the cool breeze and the hard metal of the bus pressed against his back and the scratchy gravel under his legs. It’s sort of better this way, though, he thinks, as he lets his eyes flutter shut and tries to think about the sound of the seagulls squawking above him. It’s better that he doesn’t know what’s going through his own mind.

He’s startled out of trying to count his breaths - seven in, eleven out, Ashton always says - by the shrill ringing of his phone, and he jumps, phone slipping out of his fingers and onto the gravel between his legs. It’s cracked when he picks it back up again, but he doesn’t even care as soon as he sees the Michael UK New on his screen, can’t care about anything other than the way his heart’s suddenly jumped to his throat and is beating faster than Calum had thought humanly possible.

“Ashton?” he says, expecting a yeah, listen, mate- but there’s nothing. He just gets silence. “Ash?” he tries again. “Can you hear me? What’d he say?”

“D’you mean that?” It’s not Ashton. It’s Michael, and he sounds completely blank.

“Mike,” Calum says, both relief and fear spiking in his veins. “Mike, I’m sorry, I-”

“D’you mean it?”

“Mean wh- oh,” Calum says. “I- yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Say it.”

“Michael, I just-”

“Say it.” It’s softer this time, less insistent, a little more pleading. Calum swallows. Who is he to say no to Michael?

“I’m in love with you.”

There’s no cosmic shift this time, either. The clouds stay grey and the air stays cool, and Calum can still hear nothing but his own breathing, ragged and echoed down the phone line.

“Okay,” Michael says, carefully even.

“Okay?” Calum echoes, a little incredulously. “I just told you I’m in love with you.” The words don’t get any harder to say as he repeats them, nor any easier; they’re just there, as though they always have been.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“So?” Calum prompts.

“So what?”

“So, are you gonna say anything about it?”

“Yeah.” Calum waits. “Not here,” Michael adds, like he knows what Calum’s thinking, and then it clicks.

Michael’s coming back.

Well, of course Michael was going to come back - they have a tour to finish, don’t they - but he’s coming back for Calum.

“Okay,” Calum says. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be five minutes.” Michael doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t hang up either, and Calum just stays on the other end of the line, listens as Michael’s breathing speeds up and as shoes hit pavement, letting his heart slow to the beat of Michael’s footsteps. It feels like two seconds and ten years have passed by the time he sees Michael rounding the corner, phone still in his hand, eyes automatically searching for Calum, and then Calum watches his step falter as he sees Calum slumped against the tour bus, sat on the floor.

“Hey,” he says, when he gets close enough, and hangs up.

“Hi,” Calum says, eyes following Michael as he hovers above Calum for a minute, and then sits down next to him. Their arms are pressed together, which is a good sign, but Michael doesn’t hold his hand out for Calum to take, which isn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says, when Michael sits down. “I didn’t- like, I didn’t realise. I didn’t think. I should’ve known you wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Michael says. “But I should’ve known you wouldn’t know. I should’ve told you.”

“I should’ve told you too,” Calum says. “I should’ve told you years ago.” Michael turns to look at him, a little bewildered, and Calum clarifies: “That I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Michael says, and turns away again. “Yeah. I should’ve told you that too.”

“You’re in love with me?” Michael turns to look at him again, a little incredulously.

“What the fuck do you think we’re talking about here?” he says. “‘Course I am.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Calum had sort of known it, as soon as he’d realised. He’d sort of known that it meant there was something soft and warm and cosy thrumming under the surface for Michael too, something that had only taken Calum until the age of seventeen to place as love. It’s different hearing it, though, different when Michael looks at him like he’s an idiot for not realising Michael’s in love with him, like it’s easy and simple and just something that is, no question of whether it should or shouldn’t be.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Michael says quietly, and now he holds out his hand, and Calum almost wants to sigh in relief, but settles for threading his fingers through Michael’s and squeezing as hard as he can instead.

“Don’t be,” Calum says. He probably would have done the same in Michael’s place.

They sit in silence for a moment, staring out at the grey sky and the sliver of shimmering grey sea in the distance, and Calum counts Michael’s heartbeats as they pass against his fingers, one-two, one-two. The seagulls are still squawking, and the breeze is still cold, and Calum’s still in love with Michael. Nothing’s changed.

“Maybe we should kiss,” Michael suggests suddenly, and Calum turns to look at him, a little confused. “What?” Michael says, a little defensively. “Feels like the natural next step after admitting you’re in love, right?”

“Well, we kissed before we did that,” Calum points out.

“Okay, but we should still kiss now,” Michael says agreeably, and Calum hums.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, and Michael’s lips quirk up in a tiny grin, and Calum’s stomach bottoms out, all the panic and fear and anguish flooding out of him. It’s okay, he thinks, as he grins back and leans in, their heads tilting just the right amount at just the right angle as their lips touch, a well-worn move done by muscle memory, not by thought. Calum’s still smiling as they kiss, and it’s a little awkward, a little uncomfortable, but it’s okay, because it’s Michael. It’s always okay if it’s Michael.

