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dweetwise · 3 years

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yes hello, i’m back on my riconti bullshit again, this time with a cute prompt fill from @dailyau by @hcpelesshcney about fire alarms and sharing a blanket ❤️

i’m also trying something new with splitting a fic into chapters!

ship: felix x ace warnings: briefly mentioned internalized homophobia word count: 3700

[next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 1)

It's surprising just how scattered the human brain becomes during a crisis.

When Felix was woken from his restless sleep in the hotel bed by a blaring fire alarm, he'd bolted out of the bed and scrambled out into the hallway without second thought. He'd probably even left the door to his room wide open, with his wallet, passport, phone and laptop all neatly arranged on the desk for anyone to walk by and steal.

And now he's standing in the parking lot in the chilly late summer night, dressed in nothing but his pajama pants and a t-shirt. His socks were drenched as soon as he stepped outside, running straight into a puddle while hurrying to get away from the potential fire.

At least he's not alone in the stressful predicament. There's plenty of other people around, looking just as lost and dazed as him, having been forced to evacuate the hotel in the middle of the night. Most have been sensible enough to bring their jackets and shoes, a couple of kids even huddling beneath a hotel duvet.

And since there's no sign of a fire or even any smoke, Felix feels like an idiot for not having the foresight to bring something to warm him up.

The firefighters have just arrived at the scene and are preparing to search the building for the source of the alarm. Felix tries not to shiver even more as he relents to the fact that they're still going to be stuck out there for quite some time.

The crowd in the parking lot is loud, families and partners gossiping amongst themselves, some people even arguing with the staff members about ruining their vacation. Felix wishes they'd just shut up, more than happy to forget this ever happened if he'd just get to curl back under the warm covers of his bed instead of freezing out here.

This trip just kept getting worse. Not only had he been forced to come on only a day's notice, taking over Lauren's business trip across the Atlantic when she'd unexpectedly caught a cold. He’d also had to take a shitty flight route with two extra stops, and his last flight had been no less than six hours late.

When he’d finally arrived at the hotel and started trying to sleep off the massive jet lag after barely getting any sleep on the plane, he'd been rudely awakened by an emergency. And now, to add insult to injury, he’s gone from the threat of burning to death to freezing to death.

“Hey,” a voice says from right beside him, making Felix jolt in surprise over being distracted from his internal pity party.

He sees a man standing next to him, wrapped in a hotel-issued blanket, looking up at him with curious brown eyes and a pleasant smile.

Felix racks his brain for if he knows this man or not, but draws up a blank, the tiredness and cold making his thoughts feel sluggish. The man is shorter than Felix and looks a little older, if the laugh lines and grey hair are anything to go by.

“You look cold,” the man says. “Wanna share my blanket?”

As the man lifts the fabric just the slightest bit in invitation, mortification hits Felix. Not only is his shivering noticeable enough to warrant someone taking pity on him, he's being offered physical contact from a stranger.

Isn't it a weird thing to offer, especially to another man? Does he somehow know that Felix is gay? Is he making fun of him? Or is it just an American thing? Wouldn't it be weirder for Felix not to accept, since the man has noticed how much he’s freezing?

“Alright,” the man says when Felix isn't replying, lowering the bedding in surrender. “My bad, I just thought—"”

“Yes,” Felix says, interrupting him.

“Uh…” the man says, understandably confused by Felix's social awkwardness.

“Yes, I want to sh-share,” Felix says, another full-body shiver wracking his body.

“Oh! Sure,” the man grins happily, and then he's suddenly very close, shoulder bumping against Felix's chest, and a corner of the blanket is thrown haphazardously over Felix's shoulder.

“T-thank you,” Felix stammers, both from the nerves and the cold, grabbing the soft cotton fabric and pulling it tighter against himself.

And causing the stranger to stumble even closer from the momentum.

“Sure, don't mention it,” the man grins, like he's not now pressed against a stranger's side from shoulder to hip.

Embarrassed as Felix feels, both the blanket and the person attached to it are warm. Felix has to stop himself from sighing blissfully as the other's body heat starts to warm him up, slowly working away at the chill in his bones.

“Well, since we're gonna be stuck here for a while,” the man muses. “My name's Ace.”

“F-F-Felix,” Felix manages through clattering teeth.

“I'd shake your hand, but I think we're past that stage already,” Ace jokes, and then offers a pleased grin as Felix huffs out a surprised laugh through his nose. “In any case, it’s nice to meet you, Felix,” the man looks up at him and smiles, and Felix's poor, gay heart skips a beat.

Yeah, this is definitely preferable to freezing to death.

“I wonder how long they'll take to find the cause this time,” Ace starts conversationally, while pulling out his phone from the nest of blankets. He sets to what looks like writing a text to someone, not seeming the least bit bothered by their predicament.

“You don't seem very nervous,” Felix observes.

“Not my first rodeo,” Ace looks up and grins. “Probably someone just smoked inside and tripped the alarm. Happens a lot in hotels.”

“D-d-do you travel? A lot?” Felix asks, partly do distract himself from the cold while he gets his body heat up, partly to divert Ace’s attention from his phone.

“You could say that,” Ace says. “What about you? Here on business?”

“Yes,” Felix says, with no small amount of annoyance over being reminded he still has work tomorrow. “Thankfully my meeting isn't until the afternoon.”

“Glad you can get your beauty sleep,” Ace says.

“And hopefully get rid of the jet lag,” Felix comments with a tired sigh.

Ace hums in acknowledgement before going back to his phone message. Felix tries not to take it personally; he knows he's not that interesting to talk to.

Ace is so warm, and it's a little awkward being pressed this close, but embarrassingly enough, Felix finds himself drifting even closer. Ace smells like whiskey and cheap cologne, but somehow, it's oddly comforting. He'd probably been drinking last night—well, technically tonight. Thankfully, he doesn't seem drunk, as Felix doubts he would have had the patience to deal with alcohol-induced rambling.

“Whiskey man, I see,” Felix comments. When Ace looks up from his phone in surprise, Felix realize how weird it is for him to admit to smelling the man.

“I reek that bad, huh?” Ace grins, taking the comment in stride.

“I didn't mean—” Felix flounders to explain.

Damnit, he should just give up on trying to make conversation.

“Wow, lighten up,” Ace says and elbows him playfully under the blanket, adding even more physical contact to their already borderline inappropriate situation.

Felix tries to ignore the fluttering in his gut when he feels Ace's hairy forearm brush against his own. This is more physical contact than he's gotten from another man… probably ever.

“Yeah, I had a few drinks earlier. I'm more of a wine man, but…” Ace seems to ponder. “Sometimes, you've got to try new things.”

Like huddling under a blanket with an attractive stranger, Felix considers.

Suddenly, he almost regrets the blanket blocking his view from seeing more of the man. His body feels firm against Felix's, and his shoulders look defined, though that could just be an illusion from the thick fabric covering them.

“What’s your poison?” Ace asks, following Felix's awkward silence.

“I don't drink much,” Felix lies, like he hasn’t been going through his father’s old liquor collection at an alarming rate for the past year or so. “Uhm… whiskey, I guess. And bourbon.”

He could really, really go for either one right now. Not only would the drinks warm him up, they'd also make him act like an actual human being instead of the stiff robot impression he's currently doing.

“Huh,” Ace comments.

“What?” Felix asks, trying not to get defensive.

“Nothing! I would have pegged you as a beer guy, is all,” Ace muses. “Maybe that's just the accent, though.”

“Sorry,” Felix apologizes. Now hyperaware of his bad pronunciation and extremely German accent, he tries to bury his face deeper into the blanket in embarrassment.

“Naw, hey, come on,” Ace turns toward him as much as the cramped space allows him to. “Your English is amazing! The accent only adds charm.”

Felix looks at Ace's encouraging smile and tries not to think too much about their thighs now pressing together. Ace is clearly waiting for him to say something, but all Felix can focus on is his warm body and striking features.

“Where are you from?” Felix asks instead, trying to place the hint of an accent he thinks he hears.

“Huh. Good catch,” Ace smiles, seeming surprised. “Guess!”

Felix flushes and looks at Ace's eagerly grinning face. It's nighttime, but Ace's skin seems darker than his own, and his features look Mediterranean, reminding Felix of countless business trips to Spain. But the accent…

“Italy?” Felix suggests, and Ace's smile somehow widens even further.

“Close!” Ace says. “Argentina.”

“Ehm…” Felix furrows his brow in confusion, thinking that surely, being a whole continent and world sea off doesn't exactly count as "close".

“My family hails from Italy, and it's my native language,” Ace explains. “So it was a really good guess!”

“Thank you…?” Felix says awkwardly.

“I'd ask what you were doing when the alarm went off, but…” Ace pauses, glancing up at his disheveled hair. “From your outfit choice and the bedhead, I'd put 50 bucks on 'sleeping'."

“You'd be correct,” Felix murmurs, self-consciously poking his hand out from under the blanket to run through his tousled hair. “I'm not very interesting.”

“I think I'll be the judge of that," Ace grins. “If, uh… you don't mind chatting to pass the time?”

“Not at all,” Felix says, hoping he doesn't sound too eager, happy Ace deems him interesting enough to talk to instead of whoever he was texting earlier.

They spend some twenty minutes chatting about mostly insignificant things. But as much as Felix usually hates small talk, he now welcomes it, because Ace is asking him interesting questions instead of just talking about the weather. He appears to genuinely care about Felix's story, and Felix might end up sharing a little too much, from the work stress and business trip he didn't even want to come to, all the way to his relationship that ended a few weeks ago.

Ace seems friendly and pleasant, taking Felix's awkward pauses and nervousness in stride, filling in the silences with stories of his own. Felix hears a lot about the different places he's traveled to, along with some hotel horror stories that make him feel much better about the current fire alarm situation. He manages a few laughs, some merely polite, but some genuinely amused at Ace's over-the-top storytelling.

Eventually, Ace's phone beeps again and he excuses himself and engrosses himself momentarily in the screen, and this time, Felix welcomes the brief break in socializing.

He realizes just how nice this is. It feels like a stroke of luck that only a few short weeks after ending his relationship with his ex-girlfriend and coming out in the process, he'd meet a handsome stranger this eager to cuddle up to him.

Not cuddle up—share a blanket, Felix mentally berates himself.

He glances at Ace out of the corner of his eye, seeing his side profile illuminated by the dim glow from the phone screen. Felix never really considered what his type would be, apart from the all-encompassing "men" that he'd only recently come to accept about himself. But taking in Ace's defined features and the smile that seems to be a permanent part of his face, he's starting to get an idea.

Quickly looking away before Ace catches him staring, Felix suddenly feels almost too warm. He shouldn't get ahead of himself; even though It feels like Ace is being a little too friendly, he hasn't actually made a move, seeming happy just with chatting to kill time.

Felix briefly toys with the idea of placing his hand on Ace's hip in a loose embrace, just to test the waters. He'd never be that brave, but if he was, he'd at least know for sure, even if it would probably end in Ace being disgusted and kicking him out of the blanket cocoon.

But… maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d smile even wider and return the gesture, just as eager as Felix to get even closer. Felix would wrap his arms around him, and they'd stand there cuddling and sharing even more body heat, maybe even kissing—

Shit. This is exactly what his therapist said he shouldn't do, the term "excessive daydreaming" flashing in his mind.

“Sorry,” Ace is saying, turning back to face him and pocketing the phone, completely oblivious to Felix's internal dilemma. “Where were we?”

“I, uh,” Felix stammers.

Was just thinking about kissing you.

“Did I tell you about the time a bunch of college kids decided to set off fireworks in the hotel room next to mine?” Ace offers, saving Felix from floundering for a topic.

“What—why would they…?” Felix asks.

“Well, I'd just gotten back from this extravagant New Years party—” Ace excitedly starts telling yet another story, and Felix keenly starts listening in.

Ace seems to be completely in his element, getting lost in talking about just how fancy the party was, followed by a dramatic retelling of some very incredulously sounding explosions that turned out to be fireworks. Felix keeps listening raptly, not entirely sure about the accuracy of the story, but enjoying seeing the other so happy. The blanket occasionally shifts as Ace tries to gesture with his hands to add to the narration, only to remember that he can't, looking sheepish every time.

Felix has never met someone with such effortless charisma. Ace's voice is rich and pleasant, and Felix briefly zones out while he imagines it talking him to sleep.

It's stupid, and he knows it. He's only known the man for half an hour, and even "knowing" him is pushing it. Felix is only in the country for two more days, and he’s very aware that pursuing anything would be pointless.

But he also knows that given the chance, he wouldn't say no to seeing Ace again. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, the narrowly averted emergency, or simply being far away from home and realizing nobody would ever find out. Either way, he’s feeling more adventurous than usual, the adrenaline in his veins and butterflies in his gut keeping his tired body on high alert.

Too bad he's deathly afraid of rejection and would never dare to ask if the other is interested.

Suddenly, there's the screech of a PA system, and Ace stops mid-sentence, both of them turning to look at a firefighter speaking into a megaphone.

“The fire has been extinguished and the building is now safe. Please return to your rooms,” the fireman announces.

The horde of people immediately start flocking towards the hotel entrance at the same time, creating an annoyed crowd of freezing, grumpy people and managing to clog the entryway immediately.

“I wonder what the cause was,” Felix ponders out loud, not making an effort to move toward the commotion and get stuck between the shoving, complaining people.

“Who cares? We get to not freeze our asses off anymore!” Ace exclaims gleefully.

And Felix realizes they no longer have a reason to stay huddled up together. Reluctantly slipping away from under the blanket, he feels a disappointed pang in his chest over how happy Ace sounds to get rid of him.

“Thank you for lending your blanket,” Felix says, handing his side of the fabric back over to Ace and trying not to shiver as the cold of the night hits his warm skin.

“My pleasure! Thanks for keeping me warm!” Ace quips cheerfully, wrapping the item tighter around himself.

“Ehm… you as well,” Felix says, looking away so Ace doesn't see his face heating up.

“Come on, let's get you inside!” Ace prompts, and then he leans into Felix and shoves him lightly with a blanket-clad shoulder.

It's clearly in an intent to encourage Felix to move, but it still makes newfound hope blossom in his chest. They’re no longer forced to tolerate each other if they don't want to freeze, but Ace still seems far from repulsed by him.

“Right,” Felix says, starting the short trek to the hotel entrance that has thankfully cleared up from people.

“So…” Ace drawls, easily falling into step next to him. “Can I have your number?”

Felix glances at him and blinks in confusion. Is… is Ace asking him out? Or just being polite? Is he going to ask to be added on Facebook too, like all the weird colleagues Felix has met on business trips once and then never heard from again?

“For...?” Felix manages to ask when they arrive at the entrance, reaching for the door and holding it open for the man.

“Just wondering if you wanted to grab some drinks while you're still in town,” Ace says when he slips past Felix into the building. “I wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” Ace adds, looking him up and down with a smile that is definitely not just friendly.

Heat rises up Felix's neck from more than just the warm air of the hotel lobby. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one sensing the tension between them.

“Maybe,” Felix says, trying and probably failing to not seem way too enthusiastic.

“Oh?” Ace says, quirking an eyebrow. And then he's shrugging off the blanket, revealing a rolled-up, button-up shirt and—

Fuck. Broad shoulders and a lean build, that sure as hell doesn't make Felix's predicament any easier.

Felix definitely stares longer than appropriate while they continue walking to the elevator, Ace thankfully too busy with bunching up the blanket to notice his ogling.

“What…" Felix starts, making Ace look at him, cocking his head. "Uhm. What's with the sudden interest?”

“I mean,” Ace says, shooting him pointed look. “I was interested ever since I saw you there, shivering in your ridiculously tight T-shirt,” he winks.

Felix realizes that the shirt probably leaves a lot less to the imagination than the suits and blazers he always wears. He lifts a hand to his arm in a self-conscious manner, making an attempt to cover himself.

“But I didn't wanna freak you out,” Ace adds, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Would have been pretty awkward if you said no, considering you were kinda stuck with me for a bit.”

That's… oddly sweet, and very much appreciated. Felix would probably have imploded on himself from embarrassment if Ace would have been this forward from the start.

“Thank you,” Felix says.

“No worries,” Ace grins, pushing the button to order the elevator. “So? Are you freaked out?”

Felix considers the question for a moment, only arriving at variations of "no", "I'm leaving in two days" and "help you're really hot but I've never been with a guy and don't know what to do".

“I think the word is…” Felix pauses in thought, trying to ignore his brain screaming insecurities at him. “'Intrigued'.”

Proud of managing to be smooth for once in his life, the ding of the elevator arriving is almost lost on Felix, because he's so focused on Ace's now downright lecherous grin.

But he obediently steps into the elevator, not wanting to keep the few hotel customers still lingering behind them.

“What's you floor, gorgeous?” Ace asks with a flirtatious smile, after pressing the number four.

Wow. How the hell did Felix ever manage to think he was just being friendly?

“Three,” Felix says.

“Looks like you're under me,” Ace flirts while pushing the button for him, making Felix choke on his own spit from the suggestive comment, embarrassed yet curious.

And then Ace clears his throat and averts his eyes as a woman and her daughter walk into the elevator with them.

They stand awkwardly next to each other as the elevator doors slide close. Felix’s thoughts are a mess of excitement, nervousness and embarrassment, not sure what to do in this situation.

He discreetly glances at Ace—

And the other catches him looking.

Felix's heart skips a beat as Ace's lips spread into a lazy grin, eyes shimmering with unspoken promise.

He wonders what it would be like to wipe that grin off the smug man's face. Felix imagines pushing Ace up against the elevator wall, picturing how the other’s eyes would go wide, maybe he'd even gasp, taken off guard at Felix's sudden boldness. Maybe he wouldn't have time to say anything, because Felix would capture his lips in a passionate kiss, and Ace would groan and drop the blanket to tangle his hands in Felix's hair—

DING!

Felix is rudely snapped out of his daydream by the elevator arriving on his floor. He realizes he's been spacing out while staring at Ace's face, and the smirk is gone from the man's lips, but his eyes are somehow even more intense.

“Good night,” Felix offers stiffly, forcing himself to break the eye contact before he gets lost in his own head again.

He takes a step out of the elevator, mentally scolding himself when he notices his racing heart and heavy breathing, getting himself worked up over a dumb fantasy.

Tomorrow, he promises himself when the elevator doors start sliding shut behind him. Tomorrow, he’d go out with Ace and could maybe, hopefully psyche himself up enough to make a move. He'd just text the man in the morning—

Except they never exchanged numbers.

Shit!

#riconti #felix richter #ace visconti #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #prompt #felix x ace

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sign-from-god-complex · 4 years

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Summary: When a quiet evening alone is interrupted by one of their boyfriends, Janus has to reveal a little more than they had been in any way prepared to.

Pairing: Analoceit with briefly-mentioned, background royality.

Warnings: Panic attack, anxiety spirals relating to transphobia (no actual transphobia), mention of underage drinking.

AO3 Link

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It wasn’t meant to go like this.

Janus had planned perfectly for their coming out, down to mentally scripting all the possible reactions their partners could have. They knew neither Virgil nor Logan were transphobic—after all, Virgil was trans himself—but still, they’d been nervous about going through with it.

Their boyfriends were gay. They liked men, they liked each other and yes, they liked them but they didn’t know. Really, it was only natural to be worried about the effect this could have on their relationship.

So, they’d put it off. The flinch every time Virgil referred to them as his boyfriend wasn’t picked up on and the slight frown they adopted when being told how handsome they were was taken as nothing more than insecurity and though, maybe, they were a little put out by how their boyfriends never seemed to notice, they couldn’t blame them. It was their fault for not telling them after all.

It was all their fault.

“Jan, please, open the door,” Logan said, the concern in his voice leaking in through the cracks between solid wood and drywall. Janus could barely hear it though for the rushing of blood in their ears and the heaving sounds of their breath seemed to take up all the space left in the bedroom.

They tore at their clothes, ripping several of the buttons off their blouse as they yanked it over their head, their skirt tossed to the other side of the room as if throwing it to where it was no longer in view would somehow mitigate the weight of what had already occurred.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! They’d been careless. Their boyfriends’ schedules were predictable—Logan worked till 4:30 pm every weekday, Virgil slept in but stayed out later—and as such, they hadn’t even considered the fact that they would be caught. It was foolish to think they were ever safe, utterly foolish.

Their chest was tight, heavy, and they dropped to the floor—curled up with their legs hugged to their chest and their whole body shaking.

Logan’s voice trickled its way back into Janus’ mind, softer than they had ever heard it outside of late-night love confessions and Virgil’s panic attacks. “Jan, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Do you remember Virgil’s breathing exercises?”

And with a jolt, Janus realised that is what this was. A panic attack.

Their breathing hitched and they ducked their head down to press against their knees, hands gripping to each other until the knuckles turned white.

It was a fact that was more terrifying than it had any right to be. Janus was always the one to comfort their boyfriends when they were panicking, they knew all of the techniques, they knew each of their boyfriends’ preferences on touch while they were experiencing particularly heightened anxiety but right now it was all useless. The only thing looping in their head was visions of their boyfriends laughing at them, outing them to everyone, leaving them, kicking them onto the street where they’ll be alone, alone, alone, just when they had finally gotten comfortable enough to let them in.

Pulling in a stuttering breath, they tried to count, managing to hold it for around four seconds before blowing it out.

It felt almost impossible—like climbing the rough side of a rocky cliff face when your body only wants you to stay at the bottom of the ravine to die—but they knew it wasn’t. Despite the siren sounding in their mind, they knew there was no physical danger. And anything else could be dealt with later.

So, they tried again, this time slightly more successfully and with each breath, they could feel the weight of their head getting heavier, the static in their limbs fading away to almost nothing. By the time they could breathe again they were so tired, all they wanted to do was sleep for a year.

Unfortunately, their boyfriends would probably have some qualms with that notion.

There was murmuring outside and Janus knew without a doubt that Virgil had arrived, so they figured the locked door likely wouldn’t hold them back much longer. Virgil had learned to pick a lock as a teen—a skill they’d occasionally utilised to break into their parents’ liquor cabinet when they were both too young to drink—and with the level of worry Janus was sure Logan was holding, they doubt he’d have much of an issue with trying to break into their room.

To the sound of the doorknob rattling, they clambered up from the ground, pulling on a large shirt they’d found beside them on the floor. It must have been Logan’s because it smelt like him—sort of like paper and metal but mostly just like Logan—and Janus tried not to acknowledge the way something in their chest lurched.

They approached the door with probably more hesitance than was warranted and, standing with their hand on the doorknob, they took a moment to catch their breath before turning the lock and throwing it open.

Virgil was on his knees on the ground, a hairpin held in his hand and his tongue sticking out ever so slightly as he concentrated. As the door swung open, though, his expression changed to one of shock, glancing up at Janus in a way that made them feel somewhere between adored and uncomfortable. Logan was much the same—though he wasn’t on his knees—his expression shining with relief and barely contained concern.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated with Janus clearing their throat.

“Go on then,” they said, their hands on their hips and their voice wavering much less than they had been expecting, “Say your piece.”

But instead of the anger or the betrayal Janus had been half-expecting, Logan threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around them and cradling them like they’d been missing for years, like they were something precious, like they were loved.

And Janus melted.

They let out a gasp as they felt the breath being punched out of them, hands going up to grab at the back of Logan’s coat and it was barely a moment before Virgil stood up to join them, his long arms reaching around them both like a shelter from the wind and the rain and the fear.

Far sooner than Janus would have liked, they both pulled away, leaving Janus feeling cold and somewhat lost.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said softly. His gaze was cast to the ground and Janus took the opportunity to run their gaze over his slumped shoulders and furrowed brow, vaguely feeling the urge to soothe the stress he seemed to be holding, “I should have warned you that I was coming home early but I had wanted it to be a surprise.”

Janus laughed but the sound was void of joy, seeming instead rather hollow. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.”

Visibly, Logan winced and Janus felt a stab of guilt go through them. It wasn’t Logan's fault—they knew it wasn’t Logan’s fault—and it was unfair of them to make him feel bad for something that could have been so easily avoided if only they were more careful.

Janus was not known for being impulsive. They thought things through and they made plans and they certainly didn’t jump into things without being entirely sure of them first. The problem with that, however, was that sometimes you can’t be entirely sure.

And now, unfortunately, seemed like it was one of those times.

“I’m nonbinary. I use they/them pronouns.”

They wouldn’t say it was quite blurted but it was certainly close—their words hurried as if given the chance to think for even a moment longer would prevent them from being said. Maybe it would.

Glancing at the two of them, it was clear that they were surprised but it was eclipsed quickly by a look of understanding and though part of them was relieved—breath exhaled, shoulders dropping, loved, loved, loved—part of them could only feel that this was much too good to be true.

“Okay.” Logan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Thank you for telling us.”

Janus narrowed their eyes. “That’s it?”

Something of a bewildered expression crossed Logan’s face and he tilted his head slightly, as if Janus were some puzzle that he had yet to figure out. In response, they folded their arms tight across their chest. That look always made them feel a little too much like an ant under a magnifying glass and while sometimes they were grateful to have so much of Logan’s attention, now it just made them feel exposed.

“What do you mean?”

They gaped at him for a moment before throwing up their arms in a gesture of incredulity. “You’re gay! You like boys-!”

“We like you,” Logan interrupted. His voice was calm and caring in a way that sort of made Janus want to cry but they refused to show that kind of weakness right now, “In fact, we love you and learning your gender identity doesn’t change that in the slightest, at least not in my case.”

They fidgeted a bit with the hem of Logan’s shirt, feeling the absence of their usual outfit—the weighted jacket and full coverage shirt—like a missing limb. “Virgil?”

Cautiously, they glanced over to him and almost took a step back in shock at the unexpected shine of Virgil’s eyes—wet and teary and full of an unquantifiable amount of love. Janus and Virgil had been friends since they were children and, outside of panic attacks, they’d barely ever seen him cry.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, making something in Janus’ chest crack open like a geode, leaving bits of rock scattered around but exposing something a lot more valuable, “Coming out is really hard and I’m really, really proud of you. And I love you. A lot.”

Janus exhaled, their breath shaky. “Oh.”

There was a moment of silence as the three of them just stood there, unsure of what to do next. Then, Virgil laughed. It was sort of wet but full of love and the others couldn’t help but echo him, feeling all the stress and the tension and the fear melting away with each second that passed. It was ridiculous, really, but Janus thought that maybe they deserved it all the same.

Virgil shook his head incredulously, his lips teasing at a smile but his eyes soft. “God, c'mere, asshole.”

Biting at their bottom lip to stop the way it was wobbling ever so slightly, they stepped forward into Virgil’s open arms, slotting in like they were made to be there.

“Pretty rude of you to call me an asshole while I’m baring my soul over here, dick,” Janus laughed into his shoulder.

They felt a kiss being pressed to the top of their head from behind, Logan worming his way in to join the hug and bringing with him a sense of completeness that made Janus exhale softly into the space between them, their eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

It felt safe here—truly, safe—and though they are aware that it was okay to be afraid… they couldn’t help but wonder why they were ever worried.

After a long moment of soaking in the comfort their boyfriends brought them, they pulled away, gently extricating themself from the embrace. Despite the fact that they were no longer touching, nobody moved too far apart and Janus could still feel echoes of Virgil’s skin brushing against theirs and the soft exhale of Logan’s breath as if they hadn’t moved at all.

“Gods, this is far too many emotions for me,” they joked, though there was truth in the words still, “And I swear if either of you tells anyone about any of this they will not find the body.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

“Not in a million years.”

They rolled their eyes, fondness barely hidden behind a look of exasperation. Their boyfriends were so stupidly earnest sometimes, though they’d be lying if they said it wasn’t endearing.

“Saps.”

Wandering back into their room with their boyfriends trailing after them, they began to get redressed, stripping Logan’s shirt off to pull on one of their own. It wasn’t the first time they’d changed in front of their boyfriends but even still they were cautious of the way the two of them were looking at them, bumping their shoulders together every so often as small talk picked back up.

The conversation was familiar, dotted with exclamations from Virgil about how much he hates his job and overlaid with Logan’s recapping of Roman and Patton’s ridiculous pining recently, Janus occasionally butting in to affectionately berate their twin for being so oblivious. Even they’d figured out their relationship faster than that and the three of them were experts when it came to putting up emotional walls.

It felt… normal. Good, even. And bit by bit, comment by comment, word by word, Janus felt that sense of comfort creeping back in until eventually the three of them were lying on the bed, limbs tangled together and someone’s hand in Janus’ hair, unsure of where one body started and another began.

“Thank you,” they whispered, just loud enough that they knew the others could hear them.

Logan pressed a kiss to the back of their hand, intertwining their fingers and keeping their joined hands pressed tight to his chest. “There’s no need to thank us, my darling. Our love for you was never in question. Not for a single moment.”

And to the murmuring affirmations of Virgil, twin heartbeats echoing in their ears, Janus let themself believe that.

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @camcam774 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @primaryyblogg @localtransgrape @fandomsofrandom @gattonero17 @airiervessel @ollyollyoxinfree .

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #analoceit #trans sides #nb sides #haven't written a coming out fic since understanding pride #been skirting around this for ages hahah #lo can write #2.5k milestone

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 3 years

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Here’s the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also a big thank you to @edward-or-ford, as always, for his invaluable feedback!

Chapter Five: Into the Night

It’s three AM, I’m outside your window. Jump the fence; dad will never know. And then you took control of the radio, turned up all the songs I know. I’m risking everything, and that’s alright with me. - The Summer Set, Passenger Seat

Mabel Caroline Pines, age seventeen, five foot three (and a Virgo, for interested parties) was positively average. As in, she was perfectly fine. Reasonably acceptable. Nothing to gawk at, sure, but certainly not a goblin or in any way repulsive.

Her face was average, her boobs were average, her hair was average, her butt was average. Even her feet were average-sized. There was nothing inherently wrong with Mabel’s appearance. Sure, she’d change the odd thing here and there if given the chance to do so (the length of her eyelashes, for example, or the natural shape of her eyebrows).

Of course, Mabel would never admit such things out loud. How could she? It would ruin the confidence she pretended to have, and that simply wouldn’t do.

To be fair to herself, which she always tried to be, Mabel was quite skilled at creativity-driven tasks. However, no amount of creative proficiency could have prevented the required sleuthing, as well as pre-sleuth planning and timing, that one particular evening required in order to be pulled off.

Mabel didn’t deign to share with Candy and Grenda exactly whom she was meeting (“I’m sneaking out to meet my brother in the dead of night” hardly warrants a forty-five minute shower where she spent the majority of the time shaving parts of her body that didn’t strictly need shaving as they wouldn’t be seen, thirty minutes of blow drying and styling one’s hair, thirty more minutes of makeup application, the nervousness, not to mention the outfit-picking-out process), but she did say she was meeting a boy she might’ve sorta kinda had a teensy bit of a thing for. Her friends knew her well enough to know she was understating her feelings a great deal, of course, but they didn’t pry. Okay, they did, but they didn’t pry too much.

In any case, Mabel was quite pleased with the results of her hour in the bathroom mirror. She’d drenched the ever-loving crap out of her hair in glitter spray as she brushed it, and the hot air of the hair dryer made the spray set in so it didn’t get on Candy’s fingers while she began a partial French braid at the crown of Mabel’s head.

Y’know, the sort of hairstyle that, to the untrained eye, didn’t look like it took a whole lot of time and effort, when in reality, it 100% did.

“Why can’t we use bright red lipstick again, or wing your eyeliner?” Grenda complained.

“Because,” Mabel said emphatically. “If Di-“ Cutting herself off and pressing her lips together tightly, collecting her thoughts. Candy raised a slender eyebrow before Mabel continued. “If he sees winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, he’ll think something’s up! I don’t want him to know I’m interested!”

“But you want him to look deep into your eyes, and the eyeliner will draw attention to them,” reminded Grenda.

“Yeah, and bright red lipstick will draw attention to your lips, which means he’s more likely to think about kissing you,” agreed Candy.

Mabel sighed and held up a tube of lipstick that was just a few shades darker than her natural lip color.

“The pink will do that same thing without being too obvious about it. If he’s interested, he’ll notice my lips and my boobs, and if he’s not, then, well… then he’s not, I guess.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Grenda conceded.

Candy was silent for a moment, staring searchingly at Mabel’s face. “Who did you say you were meeting again?”

“I- I didn’t,” Mabel stuttered briefly, covering her discomfort by turning her attention to applying the lipstick. This was just as well, as if she had seen Candy’s highly suspicious expression, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was, and it should be noted that that was no small amount by any measure.

Perfect. Just the right amount of “LOOK AT ME” vibes from her lips.

Grabbing a bottle of perfume, she sprayed a bit on her wrist, rubbing it against her other one, and then on her neck and under her ears.

“You guys sure this outfit isn’t too much? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, and the heels, I dunno...”

Both girls shook their heads furiously. “No, it’s perfect! And we already coordinated your makeup and jewelry so no way are we changing it up now!” Grenda exclaimed.

“Mhm,” Candy agreed. “And the heels are perfect! They make your hips sway extra when you walk and they make your butt stuck out a little bit! They’re not even that high, he probably won’t even notice you’re wearing them.”

Right. Nobody wore jeans when they were trying to impress somebody. Well, not when they were being obvious about it, anyway. And Mabel was certainly trying her hardest not to be obvious.

And she was 100% trying to impress Dipper. She wanted Dipper to see her and wish she wasn’t his sister, wish they shared a soulmark. She wanted him to ache so badly for her that it felt like his bones were trying to escape his skin.

She ached for him that way, after all. It was only fair she made him ache for her in return. Even if it was only once, only for a split second.

When Mabel’s phone chimed to signal she’d gotten a text, she snatched it up before either of her friends could sneak a peek at the screen.

I’m outside read Dipper’s text. Then a second one came in with a whoosh from her phone’s speaker. Lights are off so nobody can see my car but I’m here.

Mabel wasn’t sure where her heart was. It might’ve been in her stomach, or perhaps her throat, or maybe even Candy’s basement, but it most definitely was not in her chest.

“He’s here,” Mabel said quietly, standing on shaky legs. God, why had she worn heels? What had she been thinking?

“Are you ready?!” Grenda demanded excitedly.

“Nope,” Mabel squeaked out.

“Yes you are!” Candy said firmly. “You are absolutely ready! You look hot, girl, you’re gonna make him jizz his pants just from looking at you!”

Mabel seriously doubted that, and she would most definitely laugh if it happened. But yeah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Because no matter how much time Mabel spent on making herself look her prettiest, Dipper would only ever see her as his sister.

Still, though. A girl could dream, right?

Mabel has never really considered Candy’s first floor bedroom being an asset before, but it most certainly had become one. Climbing out a window was far easier if that window was on the ground floor.

Still, staring out into the blackness of the cold Oregon night as Candy popped out her window screen and set it to the side, Mabel wondered how she had gotten there. Thirteen minutes before midnight, done up like she was going on a date, about to climb out her friend’s bedroom window and tiptoe through the front yard to secretly meet her twin brother whom she just so happened to be in love with, praying to every deity she’d ever heard of that he hadn’t found his soulmate.

Not yet, she pleaded silently, staring at the outline of his car, just a shade darker than the trees and the night sky, barely visible at all. Let me have him to myself just a little longer.

She wasn’t ready to share him with another girl. She never really would be, but in time, she’d come to accept it. She had to, right? There was no other option. She wanted him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her, even if it made her feel like her body was consuming itself from the inside out, she wanted him to be happy.

“Mabel?” Grenda asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured her friend. She couldn’t mess up her makeup by crying.

Mascara and eyeliner were a bitch to fix.

Bracing herself on the windowsill, she put one jean-clad leg over and out the window, then the other.

Looking back at her friends in the light of Candy’s bedroom one last time, second guessing herself for half a second (she’d never snuck out before, after all), Mabel smiled shakily. Both her friends beamed back at her. Candy leaned down the couple of inches required to be at Mabel’s eye level.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Grenda nodded enthusiastically. “And tell us everything when you get back!”

Grinning, Mabel hopped out of the window only to immediately realize that heels and frosty grass were not a great mix, and thus struggled to maintain her balance.

“Wait!” Grenda whisper-yelled.

Whipping her head around to look at her friends staring out at her through the window, Mabel smiled as Candy hastily squashed the essentials (phone, lipstick, tampons, breath mints, makeup remover wipes, and a compact mirror) into a purse before shoving it into the hand Grenda had stretched out behind her and was flailing about wildly, signalling to hurry the fuck up, Candy, time is of the essence here before finally tossing it at Mabel, who caught it with minimal fumbling and put it over her shoulder.

“We’ll leave the window unlocked. Let us know if you aren’t gonna come home tonight!” Grenda informed Mabel with an exaggerated wink and closed the window.

Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and did her very best to hobble over to Dipper’s car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Heels and grass did not mix, and they extra-dextra didn’t mix when the grass was wet and very, very cold.

Reaching the curb, she perched her feet on it, and reached slowly, ever so slowly, towards the handle, and heard the click of the lock being undone from the inside. She couldn’t see in the windows; it was too dark.

The chill of the winter night bit into her fingers as they brushed the silver door handle, and she exhaled as she grasped it, her breath visible in the cold air.

Grasping the handle, Mabel opened the door slowly, and the overhead light in the car switched on automatically.

“Hurry!” Dipper whispered urgently. “Don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Mabel moved to sit in the passenger seat of his car as quickly as she could with the amount of shaking her limbs were doing, and settled in, closing the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, too afraid to look at him in the dim light of the streetlamp. She’d have to strain her eyes a great deal to see him, anyway.

“The woods. Not far from here. Just… somewhere nobody will see my car and recognize it.”

“Awfully recognizable, are ya now?” She tried to joke, but it came out stilted and awkward. Could he tell how nervous, no, how terrified, she was?

She could almost hear the shrug in his voice as he started the car, not turning the headlights on until they turned a corner.

“I mean… it’s a really small town. I don’t think there’s anybody here whose name I don’t know. So yeah, they all know what my car looks like,” he said it quietly, and it occurred to Mabel just then that he hadn’t turned on any music. The silence was suffocating.

Not knowing what to say, Mabel remained silent for a bazillion years, watching the trees pass them by. It was nothing like California, where the activity never stopped, just changed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Suffocating.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually a bazillion years. More like ten minutes. But hell if it didn’t feel like a bazillion years.

Dipper pulled into a clearing and put the car in park. It wasn’t a road, but it had clearly been driven over many a time.

The light came on again as he switched gears, and he turned the headlights back off. Turning to look at each other, really look at each other, for the first time since that afternoon, they found themselves speechless.

Dipper was, in a word, breathtaking. The soft glow of the overhead light lit the shadows on his face in such a way that his eyes almost seemed to glow, and his hair fell over his forehead in the most adorable way, and his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

It was warm in the car, but what else could his cheeks be flushed from?

“You look…” he coughed, looking at his lap briefly. “Nice,” he finished weakly.

“Thanks,” she managed to force out. Even a syllable was a struggle. God, how had she never been alone with him before? Why was the atmosphere so incredibly different? She didn’t even feel like herself!

“So… here’s the thing, Mabel…” he trailed off.

“The thing?”

“Yeah, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Y’know. The thing,” he held his hands out and accentuated the last word with a movement.

“Errr… sorry, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro-bro,” she shook her head. “You literally just left me a ultra-mega cryptic note saying you had to tell me something and that’s it.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned his head just so his jawline came into the light and- good god why? Why must the gods torture Mabel thus?

“Right. I guess…” he blinked rapidly, staring determinedly off in the direction of absolutely nothing. “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?”

“Is… is everything okay?” She asked him softly. “It’s gotta be pretty important for you to want a one-on-one meeting like this, so…”

“Yeah, I mean, no… I mean. Ugh. I dunno.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly agonizing over something.

What in the actual ever-loving fuck was going on?

“Dip,” she said, forcing a sternness she definitely didn’t feel into her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” he said with a nod that appeared to be more to himself than to her, and then looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Mabel didn’t know what it was, but whatever was in his gaze, she knew in her very soul that it was the exact opposite of the frost on the grass outside the car.

Not that that made any sense, of course, but that was the only conclusion she could come to without at least forty-five minutes of analysis.

“Right,” he said again. “I guess… I guess it would probably be easier to just… show you, maybe…”

“Uh. Okay?” Mabel blinked. Show her what now?

Dipper held out his arm, palm up, except his fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were shut, too, and in much the same way, and then…

And then he took a deep breath, held it, and yanked his sleeve up.

Mabel’s eyes were fixed on the inside of his wrist. Dipper’s soulmark was a shooting star with the outline of a tree in the center.