He brings his hand up to cup Michael’s jaw, thumb stroking across the soft skin there, and Michael sighs, a content, happy little noise that goes straight to Calum’s heart, makes him smile back and kiss Michael a little slower, a little sweeter. Of course Michael’s in love with him, he thinks a little giddily, as Michael winds his fingers into the hair at the nape of Calum’s neck and pulls him closer. How could this ever be anything else?

The kiss isn’t new, and neither are the grey sky and the grey sea beyond them, nor the seagulls that circle them, squawking loudly and incessantly. It’s all familiar, known and comfortable, and Calum can’t help but breathe in the scent of the sea as he pulls away and rests his forehead against Michael’s, grinning at the softness - no, the love - in Michael’s eyes.

Nothing has changed.

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @clumthood

if you’d like to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form!

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #ok if you saw this before it got formatted you didnt see it close your eyes #i put right here right now back on while manually backspacing all the line breaks #and meg goes for the love of god stop listening to right here right now its not good for you #looks like its back to oasis for me then its on megs orders #ALSO can you eblieve there is not ONE SINGLE mention of britpop in this fic <3 #it was hard but i did it for bella

64 notes · View notes

ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Verboten 10 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: child kidnappings mentioned

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 10

Frostbite was close lipped on their journey to Clockwork's lair, at least in regards to the mysterious and ancient ghost. He instead talked to Danny about different aspects of ghosts and their realm. Although the yeti ghost wanted Danny to return home, he wanted Danny to know about the realm as a precaution, and Danny reluctantly agreed.

As they passed by some of the floating islands, buildings, and doors, Frostbite would occasionally mention which of his allies or neutral acquaintances lived there. It was all so strange. There were buildings which looked like they were from ancient Greece or Rome, while there was another which looked like a modern library. Frostbite explained the form of the lair was heavily influenced by its ruler. A ghost needed to be a fairly strong to be able to create such a large lair, and while the architecture often reflected what the ghost knew while they were alive, it wasn't a necessity.

Eventually, a dark and imposing clock tower could be seen in the distance. "I guess that's the place?" Danny questioned as he tried to get a better look at it.

"It is. When we arrive, it is unlikely I will be able to go in with you."

"Wait, what?" Danny hadn't expected this would be a one on one meeting. From the way Frostbite spoke, he figured someone would be guarding him, at least until he had answers.

The older ghost gave him a sheepish look. "The invitation was only for you. Unless Clockworks invites me in, I will do no more than ferry you to the location and wait for your return."

"Is this Clockwork really so scary?"

"He is far more powerful than I am, so I have no desire to anger him. There are stories regarding how no foe has been able to sway or harm him."

"So you're just going to allow a teenager to go to meet a ridiculously powerful ghost by himself? That's just great. What if he incinerates me or something?"

Frostbite just chuckled. "I do not think you have anything to fear, unless you try to attack him. Clockwork is not known for going out of his way to do damage to someone."

"Great. That makes me feel so much better." Danny's sarcasm was lost on Frostbite.

…

A short time later, Frostbite's sleigh landed in front of the clock tower. Upon closer inspection, the building appeared to be made of a dark gray stone with large wooden doors. Thankfully, there was a small amount of land surrounding the building, so Danny wasn't worried about falling to his death. After being coaxed out of the sleigh, Danny, feeling incredibly self-conscious, knocked on the door.

The door opened, but he didn't see anyone when he cautiously stepped inside. He half expected the door to slam behind him, but instead, it remained open until he started moving towards the only thing in the room, a stair case. Once he reached it, the door slowly closed on its own.

While uneasy, he wasn't exactly scared. Whoever this Clockwork was, he was at least somewhat courteous.

After reaching the top of the stairs, he found himself in a large room filled with gears, pendulums, and what appeared to be mirrors set within large gears. However, after a closer inspection, the mirrors showed shadowy images which didn't appear to be him or anything in the room.

"Do you see anything interesting?" a pleasant voice asked from somewhere behind him, making him jump. He sheepishly spun around to find a ghost with blue skin, red eyes, and a clock pendulum in his chest watching him. The ghost initially appeared maybe around thirty, but after a few moments shifted to appear much older.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have looked." Danny wasn't exactly certain why, but he felt almost as if he was being caught in the act by a favorite relative. There was something familiar and personable about this ghost, even when his form shifted again. This time, his appearance was childlike.

The ghost chuckled as he approached. "It is quite alright. Most of my visitors have been drawn to them." He gestured towards the closest one, and the images suddenly became more vivid. It was almost as if it was playing some sort of video. "As you have guessed, I am Clockwork, master of time. I am able to see all events which may or may not come to pass." His form again shifted.

"Err… Frostbite said you wanted to see me?"

"Correct. Beings such as yourself have only shown up a handful of times over the millennia, and each time one does, it often brings great change."

"But what am I? Am I dead? Am I alive?"

The ghost gave a gentle chuckle. "You are still very much alive. You're just able to access the power of your soul, which is not usually feasible while one is still has a living body. However, this is not possible unless you are able to resist the pull of this realm."

"What does that mean?" Although Danny was relieved to know he was classified as living, he was still deeply confused by everything. "Does it deal with what Frostbite explained regarding what could trigger the change?"

"Yes. This world is similar to the human concept of limbo. It is a place where some souls wander until they are lead to the Evermore – true death. But, it is still a world of the dead, and the living are not meant to be here. It has defenses to prevent the dead from crossing back into your world, which unfortunately can cause the wayward human to become a denizen."

"However, there is more to it than that," Clockwork continued as he gestured to the mirror. Strange images flickered within it. "Over millennia, this realm became corrupted. The guides, beings unique to this realm, which used to help guide those wayward souls, are all but gone now. No longer being able to find true rest, souls that remain here often become tainted and become ghosts. Many can spread that taint as well, and some use that to create others like themselves."

"You're telling me that's why my classmates were abducted?" A cold chill ran through him as his body decided to return to his human form.

"Not in this case." Clockwork gestured to the mirror as an image flickered to the first ghost Danny and his friends saw. After a moment, another ghostly figure who suspiciously resembled Mikey came into view. "In Youngblood's case, whether or better or worse, wanted a companion more than anything else. This isn't an isolated case. However, many abductors have a far more insidious reason." The ghost turned to face him. "The living have an energy that the dead do not. It's probably easiest to refer to it as vitality. Returning to your previous question, you still produce that energy so it is safe to say you are still alive."

"Alright. So what makes that so appealing? Does it give, I don't know, special abilities?"

"Some believe so. Others believe vitality will help them restore some of the memories commonly lost upon death."

"That's so messed up," Danny replied after mulling over the information. "The memory loss thing, does that happen to everyone? Will it happen to me? Will I…?" He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was worried he might become a danger to his friends and family.

The ghost, who was back in his child form, gave him a soft smile. "As long as you're alive, you don't need to worry. As for death, most souls do not come to this realm, but instead find their way to the Evermore. Also, as long as the soul is strong, it can avoid being tainted by this realm and become a force of good or of balance. Those which do have no need to seek out and harm the living." It was impossible for Danny to hide the relief on his face, which made Clockwork chuckle.

"Now let us move on to some of your other concerns. You want to know if you can return home and how you became like that, correct?" When Danny nodded, Clockwork again gestured to the mirrors. An image of a young Danny berry picking with his aunt and sister. The view changed to show a creature, some other ghost, peering at them from behind a tree. After Danny caught sight of it, his family members disappeared from the scene. "This is where your journey began. As you saw earlier, a distraction from this realm can accidently pull you into it."

"What is that thing?" Danny felt uneasy as he watched the ghost beckon to his younger self which somehow triggered his body to switch forms again. There was something about the ghost which made him unsettled. It looked humanoid with dark skin, but did not have any facial features. "I don't remember seeing it, but then again, I don't remember much from that."

Clockwork stared at the image for another moment before glancing at Danny. "Most of them no longer have names. We call them 'Recruiters', but it was believed they had been destroyed several centuries ago. They worked for the previous king."

"Wait, king? You guys have a king? And what do you mean they were supposed to be destroyed?"

"We once did," Clockwork replied as he shifted to his elderly form. "He waged war against this realm and yours, so he was sealed away. The members of his court, made mostly of purposely modified ghosts, were either destroyed or sealed. It appears someone has resurrected those modification techniques."

Danny was about to ask another question when the images in the mirror caught his attention again. It showed the ghost, the Recruiter, examining him. It then handed him something which looked like some type of candy. After young Danny ate it, the Recruiter watched him for a while before attempting to grab him. When the attempt failed, young Danny tried to escape.

Images flashed as his younger self ran away from the Recruiter. Eventually, the boy collapsed outside of what appeared to be some sort of wall and began to cry as a faint glow started to surround him. As the Recruiter again appeared in the scene, it was blasted away by a strange beam. The boy looked up to see Plasmius staring curiously at him.

"Wow… so Plasmius actually wasn't lying when he said how he first met me."

"For the most part, no," Clockwork replied as he raised his staff, which caused the scene to shift to the inside of Plasmius' mansion. The older ghost had given Danny more food and was watching him carefully. "Plasmius did accidently find you, but if he hadn't provided you with more food from this realm, you may have been able to return home as a fairly normal human, albeit with form of minor psychic ability. However, he saw potential in you and became interested."

The teenager was silent for a moment as he continued to watch the images. After Plasmius took him back to the human world, the scene shifted to show him a little older. With a jolt, he realized it was when he disappeared the second time. Instead of the Recruiter, it was Plasmius who beckoned him. The ghost didn't do anything other than talk and play with his younger self. However, Danny was showing evidence of ghostly traits again. "He wanted to make sure he was right, didn't he?"