Exactly like hers.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #Pinecest #gravity falls #Mabel pines #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #looks like someone picked a whole bushel of oopsie daisies #my writing

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cake-writes · 5 years

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Compromise (Part Three)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Interlude #1 / Master List

To say you slept terribly was an understatement.

You were too nervous, too keyed up to sleep. Not only were you worried about Winnie, but the prospect of car shopping with Bucky was an additional stressor. Why had you even agreed to it in the first place? Yours was just fine. A beater, sure, but it still ran. Kind of.

Deep down, you couldn’t help but appreciate that he cared about Winnie’s safety. You just didn’t like the nagging. He’d been on your case for the last few months about your car, ever since you got into an accident on the way home from the grocery store. A fender bender, nothing serious. It wasn’t even bad enough to warrant repairs – just a few dents and scratches on your rear bumper. The other driver gave you a couple hundred bucks for damages, which you used on birthday presents for your little girl.

That said, you weren’t poor, just frugal.

Most of Bucky’s child support – a couple thousand dollars a month – went straight into savings for Winnie’s college fund. The rest was used on doctor’s appointments and medicine. Despite the fact that she also had the serum in her veins, she still got sick like a normal child. Between croup and colds and ear infections, you’d dealt with it all; even her asthma, unpredictable as it was. It flared up at the strangest times, not from overexertion or allergies like one might expect, but randomly and you hadn’t yet figured out the cause. Neither had her doctor, let alone Bruce for that matter.

Of course, the serum did affect her some. She grew slightly faster than her peers; although she was a little over three years old, now, physically she was more like four. Then again, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, as your pregnancy only lasted eight months instead of nine. Technically she was a preemie but she certainly didn’t seem like one, having been born at a standard six pounds, five ounces.

Standard. Normal.

When she ran, it was at a normal speed too, and she definitely couldn’t lift anything heavy. She had a tendency to trip and fall flat on her face, so her reflexes weren’t exactly enhanced like Bucky’s, either, though her skinned knees did seem to heal faster than the norm.

To you, Winnie was a normal little girl through and through. She played with dolls and stuffed animals, drew with crayons and markers, and had temper tantrums on a regular basis. She liked to dress like a princess, watch Disney movies, be tucked in and read to. She even snuck into your bed at night when she had a nightmare.

She was normal. Mostly.

The fact that her Mommy and Daddy were separated made her a target in preschool, and you hated it. Her friends often babbled about their parents, plural, whereas Winnie usually only got to talk about you. You knew how much it bothered her.

It bothered you, too.

Morning came before you knew it, and you were anything but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. By the time you left for the compound, it was a little after nine and you’d already downed about a gallon of coffee. Even though you’d been a barista for almost a decade, you never really used to drink coffee much until you had Winnie. Then, all of a sudden, you completely understood why it was so popular.

There were no hassles at the gate this time. Bucky’s name held enough sway that you didn’t have to repeat yourself after yesterday. You kind of liked it – always had, if you were being honest. Not that you’d ever admit it. Especially not to yourself.

Yawning, you made your way up the handful of steps and through the glass doors. You’d texted Bucky right before you left and although he wasn’t there to greet you this time, you vaguely remembered where to go. At least you could take the steps more slowly this time, now that you weren’t being watched.

The compound was incredibly quiet for a Sunday morning in comparison to the tower. There was never a dull moment there, but here, even with all the buildings, it wasn’t noisy at all. Instead it was tranquil – relaxing, almost. You could even hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside as you knocked on Bucky’s door.

On the other side, you picked up the deep rumble of his voice. It wasn’t quite loud enough to make out, but you could easily assume what he’d said when Winnie asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Mommy,” you answered cheerfully.

You heard her squeal, and then she relayed the information like Bucky had no doubt asked her to do. “Mommy’s here! Can I open it now?”

He spoke again – louder, this time, closer to the door. “Sure, princess.”

There were a couple seconds while she fumbled with the handle; she was barely tall enough to reach it at home, and this one was the same. Bucky might have tried to help, you weren’t sure, but soon enough the door was pulled open and a little brunette blur promptly attached itself to your leg.

“Mommy!” Winnie said happily, peering up at you with her big blue eyes. “You’re back!”

“Of course I am, sweetpea! Did you miss me?” you asked with a smile.

While normally you would have ruffled her hair, you noticed that she had two braids on either side of her head, secured by tiny pink elastics you didn’t recognize. They were very cute, but who’d done them up for her? Natasha? You were sure that none of the boys knew how to French braid. Why would they?

That particular thought made you wonder if there was something going on between her and Bucky. She was here yesterday, too. She’d tell you if there was, though, wouldn’t she?

“I missed you lots, Mommy,” Winnie told you, letting go of you to hold her arms up in the air. She wanted to be picked up.

You, of course, hoisted her up with ease and propped her against your hip, holding her little body just a smidge closer than yesterday – not tight enough to hurt, but you were ecstatic to have her in your arms again. “I missed you lots, too, baby.”

Then you finally looked over at Bucky and found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The way his tight black t-shirt strained over his biceps made you feel a little hot under the collar, but what really caught you off guard was how his lips were just slightly curled up at the corners, like he was trying not to smile.

You made a joke in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he was always too damn attractive for his own good. “So can I come in? Or do I have cooties?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, then, blinking like hadn’t really thought of it – and then he stepped aside to allow you entry. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“If anyone has cooties, it’s Daddy,” Winnie made a point of saying. “He’s a boy.”

You let out an undignified snort as you crossed the threshold. “Is that right?”

“Yeah! Boys are yuck.”

“Boys are yuck, huh,” Bucky remarked, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Then he muttered under his breath, “Sure hope it stays that way.”

That comment coupled with the suddenly wary look on his face made you laugh outright. Bucky hadn’t made you laugh in a long time; you were too busy arguing with him to do much else. “Isn’t it a little early to be worrying about that?”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “you’ve already got her college fund set up. Don’t talk to me about ‘too early’.”

You huffed, but it was in jest. “That’s different.”

“Yeah?” At that, he offered you a roguish grin that made your heart skip a beat. “How’s it different?”

Now, it wasn’t witty banter, per se, but something was different for sure. The dynamic had shifted between the two of you, somewhere between the time you told him goodnight and your mid-morning arrival. It was a small change, but you could feel it in the air: a distinct lack of tension.

Unfortunately, it also made an indignant flush come across your cheeks. He was teasing you. He hadn’t done that in a long time, either.

“It just is,” you responded unhelpfully, setting Winnie down on the sofa before you sat down next to her. You purposely kept your back facing him to conceal the fact that you were blushing like an idiot and you didn’t even know why.

No, that was a lie. You did know why.

This felt entirely too familiar.

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to pick up on your change of tone and let it go in favour of asking, “Have you eaten? We only got up a few minutes ago.”

By ‘we’ you assumed he meant Winnie, because he never used to sleep well. Nightmares usually kept him awake, and while you knew he wasn’t a morning person, he got up at the crack of dawn anyway. Bucky told you once that he liked to watch the sun rise. The peace and quiet helped him think.

“Not yet,” you answered, fussing with the wrinkled collar of Winnie’s dress. Another distraction. You’d dropped off a few different outfits for her in an overnight bag last night, along with her inhaler, some toiletries, and of course Mr. Squiggles. Now she was dressed in her Sunday best, but in all actuality, she probably just wanted to wear a pretty dress.

“Daddy said he wanted to make Mommy’s favourite pancakes!” Winnie piped up, and you instinctively tensed at the admission.

That’s right. It was Sunday.

Bucky awkwardly cleared his throat, but made no attempt to correct her.

There was a brief pause – stunned silence – until you regained your bearings enough to ask, “Did he, now?”

“Uh huh!” Winnie told you, nodding excitedly. “Blueberry!”

Your brows rose as you turned to him. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Why do you think I used to make them?”

Your heart instantly warmed at his admission – and ached, because of the memories. He was on missions more often than not when the two of you were together, but without fail, whenever he was home on a Sunday, he made blueberry pancakes. His Ma’s recipe, he said.

They were the best pancakes you’d ever eaten.

“Well,” you began nervously, “it is Sunday.”

He met your eyes, then – gentle, warm. Just like how he used to look at you.

“Daddy,” Winnie whined. “I’m hungry!”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you chimed in, feeling a little lighter than before. “I’m hungry, too.”

Bucky grumbled an easy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he got to work, but his tone didn’t match the amused expression on his face. You didn’t fail to notice the light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

That was when Winnie started to tell you about the show she was watching on Netflix, the same cartoon you’d glimpsed yesterday. You were interested in what she had to say, of course you were, but not as much as you normally would have been because her father looked so fucking good right now.

He’d remembered. As innocent as that was, your body’s reaction to it absolutely wasn’t. Call it Pavlovian conditioning, but the first time he made those pancakes for you was the morning after you first slept together. That was the same night Winnie was conceived.

When Bucky pulled out a frying pan from one of the cabinets and set it on the lit stove, you couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt stretched over his muscles underneath, not to mention those sweatpants which did nothing to conceal his fantastic ass.

You’d already seen and sampled what he had to offer, but hell if you didn’t want to have another taste anyway. Not that you ever would.

He started to lay out all of the ingredients on the counter, including a punnet of fresh blueberries but you were more focused on the way he worked with such finesse, like making breakfast for the three of you was a normal, everyday thing for him to do.

It was, once.

Then, as Bucky mixed everything together in a large bowl, he finally glanced up only to catch you staring.

Shit.

You immediately tore your eyes away, heart pounding a frenzied tattoo within the confines of your chest and you made sure not to look back again. Instead, you feigned interest in the show Winnie was babbling on about, squeezing your thighs together to alleviate the sudden ache in between.

You needed to stop.

He wasn’t good for you. He wasn’t good for Winnie.

Right?

But your thoughts just kept drifting back to him anyway. You couldn’t help it. It was during times like these that your memories got the best of you, because you knew he was more than capable of being a good father if he wanted to be. You’d seen it not only while you were pregnant, but during the first couple of months after Winnie was born.

What’s worse was that Bucky was capable of so much more, too. He could be downright wonderful. A good boyfriend. A supportive partner. An attentive lover. He was all of those for you once upon a time.

It wasn’t until the pancakes were done and you finally met his eyes again from across the kitchen table that you knew you were in too deep. You’d never gotten over him, not really – and being here with him and your daughter, so sweet and domestic for the first time in years, was what made you finally realize that.

You still wanted to be with him.

You wanted to be a family.

Part Four

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #captain america #avengers #mcu

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huntergatherercreator · 4 years

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The Takedown | Part Six

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood and weapons

Notes: Took a little break after the last part as I’m working two jobs again, but now that I’m settled I can go back to a part a week from now on.

If you enjoy this please let me know, all feedback is appreciated! :)

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Part 6 - 1,902 Words

As soon as his men cleared out I dropped back into the seat, the pain from my arm hitting me along with the first twinges of a headache. None of the other patrons had batted an eyelid at my injury, and even now, after clearly being able to work out the situation, remained sitting at their respective seats finishing their drinks unhurriedly. The fact that this must happen so regularly for them to have a calm attitude about murder and no internal compulsion to aid the police chilled me. There was a lot more going on here than we could have imagined.

Zoey brushed past with a muttered instruction to meet her in the back. I watched her pick her way over to the door that led to the back hall, head deliberately held high as if she wasn’t affected by any of this either.

I placed the bottle of vodka back behind the bar and for once I wasn’t able to solidly hold back the small spark of temptation. The urge to take a sip, just enough to taste it on my lips slithered through my barrier. A deep breath and I managed to push it away.

I bundled my used napkins into the bin at the end. I hoped that when my blood was found outside the captain wouldn’t press for a warrant to get in, it’d only worry him finding these in the trash. If he was quick enough that is. I knew logically the place would be wiped down long before they managed to get the DNA results back.

Grabbing my wind breaker I followed Zoey’s path into the narrow back hall. The sconces were dim and suffused with pink light giving everything a rosy appearance. Despite what the adjoining rooms were used for the only sound was the same jazz music filtered into the bar. I passed several with ties attached to the handles before reaching the end door labelled ‘Private’.

When I entered Zoey was pacing back and forth around the room. It took me a long second to recognise it as an office, especially as my eyes adjusted to the harsh strip lighting. The room was surprisingly bare. A lone desk with a table lamp and computer gathering a fine layer of dust was the main item. The soft leather of the chair perched behind it was still fresh and crisp as if no-one had sat in it yet. I hadn’t been expecting incriminating documents to be lying about, but there was nothing. No filing cabinet, no calendar with stock delivery dates, not so much as a rogue business card. It made sense now why we’d never been able to pin anything on them. I would place a bet that the hard drive on the computer was completely clean too.

I watched the furrow between her eyes deepen before she came to a stop before me, arms tightly crossing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she barked.

I sagged back against the wall as a sigh bubbled up. “I didn’t have a choice. If I let him get killed then it’d be case closed.”

Lips tightening she threw me a spearing look as she stalked closer, “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Why were you antagonising him? You’re supposed to be ‘undercover’ which means laying low.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes to the critical look boring into me. I could feel my headache worsening.

“Laying low won’t work. I don’t have the time to be working through the ranks, it could take years now that I know he’s set out strict guidelines for all his men.”

“That doesn’t mean you go from zero to sixty and start riling him up. He’s dangerous.”

Annoyance flaring I straightened up, forcing her to back off. “You think I don’t know that? The whole reason I signed up for this is because he’s dangerous. We can do as much police work as we want but we’ll never take him down. If I get close to him like this I can level the field with the information I gain.”

“You can justify it as doing your part for the city all you want, but what I saw back there wasn’t you, you enjoyed challenging him.”

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Had it been that obvious? If she’d picked up on it had he too?

“Just as I thought,” she shook her head but her features softened. I angled my face away, stepping around her to stand at the desk as heat flushed my cheeks.

“Being undercover isn’t for everyone. It’s mentally and physically stressful. No-one would blame you if you had to back out.” I refused to turn. The sympathy of her tone cut through me.

“There is nothing wrong with me. I can handle this case just fine.” I retorted through gritted teeth as my hackles rose. I repeated the words internally to myself. I was fine. This case wasn’t getting to me.

“I’m sure you can, but at what cost?” I heard her curse under her breath as she shuffled around me to get within my line of sight again. “I can’t let you endanger my case anymore.” She’d already signalled this when Melissa had been pulled up but it cut more now knowing she was making the decision because she couldn’t trust my judgement.

“I think it’s best I let you out the back exit. A team will be here soon.”

The exit she’d referred to was one used solely during the prohibition. It came out a street over in a back alley, the hatch that let me up to street level was hidden by a prop dumpster light enough to be pushed out of the way even with my injured arm.

Hearing the sirens of a cruiser I circled around the streets for a while, unsure of where I was really going until I saw the steps for the Tribeca Bridge. It was still dark, not long past one now and I knew it was a risk to be out in the open especially after the events of the night but still I let my feet guide me around to The Battery and over to a stretch of the railing. The water was inky black, reflecting the lights of the city behind me but giving nothing away about its depth as it lapped at the bay. A cool breeze rippled off it stilling the sweat on my skin. Hands gripping onto the cold metal of the rails I took several deep breaths to try push away the lingering nausea floating in my stomach and fuzziness in my head.

I couldn’t help but replay Zoey’s words but I still refused to acknowledge what she’d been saying. I may not have full control over the situation, I never expected to in a case this versatile, but I knew what I was doing. I was a detective, it was my job. For her to second guess my instincts and my training rankled me. I was and would work this case to the best of my ability and if I ever felt I was in too deep then I’d take proper precautions.

Holland had added another to his death tally tonight, albeit indirectly, and I had no doubt the bodies would keep piling up, getting younger and younger as each side tried to recoup their loses by recruiting whoever they could to keep their ‘businesses’ going. I had to get to the heart of his operation before that became a reality.

I had gained such a valuable negotiating tool in saving his life, now I needed to take time to work out what I could exchange it for.

****

Despite closing the curtains the late morning sun had snuck in around the edges and lit the room enough to wake me. Checking my watch on the small end table it showed I’d been asleep for six hours. My body ached as I stretched out on the thin sheets, protesting as I jerked my arm too fast. A normal day and six hours would have been heavenly, now it barely took the edge off.

Reluctantly getting out of bed I stripped it down, my bandages having soaked through to leave large spatters on the sheets. I’d eventually managed to take a proper look at it after a scalding hot shower when I’d got home. It had passed clean through the outer edge of my arm, missing anything critical but carving out a large chunk of tissue between the entrance and exit wounds. They were small wounds so I’d opted against sewing them shut, simply cleaning it out with more medicinal alcohol from my first aid kit and bandaging them up with gauze pads and wrap and taking a few pain meds to take the worst of the pain away.

I bundled the sheets into the laundry basket along with my clothes from the day before, already pre-soaked and scrubbed to get the majority of the blood out. They were the only things in the basket, not enough for a full load but it made me itch thinking they still had remnants of the night before lingering on the fabric, as if washing them would make the events disappear a little.

As I thought about leaving them until after breakfast the itch grew until I finally threw on a pair of joggers and hoodie on over my nightwear and shoved the items into a bag. I trudged down to the basement, threw them on a high wash and marked the machine with my basket.

I hadn’t passed anyone on the way down. From what I could tell most of the tenants in the building worked all day or just never left their apartments so we never crossed paths. Which was fine with me, it meant one less person to keep up the pretence with. However now, as I reached my landing, there was a man wandering along the hall. I made to move out of the stairwell behind him until I noticed the hesitant way he was walking.

Shifting back into the doorway I watched him pause at a door for a second before moving on. It wasn’t until I caught the slight tilt to his head beneath his hood that I realised he was listening at each apartment. Unease creeping in I took time to properly assess him. Dressed in a perfectly sized hoodie and crisp jeans warning signs flared. Despite the attempt to appear casual this was someone who had spent more than the usual couple of dollars on his outfit. It was a disguise, and a bad one at that for this neighbourhood. They reached the end of the hall, stopping again outside my apartment on the right before turning to head back with a visible shake of their head. It was then I caught a glimpse of their face. Frustration swelled backed by an edge of anger that he’d turned up at my home, that he’d somehow been able to track me, I almost revealed myself but now that I could see his front I froze. His hands were shoved into the front pockets, one taking up more space than the other meaning he was holding something. I didn’t need a police badge to know that the additional bulge in his pocket was a weapon.

------

Taglist: @spideylovin @lukesbabylon @panicattheeverywherekid @keep-bears-wild

Part Seven up now!

#mob!tom #mob!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland

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solalunar-eclipse · 4 years

Text

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 4

Chapter title: Infiltration

Word count: about 3100 words

Author’s Note: Aaaand this is where everyone finds out that I’ve watched the first three Mission: Impossible movies.

First | Previous | Next

Shadow had learned about emotions early on during his time on ARK. Maria explained them to him as they came up- happiness, sadness, anger, fear and all the rest.

But Shadow really felt that there was no good word to describe his feelings at the moment. Everything was just...strange.

He and his friends were still trying to keep a low profile, since G.U.N. would absolutely have put out a search warrant by now. The team was planning to commit a second heist, with even larger consequences for everyone involved than the first one. They were going to do this with absolutely no backup and no supplies, equipment, or up-to-date inside knowledge.

And he was watching Rouge eat multiple pancakes drenched in syrup as though everything was completely normal.

Omega wasn’t with them, having been told to wait in the car (again). He didn’t need to eat, though, so he wasn’t too irritated this time.

Shadow had barely touched his waffles, only able to poke at them quietly with his fork. Any time he considered eating even a small piece, he would remember the mission and lose his appetite immediately. He pushed a small piece around in the sticky mock-maple syrup, staring at the golden square.

“You need to eat something, hon,” Rouge told him around a mouthful of food. “Get your strength up for the mission- don’t want your body giving out on you.”

He groaned, eyeing the food with distaste. “I know, I know…”

“Shadow. Do I have to tell you again?” she asked, her voice becoming more stern- almost parental.

The hybrid ate a forkful reluctantly, forcing himself to swallow. He barely tasted it at all, the sticky sweetness only vaguely registering.

Every few seconds, Shadow’s hand drifted to his phone, dying to turn it on and see what texts were being sent. Was Silver searching for clues accidentally left by G.U.N. in the news? Could Knuckles be drafting battle plans he knew would never be used? Was Sonic cracking jokes to lighten the mood?

Or were they even thinking about this at all?

How he wished he knew…

“Hon. Stop it.” Rouge said, dragging him out of his reverie. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m sure they’re fine and talking about all sorts of things, including us. I promise.”

“I just hope that we got our message across and they’re being careful. At least half the members of the other teams only have a single brain cell.” Shadow muttered.

The bat laughed. “I will bet you an all-you-can-eat meal that Tails has knocked out either Sonic or Knuckles at least once, and that Silver is pitching wild conspiracy theories to Blaze while Amy tries and fails to maintain her sanity.”

Shadow smirked, before cringing as the reality of what they were about to do crashed back onto him with all the force of a tidal wave. This mission could very well be their last.

Rouge must’ve seen his expression shift, because she took his hand and smiled at him gently. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll get the evidence, send it to a couple newspapers, get G.U.N. to finally do something about...well, everything, and then we’ll all be fine. You’ll never have to touch a gun again, we’ll never have to worry about people getting hurt, and then we can go to that movie night, alright?”

The hybrid smiled faintly, feeling his weakened resolve start to return. He was fully aware that his friends were the only reason he was maintaining his sanity at this point. He hated to burden them this way. That was why he was really looking forward to the end of this wild experience. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

Thankfully, before long, they were back in the car and on the way to the G.U.N. storage building, and Shadow was able to force himself to push such thoughts to the back of his mind. Now that they had begun, this kind of distraction could be downright deadly.

The team had to make a stopoff first, though. Specifically, at the uniform warehouse for G.U.N.’s main electrical repair company- the perfect excuse to get into the facility. Omega drove the sedan up to the security gate, but everyone knew to let Rouge do the talking.

“Hi there!” she said brightly. To anyone else, the bat would’ve appeared to be the picture of sincerity. Shadow knew better, though.

He had enough experience to see the calculating glint in her eyes and the steady size she held her smile at. Not meek, but not crazy either. Just outgoing enough for the guard to quickly wave them through after she offered up an apology: “So sorry, mister, we seem to have misplaced ours and we’ve got a big job coming up, you know?”

Shadow was incredibly thankful that nobody questioned the two of them as they walked through the warehouse, either. He snatched two uniforms in their sizes (hopefully) from the near-endless racks, trying to look busy while Rouge covered for both of them. Nobody ever even thought to wonder who that bat and that hedgehog were, or why they were there.

They walked out with no trouble, the two uniforms, and even a polite wave from the security guard.

The hybrid felt nothing but a small hint of relief as Omega drove their car out of the industrial area where the warehouse was. They headed down the winding dirt roads towards the G.U.N. facility, and he busied himself with struggling into his outfit. He worked his way into a navy blue jacket and loose matching pants, pulling down a company-issued baseball cap to complete the look.

Shadow glowered over at Rouge, noticing that she had completed the entire process both quickly and effortlessly, not even messing up her hair in the process.

“How in the name of chaos did you manage that?” he growled.

“What?” she asked innocently, smiling at him.

“Your hair.” he snapped.

“Oh, it’s all experience, Shadow! I’m used to quick costume changes- it comes with the job, you know.” Rouge replied pleasantly.

Shadow was certain that she enjoyed torturing him like this. He scoffed, irritated, and chose not to dignify that statement with a response. Instead, he stared at the rear view mirror and pushed his skewed quills this way and that until he was satisfied.

The team was there within the hour, parked a ways down the road. They didn’t get out, though- they just...stared at it for quite a while. The structure was situated in the middle of the fields with no other buildings for miles around. Perfect for a place people shouldn’t know existed. Shadow silently thanked the stars that Team Dark had needed a high level of clearance to do their job- and for Omega’s pride.

The facility was made of cold, dark steel, shaped like a perfect rectangle. It had no guard towers, no large, automated weapons systems, yet it still appeared incredibly large and imposing. The few guards visible were stationed at the gate and patrolling the perimeter.

It almost seemed like G.U.N. didn’t expect an attack.

The apprehension in the car was suffocating. Shadow got out first, forcing himself to move. If he didn’t, the hybrid doubted he’d be able to go through with the plan at all. “So where to now?” he asked, checking his appearance one last time in the reflection on the car door. It still didn’t look like his reflection. That was good.

“Through that big door.” Rouge said confidently, pointing it out. She’d gotten Shadow to slice two slits in her shirt, making sure her wings were available at a moment’s notice. “Then we let Omega in at the side- I’ll be the one to disable the camera.”

They walked cautiously towards the door, but there was no need for worry. The guards waved them right through. Shadow forced a small smile onto his face, despite the motion feeling incredibly fake. He had to sell it for this to work.

The moment the two got through the door, they rushed through a maintenance hall to the side door. Rouge took a deep breath and let it out quietly. “Game face, Shadow.”

He acknowledged her with a nod, pushing his thought processes fully into ‘mission mode’. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d learned how to do this, but his suspicions were that having to steal a Chaos Emerald for a supervillain had played a pretty big role.

Rouge flew up to the camera and disconnected it from behind, with a practice that revealed her many years of experience as a thief. Omega was difficult to spot, but Shadow saw him hunched down in the long, golden grass. The robot looked both ways before blasting across the field to the opening.

Once he was inside, the three headed back towards the main corridor. “Let’s go.” Rouge whispered, her voice utterly serious.

Team Dark made their way through the halls slowly, ears (and auditory receptors) searching for any kind of noise. They made sure to avoid all the security cameras, too, moving slowly but staying out of sight.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps made all three freeze. Low chatter reached their position, the words unintelligible but signifying danger all the same. The noise was getting closer.

And closer.

Shadow shoved Rouge and Omega roughly into a nearby supply closet and shut it silently- there wasn’t enough room for him too. He jumped up to the ceiling and clung to the ducts there, making sure to hide in one of the darkest parts. As the voices approached, he felt incredibly thankful for his strength.

The guards appeared at the end of the hallway, and he held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. They spoke loudly, utterly unaware of their secret audience.

“Ugh. I hate it when these lights short out,” one said as they walked through a dark patch of the hall.

“I know, right? This is like the third time this week.”

“...”

Shadow waited, bracing his feet further against one of the larger pipes….

“I like it better in the security room. These walking shifts suck.”

“Yeah, you can just chill and eat there. We’ve got that shift later, did ya know?”

“Oh, sweet. Then I can finally eat this sandwich. Got it off that new restaurant…”

“...”

Evidently, they were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice the hybrid’s presence in between the lights. Once the guards were long gone, all three sighed, relieved.

The next set of patrollers were much easier to avoid, thankfully. All they had to do was hide around a corner out of sight, and then it was a straight shot to the video storage rooms.

Each entered a separate room, making eye contact one last time before heading in. Shadow turned the cold handle cautiously, slipping around the corner of the doorframe and staying in the darkness. He allowed the lock to slide silently into place, looking around for security cameras. There were none...interesting. He supposed that G.U.N. didn’t want any record of what was stored here, either.

Shadow stalked amongst the shelves for a minute, but froze in place when the handle rattled and the lock clicked open. He stood utterly still, holding his breath again as the guard shone his light around the space. When they left, he remained still while they checked the other storage rooms, only letting himself move once they were gone.

The hybrid began to walk again, his face blank and cold. He scanned the shelves methodically, gaze flicking among the white plastic boxes stacked row by row. He couldn’t afford to waste a single second, so he moved quickly.

Perfect Chaos...the Master Emerald...Big the Cat?

There.

Shadow spotted the box labeled ‘ARK Files’....but it appeared that there were multiple of these. He pulled them out and onto the floor, searching for the right dates. There were tapes stretching all the way back to the construction of Space Colony ARK, in ‘39. After an agonizing minute, Shadow found the tapes from ‘51 in the third box, so he returned the other two and exited the room as silently as he came.

He tapped out the team’s special code on the wall: one, one-two, one-two-three. It was, of course, based on Omega’s series numbers.

Rouge and Omega left their rooms, and the bat smiled darkly at him once she saw the container in his arms. Good, she mouthed. Now out.

They were nearly caught as they hurried through the halls, since carrying a decent-sized box significantly limited Shadow’s maneuverability. When a pair of voices started up again, he was the one shoved in the same closet as last time, along with Omega. Rouge, too, chose to hide on the ceiling, but hooked her knees around a duct first; after all, she was a bat. Hanging on tightly to another pipe with her hands, she watched as the guards passed right underneath her with no trouble.

Nobody ever thought to look up for people hiding.

Team Dark finally made it back to the hall they’d started in, and the two ‘organics’, as Omega put it, removed their uniforms and left them in a pile on the floor. The E-series robot himself, meanwhile, added the box to his ever-growing stash of G.U.N. blackmail inside his compartment.

Shadow pushed open the door carefully and the three rushed outside. They pressed themselves against the building (or made a valiant attempt to do so in Omega’s case) to hide from any potential guards.

As they began to make their way across the tall fields of grass, Rouge’s ears flicked up. “Guards. Four o’clock. Get down.”

Shadow’s special agent training kicked in and he hit the dirt, turning his head to see Omega doing the same. One last rush of adrenaline flooded his system, his body shaking slightly with energy and almost numb at the exact same time.

He fought for control of himself despite this, refusing to give in to his exhaustion. Shadow wasn’t out of danger yet, and he couldn’t afford to let anything slide.

The guards passed by quickly, honestly, but it seemed like hours. The location of the team’s car was in the front of his mind, almost pinging as though he had a radar system inside his head. The hybrid practically felt each individual step of the two humans, even as he ached to get up and sprint away as fast as possible.

As soon as the guards were gone, all three blasted across the fields, jumped into their car, and reversed out of there at top speed.

They couldn’t return to the motel- of that everyone was certain. Shadow would have to be extremely careful about using his alias again, too, since G.U.N. would be onto them in a matter of minutes. The team was already preparing to find a new place to stay. But they had the files, and they had each other.

They were close now.

…

Back at G.U.N. headquarters, the commander returned from vacation to find about twenty different memos on his desk, as well as hundreds of emails demanding to know what was going on.

He sighed, looking at the mess. “What is going on?”

The words rogue agents and secrecy compromised caught his eye, making the commander sit up a little straighter in his seat. This kind of situation could be downright dangerous for the organization as a whole, depending on who the agents were and how big the breach was. He continued reading.

Agents Shadow, Rouge and Omega removed classified files from the premises and evaded capture later that day…

The commander swore under his breath, significantly more worried than before. Rogue agents were one thing, but rogue agents with superpowers and incredible resources on their side? That was another entirely. But why would they want to betray G.U.N.- he’d thought that they were committed to working on the right side of the law now!

Files stolen: Personal File on Maria Robotnik.

Oh.

He supposed that this made a little more sense. After all, the commander had acted rather rashly based on his memories of her as well. But what in the world could have set Shadow off so badly that he’d act against G.U.N.? Especially if he knew the commander’s past….

He called in a squad leader on the spot. When the middle-aged woman appeared at his desk, he looked her straight in the eyes. “I presume you’ve heard about the security breach.”

“Yes, sir.” she replied.

“I need you to send out two of our best recon agents. If Team Dark really has decided to betray us, then I need to know everything about why and what they’ll do next. Do everything you can to get some time with Sonic the Hedgehog and Miles Prower. They’re close with the team, and they might have some answers for us. Got it?”

“Understood, sir!” she said crisply, before turning to leave his office.

Once he was alone again, the commander heaved a sigh and stared at his computer screen, preparing to type out an email sending the entire organization into a Level 3 Alert. What in the name of Chaos was going on here?

…

If the commander had followed his subordinate, he might have begun to understand what was happening.

He was not an unjustly cruel man- for the most part. The Shadow issue had been an emotional time, and that was an anomaly. However, this violent tendency was not an anomaly in and of itself.

In the end, G.U.N. was a military organization. They did have a history of resorting to violence too quickly (Maria’s death was a glaring reminder of that for the commander). They had jurisdiction that was far wider than most would expect. And they were often called in first during uncertain situations, before any other government agency.

So when the squad leader returned to her team’s office, she told them about their mission: to get as much information as possible about Team Dark’s motivations, behaviors, and potential future movements….with full authorization, from her, to do so by any means necessary.

After all, this was a security breach, and a danger to the entire organization. It had been classified a Level 3 Alert, and was likely to go up at any moment.

They had authorization to do whatever they needed.

What could go wrong there?

#scars you can't see #sycs #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #here we go...#interesting fact: i actually misspelled rogue as rouge instead of the other way around once #i broke 3000 words again!! yay #in case you can't tell...gun has some ISSUES #sol’s fanfiction

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cursesthemusical · 4 years

Text

so I finished my raphie fic, the one that snippet earlier was taken from. the fic is called A Promise of Forever, and I’m not honestly sure how I feel about it. It’s a lot shorter than my other oneshots, and the style, especially at the end, is really different than anything else I’ve written.

idk. it’s almost more like a poem than a fic? it feels a bit snooty, honestly, like it’s trying too hard to be deep or whatever.

read it under the cut if you want to. I’m not totally sure about the ending and I might completely change it before posting on ao3, so we’ll see what happens there.

also, keep in mind that it’s not beta-ed, which might be why it feels so strange.

hope you like it, and do tell me what you think of the ending.

Classical music plays as Sophie walks slowly down the aisle, golden hair caught in a bun encircled by intricate braids, green eyes gleaming beneath dark eyeshadow, lips stained the crimson red of fresh blood. The people in the pews turn, watching her with various expressions on their faces, and she smiles, her eyebrows narrowing wickedly. Her gray silk dress rustles around her feet, the billowy train supported by three rats. She looks forward, her gaze focusing on silver haired boy standing in the front of the ballroom. For a moment, she sees his hair curl and turn to gold, and she stumbles, memories flashing into her mind at dizzying speeds.

A ballroom much like this one.

A golden boy on his knee.

An arrow turned to a daisy with a flash of pink.

A mother, begging for a kiss.

A ring of black swan gold, carrying a promise of forever.

A father, begging for his life.

A golden boy, not so golden anymore, lying in a pool of blood.

A dark haired girl screaming as she was sent back to a town that could barely hold her.

A silver boy on his knee, gazing up at a golden haired, silver souled girl.

And a yes.

When she looks back up, Rafal’s hair is back to silver. He’s as stunning as she is in a black suit with silver accents and a gem of black swan gold in his silver crown. Their outfits match. Matching outfits for matching Evil souls.

She continues walking, black high heels clicking on the polished wood. In the seats near her, Hester and Anadil are shooting fearful glances at each other, then Rafal, then Sophie, and back to each other. To think Sophie used to call them friends. When she’s Queen, there will be no friends. There will only be servants.

Rafal extends a hand to her once she’s only a few steps away from the raised dais at the end of the ballroom. She lays her hand in his, pale skin on pale skin, so unlike golden Tedros, and he pulls her up with a gleaming smile. At least his smile isn’t much different from Tedros’, with those white teeth and softening eyebrows. She knows Rafal’s Evil, just as Evil as she is, but when he smiles, it’s hard to remember.

When he smiles, she can almost imagine he’s her happy ending.

He is her happy ending. He is her only happy ending now.

Now that Agatha’s gone.

She steps up and turns to face him, hoping her smile looks real. They stand, eyes locked onto each other, icy blue and emerald green. One of Anadil’s rats comes scampering up the aisle, holding the two rings, both made of shiny black swan gold, on a velvet cushion. They each take a ring without looking down, and Rafal takes Sophie’s free hand.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he says. “I promise, Sophie, to give you forever.” His voice is soft as he slips the ring onto her finger, and she stares at it for a second before taking his hand.

“With this ring, I thee wed. And I promise, Rafal, to love you with all I am.” Thankfully, she’s pretty sure Rafal can’t feel the slight tremble in her hand as she puts the ring over his finger. They clasp hands and turn to face the audience.

“May I present,” Rafal says in his silky tone, “Queen Sophie of the Woods.”

At that, people start clapping, though Sophie thinks it’s not because they’re happy but because they’re scared of what she and Rafal will do if they don’t. She likes it that way. She is a Queen now, and that certainly warrants fear.

She casts a smile into the pews, a gleaming smile of wickedness and true evil. Already she can feel the black swan gold of her new ring soaking into her skin, intoxicating her with the silky promise of forever.

Two days after the wedding, Sophie stands on the balcony of the School Master’s tower, Rafal behind her, staring out at the sky. The sun is just setting, filling the Woods - her Woods - with orange and pink and gold, like a beautiful fire burning the kingdoms to the ground. She turns to Rafal. “What are you thinking of?”

He hesitates before saying, “You. My beautiful bride.”

She knows he’s not telling the whole truth, but she doesn’t press. The feeling that filled her body when he called her his bride is threatening to make her explode. Because though she may be a Queen, she’s just a girl. She’s eighteen years old, and she’s in love, and that love will kill her, one way or another. Right now, she can’t bring herself to care. She feels so light, like she could go soaring into the air and never have to come back down.

As if Rafal hears her thoughts, he puts his hands on her waist. “Shall we?” he murmurs, and she nods, bringing her gaze upwards to the heavens. She hates to look at him when he’s flying. There’s something in his eyes, something she’s almost scared of.

After a few seconds, Sophie feels herself lifting up into the air, Rafal’s arms around her back, protecting her from the memories. When they’re so high up, nothing matters. There are no princes or princesses threatening to ruin Sophie now, just the rising moon, so close she feels like she could reach out and touch its silvery surface.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Rafal says, his words flecked with gold. She doesn’t quite know what he’s referring to, her or the sky or something else entirely, and she doesn’t answer. They gaze at the moon together, king and queen.

She should be happy.

Over the next few weeks, all Sophie can think about is that this is what she’s been dreaming of since she knew what happiness was, and yet.

And yet it’s not enough.

Rafal isn’t the problem; she’s pretty sure about that. He’s everything a prince should be, charismatic and loving and of course, handsome, with those eyes made of ice and the hair, shining as silver as the glow of the moon. And of course, he loves her. Every night he takes her flying, whispering promises in her ear and kissing her neck, his lips warm and real and right there.

Life is nice, too. Her days are spent in the School Master’s tower, and she has everything she might want there. A beautiful pink bathtub with a gold rim. Perfume in all the scents she can think of. One hundred pink gowns and heels that match each gown perfectly. A bed with the finest fluffy sheets and goose feather pillows. But for all her luxuries, she tosses and turns in her bed every night, with not even the melodies of the stars able to lull her to sleep.

So it’s her. Her doubts that are ruining her happily ever after. She misses Agatha with every fiber of her being. She knows she shouldn’t. This should be all she needs, Rafal and queen and her kingdom. But Agatha, greasy haired, bug eyed Agatha, is still holding on to her heart with those freakishly pale fingers, and as hard as Sophie tries, she can’t let her best friend go.

True love, she’s starting to realize, isn’t enough.

The days have started to blur together. Rafal’s kisses taste like the bitter taste of sugary sweet licorice, leaving her craving more when he pulls away even though she knows she can’t last for much longer. When they go flying at night, she doesn’t feel light anymore - she feels heavy, fearing she’ll sink as soon as she looks away from Rafal. The hands that once protected her are now chains, grasping her so tightly that she can’t let go.

Does she want to let go?

She doesn’t know.

Without Rafal, she’d be nothing. Though he brings her into the night sky, he is the only thing keeping her grounded.

Queens are not helpless. Queens are graceful but strong, always standing up to their enemies.

But Sophie’s never heard of a tale where your enemy is your true love.

And now she’s falling, she’s falling, she’s falling and she can’t even see what’s above her, only icy eyes capturing her in their gaze, surrounding her with frost, and she can’t do anything to stop its spread and she doesn’t even want to even though she knows she has to if she wants to survive--

-- but maybe she doesn’t want to survive --

-- and Rafal’s smiles aren’t kind anymore, they’re gleaming with evil --

-- Agatha Agatha please come back please save me please --

-- but there’s no Agatha and wasn’t Sophie the one who banished Agatha back to Gavaldon so it’s her fault and she wouldn’t be here now if she’d just been better, it’s all her fault --

-- Agatha’s voice in her mind, telling her it’s too late --

-- and emerald eyes staring up at the sky because when did it get this cold? Her teeth are chattering, she’s freezing, and there’s a silver haired boy with fire in his palms, fire in his cheeks, fire rushing up to hold her, to embrace her, to protect her --

and if she turns her head ever so slightly and looks out the window where there used to be Woods, there is now only fire.

As she burns, she tries to remember what day it is. She is still as youthful as she was years ago, blonde hair and smooth skin untouched by the cruel waves of time, sustained by Rafal’s magic and the life of the Woods.

Try as she might, she cannot remember anything except sweet, sweet poison and icy eyes and silver hair and love that wasn’t really love, but she couldn’t tell the difference until it was too late, and it’s too late and things could have been better but they’re not, this is how it is and she can’t escape it.