"Yes. Plasmius has grand ambitions in this realm. He wants power and having someone like you at his side would be a great boon. However," Clockwork froze the image and somehow zoomed into a spot in the background. There was a Recruiter watching them, "you were not alone. This is troubling."

"You mentioned earlier you are able to see all possible events, didn't you? So why do you seem so surprised?"

The ghost, still in his elderly form, wore a tenebrous expression. "While my abilities allow me to see any number of possibilities, it can be difficult to sort through the amount of information I receive. It is also possible, though unlikely, someone powerful was able to block them from my abilities. However, now that I am aware of the concern, it is much easier to locate similar events." The ghost shifted to his child form. "I had wanted to send you home while you adjust to the changes in your body, but you may need trained first."

Uncertain how to respond while the ghost took a few moments to think, Danny turned back to the mirror. It was no longer showing images of his past. Instead, it was flickering through a multitude of scenes at a blinding rate. For a second, he thought he saw Sam and Tucker, but the image changed before he could be certain. Some of the images seemed to show an army of some sort. Overall, it left him unsettled.

"I believe I will need to let Frostbite into the Clock Tower," Clockwork stated, making Danny jump. "I will need him to spread the word of my discovery, and he has information for both of us."

Moments later, the white furred ghost hurried up the stairs with two of his guards. After taking a moment to collect himself, he bowed towards Clockwork. "I humbly thank you for allowing us into your presence."

"There is no need for that. My abilities and agreement with the Observants force me to remain neutral under most circumstances. As such, I prefer to keep to myself, but sometimes when extraordinary people appear," Clockwork gestured to Danny, "curiosity gets in the way. However, this time, I am glad it did." The ghost brought their attention to the mirrors and showed the Yetis the image of the Recruiter.

Frostbite's shock was quickly replaced by rage. "Who would dare attempt to recreate such a vile creature? However, we have unsettling news of our own. The entourage who were escorting the other humans Danny knows home were attacked by the Fright Knight and a horde of Reanimated." When the yeti caught sight of Danny's horrified expression, he gave a small smile. "Fear not. Pandora herself stepped into assist my men and drove them back; not even the Fright Knight dares raise his blade to her. Your friends should be arriving home soon." His attention turned back towards Clockwork. "Pandora explained one of her spies caught sight of them shortly before they attacked my men and took it upon herself to intervene. Her ambassadors will request an audience of the counsel within the day."

"As much as I dislike dealing with the Observants, I believe this is necessary," Clockwork agreed. "Whoever is employing the techniques of the old king has been able to exploit the blind spots in my abilities. It also seems as if they are aware of Daniel and what his existence means. They may also be watching Plasmius."

"This is most troubling."

"Uh, excuse me, but I have no idea what's going on here," Danny interrupted. The conversation had lost him some time ago, but he was relieved to hear his friends were safe.

Frostbite gave him a sheepish smile as Clockwork explained, "It appears someone is trying to make a grab for power. The last time this happened, war overtook this realm and spilled into yours."

"That… that doesn't sound good."

"No. Last time, it was only through the power of the Ancients that we were able to defeat the King. If someone has found a way to access his abilities, then it needs to be stopped before catastrophe happens." The yeti's expression was grim as he addressed Clockwork. "So what becomes of Danny? Will he need to remain with us, or can he travel home? Is it even safe for someone like him to return to the human realm?"

"As he is still alive, there is no harm in him returning him. His parents are working on several projects, one of which will provide his home with enough ambient energy to allow his core to remain stable. However, the more I attempt to peer into the future, the more muddled the images become. There is definitely interference. So, I am uncertain what route will allow the most favorable outcome." He shifted to his adult form. "So, Daniel, I leave the choice to you."

"You said that whoever attacked my friends know about me?"

The time ghost nodded. "Yes. Since you can traverse both worlds without ill effects, your abilities would be of great interest. You could remain here and train with Frostbite…"

"But I would not be able to guarantee your safety as today proved," the Yeti admitted.

"There is also a concern the Observant and the Counsel will not approve of your existence," Clockwork continued. "You could return home, but you would be forced to develop your abilities on your own. However, you would be much safer there for the time being."

Danny looked down at his hands and momentarily stared at the faint glow surrounding them. "Am I a danger to my family and friends if I go home?"

"No, but it is possible to make them more open to this world. If we are unable to prevent our enemies from gaining power, it may cause them to be targeted again."

"Is it okay if I take some time to think about it?"

"Of course. Take all of the time you need."

=========================================

Note: The Evermore is something within DP lore. It was mentioned in a video Butch Hartman released which expanded upon more information regarding the different residents.

Clockwork's mention of limbo and soul guides. To my knowledge, the concept of Limbo is most prevalent to Christians (particularly Catholics). This is a place in between life and Heaven/Hell. In previous Catholic tradition, Limbo is the place where unbaptized souls go upon death, and there were circumstances which could help those souls find rest (the Catholic Church modified its views on Limbo in 2007). Some people say Limbo is also the realm of the fairies, elves, and any creature/entity which lives in another realm that is not heaven or hell. There is a similar concept in Greek mythology which was referred to as the Asphodel Fields/Meadows.