Her breath is coming in raspy puffs now, hanging in the air for a moment before vanishing. She has to let go.

“Sophie.”

She looks forward and she’s catapulted to a moment, long ago, walking down an aisle in a beautiful ballroom, gray dress rustling around her legs, gazing at her true love. Her true love, who’s staring at her now, something like pity in his eyes.

“It’s sad it had to come to this. For a while, I thought you could be the one,” he muses, not trying to hypnotize her anymore. He doesn’t have to. She’s pulled in, and she’s not going to come back out.

“But I suppose it wasn’t to be.”

She crumples to the ground, gaze drifting in and out of focus. The fire has settled down to a warm feeling in her heart. It’s almost peaceful.

Slowly, she raises her arms, letting her eyelashes flutter closed, and welcomes his poison.

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theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Time After Time (Silvaze)

The weather was fair yet cloudy, it wasn't too warm, but it wasn't too cold and the tide was almost fully in. Sunset was a little more than a few hours away, before it came the clouds would break further and a beautiful, pink-red, sky would be revealed. No attacks would come today; there would be no evil, hairbrained, scheme put into motion on either a domestic or galactic level, though such a plan had been entirely unmade a little more than a day prior. Yes, today, this calm day at the docks of Soleanna was one that Silver the hedgehog knew well. To most of his friends, today might have seemed especially mundane but he knew it differently. To him, this day was like no other. Although, unlike when he'd first lived it, he was viewing it through the lens of nostalgia.

Despite his knowledge and experience of today, Silver the hedgehog was quietly quaking in his boots as he wandered past the shops and restaurants on the city's most coastal street. When he'd last been here, to this exact day rather than this exact place, he'd been fourteen years old and yet, as he'd come to know, it wasn't the first time he'd visited this city and it certainly wasn't his first time being fourteen. Currently he was twenty-four in terms of linear time. He'd gained a lot since that day, both in terms of height and understanding his place in life, but it wouldn't be farfetched to say he felt all that and more had been stripped away. He felt as though he'd reverted into an insecure and nervous youth, not as a result of this time nor place but as a result of his intended next action.

Walking side by side with him, holding his hand in hers, was a feline who'd matured in equal measure to him, linearly and otherwise. Blaze wasn't wearing her usual guardian uniform, the ten-year anniversary of them reuniting had warranted a change in both of their wardrobes. While he had donned spiffy black boots, a set of nicer gloves, a white dress shirt with black trousers and a bowtie that he was seriously regretting, she had put herself in a full suit. A deep burgundy jacket and trouser combination hid a button up, white-silken shirt and a purple-wine coloured tie. She'd kept her heels but, despite their best efforts, he was still just a little taller. She seemed to like such outfits far better than the dresses she'd once been forced into. Suits seemed to further imbue her with a certain brand of confi-

She came to a sudden halt, causing him to stumble, and the rolling of her eyes fully derailed his train of thought.

"If you spend all night watching me, you'll miss the sunset," She'd caught him staring and come to a stop, a small smirk had formed on her muzzle. Just as quickly as she'd halted though, the princess took a small lead and pulled him after her, "Come on, let's find somewhere for dinner."

A few years prior, she'd have insisted he keep his eyes forward and stop looking. Safe to say, she'd gotten far better at hiding her blush. While once he'd been oblivious, now he was the one who'd stammer and redden. The heat laying siege to his muzzle was proof enough of that. As he sped up to match her pace, he fought not to meet her eyes nor muzzle again. In lieu of that, he managed to turn his attention to the sea and tightly grip an object that he'd stashed deep within his right pocket; a small, purple, ring box. It was the clear source of his nervousness, a source that he half hoped was obvious to her and half hoped was not. He wanted to surprise her, even just a little, but to say he was tense about proposing was an understatement.

Blaze was his partner, she had been when they'd battled monsters in a city overtaken by flames and now, she was again. Even during their younger years together in that prior life, he'd always just kind of figured they'd stick together forever. Back then that mentality derived from a rather simple and childish desire to stay with his best friend for ever and ever but, with time, that want had rather evolved. She was still his best friend and yet she was something much more. It'd taken time, they'd fought for ages to overcome the denial and embarrassment that came with their burgeoning feelings, but, in the end, they'd managed to admit their love for one another. He cared for her in a way that he knew he couldn't care about anyone or anything else. Their loss of one another had brought what'd gone unspoken and unthought of to light, even if it'd blinded them at first.

This was just like that first step towards love all over again, he felt like he was stumbling at each and every step, but now there was something even deeper to it. He'd been too young, naïve and oblivious to understand what he was really getting into when they'd first started dating. Blaze was a princess, her family had defended her kingdom for generation upon generation, their romantic lives had historically involved suitors, people with power and land in her world. Only a few generations prior, becoming the second half of a royal pair had been an event that Blaze could only describe to him as ludicrous with competitions and bribery and all manner of horrendous implications. It was supposed to be a bizarre spectacle of some sort, guesses and bets were gruesomely made on who would take the royal's hand.

Asking the girl who'd died for his future, who he'd been more than willing to die for, who'd call him naïve, chastise his insecurity and who he couldn't live without to marry him would be ludicrously difficult. Asking that same girl, who also just happened to be the princess and guardian of an entire world in which he was a relative nobody and a stranger, seemed practically impossible. She cared so deeply for her people and their wants, more than she cared for herself. He'd so casually tended to other people's futures, yet he was scared to take a serious step towards theirs. He'd battled monsters and lived through the unliveable but asking his closest companion a simple question seemed far more gruelling.

Pulling his right hand from his pocket, he reached up to awkwardly tug at the small cluster of chest fur he had access to. He was probably a little underdressed for all this, she'd made such a bold choice while he'd been indecisive, but that was nothing new. He'd recommended this place and time both due to its romanticism and to force himself to act. This was the exact day they had reunited, that moment was mere hours away. Out there a much younger Silver and Blaze were blindly wandering across the city, on an inevitable collision course. There would only be one opportunity to actually act on his want, a moment he thought perfect to pop the question. If he failed today then the site where he wanted to propose would be overcrowded, a seemingly impossible task would truly become impossible.

They'd known where and when they were visiting today, but, beyond that, they'd essentially schemed in secret. Though this beachside wasn't unlike those in her dimension, they both knew the area well enough to take each other on unique, albeit relaxed, adventure. There was a good star watching spot just outside the city, a few good movies playing, some attractions that would currently be going unused and plenty of historical sights. He'd promised to take care of their early actions while their later efforts were up to her.

"So, did you have an actual plan for dinner? It's a Tuesday night, I doubt we'll need any reservations…" She half asked and half mused.

"O-Oh, right," He'd been pulled from his thoughts again. Looking to her and tugging more tightly at his chest fur, Silver explained his plan, "Yes, I made plans. There's a place that does really good pasta around here. It'll close down in a couple of years, but the head chef will go on to start running a far bigger and busier restaurant in station square. His current restaurant is quieter, a small place on the waterfront that's much too expensive for its owner to maintain," Realising he was rambling, releasing all he had researched in the future, he caught himself, "B-But that just means the view is very good, it's not too far from here either."

"That sounds perfect, let's go then-

"W-Wait," He stopped walking this time, she turned to him with a small quirk on her brow. Much more and she'd start asking questions and he'd crumble where he stood, "Before the restaurant, there's somewhere I'd like to go first. It's just a little further ahead."

She gave him a knowing look before resuming her lead, their reunion was burned into her memory just as it was his, "I suppose that we can go there first, but it's hardly going to vanish."

"So will we though," He interjected, walking alongside her, "So I figured we should probably avoid that, I don't really know what'll happen if we bump into ourselves. I've never really done it before."

"Doesn't that mean we should be avoiding the wharf at all costs? Perhaps even the whole city," She questioned.

"Maybe but," He scrambled for an answer, "I just thought it'd be romantic. I think we can stand to do it just this once, I know I'll be too distracted by you to notice another of myself hiding nearby."

"Well, I suppose the same is true of me… and it is a rather special place," He could tell by the flicking of her tail that she was curious, she knew he was up to something, but also genuinely interested in visiting the site, "I suppose, just this once. I think we might start to notice if there's more than four of us in the vicinity. It might distract from another day's romanticism."

It took a lot to keep himself from sighing with relief but, despite that urge, he was still incredibly nervous. She'd agreed to come to the spot, but he still had to act once they'd arrived. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew what he wanted to do, but putting that into motion was going to take the sum of his willpower. Even then, that might not be enough. He hoped the site of such memories would catalyse him.

A squeeze of his hand tugged him from his thoughts again, Blaze was scanning him with a lingering inquisitiveness. He beamed at her, fully knowing she'd recognise the nervousness behind it. Fortunately, she seemed to take it in good faith; her shoulder gently met with his as she walked just a little bit closer to him. Their relationship with contact like this had changed a lot over the years, going from natural to embarrassing to natural once more. The hedgehog was glad he could find such comfort in her touch. Despite having regained both his memories and his companion ten years ago, he was still a little new to contact. While he'd hug and hold others, the quiet moments were still reserved for her.

"What about later tonight? Have you planned a lot?" He inquired, realising that he'd been too deep in thought to properly drum up conversation.

"I've got a couple of things up my sleeve, you'll just have to wait and see what happens," She hinted, leaning just a little bit more to accentuate her point, "It'll just depend what we have time for and where our wanders take us."

"I told you everything but you're not going to say anything?" He whined, half-jokingly, "Blaze, please..."

The only response he received was her tail winding around his waist and her leading ever so slightly faster.

Clearly, she planned to lead him on for the entire evening. He'd kind of come to expect that from their dates. While he planned relatively simple things for the most part, innocent and obvious, the feline enjoyed playing with him quite a lot. Her position in her home world meant that dates were often sporadic, arranged at the last minute or constantly shuffled and reshuffled, but she'd learned to take advantage of that. He'd find her at his door and, very quickly, find himself being pulled across islands and in all sorts of directions. Despite this, she didn't like to take advantage of her position as guardian. Most commonly, they would find themselves hiking across far off islands and cooking in by campfire or she'd order food and pull him up to the castle for a night in. Blaze seemed to relish in surprising him with what was, in comparison to the lives they knew and had known, relatively regular things. He'd be lying if he said, just as he had her, he'd fallen in love with things being regular.

He threw another glance oceanward, finding the sky still overly cluttered with white, fluffy, masses, untouched by the reds and pinks of a sunset. The change in tone from day to night couldn't have been too far away, they were going for dinner rather than a late lunch after all, but the lack of signs was giving him some comfort. As they reached his intended destination, it told him that they still had some time.

He'd brought her to the site at which they'd soon be reuniting. They wouldn't quite be meeting for the first time in this lifetime but they would remember what they were to one another. It was a stairway down to the thin wharf that edged along the entire coast and splayed out in places to create small harbours. It was a simple, unassuming, sight; but the view of the sea from those stairs was breath-taking, even when the sun wasn't setting.

The first time they'd visited here was the darkest day of their life. Amy Rose had just stopped him from killing Sonic, displaying her love by defending the blue blur with her body before bluntly admitting how much she cared for him. Uncertain how to proceed from here, Silver's faith in their mission shaken, he'd meandered his way to these steps and found himself moping but, ultimately, had been distracted by the sight and smell of the sea. Eventually Blaze had joined him but, with the future on the line, he hadn't had the strength to so much as mention the beauty of their surroundings, let alone suggests they sit for a while. They were trying to save their world, but the cost of such a victory proved to be too much. He'd lost both her and his memories of her only a handful of hours later. They both ended up reincarnating into entirely different lives in total opposite locations, they'd become strangers.

In this life though, this spot held a very different meaning. It was where they'd reforge their connection, where she'd convince him to visit her world for the first time and he'd managed to claim a moment of true peace for the first time across any of his lives. That peace hadn't lasted for too long of course, the future was still destroyed back then, but it'd been enough of a taste that he knew what he wanted and where he wanted to be.

Leaving her side, he rushed up to arrive at the top of the stairs and took a seat on the far-right side. Sitting himself on its pale wooden boards, he patted the spot next to him. She rolled her eyes and grew another smirk before walking over to sit with him. These were the positions that their past selves would soon take to talk and, eventually, reminisce. He swore he could see the slightest twinge of pink on the clouds but, beyond that, the cluttered sky was still hiding many secrets.

He turned his attention to her, just in time for her head to meet with his shoulder, "It's not quite the view I remember, but it's getting there."

A bigger smile broke onto his face, he reached across his body with his right hand and held it flat to her; fingertips to the sky. Without so much as blinking, she brought her left hand to meet it. Palm to palm and finger to finger before, gently, their fingers slipped into a grasp. This was the first contact they'd made in this lifetime, the trigger to remembering had been no more than a simple touch.

Silver knew what he wanted to do, he'd been riling himself up to do it all day, but he couldn't help staring for just a moment. He could easily imagine the younger feline who'd just regained her memories; the combined look of shock, regret and happiness was unlike any expression she'd worn before or since. Now she just looked happy, peaceful even, so much had changed across these lives; the places, their comfort and feelings alike. After a minute or so of flickering between her and the ocean, he took a deep breath and steeled himself.

His closer hand was still locked in her grasp, so he stretched with his right and struggled to cross his hand over his body to delve into his right jacket pocket. Once he'd grasped the box, he threw a glance in her direction only to find her expression had changed; she was squinting, but not at the horizon. Almost instinctively, he followed her eyeline only to find that the cloud barrier had shifted slightly. The orange sun was struggling to break through the clouds.

It was as Silver realised this, that he felt Blaze's hand slip free from his and a sudden push impact his right shoulder, sending him tumbling from the banister-less staircase and onto the wharf below. The moment he hit the ground he used his powers to force flip himself back upright, prepared to fly back up the stairs, but the suit-clad feline had jumped straight after him and very almost knocked him back to the ground.

"W-What's going on? What was-

Before he could finish, her hands had found his shoulders and shunted him backwards. His back met with wood, her palms were on his chest and the sky was blocked by the edge of the staircase above. She'd pushed him into the minuscule nook beneath the wharf's staircase, the sea was directly beneath their feet once again. Before he could shift, the princess moved. She was no longer pinning him with her body so much as caging him, her hands placed against the wood at either side of his neck. This wasn't a position he was new to, but she had fully caught him by surprise. His muzzle was painted fully crimson, sweat immediately began to pool on his brow, but Blaze wasn't even looking at him; her gaze was thrown to the boards above them. He only half understood what was happening but, before he could ask, she gave a demand.

Her words came out hushed and sharp, "Stay still, keep quiet. I think you're about to arrive."

It took a moment for those words to process, he hardly had an impeccable sense of time, but he was certain they weren't about to meet. It was only then that he realised what of that day he remembered; only really from meeting Blaze onward, the exact point of his arrival was lost on him. He remembered the sky just beginning to change as she called out to him and he turned, but not the minutes leading up to that.

"Already? I didn't see myself or anything," Silver answered, trying to keep his voice equally low, "How do you know?"

"The clouds were beginning to part," She hesitated, as footsteps padded above them, "When I found you that day, my eyes landed on you because you were caught in the first sunbeam. I saw it starting."

He'd just thought it was somewhere nice to sit, he hadn't noticed that back then. Looking up and to his right, he saw a glimmer of sunlight breaking through the slats. Silver couldn't see much from his position, but he knew well enough to take her word for it. Well, that and he didn't have the strength to. He'd waited a moment too long and missed his opportunity, that realisation sapped him of energy. His other self hadn't arrived mid-proposal, but he had failed.

"What're we going to do?" She questioned.

"I guess we'll just have to stay here and keep still," He sheepishly mumbled, feeling thoroughly to blame. They'd be sat up there for a good few hours, "If things go how they're supposed to then they shouldn't notice us and, when they remember, we might be able to slip away?"

"You're right, I think leaving before that would be dangerous. Changing the future here could be dangerous," She nodded, her head very almost meeting with his, "Remembering will probably distract them enough," Her eyes flickered back to the wood above, "Well, distract us enough."

She didn't look upset, but he couldn't help grimacing; he'd effectively stranded them, "I'm sorry, I should have timed this better."

"Oh hush," She looked at him, seriousness in her eyes but a joking smirk on her lips, "Even if you should have, this is a very fitting experience. I never considered that we could relive this," As his brow softened, the harshness fled her eyes and a small spark of excitement took its place. Footsteps sounded overhead. Silver the hedgehog, age fourteen, had just arrived, "Let's enjoy ourselves."

His chance to propose was dashed, he couldn't move his body nor his spirit from this position, but at least she was happy. This was a rather unique opportunity, no one else could really relive a significant moment in their life as they were about to. Even if it wasn't the new experience he'd wanted to give her, at least it was an old one that he knew was close to their hearts. As he watched her eyes drift across the woodwork above, he couldn't help but marvel at her again. The drop had made her fur ever so slightly unkempt, almost urging or asking him to push the pieces back into place. She hid her emotions so well, but he was equally skilled at uncovering them. As she stared at the boards above, he couldn't help but keep noticing that smile on her muzzle and the slow batting of her tail. She wasn't lying about wanting to enjoy this.

He gently reached up, made cramped by her holding, and went to push back a strand that was dangling from her ponytail. He'd only just made contact when a voice called him to flinch and pin himself back against the wood.

"So, it is you," Those four simple words clued him in to this current moment without holding any real meaning whatsoever. That voice was one he knew all too well; it was that of Blaze the cat, age fourteen. Almost instantly, even without seeing, he could visualise the goings on above them.

"Oh, hey!" His own mid-pubescent voice almost brought his toes to curl, but his eyes did flicker to the woodwork above. He couldn't really see anything, but he perfectly remembered what was happening, "I've seen you a few times before. What was your name again…? I don't think I've asked before..."

Once he finished stumbling over himself, she'd take two steps closer and make a brief introduction, punctuated with a nod, "I am Blaze the cat, guardian of the Sol Emeralds."

"Blaze… that name really does sound familiar," The reason for that would soon become apparent to the youngster, "Well, I'm Silver! Thank you for helping out the past couple of days, you were amazing!"

She'd pause for a moment, still stood somewhere behind him. Meanwhile, his prior self would quickly turned his attention back to the water, confused by a strange feeling that was engulfing him, "Why are you not with the others? Surely they're celebrating another victory?"

"If I'm honest, I don't really know," A bizarre feeling had pulled him there, a wanderlust like no prior, "When I first arrived, I just happened to pass through here; the blue sky over the sea looked so pretty. I felt like I was supposed to see the sunset on it before I left, I figured it'd be even nicer than the regular sky," Yes, soon the clouds would part to reveal a beautiful sunset, but that would pale in comparison to what he was about to receive, "You're not at the party either though, did you come out here to watch the sunset?"

"You could say that," She had chosen to offer, obscuring that very same feeling in her heart, "…Would you mind if I joined you? I don't know why, I've seen the sun drift beneath the sea a million times, but this seems… rather important."

"Important?" She'd confused him but offered no elaboration, "Of course you can, anyone who wants can and should see this," He'd pet the spot next to him but she'd choose to sit a good half foot further away, "The skies of this time can be so pretty, I can't wait to see it reflected on the water!"

Now that pair were sitting side by side, an awkward silence engulfing them as they tried to focus on the sea but kept exchanging hesitant glances. The older Silver allowed his eyes to flicker to his Blaze. Any lingering concern had left her face and been replaced by a curious stare, it briefly dropped to grace his muzzle before flickering back to the floorboards above them. Given their positioning, she likely had the better view, perhaps she could even see herself. As long as neither of their past versions caught on, nothing could go wrong.

Silver was reminded of the ring in his pocket. His hope of presenting it was abandoned but, at this moment at least, he was almost too awed to worry about that. Even if he'd wanted to right now, and he'd thoroughly kick himself later for not acting, another moment would come. This was still something special. He cast his gaze towards the ocean, the clouds had split far further now and cotton candy colourations were fanning out across the sky. No reflections were clear yet but, within the next half hour, he knew they would begin to appear; that truly beautiful sky would arrive soon. By the time that the pair above had made their peace, the world before them would be cast in the most stunning of colours. Regardless of what happened this evening, regardless of how events progressed, this would linger in his mind as one of the best days he'd ever lived, and now they were getting to experience it for a second time.

Despite being pinned to the wall, despite the tension tied to hiding and the loss of his engagement plan, the lapping of the waves just feet beneath them, the gentle glow of the sun on the horizon and the closeness of her frame to his was putting him entirely at ease. When he was fourteen, he'd been drawn here, but now it felt like he was meant to be here. His ears flickered as the conversation picked back up.