And for completion sake, Purgatory is not the same as Limbo. Purgatory (also per Catholic tradition) is a place of fiery cleansing after death. It's a temporary stop as once the cleansing is completed, the soul moves on to Heaven. While it is not mentioned much, Purgatory is still considered to exist.

Soul guides, also called psychopomps, are creatures responsible for guiding the deceased souls to the afterlife. The belief in them is ancient. Depending on tradition, they can be anything or look like anything. There's even some thought that certain entities known to spirit away people, faeries come to mind, may have derived from this concept. A great representation of this are the Alebrijes found in Mexican traditions (they were recently featured in the movie "Coco.")

The Recruiters are kind of based of off "Shadow People" mixed in with other legends like "Tall Man" spirit and Stick Men/Indians seen in some First Nation lore. Shadow People are a weird phenomenon, even for the paranormal. True Shadow People are not usually considered to be ghosts, but no one is exactly certain of what they are. The inter-dimensional theory often pops up with them because they don't seem to act like "normal ghosts" and are usually considered dangerous. They are reported to negatively influence and harm humans. There are some reports of them attempting to steal people.

Stick Men/Indians and the Tall Man are described as creatures similar to that of the modern tale of Slenderman, and they are again said to either negatively influence or take children. I used these descriptions due to some supposed reports from missing and found children saying creatures of similar descriptions wanted to take them with them, but they didn't meet the correct criteria.

Also, regarding Clockwork's powers… per the show, he "knows everything." However, it would very difficult of an entity to be able to take and absorb all of the information he gets at a time. So, my mind is viewing it as if he's skimming the majority of the information, which could allow events in the background to get missed.

9 notes · View notes

riversofmars · 3 years

Photo

The Doctor faces off against her Mirror self who is keen to learn how she managed to cross over.

Rating: M

words: 3800

Chapter 2: Show Of Strength

“Well, if you hadn’t sprung this on me straight away, you could have shown me just how much you missed me.“ The Emperor hummed seductively. She brought her hand to River’s neck, tilting her head up so she could kiss her throat more easily.

“There is plenty of time for that later.“ River smirked but did nothing to discourage her.

“You know how I get when I get home after a good fight.“ Her wife groaned, as she let go of her and looked to the Doctor as if she was a massive inconvenience.

“Did you have a good time?“ River asked casually and picked up the towel the Emperor had dropped to clean off some smears of blood she had left on her neck.

“Let’s just say the Sontarans will think twice before lifting so much as a finger again… mostly because they lost a fair few of those.“ The Emperor retorted with a triumphant grin as she walked over to a small table of refreshments and poured herself some amber liquid into a crystal glass.

The Doctor hadn't really looked around this place yet, she had been to preoccupied working through the shock of seeing Amy and Rory. These appeared to be the royal couple’s living quarters, if one might call it and them those terms. The room was white marble, high ceilings, pillars, extravagant seating arrangements, bowls of fruit and other refreshments laid out… it all reminded her of the splendour of ancient Gallifrey. It was a phase most civilisations seemed to go through, on Earth, ancient Rome and Greece had sported the same aesthetic. And there were River’s fresh cut flowers again, for a personal touch.

“You’ve ruined this dress.“ River’s voice pulled the Doctor out of her thoughts, she was pulling the bottom half of the dress around herself to be able to look at the traces her wife’s hands had left.

“You can take it off in a minute.“ The Emperor retorted dismissively and took a gulp of her drink. She looked down at her hands and gave a shrug, they were plenty clean now. She topped up her drink again, then strolled back over, her eyes finding the Doctor at last. “So.“ She smirked swirling the liquid in her glass. “What is this?“

“What this is, is utterly ridiculous.“ The Doctor snapped, sounding more annoyed than intended as she was compensating for the anxiety she was feeling. She needed to find a way out of this situation, the one thing she knew right away was that this version of her was dangerous. “You can take these off now!“ She pulled against her handcuffs again.

“Where did you find her?“ The Emperor asked ignoring the Doctor’s words completely.

“The guards found her in an extraction chamber.“ River answered stepping closer to her wife, looping her arms around her from behind.

“Which guards?“ The Emperor asked taking a sip of her drink.

“Kahn, Sinclair, O’Brian.“ River answered and pressed a kiss to her neck just under her ear.

“Good.“ The Emperor mused, clearly satisfied they could be trusted. “What do you call yourself over there?“ She asked, addressing the Doctor for the first time.

“I’m the Doctor.“ The Doctor said firmly.

“Of course.“ The Emperor chuckled. “I was the Doctor once… ah such a long time ago.“ She wasn’t wistful about it, just amused.

“Now you’re the Emperor, what sort of a title is that.“ The Doctor huffed.