"Is this really the only reason you didn't stay for the party?" The young princess had dared to ask, opting to break the quiet for once. Even before they'd remembered each other, they'd been able to read the other's voice and expression so fluently.

"Well, mostly, yeah," She'd just thrown him a look, a look that told him that she could tell he was lying, "Th-That and, well…" It wasn't that he was embarrassed at being caught so much as he was struggling to disclose a truth that he didn't truly understand, "If I stay for the party then they'll ask me to stay longer, I think… a-and if I do that, then I won't be prepared for the next problem," He'd be scratching at his chest fur now, surely, "I don't know, they probably want me there but don't realise that they shouldn't have me there. I'm more useful elsewhere, you know?"

"You're so naïve," That was the first time he'd been called that in this lifetime, "If you're not going to stay for long, then you should have stayed for as long as you could and had your fill of fun rather than worrying and cutting it short. They'd probably rather have you around for a short while than not at all. They're sad but they've always understood when I've had to go," The feline was giving advice that she herself should probably be taking, "These opportunities are rare for me and, by your tone, I assume they are for you too."

"They are a little, yeah. I don't stay in the same time as them. You're probably right but… there's also just something about this sky, I don't know what it is…" Just now he'd turned to her, he'd got his first proper look at her and noticed the gem that marked her forehead. Something about it, her clothes and the colour of her fur would seem familiar too, just like her name, "Why aren't you with them? You're their friend too, right?"

"Hm," She'd been staring at him, though she'd probably just turned away from his inquisitive look, "I suppose I just needed some air and peace. It's nice to be away from my kingdom but it would seem I've exchanged one rowdy crowd for a different, albeit more social, sort."

The older Blaze snorted ever so slightly, "I'd been curious about you ever since the prior battle, I just couldn't bring myself to admit it."

"This is so strange," The twenty-four-year-old hedgehog mumbled, eyes flickering from the upper left in order to meet his girlfriend's gaze, "Is it weird that I'm really enjoying this? It's so strange, being an observer to the very reason we're here. If I hadn't come here that day and you'd decided not to talk to me, we wouldn't be here right now."

Silver noticed a change in her demeanour, the waving of her tail stopped and the smile on her face grew. Something was going through her head, she was contemplating something very deeply, but that expression quickly passed. Her shoulders rolled into a more relaxed position and her features softened, forming into a look he knew all too well. The hedgehog had no idea what she had decided, but he already knew the result of it.

He felt her grip shift slightly; the base of her palms was pushing on the edge of his shoulders. She'd already been close, but now her nose was bumping against his. She'd captured all of his vision, her tone was still hushed but, somehow, huskier, "Why don't you pay just a little more attention to the here and now…"

Her head tilted, he felt the weight of her wrists drop to his clavicle as her tail had managed to curl its way around his leg. The scent of her lavender perfume was surely beginning to mark him, its aroma was almost hypnotising him. The first kiss landed lightly, a stunning but soft peck on his lips, but the second was just heavy enough to get her message across. A gentle bite at his lower lip followed, a request for access.

He granted it without hesitation, the third kiss pushed him against the wood and brought his back to curve as he conceded to her control. Overhead they were still talking, growing more distracted and fascinated by the other with each passing moment. Still, they had to keep this subtle and quiet, Silver knew fine well that Blaze could have been doing more to overpower him. Through this kiss, their eyes had remained half lidded and captured within the other's glow; never quite breaking. His hands came to hold her, his fingers almost clawing at the small of her back as he tried to pull her even closer.

Their passionate bout soon paused though, she'd pulled back as a handful of familiar words spilled from the younger hedgehog's mouth, "You really do look familiar, I know I've seen you before but… it's like there's more to it than that? I'm not really sure how to describe it."

"Oh?" The feline half-hummed, trying not to seem desperate for answers but prompting him to speak further.

"I came here to look at the sky, but I can't stop looking at you. It's like you're drawing me in," The future hedgehog of the past explained, eyes locked on her, "I don't think his has ever happened to me before."

"Well, I'm sorry to be such a distraction. It is a beautiful sky…" She answered, not even looking at the very view that they were discussing, "But I'd be lying if I said you weren't distracting me too."

"R-Really?" The sound of shifting above caught him just a little off guard, he'd forgotten that he'd been the one to move closer first, "I've never felt anything like this before, it's like I already know you…"

"It's so strange but… I feel the same," A shuffling came from further behind him, the climax was about to arrive, but, once again, the adult Silver's attention was pulled from the princess above and towards the one in front of him.

His Blaze had shifted, her hands had dropped from his shoulders and found her sides, the feline's eyes had broken from his and a seriousness had overtaken his muzzle. They'd gone from so intimate to bordering on distant in no more than a minute. She caught his eyes only to part from them again, reaching down and dusting off both her jacket and her trousers. Had she noticed or remembered something that he hadn't? Were they at risk of being spotted? Was she preparing turn?

Even though his attention had been stolen, Silver's ears still picked up the younger hedgehog's voice, "But you aren't from around here, are you? There's no way we could have met before."

"I'm certain I'd remember your face," The young feline commented before seeming to catch herself, "Well, it feels like I do remember your face…"

"I wonder if…" He'd just started a sentence that he'd never get to finish.

Their hands had touched, that contact had sparked something that lingered deep within their very souls. They'd undone the lock and regained the memories of their past life. In little more than a second, he'd learned of another life in which he'd fought for a bright future, she'd learned of a world and time that so heavily contrasted that of her present one. Most importantly though, they'd both learned of each other.

The current Blaze though, his Blaze, had taken a single step away from him as their past selves made their first contact of this lifetime. Her eyes had returned to his, bring with them a steely serious expression that he'd thought was reserved for only the most difficult of fights, "Silver…"

"Y-Yes?" He stammered.

She dropped to one knee. Her right hand had sunk into her pocket. He immediately understood what was happening. His jaw slacked and eyes went wide as the princess revealed a small, silver, box.

"We've lived both together and apart; I don't ever want to be apart again. I want to stay with you for the rest of my life," Her voice was stable but he could see hints of concern in her demeanour. Little quirks like the flicking of her tail and the bending of her ears; little things that only he could identify. Those worries were entirely pointless, of course. He felt himself begin to shake; his vision had begun to blur.

The hedgehog managed to take a stumbling step forward, closing the gap.

"I know this sudden, but I've been carrying this little box with me for five months now, just waiting for the right time," Her voice was still quiet but, somehow, it cut through the splashing of waves and talk above. She captured held attention in a way that nothing else could, "I can't imagine that there'll ever be a better moment than this…"

The box was thumbed open, revealing a golden right with a band of inset red gems, like a combination of his cuffs and the jewel on her forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, all their moving and talk faded from recognition as his vision shrunk to the ring alone and the face just above it. He hadn't expected this, he hadn't remotely considered it!

But it was perfect, it was so perfect.

"Considering all we've been through, both in this life and the last, this might seem like a formality, but…" That iron expression was wavering, being cracked away by the pressure behind her inevitable next words, "I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?" The question was asked but, before he could give an answer, she had started to talk again, "I know that-

"Y-Yes," It took all he had not to shout as he cut her off, almost falling forward as he reached for the ring and her hands, "Yes, of course Blaze! Of course I will!"

It took some fumbling to get the ring onto his finger, the sound of their past selves shouting and crying with mixed joy and regret acted as an impossible backdrop to this unimaginable occasion. The sun had broken through the clouds, the sunset was freely visible; everything had aligned so perfectly, even if he had failed earlier. In the moment, they almost forgot that this was their time, their chance to escape before their past selves noticed.

Once the ring was on, his hand slipped back into hers. With no more than a single glance up to their past selves, finding them on their feet and clinging to each other as though the universe was about to tear them apart again, the newly engaged couple ran along the wharf. They tried to keep light-footed at first but, eventually, their footfalls rang across the wood. The adrenaline of the moment carried him and, almost certainly, her as they dashed. It perhaps wasn't the most normal thing, proposing and then running from your past self, but it made this endeavour all the more memorable.

They ran until the sun had slipped its way down to sit on the ocean's smooth skyline, slowing themselves to a halt as they arrived at another set of stairs. It was narrower and more crudely constructed, attached to a small harbour that was home to a trio of small vessels. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, they took a seat on those cramped stairs and began to catch their breath. Silver's mind was still racing, his eyes flickered to her before crashing into the ring on his finger; he could hardly believe it was real. He passed his thumb over it, feeling the smooth bands that shielded the gemstones.

"Blaze," She very quickly turned to him, "Th-That was incredible!"

"I know me doing this means something more than you were maybe hoping, taking any role in the royal family is difficult, let alone the one you are," She wasn't quite meeting his eye, instead choosing to almost look past him. He felt her hand slip from his, "Was I too sudden? Were you ready for me to ask? I know I didn't really drop any hints, but I wasn't sure how to. I thought about discussing our future, but we did most of that when we started dating, and you seemed happy so…"

Thoughts ran rampant through his mind, concerns and regrets; not about her choice to act, but his own inaction. He was overwhelmed, happier than he'd ever been, and now he had an opportunity to reassure her and return that happiness. That ring was burning a hole in his pocket, it was the answer to this problem. If he could will himself to draw it, then her worries would disappear. What kind of fool would he be if he failed to?

She kept talking through his silence, worry still plagued her face, "I also know that this is another huge responsibility you'd be taking on, and with the future at peace you might have hoped you'd never really have another. If you want some time to think or-

"P-Please don't worry about that, Blaze. I-I…uhm," The nervousness in his tone surely wasn't helping her. He closed his eyes, curled his toes and took a deep breath. He had to do this properly, "I have something for you too," Taking her left hand in his, Silver rose from the stair only to turn and drop to one knee. After a moment of rummaging through his pocket, a small box was retrieved and held before him. By the way and speed that her initial surprise dovetailed into a more relaxed joy, he knew that he had offset her worries. Even if it was a little pointless now, he unleashed the words he'd been reciting for months now, "Blaze, I don't want to lose you again. I've spent a life with you and one without you, nothing and no one could fill your place in my heart. I want to stay by your side forever, I always have. Both in this life and our past one, there's nowhere I'd rather be than with you."

The ring box sprung open with no more than a thought, revealing a silver band with a large red gemstone. Tears still lingered in his eyes, but now they'd started to form in hers. Without missing a step, she lowered herself to match his height and let her lips find his again. He was hardly able to focus but, with a little more fumbling, his ring found itself on her finger. Tonight had hardly started, and what little they'd done had gone entirely contrary to his plan, but, just as he'd thought it ten years ago, this truly was the best night of his life.

#silvaze #proposal #fanfiction #sonic #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #romance

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webcricket · 4 years

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Thursday’s Child

Pairing: CastielXReader Word Count: 2759 (Pt. 1) Summary: Part 1 of 5 - You met Castiel during his stint at being human and knew him as Steve, a sweet, albeit mysterious, man working at the local Gas-N-Sip with sad blue eyes that seemed to light up in your presence. That was eight years ago; now the daughter he fathered during your brief time together - the girl he doesn’t know about because he stole from your bed without a word and slipped out of your life before you knew you were pregnant - is asking for him. You realize, for her sake, it’s time to face the painful truth in order to find him. A/N - Part 1 is an angsty intro to the reader, the next part brings us up to speed on where Cas is at ...

Pt. 1

You walked into the Gas-N-Sip onto a scene a match stick strike short of complete chaos. Beyond the sea of customers waiting at the counter, the grumbled volume of their impatience rising like a storm’s tide breaking on a rocky shore, you saw not the blue-eyed sales associate you sought for, but the ragged figure of the manager, Nora, as she slammed her fist against the side of the cash register to compel its cooperation.

The machine spat its contents out in a metallic ding barely audible above the thunder of discontent. Nora flung a handful of crumpled bills at the gaping man stood before her and waved him toward the door with his uncapped cup of cold coffee without a word regarding well wishes for the goodness of the day.

The frazzled blonde jabbed a finger at her temple, peered blankly over the counter, and muttered, “Can I help whose next?” in a manner that made whomsoever was next dither in presenting themselves for customer service slaughter, and two people leave without getting the gasoline they came for - one of whom had trudged there on foot through the snow uphill in a pair of threadbare tangerine Converse after their car ran out of juice three miles down the road.

As the sea swelled in murmured confusion over who was next, you dove into the crush of shoulders and shoved a path through to the front.

Pressed into the counter, you jostled a carousel display of novelty keychains, the inconvenient disturbance of which, more than your voice, caught Nora’s strained attention. “Nora!” you panted. Caging the scattering of metal rings within your elbows to prevent their clattering to the floor, you ignored the nicotine-husked scolding of a wrinkled weather-worn woman sounding in your ear about cutting the line.

“Y/N?” A flicker of hope lightened Nora’s craggy sleep-deprived aspect at the sight of you. “Have you seen Steve?” Clutching at your wrist, she asked the desperate-toned question before you could, unknowingly answering yours in its sameness. “He hasn’t been in for two days. No call out. Nothing. That’s not like him.”

Cheeks paling, you agreed – conscientious to a fault, it wasn’t like him at all to just disappear.

The sickly sense of suspicion festering in your stomach during the last forty-eight hours that began upon waking to empty sheets and fattened itself not on food, because you’d barely eaten under the barrage of worried emotions, but rather fed on a gluttony of unreturned calls and texts, shuddered and flipped with enough weight to unsteady your feet; wrist yanked from her grip, you flattened your palm to the front of your jeans as an awareness of imminent ill shot sour bile up your gullet.

You shook your head; taking a second, you choked back the throat-searing fluid and fortified your dizzied balance against the confirmation he had indeed gone without a trace. “N-no, I haven’t-” you sputtered- “I-I was hoping-”

Cutting you off, unable to hear anything beyond the unhelpful news of your weakly uttered ‘No,’ frustration rutted her sweat-beaded forehead. “Well when you do see him, tell him he’s fired. He left me in the middle of a mess of inventory and I haven’t had anyone to open. For fuck’s sake, it’s the holidays! I’m in a real lurch here.” Wheezing to reach for the final bit of breath required to bellow out her contained fury, she gestured at the crowd and flashed the one or two nearest folks shocked by her expletive outburst a conciliatory service industry contrived smile.

“If-if you see him-” you attempted to request the returned favor through the burst levy of her rage as the woman spewing insults about your impudence wedged between you and the counter to demand immediate attention. Funneled in defeat to the center of the store, you broke for the bathroom before the wet brim of heartache flooded your lashes and a renewed heave of nausea hollowed your belly of its fill of woe.

<<<>>>

“Mama?” The girl outfitted in pastel blue and magenta feather-bedecked fleece footie pajamas curled on the bed beside you stirred sleepily in the crook of your arm; the friction of her minute movements and dry forced heat air of winter combined sparked a static shock where the soft warmth of her bare fingers brushed your own calloused cooler ones.

“Yeah, honeybee?” Swiveling your concentration from the pages of the storybook held above the both of you, you closed the pages and sniffed your reply ticklishly into the freshly washed soap-smell of your daughter’s scalp – the scent of her a welcome haven from the heady aromas clinging to you of yeasted bread, warmed spice, and browned sugar that otherwise denoted a hectic day spent toiling in the bakery and sweet shop you operated below the small apartment.

She squirmed and giggled beneath your unrelenting Eskimo kisses until, fidgeting sideways to evade and escape, she squealed mid-laugh a query so completely unrelated to the book you’d been reading aloud minutes before it took you aback. “Where’s daddy?”

Her innocent and wholly natural curiosity stilled your showering of affection, seized at the center of your chest to steal your breath, and skipped your heart a few agonizing beats, but only a few; you’d grown emotionally numb over many years to the hurt of not knowing what happened with her father, of trying to reconcile your questions with a lack of answers in order to figure out what you did wrong, if anything, to warrant Steve’s disappearance from your life – and his own - without a goodbye, a warning, or so much as an inkling of a reason.

Although you tried and mostly succeeded in tidily boxing up the train wreck aftermath of emotion in your brain, he remained nonetheless an enigma forever in front of you because she was his; she wore his smile, albeit a bit easier and more often than he did; she saw the world through that same shade of inwardly illuminated blue, giving everyone she gazed upon the benefit of the doubt; she treated everything she touched, too, with a kindness, carefulness, and consideration so like him.

He endured even in his absence as an end without an end - the only proofs of the brief love-swept spell of him having been in your life a blunted memory stonewashed by time to dull the jagged edge of loss in believing he was the best thing to ever happen to you, and the life he sparked in your womb, a little girl who turned out to be what he wasn’t – the love of your life.

Yet despite the distance of years and the layers of a life well-lived laid on top of past pain, and like the first time you met him, every once in a while, when you least expected it, in moments when you were most relaxed, his recollection had a way of taking you by surprise such that you forgot how to breathe.

Her inquisitiveness, however, did not; she asked after him on occasion, especially now that she was in school and of an age to notice and wonder at the differences between her family and those of her classmates.

“Max has two daddies.”

Her observation, spoken in an airy awe punctuated by a yawn, penetrated your reverie into the past.

“That so?” Shifting up onto an elbow to better study the seriousness scrunching up her nose, you smoothed her disheveled hair into a chestnut halo of bouncy ringlets encircling her head on the polka dot patterned pillowcase; your fingertips fondly followed a wild whorl rebelling above her ear.

“Mm-hmm,” she drowsily drew out the noise, blinking heavily-lashed eyes that danced over the neon glow of star stickers arranged in constellations on the ceiling. With a mumbled, “and a dog, too” -she tossed the blanket, burrowed face-first into the pillow, and fell soundly asleep.

Staying absolutely motionless, you praised in grateful silence the sudden seizure of slumber children are wont to succumb to for temporarily relieving you from an explanation; whatever she dreamed of would be better than the reality of not knowing you had to offer.

You slipped from the bed and into the hallway, flicking lights off as you walked the worn oriental carpet runner to your bedroom, and found yourself standing in front of the closet digging for a shoebox stuffed in the topmost corner behind a stack of spare sheets.

Extricating the box with a grunt, you sunk to the floor, pushed off the lid, and dumped the contents, those few physical scraps you possessed of Steve - notes, snapshots, and the crumbling petals of a pressed red rose he left behind besides the scars on your heart and her - into your lap.

Last season, perched on Santa’s lap at the mall, your daughter told the falsely bearded jolly supplier of holiday spirit and maker of childhood magic she wanted him to bring her daddy home for Christmas. The pitying frowns donned by Saint Nick and his helper elf upon hearing her request haunted you for weeks afterward. The bright pink bike you bought to place under the tree as her big gift that year seemed a paltry substitute for what she really longed for.

It also prompted you to hire a private investigator to track Steve down. You hadn’t looked for him before then – you’d gotten on just fine without him; but it was becoming clear she needed to know him, if not as the father figure she idealized, at least as a means for both of you to get some kind of closure.

Part of you supposed regardless of why he left he should know he had a daughter and it was unfair - however unfairly he’d treated you - to keep her to yourself when you’d created her together. Whether he wanted to be a part of her life once he knew he’d not only deserted you, but left you knocked up, heartbroken, jobless, and in deep debt holding a newly minted mortgage for a building in need of major renovations before you could bake up that first batch of blueberry scones and realize a long-imagined dream – a dream he inspired you to pursue - would be entirely up to him.

Maybe you’d hesitated to look for so long because you felt he would want to be in your lives out of a sense of obligation rather than any emotive attachment of fatherly feeling; whatever had happened, the Steve you loved was a good man – dutiful of responsibilities to a fault. But Steve chose to leave and you wondered if he’d feel more trapped than anything if he knew there was a child; that he would be there like a hare snagged in a hunter’s snare awaiting fate, but that he wouldn’t want to be there.

In terms of fairness, that consequence wouldn’t be fair to any of you.

You eyed the sealed legal-sized manila envelope folded in half and jammed in the bottom of the emptied box. The part of you that preferred not knowing and defaulted to pigeonholing pain instead of dealing with it stuck it in there a month ago when the backlogged and grandfatherly private investigator working for literal beans of the brewed coffee variety and a weekly doughnut delivery as a personal favor to you got around to handing his findings over along with the kindly-intended counsel that he’d uncovered enough of the big picture to deem the case concluded, and it was up to you to decide whether it was worth hunting the guy down for a face-to-face to fill in the remainder of the damnable details.