“A befitting one.“ The Emperor smiled not bothered by the snide comment. “You’ve only just arrived, you don’t understand yet.“ She looked at her as if she pitied her for her ignorance.

“I understand plenty already.“ The Doctor retorted not appreciating being patronised.

“Do you now.“ The Emperor smirked amused, leaning into River who idly nuzzled into her neck. “So what have you gathered so far?“ She asked and the Doctor’s expression hardened. What was she playing at? She was clearly getting a kick out of it.

“Fine, I’ll play.“ The Doctor huffed rolling her eyes. “This is a sort of Renaissance of the Gallifrayan Empire, you’re - of course - in charge here, keeping everyone under your thumb by the looks of it.“

“I prefer to see it as ruling with a firm yet gentle hand.“ The Emperor chuckled as she pushed her hand into River’s hair, keeping her close.

“Bloody hands, I’d say.“ The Doctor couldn’t help but retort. She knew she would do better not to antagonise her, she was in no position to, but the comeback had been automatic.

“You think you’re clever.“ The Emperor raised her eyebrows at her.

“I am clever.“ The Doctor shot back.

“You must be, to have made it over here.“ The Emperor observed and finished her drink. She held the glass up to River who let go of her, if reluctantly, and took it to get a refill.

“As I have said many times already, it was an accident.“ The Doctor insisted, getting momentarily distracted observing River fetching the drink. The Emperor commanded the room with such ease and she demanded her attention again when she continued her line of questioning:

“How did it happen?“

“I don’t know.“ The Doctor shrugged. Even if she did, she wouldn’t have told her.

“Do you expect me to believe that?“ The Emperor raised her eyebrows at her and slowly started circling around her, looking her up and down.

“It’s the truth.“ The Doctor replied, forcing herself to keep facing forward, not to show anxiety by trying to follow her with her eyes.

“Different question, what were you doing in an extraction chamber? Who were you trying to bring back?“ The Emperor hummed from behind her.

“That’s none of your business.“ The Doctor stated firmly, she looked to River who walked back over to them carrying two glasses now, her wife’s and one for herself. She took a sip and watched with mild amusement. The Doctor knew she wouldn't get sympathy from her either, this was not herRiver. She was on her own.

“Everything that happens on Gallifrey is my business.“ The Emperor replied slowly making her way around her.

“Well, good job it happened on my Gallifrey then.“ The Doctor shot back. She needed to buy herself some time so she could figure a way out of this situation.

“Is it? Your Gallifrey, I mean. You don’t exactly strike me as the ruling type.“ The Emperor stepped back into her field of vision and took the glass off her wife.

“Well, as much as a pile of rubble and dust can be anybody’s.“ The Doctor bit back.

“Interesting.“ The Emperor smirked triumphantly. “There is no Gallifreyan Empire?“

“There hasn’t been for a long time.“ The Doctor gave a vague reply, realising she had been tricked into giving up information already. It might not seem like a significant revelation to her but there was no way of knowing what the Emperor would deem useful.

“How did that happen then?“ Her questions kept coming.

“I’ve told you more than I should have.“ The Doctor shook her head, aware she needed to stop.

“Quite the contrary, you’ve hardly started.“ The Emperor sipped her drink with a smile, she was clearly enjoying herself.

“You must excuse my wife’s curiosity, it’s not every day one meets their doppelgänger from the other side.“ River spoke up sensing they were about to hit a wall.

“Indeed, where are my manners.“ The Emperor exclaimed as if she only just realised what she was doing, catching the Doctor completely off guard. She handed her drink back to River and walked around the Doctor. This time the Doctor didn’t quiet manage to hold her nerve, she looked around, surprised by her quick movements. She was utterly dumbfounded when she undid her handcuffs and gestured to the sofa. “Sit, Doctor.“

“What…“ The Doctor flinched away from her touch on her shoulder.

“You’re my guest. Have a seat.“ The Emperor insisted and left her to make her own way. The seating area was a couple of steps up on a plateau, magnificent armchairs and two sofas, grouped around a glass coffee table with a opulent bowl of exotic fruit in the centre. The Emperor sat on the sofa and gestured for her to take a seat across from her. River went to sit next her wife cuddling into her. The Emperor put her arm around her keeping her close.

The Doctor didn’t know what to make of this, she knew she couldn’t trust these people. This universe was a cruelly distorted version of her reality, driven to the extreme, there was no overestimating how dangerous a situation she was in. This made the Emperor’s invitation even more unsettling. She rubbed her raw and aching wrists but didn’t move.

“I suppose you are me, after all, I shouldn’t treat you like any rouge intruder…“ The Emperor explained and gestured to the sofa across from her again. “Well, if I did, you would be dead already…“

“I just want to get back to my universe.“ Slowly, the Doctor climbed the steps to the seating area but she didn’t sit, it would be easier to make a run for it if she stayed on her feet.