Tucking the document into your outstretched hand – the fingers suffering from a nervy tremble no amount of suppressive will would quiet - he strongly cautioned against the latter pursuit of an in person meet up on the basis of having had decades of not so positive experience with quote unquote, “This same sort of dead beat dodging child support.”

Bolstering your resolve to learn the truth with a lungful of air, you slid a finger into the glue affixed gap of the envelope; the flap sliced your flesh as you tore into the paper. Soothing the slash against the warmth of your tongue, you slipped free the sheets within and rotated the cover page to scan the paragraph typed thereon – it comprised a summary of the steps the investigator took, contained a list of contacts in South Dakota and Kansas – potential current states of residence based on credit card activity - should you want to trail him further, and provided a social security number along with a name in bold uppercase print: JIMMY NOVAK.

A noose of nerves cinched tightly at your throat. The last thing you expected was an outright lie.

Steve … no, Jimmy, he carried a sadness in the slouch of his shoulders, a something secretive that distanced his gaze sometimes; he told you he lost everything - his family, his home - that he started over with nothing save the two feet he landed on to build a foundation. You believed him, respected his fortitude to move forward, and loved him enough not to push him to talk about a past obviously painful to him until he was ready.

You never dreamed what he meant to say was everything you knew of him, everything he shared, was a fabrication built not to move on from the truth, but to hide it from you.

The whoosh of your pulse pounded in your ears; vision tunneled, the panicked pump of racing blood blackened the periphery of the white sheet when you turned to the next page.

Written there was the fact Jimmy had another family; had a daughter – Claire. He left them, too. He hadn’t lost his family and home, he ran out on them just like he ran out on you.

“Mama?” Dainty fingers tapped at the damp shine of your cheek; she crept in so quietly you hadn’t heard the tip-toe tread of her bare feet on the carpet. “Mama?” she said it again, a broken whisper verging on a sob, and tangled her limbs around your neck.

You shoved the papers off your crossed legs and pulled the ball of her body into your embrace. “What’s wrong, baby bee?” Blinking to staunch the sting of your tears, your piqued emotion surrendered to a roused motherly alarm as you folded the mess of her sweat-matted hair to your bosom where she could hear the reassuring thump-thump housed within.

“I had a bad dream,” she murmured and fisted the fabric of your robe.

Me, too, you thought, and snuggled her in tighter.

Glancing at the discarded report amid the box’s other trinkets, your bleary gaze landed on a glossy polaroid photo of you and Steve snapped at a holiday party you goaded him into attending with you when your original plus one ditched you at the last minute so you wouldn’t have to face alone a roomful of tipsy marketing execs you loathed.

That night, that moment, his fingers flirting hesitatingly at your waist, touches giving in to the pull of gravity as the night wore on to graze then hug your hips as if they belonged there - had always been there - a confidant and comfort tenderly testing the territory of more - you naïvely yielding like pliant putty to his touch - that was the point of no return; through the retrospective filter of the truth it became clear he seemed too good to be true, because nothing about him was true.

Part of you wished you could reseal the envelope and the truth with it and return to the comparative bliss of not knowing. Mostly you seethed, an unprocessed anger relegated to the back-burner ignited, inflaming mind and muscle until your entire frame radiated a heat of rage.

The girl quaking in your grasp, bend of her spine shivering as you skimmed it in soothing caresses, reminded you some nightmares do evolve to have happy endings; no matter what happened, or what would happen, you had her and he couldn’t take that away from you.

Wiping her fear and tear flushed features into your pajamas, she gasped a desire that plunged daggers through your heart. “I want my daddy.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you spoke in a whisper to shush her whimpers and calm the heated tempest of your nerves.

She went limp wrapped in the safety of your words and arms; you’d do anything for her, including suffer pain and swallow your pride to dredge up a monster from the past. You only prayed he wouldn’t hurt her, too.

Castiel tag list: (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!) @jeepangel @sammiesamness @willowing-love @blueicevalkyrie @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @thesugargalaxy @bluetina-blog @dont-trust-humanity @honeybeetrash @bucky-thorin-winchester @superwholockz @tistai @wordstothewisereaders @gill-ons @mrswhozeewhatsis @marisayouass @stone-met @castiel-savvy18 @samualmortgrim @trexrambling @magnificent-mantle @xdifsx @mandilion76 @rockfairy @peaceloveancolor @unicorntrooper @anisolatedship @itsilvermorny @aditimukul @kudosia @goofynerd-67babylove @uninspirationalsonglyrics @gray-avidan @mishascupcake @mishapanicmeow @praisecastielamen @roseyhxnt @jessikared97 @let-the-imaginationflow @warriorqueen1991 @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @hisnameisboobear @kristendanwayne @fuschiarulerinthebluebox @coolpencilpie @jenabean75 @luciathewinchestergirl @morganas-pendragons @heyitscam99 @fangirl-and-stuff @selahbela @realgreglestrade @splendidcas @pointlesscasey @i-larb-spooderman @thewhiterabbit42 @thelostverse @castieliswatchingoverme @beccollie18 @dragonett8 @dixie-chick @jtownraindancer @carowinsthings @passionghost @ladyofletters67 @futureparent @gabbie7-11 @myfandomlife-blog @dreamerkim @samael-has-arrived @shamelesslydean @earthtokace @neaeri @justanormalangel @lone-loba @supernaturalymarvel @lilrubixx @wings-and-halo @lilulo-12 @x-cassiopeia @thehoneybeecastielfollows @musiclovinchic93 @81mysteriouslyme @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jaylarkson @missjenniferb @ayamenimthiriel @supervengerslock @jessiekay2010

#castiel x reader #dadstiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel #castielxreader #dadstiel #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #castiel fanfic #spn x reader #cricket writes cas

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

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Pluralistic: 13 Mar 2020 (The third Little Brother book, Where I write, stream global news, AT&T's CEO gets millions for his failures, Chelsea Manning freed, Katie Porter vs CDC, Trump's scientific nihilism, Covid-malware co-evolution, Siennese solidarity)

Today's links

Announcing the third Little Brother book, Attack Surface: And a new Little Brother/Homeland reissue, with an intro by Ed Snowden!

Where I Write: A column for the CBC that's really about how I write.

Stream 200+ global news channels: Each hand-picked, no registration required.

AT&T's CEO fired 23,000 workers and gave himself a 10% raise: Life on the easiest setting.

Chelsea Manning is free: But she's been fined $256K for refusing to testify to the Grand Jury.

Rep Katie Porter forces CDC boss to commit to free testing: Literally the most effective questioner in Congress.

Trump's unfitness in a plague: It's not because he's an ignoramus, it's because he's a nihilist.

Malware that hides behind a realtime Covid-19 map: Peter Watts' prophecy comes true.

Locked-down Siennese sing their city's hymn: A cause for hope in the dark.

This day in history: 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Announcing the third Little Brother book, Attack Surface (permalink)

Attack Surface is the third Little Brother book, coming out next October.

It's told from the point of view of Masha, the young woman who is Marcus Yallow's frenemy who works first for the DHS and then for a private spook outfit. It's a book about how good people talk themselves into doing bad things, and how they redeem themselves. It ranges from Iraq to the color revolutions of the former USSR, to Oakland and the Movement for Black Lives.

The story turns on cutting-edge surveillance and counter-surveillance: self-driving cars, over-the-air baseband radio malware, IMSI catchers, CV dazzle and adversarial examples, binary transparency and warrant canaries.

This week, I did a wide-ranging and deep interview with Andrew Liptak for Polygon about the book, the Little Brother series, the techlash, the tech workers' uprising (and #TechWontBuildIt), and the future of technological self-determination.

We also revealed the cover for Attack Surface, which was designed by the incomparable Will Staehle (who is eligible for a Best Artist Hugo – nominations close today!).

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

Not only that, but Staehle has also designed a cover for a new omnibus edition of Little Brother and Homeland that comes out this July, and as you can see from that cover, the book has an all-new introduction by none other than Ed Snowden!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

(In 2017, Staehle also designed all-new covers for my adult backlist)

https://www.tor.com/2017/10/18/cory-doctorow-will-staehle-covers/

The Little Brother books are neither optimistic nor pessimistic about technology: instead, they are hopeful. Hope is the belief that you can materially improve your life if you take action. A belief in human agency and the power of self-determination.

The message of Little Brother is neither "Things will all be fine" nor "We are all doomed."

It's: "This will be so great…if we don't screw it up."

Where I Write (permalink)

I learned to be a writer while my life was in total chaos. Decades later, I have a beautiful office to work in, but I still do my best writing typing hurriedly on subway trains, in taxi-cabs, and airport lounges.

https://www.cbc.ca/arts/finding-comfort-in-the-chaos-how-cory-doctorow-learned-to-write-from-literally-anywhere-1.5489363

My CBC column on where I write is really a primer on how I write: what it takes to be able to write when you're sad, or anxious, or wracked with self-doubt.

Unquestionably the most important skill I've acquired as a writer.

"Even though there were days when the writing felt unbearably awful, and some when it felt like I was mainlining some kind of powdered genius and sweating it out through my fingertips, there was no relation between the way I felt about the words I was writing and their objective quality, assessed in the cold light of day at a safe distance from the day I wrote them. The biggest predictor of how I felt about my writing was how I felt about me. If I was stressed, underslept, insecure, sad, hungry or hungover, my writing felt terrible. If I was brimming over with joy, the writing felt brilliant."

Stream 200+ global news channels (permalink)

TV News is an Android app that pulls like Youtube streams from 200+ global news channels in 50 languages, each manually selected by the app's creator, Steven Clift, whose work I've previously admired.

http://tvnewsapp.com/

You can filter the feeds by country and language and watch them as floating windows that let you continue to use your device while you watch. No registration required, either.

They're shooting for 1000+ channels soon.

AT&T's CEO fired 23,000 workers and gave himself a 10% raise (permalink)

Randall Stephenson is CEO of AT&T. Ajit Pai killed Net Neutrality so that Stephenson could legally slow down the services we requested to extort bribes from us. Then, Trump gave his company a $20B tax cut.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/nepxeg/atandt-preps-for-new-layoffs-despite-billions-in-tax-breaks-and-regulatory-favors

Stephenson used that money to raise exec pay, buy back his company's stock to juice its price and to pay off debts from earlier, disastrous mergers. He cut 23,000 jobs and slashed capital spending (America has the worst broadband of any rich country).

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2019/05/att-promised-7000-new-jobs-to-get-tax-break-it-cut-23000-jobs-instead/

After all that, Stephenson congratulated himself on a job well done by giving himself a 10% raise in 2019, bringing his total compensation up to 32 million dollars.

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2020/03/att-ceo-pay-rose-to-32-million-in-2019-while-he-cut-20000-jobs/

I mean the guy earned it. He blew billions of dollars buying Warner and Directv, and then lost billions more on the failed aftermath. If that doesn't warrant a raise, what does?

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/10/att-loses-another-1-3-million-tv-customers-as-directv-freefall-continues/

Chelsea Manning is free (permalink)

A judge has ordered that Chelsea Manning be released from jail, a day after her latest suicide attempt. She was jailed last March for refusing to testify before a grand jury, held in solitary for two months, then jailed again a few days later, in May, She's been inside ever since.

The judge ordered her release because the Grand Jury had finished its work.

https://www.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.vaed.412520/gov.uscourts.vaed.412520.41.0.pdf

It's fantastic to that Manning got her freedom back, but she has been fined $256,000 for her noncompliance. I just donated to her fund:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-chelsea-pay-her-court-fines

(Image: Tim Travers Hawkins, CC BY-SA)

Rep Katie Porter forces CDC boss to commit to free testing (permalink)

I am a huge fan of Rep Katie Porter. Her outstanding questioning techniques and unwillingness to countenance bullshit from the people she questions are such a delight to watch.

Here she is demolishing billionaire finance criminal Jamie Dimon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WLuuCM6Ej0

Oh, Ben Carson, you never stood a chance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVWy3q2kmNM

Steve Mnuchin always looks like a colossal asshole, but rarely this comprehensively:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78zpa0hQ1aw

I almost feel sorry for this Trumpkin from the Consumer Finance Protection Board as she faces Porter's withering fire.

Almost.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBaCc5VUHS8

Porter – an Elizabeth Warren protege – doesn't do this to grandstand. Like AOC, she uses her spectacular skills to elicit admissions and get them on the record, and to hold Congressional witnesses to account.

Today, Porter attained a new peak in a short, illustrious career. That's because today was the day she questioned CDC assistant secretary for preparedness and response Robert Kadlec, asking him to clarify Trump's televised lie last night that insurers would pay for Covid-19 testing.

https://twitter.com/RepKatiePorter/status/1238147835859779584

Porter doggedly held Kadlec to account, forcing him to acknowledge that the cost of a Covid-19 test – $1,331 – was so high that many would forego it, and then to admit that these Americans could go on to transmit the disease to others, making it a matter of public concern.

Then she forced CDC Director Robert Redfield to admit – as she had informed him in writing the week before – that the CDC had the authority to simply pay those fees, universally, for any American seeking testing, under 42 CFR 71.30:

https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/CFR-2019-title42-vol1/xml/CFR-2019-title42-vol1-part71.xml#seqnum71.30

Having laid this factual record, Porter insisted that Redfield commit to using that authority. Not to consider it, study it, or consult on it. To use it to help save the country. Whenever Redfield waffled, she reclaimed her time and forced him back on point.

KP: Dr. Redfield, will you commit to the CDC, right now, using that existing authority to pay for diagnostic testing, free to every American, regardless of insurance?

RR: Well, I can say that we're going to do everything to make sure everybody can get the care they need –"

KP: Nope, not good enough. Yes or no?

RR: What I'm going to say is, I'm going to review it in detail with CDC and the department —

KP: No, reclaiming my time [repeats the question]

RR: What I was trying to say is that CDC is working with HHS now to see how we operationalize that

KP: Dr. Redfield, I hope that that answer weighs heavily on you, because it is going to weigh very heavily on me and on every American family

RR: Our intent is to make sure that every American family gets the care and treatment they need at this time in this major epidemic and I am currently working with HHS to see how to best operationalize it.

KP: Excellent! Everybody in America hear that — you are eligible to go get tested for coronavirus and have that covered, regardless of insurance

[Curtain]

Trump's unfitness in a plague (permalink)

In this editorial, Science editor-in-chief H Holden Thorp makes a compelling case that Trump is not capable of leading the American response to Covid-19.

https://science.sciencemag.org/content/367/6483/1169

Trump has spent years denigrating and ignoring science before taking office, and it's only gotten worse, since.

As Thorp writes, "You can't insult science when you don't like it and then suddenly insist on something that science can't give on demand."

His policy track-record is even worse: "deep cuts to science, including cuts to funding for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the NIH…nearly 4 years of harming and ignoring science."

This reminds me of an argument I often have with digital rights activists who attribute bad technology policy to the inability of clueless lawmakers to understand the technical nuance. I think that's wrong. The fact that we're not all dead of cholera, even though there are no microbiologists in Congress proves that you don't need to be a domain expert to make good policy.

Good policy comes from truth-seeking exercises in which experts with different views present their best evidence to neutral adjudicators who make determinations in public, showing their work in explicit, written, public reasoning. These processes are made legitimate – and hence robust and reliable – by procedural rules. The adjudicators – regulators, staffers, etc – are not allowed to have conflicts of interest. Their conclusions are subject to the rule of law, with mandatory transparency and a process for appeal.

It has to be this way: there's no way that – say – a president could be an expert on all the different issues that might arise during their tenure.

This, then, is the problem with inequality and market concentration: it merges the referees with the players. When an industry only has a handful of players, they all end up with common lobbying positions – a common position on what is truth. That's because the C-suites of these five companies are filled with people who've worked at two, three or four of the competitors, and are married to others who've worked at the remainder. They're godparents to one anothers' kids, executors of each others' wills.

There's no way for there NOT to be collusion in these circumstances.

And when an industry is that concentrated, the only people who understand it well enough are those same execs, so inevitably the regulators are drawn from the industry.

That's why Obama's "good" FCC Chair, Tom Wheeler, was a former Comcast lobbyist, and why Ajit Pai, Trump's "bad" FCC chair, is a former Verizon lawyer. Apart from Susan Crawford, there's not really anyone who's not from the top ranks of Big Telco qualified to regulate them.

So many of us saw the photo of Trump meeting with all the tech leaders and were dismayed that they were throwing their lot in with him.

But we should also be aghast that all the leaders of the industry fit around one modest board-room table.

https://techcrunch.com/2016/12/14/donald-trump-meets-with-tech-leaders/

The problem with Trump's Covid-19 response is that he does not believe in a legitimate process with neutral referees. The refereeship, in trumpland, is an open-field auction, a transactional process that works best when it enriches Trump and his party.

The problem of Trump taking charge of the epidemiological crisis of Covid-19 isn't that he doesn't understand science: it's that he doesn't believe in evidence-based policy.

He is part of the cult of "Public Choice Theory," the belief that there is no one who can serve as referee without eventually colluding with the players for their mutual enrichment, a cynical, nihilistic philosophy that holds that there's no point in seeking to govern well. These people project their own moral vacuum onto all of humanity, a kind of cartoon Homo Economicus who is incapable of anything except maximizing personal utility.

For these people, the existence of bridges that don't fall down and water that doesn't give you cholera are lucky accidents, not results of sound policy and careful truth-seeking. They reason that since they would take bribes to poison the water of Flint, so would everyone.

Trump isn't just a non-expert, he's an ignoranamus, but that's not the problem. The problem is that he is a nihilist, someone who doesn't believe that truth-seeking is even possible.

Malware that hides behind a realtime Covid-19 map (permalink)

Hackers have developed a malware-as-a-service that packages up realtime Covid-19 maps with malware droppers that infect people who load them.

https://krebsonsecurity.com/2020/03/live-coronavirus-map-used-to-spread-malware/

This reminds me intensely of Peter Watts's 2002 novel Maelstrom, in which Watts uses his background as an evolutionary biologist to posit an eerily plausible and devilishly clever way that a digital and a human virus could co-evolve.

https://rifters.com/real/MAELSTROM.htm

This has stuck with me! In May 2018, I wrote about it in Locus Magazine:

http://locusmag.com/2018/05/cory-doctorow-the-engagement-maximization-presidency/

Maelstrom is concerned with a pandemic that is started by its protagonist, Lenie Clark, who returns from a deep ocean rift bearing an ancient, devastating pathogen that burns its way through the human race, felling people by the millions.

As Clark walks across the world on a mission of her own, her presence in a message or news story becomes a signal of the utmost urgency. The filters are firewalls that give priority to some packets and suppress others as potentially malicious are programmed to give highest priority to any news that might pertain to Lenie Clark, as the authorities try to stop her from bringing death wherever she goes.

Here's where Watt's evolutionary biology shines: he posits a piece of self-modifying malicious software – something that really exists in the world today – that automatically generates variations on its tactics to find computers to run on and reproduce itself. The more computers it colonizes, the more strategies it can try and the more computational power it can devote to analyzing these experiments and directing its randomwalk through the space of all possible messages to find the strategies that penetrate more firewalls and give it more computational power to devote to its task.

Through the kind of blind evolution that produces predator-fooling false eyes on the tails of tropical fish, the virus begins to pretend that it is Lenie Clark, sending messages of increasing convincingness as it learns to impersonate patient zero. The better it gets at this, the more welcoming it finds the firewalls and the more computers it infects.

At the same time, the actual pathogen that Lenie Clark brought up from the deeps is finding more and more hospitable hosts to reproduce in: thanks to the computer virus, which is directing public health authorities to take countermeasures in all the wrong places. The more effective the computer virus is at neutralizing public health authorities, the more the biological virus spreads. The more the biological virus spreads, the more anxious the public health authorities become for news of its progress, and the more computers there are trying to suck in any intelligence that seems to emanate from Lenie Clark, supercharging the computer virus.

Together, this computer virus and biological virus co-evolve, symbiotes who cooperate without ever intending to, like the predator that kills the prey that feeds the scavenging pathogen that weakens other prey to make it easier for predators to catch them.

Locked-down Siennese sing their city's hymn (permalink)

In times of crisis, we typically pull together, but elite panic's pervasive mythology holds that these moments are when the poors reveal their inner beast and attack their social betters. That libel on humanity is disproved regularly by our everyday experience. As common as these incidents of solidarity are, they still warrant our notice.

The Song of the Verbena is the hymn of the Italian city of Sienna, currently on lockdown.

https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canto_della_Verbena

This video of Siennese people singing their hymn from the windows of their houses, into their empty street, is one of the most beautiful, hopeful things I've seen this week.