“Then we have something in common, see, that wasn’t so hard. I will be happy to assist you with finding a way back, you just need to tell me what you know.“ The Emperor gave her a smile that made the Doctor’s alarm bells sound. River had already given their attentions away and they were so blatantly obvious. In their society only power and conquest seemed to matter and when there was nowhere in the universe left to conquer, they would have to find new territory somehow. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She couldn’t allow them to learn how to cross over.

“I told you, I don’t know what happened.“ She stuck to the truth, but she was also not about to reveal the few things she did know. What she had attempted in the extraction chamber and what might have happened. All sorts of theories were already swirling around in her head alongside the question of how to best play her cards. She was in a tight spot. It wasn’t fear, necessarily, she felt of the person in front of her. She had never been scared of evil or cruelty. She had despised it and pitied those that knew no other means of showing strength. But there was a fear of allowing this person anywhere near the people she loved, anywhere near her universe. Her priorities were clear. She just needed to figure out the best way out of this, preferably without getting herself killed. Should she play along, ensuring her own safety, or play stubborn like every inch of her body wanted to?

“What where you doing?“ The Emperor repeated her question from earlier, idling drawing circles on her wife’s arm.

“Nothing, it just happened.“ The Doctor replied.

“You’re a terrible liar.“ The Emperor laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. She could have at least tried to be convincing.

“I don’t think you realise how lucky you are. We’re asking nicely.“ River looked to the Doctor utterly bemused. She was nothing like she had expected, so very different from the person she knew and loved, a mirror image almost. What was intriguing was the way the Doctor was looking back at her. She probably didn’t even realise she was doing it but there had to be a River on her side too, one that probably fell for the lost puppy expression in her eyes. It did nothing for River. “Would you rather do it the hard way?“ River looked to her wife, knowing full well that she was itching to do just that.

“I see the way you’re looking at my wife.“ The Emperor took a sip of her drink as if making a casual observation and the Doctor tensed up involuntarily.

“I don’t know what you mean.“ She retorted her eyes flickering to River, she couldn’t help it because the Emperor grabbed hold of the fabric of her dress and clenched her fist, bunching the fabric together and revealing River’s legs in the process.

“I’ve had people’s head for looking at her like that.“ There was a dangerous flicker in the Emperor’s eyes, one of jealousy and possessiveness. “But I guess you can be forgiven, we clearly have the same taste…“ She turned to River who leaned into her and ran her free hand along her jawline. “Where is your wife, Doctor?“

“Not something I’d care to talk about.“ The Doctor replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She looked away as they kissed, searching for a way out of here.

“Well that’s unfortunate because I want to know.“ The Emperor’s voice was shorter this time, growing impatient. She leaned into River’s touch who was running her hand through her hair soothingly. “She’s dead, isn’t she?“ She deduced from her silence and the expression of grief and sorrow that the Doctor couldn’t keep from her eyes. “How did she die?“ The Emperor leaned forward. “You didn’t let her die, Doctor, did you? Because let me tell you if my wife was facing death, I’d be right there facing it with her.“

“It’s complicated.“ The Doctor evaded, knowing she couldn’t flat out lie.

“I don’t think it is.“ The Emperor shook her head with a patronising smile. “I think you’re weak.“ She leaned back into the sofa pulling River closer by her dress which only rode up higher. Taken her cues from her wife, River started kissing her side of her neck. “I was hoping I was wrong, what a disappointment… embarrassment really. To think you are me…“ The Emperor looked the Doctor up and down once more. Ridiculous clothes, tense posture, blushing. She wanted to laugh, the whole thing was utterly ridiculous.

“I’m nothing like you.“ The Doctor pressed through gritted teeth, trying her best to hold the Emperor’s gaze and not get distracted by River fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

“Indeed, you’re not.“ The Emperor agree in amusement. “You’re pathetic. I wouldn’t be seen dead in those clothes.“ The Doctor didn’t reply, her eyes darting around the room for a way out. As if she hadn’t looked for one repeatedly. “Last chance, Doctor, how did you get here?“ The Emperor’s voice became low and threatening and she moaned a little when River sank her teeth into her neck.

“I should go.“ The Doctor couldn’t cope with the situation any longer.

“And where exactly do you intend to go?“ The Emperor chuckled thoroughly enjoying herself as she sensed the Doctor was starting to lose her composure.

The Doctor’s flight instincts set in, taking two steps at a time down from the plateau, she pulled out her sonic scanning the door at the far end. It was locked of course and there were people on the other side. How had she gotten here? Dead end. Her mind was racing. She was trapped, the other doorway only lead further into the living quarters. The Emperor started laughing.

“There is nowhere for you to go. You walked right into the most heavily guarded place in the universe, with no weapons to speak of and no means of escape.“ She got to her feet giving River an apologetic smile as she had to let go of her. Slowly she walked towards the Doctor who was still looking for a way out. “And even if there were no guards, no walls to keep you, do you really think I’d just let you go?“ The Doctor whirled around to face her, knowing better than to keep her back to her but the Emperor still caught her off guard with a right hook that made her topple over and split her lip. “You’re the piece to a puzzle I’ve been trying to figure out for a long time and you will help me.“ The Doctor caught herself on all fours, dazed her a moment as the horrible iron taste filled her mouth.

“Absolutely not.“ She growled and spat out the blood. Her defiance only seemed to encourage the Emperor more. A kick to the stomach knocked the Doctor onto her back and winded her. She grimaced in pain as the Emperor came to stand over her.

“The is one thing that you don’t seem to grasp yet, Doctor.“ She snarled her name like an insult. “Is that everything around here is about strength and power. I am the most powerful creature in this universe, therefore, it is mine to do with as I please, as is everyone in it.“ She crouched down next her her and pulled a knife from a holster around her thigh. “To remain in power, every once in a while as show of strength is needed. The Sontarans didn't stage an uprising, they haven’t got it in them, but I was getting bored and I felt like the universe needed a little reminder of who is in charge. So, I took a little trip and reduced their population by 3%. I was doing them a favour really, less mouths to feed.“

“You’re insane.“ The Doctor whispered in disbelief.

“No, Doctor, I’m all the things you’re not. Fearless, determined and strong.“ The Emperor flipped the knife in her hand as if wondering what exactly to do with it. “You don’t understand this world, so I would suggest you submit like everyone else does. If you don’t, we will do this the hard way. I still get what I want, but you will die… eventually.“ She ran the blade along her cheek enjoying how the Doctor tensed up.

“I am not going to help you.“ The Doctor pressed through gritted teeth.

“Wrong answer.“ The Emperor laughed, almost excited by her defiant response and slammed the knife into her left shoulder, all the way to the hilt. The Doctor cried out in pain, she couldn’t move without causing more damage, the knife had gone straight through and into the floor. “What happened to your wife Doctor?“ The Emperor asked grabbing hold of the Doctor’s chin, making her look at her.

The Doctor realised River had walked over, she stood behind her wife, running her hands through her hair, supportively, encouragingly and a lump formed in her throat.

“Look at that pain in your eyes, this must be so hard for you, seeing her alive here, with me.“ The Emperor observed and let go of her. She stood turning to her wife. “I would never let her die, never.“ She assured both of them in equal measures and pulled River into a deep kiss. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?“ The Emperor addressed the Doctor but didn’t look down to her, instead she buried her hand in River’s hair, ripped her head back and assaulted her neck with her lips and teeth, leaving mark after mark.

River gave a throaty chuckled, leaning into her wife, looking down to the Doctor watching the conflicting emotions on her face with great amusement. River moaned with delight and took her wife’s free hand, placing it on her breast encouragingly, while she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the Doctor.

The Doctor knew she needed to get out of here. She brought her hand to the knife and groaned in pain. “Just let me go!“ She pleaded.

“But why, Doctor? Are you not enjoying yourself?“ The Emperor laughed. “You’re not jealous are you?“

“Why would I be jealous of you?“ The Doctor pulled the knife out crying out in pain but she managed it. She pressed her hand to the wound, trying to compose herself.

“Because I have what you want. I have everything you could possibly want.“ The Emperor looked down to her as she unzipped River’s dress. “And I know you want it, deep down, you just made the wrong choices didn’t you. Chose to be kind. Chose to be good… chose to be weak. This is what you could have had. Maybe your wife would still be alive if you hadn’t been so weak.“

“Stop talking about her!“ The Doctor yelled rolling over and pushing herself up, hugging her injured arm to her chest.

“What was she like, Doctor? I do hope she had a bit more fight in her than you, otherwise I’d be mortified.“ River stepped out of her dress and started unbuttoning her wife’s black shirt.

“Just let me go, you carry on whatever hideous version of reality you want, I just…“ The Doctor sat up on her knees. She swore under her breath pressing her hand to the wound. One step at a time, she could hardly move her arm.

“Oh but you only just got here. I’m looking forward to hearing all about your universe. It should make for easy conquest if you are its protector.“ The Emperor grinned as she pulled her braces down the turned to face the Doctor again, almost daring her to stand up.

“I won’t let that happen.“ The Doctor growled and tried to stand up the Emperor shoved her, throwing her over.

“We will see about that, won’t we.“ The Emperor’s eyes twinkled menacingly. “Soon you’ll realise, Doctor, I always get what I want. Isn’t that right, River?“

“Absolutely.“ River hummed reaching around her to pull her shirt off her shoulders.

“I told you, Doctor. It’s all about strength. I can do whatever the fuck I want around here, it’s survival of the fittest, and no-one survives me.“ The Emperor grinned wickedly and pulled another knife from her holster - she had quite the selection - as the Doctor tried to push herself up again. “You better stay right there on your knees where you belong if you know what’s good for you.“ She pointed the blade at her, daring her to get to her feet again. “You’ll soon wish you’d just told me what I wanted to know… but for now what I really want to do is fuck my wife so you just sit there nice and quiet while I have what I’m sure you’re missing right about now.“

10 notes · View notes