Truly, it is a tonic.

https://twitter.com/valemercurii/status/1238234518508777473

This day in history (permalink)

#5yrsago NYPD caught wikiwashing Wikipedia entries on police brutality https://web.archive.org/web/20150313150951/http://www.capitalnewyork.com/article/city-hall/2015/03/8563947/edits-wikipedia-pages-bell-garner-diallo-traced-1-police-plaza

#1yrago Gimlet staff announce unionization plan following Spotify acquisition https://www.theverge.com/2019/3/13/18263957/gimlet-media-union-spotify-recognition-podcasts

#1yrago With days to go until the #CopyrightDirective vote, #Article13's father admits it requires filters and says he's OK with killing Youtube https://www.golem.de/news/uploadfilter-voss-stellt-existenz-von-youtube-infrage-1903-139992.html

#1yrago Spotify's antitrust complaint against Apple is a neat parable about Big Tech's monopoly https://www.wired.com/story/spotify-apple-complaint-warren-antitrust-issue/

#1yrago A critical flaw in Switzerland's e-voting system is a microcosm of everything wrong with e-voting, security practice, and auditing firms https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/zmakk3/researchers-find-critical-backdoor-in-swiss-online-voting-system

#1yrago McMansion Hell tours the homes of the "meritocratic" one-percenters who allegedly bought their thickwitted kids' way into top universities in the college admissions scandal https://mcmansionhell.com/post/183417051691/in-honor-of-the-college-admissions-scandal

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Empty Wheel (https://www.emptywheel.net/), CNN (https://cnn.com), Memex 1.1 (https://memex.naughtons.org/), Slashdot (https://slashdot.org).

Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Currently writing: I've just finished rewrites on a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I've also just completed "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel next.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

#pluralistic

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theroadtoindigo-go · 5 years

Text

Undesirable Truth, Part 5

I woke with a gasp and sat straight up, cold sweat beaded on my brow and my eyes wide. I looked around the room in a frenzy. I was in Sonic’s home. The rain had stopped, moonlight was softly pouring in from the window and I could hear the ocean waves crashing in the distance. That dream… It wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. That was the night I was kidnapped.

That was the night that I lost all my memories and who I was to a monster. As I started to remember it more clearly, my eyes filled with tears. I had wanted to be rescued so much and no help came for me. I remembered how much I screamed for help, as loud as my lungs would let me. Yet no one answered. My heart broke on that terrible night and now it was breaking again. I had counted on Sonic to rescue me and he hadn’t. Now I was a lost soul, so far away from everything I knew, crying in the middle of the night. Alone. Why? Why wasn’t I saved? Was I somehow not worthy of it? Did I do something wrong that warranted my struggle to be ignored? Was this somehow my fault? Did no one care at all? Was I just some nobody that no one noticed was gone all this time? No one cared if I was lost forever?

With the sound of each crashing wave, another sob escaped. It felt like the whole world was against me. All those years I was abandoned to servitude. And I would have easily still been there if I hadn’t acted for myself. How much longer would I have been there if Sonic was never captured? My whole life? The very thought made my stomach churn. As I drew up my knees and buried my face in them, I tried to keep my cries as quiet as possible. I knew that this was something I had to keep to myself, everything that led me here was my unanswered cry for help. The logical part of me knew that it wasn’t Sonic’s fault for not knowing, but my heart was broken all the same.

The morning after, I woke up very late. Sonic had already gone on his way to buy groceries since the fridge was apparently empty aside from the foods that only Tails liked. It was just as well; I didn’t feel like I could face Sonic after last night.

“Good morning!” Tails greeted.

He was as cheerful as ever but I just wasn’t feeling up to matching his liveliness. He tried to ask me what was wrong but I gave him a vague answer. I needed some time away from people to get a grip on myself. I told Tails I was going to go explore the beach and started walking out there. I didn’t really want to be on the beach, but where would I go? Since I was alone, I could go anywhere, but at the same time the wide-open spaces that the world presented were seemingly void if not dangerous. Even though I escaped Eggman’s clutches, it didn’t feel like my life was any less hollow. Nor did I feel free. This life felt the same except instead of being trapped by taking orders, I was now trapped by fear. How could I make something of my life if it was so infringed? My mind went back to what I was crying over last night.

I was never saved. The very thought brought tears back into my eyes. Why wasn’t I worth saving? Why did I have to suffer under the old man’s boot for so long in order to finally escape out of my own means? Was I really so unremarkable that my plight wasn’t even noticed? These questions spiraled in my mind like flakes of ashes in a bowl of water. Every time a question circled back it was answered with the same response. It was because I wasn’t good enough to be saved. I wasn’t loved enough, I wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t valuable enough. I wasn’t enough! And no one cared about me!

As I stood in the sand, facing the wind, trying not to cry, I heard Amy call for me. I hurriedly dried my eyes and cleared my throat to hide that my demons got the better of me as she approached. I didn’t do a good job.

“Are you alright?” She asked. She knew I had been crying.

I looked away and sniffled.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

It almost sounded like she was scolding me, how old did she think I was? …Actually, how old was I? I knew it was around my twenties or so but that’s all I was told. I really wished I had read that file from the lab, perhaps my age was written in there.

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me I can’t help you.” She sighed, “That’s too bad too, I was hoping we could spend some time together…”

“What kind of time?” I asked.

“I wanted to go shopping for a party dress but it’s no fun by myself.”

“Shopping again? We did that two days ago already.”

“But you have to get ready for the party too~!”

“Don’t go wasting your money on me… I won’t be going to any parties anyway.”

Amy shook her head; she was adamant about this.

“I know something’s bothering you, so why don’t you tell me?”

I hesitated to say anything but I answered,

“It’s personal, I really don’t wanna get into it.”

She pouted a little.

“Well, at least come along. Even if you don’t want anything, we can have some fun together.”

I knew she was going to try asking me about my problem later but her offer was tempting. I agreed to go.

Now that I knew what to expect, going to the shops were less overwhelming and much more fun. It was nice seeing the shops this time around, there wasn’t the debilitating pressure to just pick something, so I was free to enjoy the things I saw without the commitment of buying or trying anything on. I got to feel new fabrics without having to be interested in wearing them. The world wasn’t so void and scary after all.

Amy pulled me along to a shop that primarily sold party dresses, it made every effort to make its appearance sophisticated and trendy. There were a lot of muted colors with pops of bright colors in a few corners, I suppose in an effort to make each primary color stand out more. I was more than happy to wait while Amy shopped around in here but, the moment she turned her head to look at me I realized that we were not here for her.

“Oh no!” I protested, “You’ve already done so much for me! I can’t take advantage of you again like this!”

“But you have to like something in here, right? The town is having a spring festival and there’s a dance that you’ll need to dress up for!”

“But I don’t-!”

“We’d all really like you to be there. You’ll love it, trust me!”

They all wanted me to be part of this? I was… wanted. How could I refuse?

Oddly enough, looking at all the dresses did put my mind at ease a bit. It at least gave my mind something else to focus on other than the events of last night.

“Hey Amy… How did you and Sonic meet?”

“Hm? Oh, it was a long time ago, he saved me from Metal Sonic when we were just kids. I guess you could say it was love at first sight.” She said with a wistful smile.

Oh, I thought, she was one of the lucky ones.

“…How did he know to save you?”

She blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you didn’t know each other. So how did he know you were in trouble?”

“Actually, we sort of knew each other… I used to follow him around before then. It was a silly crush thing.” She seemed uncomfortable admitting this so I thought it was best to drop the subject.

I picked up an outfit that I thought would work out for the time being, it was a tight gray dress with a black ribbon around the waist. If I was going to be the kind of person that blends into a crowd I might as well commit to it.

After trying it on and convincing Amy that it was actually a viable option despite the color, we started on our way home. My mood had greatly improved but there was still the lingering doubt.

“I’m glad we found something for you. But one of these days you’re going to have to pick something with color!” Amy teased as we were walking back, but she was still concerned. “Are you finally going to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

“I… It’s nothing.”

“You wouldn’t be this upset for nothing. I haven’t known you for too long but I can tell it’s been on your mind all day.”

“…I just need some time to think about it.”

“All day wasn’t enough for you?”

“I just-! last night… It was just a nightmare, that’s all.”

“Nightmares aren’t nothing. If it’s been bothering you this much then maybe you’ll feel better if you just talked about it?”

“Well, it…”

I couldn’t finish.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me… Maybe when you’re ready we can talk about it, okay?”

“No, you’re right, I think I do need to talk about it. But it’s just hard!” My voice wavered at the end.

“Hey…” She placed her hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, “It’s okay. I know you’ve been through a lot, so I can help you. Okay?”

I ended up telling her about my nightmare and how it was about my kidnapping. The whole thing that started this mess. I told her about being taken from my home in the middle of the night, and being held prisoner but I skipped over that part about my hope for rescue and the experimentation I endured. She knew immediately what I needed to do.

“You need to tell Sonic about this.”

“Why?”

“He was the one that saved you, right? He- “

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“He didn’t save me, I saved myself…”

“Hmmmm, I’m sensing some bitterness here. You sure you’ve told me everything?”

I reserved my right to remain silent.

When we reached the house, Sonic and Tails were there waiting for me. I wasn’t sure how to greet Sonic.

“Hey! Long time, no see!” He said with a bright smile.

I smiled back, but my emotional distress blunted my greeting.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

Amy was quick to let him know I wasn’t feeling like myself lately (as if I knew what being myself felt like).

“Oh,” Sonic replied, “well I think I know a quick way to cheer you up! How about another adventure?”

I shook my head.

“Hm, that serious, huh?” He asked.

Amy took Sonic aside and they had a small whispering match. No doubt it was about my nightmare. Afterwards, Sonic sheepishly walked back over and asked,

“Do you have a minute? Maybe we should talk.”

We sat together outside on the porch in silence, neither one of us wanted to start. As my mind started thinking for a place to begin, it dug up the old memories of my kidnapping and my heartbreak. He finally broke the silence.

“Amy told me you had a nightmare last night… It was about your kidnapping?”

A wave of grief washed over my heart. I wanted to hide it was much as I could but there wasn’t much I could hide at this point. I knew holding it in was only going to make me hurt more. I told him everything I remembered about my kidnapping. My voice held strong against the tears until I reached the part about the experiment and I couldn’t continue. Before I could stop it, another bout of sorrow surged up from my heart and pushed its way up to the surface. As my face twisted in grief and I hung my head. Sonic put his hand on my shoulder and I turned away to hide my face with my free arm as my held back tears flowed out. I couldn’t stop. All my fears were coming back, I would be alone again just like I was in that lab. Just like I was on that night. I held my face in my hands.

“I know you were counting on me to save you… And I’m sorry I couldn’t.” He admitted. “But you became your own hero, and you saved me in the process. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t remember who you were because your freedom was with you the whole time. You were always free. You just needed to remember that.”

“But no one came for me! No one cared!”

“Sometimes we have to make the first move before someone can help us. I’m sure someone cared about you back then, just like we care about you! Even when you’re all alone, you still have everyone who ever cared for you in your heart. You carry them with you.”

“But what if we had never met? I’d still be there! I would have never learned the truth!”

“I don’t think so. When I met you, I knew you were someone who had her own way of doing things. You were able to find out the truth without my help, all I did was speed things along. That’s all.”

I was able to finally start drying my tears, he was making a lot of sense. He reached back into the quills on his back and handed me the file I had taken from the lab.

“Here. You almost left this behind but I picked it up before we left so you could have it. I’m not sure if you’ve read any of it yet. But I think it might help.”

“Thanks, Sonic… I’m sorry I was so worked up.”

“No worries, I know this is hard for you.”

I opened the file and started to read. Much of what was written were things I had remembered in the nightmare and the life I was living while in the base. There was nothing about my name written anywhere but the latest entry that was dated a week ago listed how old I was. Twenty-five.

“Looks like I turned Twenty-five last week.” I stated.

“Congratulations! We should celebrate!”

We did in fact celebrate. The whole time Amy had me out shopping, Sonic and Tails were planning a party for me. Something about a naming ceremony. Tails was eager to explain.

“Our culture has a ceremony where kids get to pick their names for the rest of their lives. We usually have it around 15 but you’re a special case. It’s kinda like a birthday but a lot better!”

“Tails had his last year!” Sonic beamed proudly.

“Why hold this ceremony for me?” I asked.

“It didn’t seem fair that Eggman stuck you with ‘Cat’ as a name so we thought you might appreciate the chance to change that.” Sonic replied.

I couldn’t stop the grateful smile spreading across my face, “Okay! How does it work?”

Tails explained further.

“Well, first we start by throwing off our old given name by lighting a candle with our old name carved into it and letting the whole thing burn away. While the candle burns, we announce our new name to our friends and family and they are supposed to discuss it.”

“Discuss it?”

“Yeah, they’re supposed to talk to each other to see if the name fits the person. For me it was easy cuz I was already using my adult name anyway. I can thank Sonic for that.” Tails looked to Sonic with a smile.

“What can I say,” Sonic replied, “I’m good at handing out names.”

“Not for me!” I retorted. “Thanks to you Knuckles won’t call me anything but Tiny!”

Sonic chuckled and shrugged, “Hey, if the name fits…”

“Don’t!” I warned then looked to Tails with urgency, “Can I leave him out of my ceremony?”

Unfortunately, I was not able to leave Sonic out of the ceremony since he helped plan it. I didn’t expect so many people to be here for the party but Sonic had invited all of his friends to come and help me pick my new name. As we were all gathered in his small living room, they had me light the candle with my old name carved into it and start and naming process. To be honest, I had never really thought of an alternative name for myself.

“How about Tempest?” I suggested, with all the anguish and upset feelings I had had storming inside me that day. I thought the name was appropriate.

Everyone in the room collectively grumbled.

“I know three Tempests already, Hon. You need something more unique.” Rouge replied.

“Oh?��

“Yeah, Tempest is a pretty common name.” Amy explained.

“Every new kid on the block wants to call themself Tempest.” Vector added.

“Hm…” I thought a little more.

“I still like ‘Tiny’!” Sonic teased.

“I second that!” Knuckles snickered.

“Don’t! Don’t you start!” I snapped.

The room reverberated with a chuckle. The candle was still burning on. Tails warned me before the ceremony that a new name was supposed to be chosen before the candle reached its end. I was starting to get nervous.

“Let’s try something that fits your personality.” Amy suggested.

I gulped, no one here really knew me and the last thing I wanted was an examination of my personality. In fact, I was already hot under the collar from being the center of attention for so long. I wanted this over with quickly.

“In that case,” Knuckles piped up, “we should call her Loud Mouth.”

“That’s more a name for you!” I sniped back.

There were snickers floating around the room as Knuckles grimaced and looked away red faced.

“I kinda like where Knuckles is going there. You are pretty sassy.” Sonic commented.

I gave him a questioning look. Did I need to challenge him too?

“She does seem to have a fire-cracker spirit.” Espio commented.

“Okay, does Fire-cracker sound like a good name?” Tails asked.

I shook my head.

“No, something smaller than that.” Sonic said with a smirk.

I sent him a glare.

“Spit-fire?” Charmy suggested.

“I don’t want spit in my name!” I replied, “That’s gross!”

“Hm, Cherry bomb…?” someone muttered under their breath.

“Yeah! Cherry Bomb!” Amy exclaimed. “It’s cute and it sounds sassy!”

Everyone seemed to like the name, including myself.

The room was humming with everyone talking, as I thought about the possibility of being called Cherry Bomb for the rest of my life, I wasn’t so sure about it yet.

“Hold on!” Knuckles protested, “I don’t think that name fits her at all!”

“And why is that??” I retorted.

“Because!” Knuckles crossed his arms and grumped, “You have to actually do something to earn a name like that. I got my name from my fighting skills. Sonic got his name from his speed. Where is yours coming from?”

I was at a loss for words and it hurt. Sonic stood up in my defense.

“Actually, she’s done a lot to earn that name.” He said, “When we were still in that base as prisoners, she always had me beat when it came to snarky one-liners. And let’s not forget how often she’s clapped back at you.”

Knuckles glared Sonic down.

“Should I tell everyone about the door incident?”

Amy snickered. She remembered.

Knuckles grumbled and sat back down; he would relent for now it seemed. Sonic looked back toward me.

“Congratulations, Cherry Bomb!”

The candle on my old life burned itself out as the party went on. I got to spend more time with Sonic’s friends and knew with more certainty who I was.

The next day, I woke up with the weight of all my previous troubles gone. The sun wasn’t shinning, it was actually really overcast, but that didn’t stop my good mood. I hopped out of bed to go out into the world and make a difference for myself, I went outside to catch a sweet ocean breeze until I heard Tails scream.

“Look out!”

Before I could react, Metal Sonic zoomed in and caught me around the waist. It was enough to force the air out of my lungs. Sonic was quick to pursue as Metal carried me away, back toward what I could only assume was Eggman’s base.

“N-no! NO! Don’t! Don’t let him take me!” I cried in a panic.

I worked so hard to get myself free physically and mentally, to regress now would be the end. I reached out for Sonic who was right behind and closing in. He could almost reach me until Metal threw me forward and turned to deliver a blow to Sonic’s gut using all the momentum that his opponent had built up behind him to do the damage. Sonic was down. I was petrified, I knew running was useless, all I could do was watch in terror was Metal made his way toward me to snatch me up again.

I had nearly resigned to return to my old life until Knuckles swooped in from nowhere and punched the side of Metal’s face. He knocked him down to the ground a few feet back just in time for Sonic to recover. In a matter of seconds, they were both beating Metal to bits. Knuckles’ fist connected with Metal Sonic’s core and that was the end of it. I was safe.

Knuckles dusted off his hands and gave me a snide look.

“Well, that takes care of that. I guess you’re not so much a Cherry Bomb after all.”

“Will you shut up?! How would you like it if something like that came after you?”

He scoffed and flexed his arms, “I could handle it.”

“Oh, sure. You and your last three brain cells.”

“Hey! I saved your life! You should be grateful!”

We glared daggers at each other.

“You honeymooners ready to go back inside or what? I’ve got an icepack with my name on it and I’m not gonna keep it waiting.” Sonic held his injured stomach with discomfort.

Knuckles grumbled something to himself and started on his way back to the house. I was about to follow but I took one last look back.

As Metal Sonic lay in pieces on the ground, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Metal was my first friend after losing my memory. But after Sonic arrived, he was pushed to the sidelines because he couldn’t quite compete as far as actual social interaction went. Even so, it was because of Metal that I grew familiar with Sonic, they both shared a lot of mannerisms and that helped me feel more at ease around Sonic because I understood him before I even knew him. And even though Metal was a machine sent here to kill me or at the very least take me back to Eggman, I couldn’t help but feel a fondness as one would in finding an old childhood toy. Metal deserved a second chance just like I did. Maybe he needed someone to remind him that he was already free like I did?

“Guys…”

They turned and looked my way.

“What if I fixed him?”

“Are you crazy??” Knuckles exclaimed, “We just saved you from that thing and now you want to fix it?”

“Hear me out! I think I can make him good or at least be on our side!”

“No way, Tiny! You’re playing with fire!” He picked me up and started to carry me under his arm like I was a sack of potatoes. No matter how much I squirmed and shouted he wouldn’t let go as he started walking back to the house.

Later that afternoon, I snuck back to where we had left Metal and I picked up all the pieces I could find and brought it into Tails’ workshop. He was more open to discuss the idea of fixing Metal and turning him into a good boy.

“Are you sure this is something that can actually be done?” Tails asked as he inspected some of the pieces that I had brought back.

“I think so. When I taught him how to play hide and seek, I wasn’t actually teaching but programing it into him. If we’re patient enough, I think the two of us can rewrite some of his coding.”

“Isn’t that kinda like brainwashing though…?”

I stared at Tails and blinked.

“…Tails… Sweetie… Sass-bucket… He’s a machine. He don’t got no brain to wash!”

Tails pouted at me a bit then pondered the possibilities, “I guess we could try it…”

A week later, after we had been working on our project in secret, Sonic entered the workshop by himself without any forewarning and was dumbfounded to find both Tails and I working late into the night trying to place Metal Sonic’s head on a mannequin that we had found discarded. We all paused in stunned silence for a few moments while Sonic blinked a few times. Perhaps in an effort to make sure his eyes were working properly.

“Guys…” He questioned, “Why is there an oddly familiar scarecrow in our workshop?”

Tails was slowly losing his nerve. But I was determined.

“We’re making Metal Sonic a good guy.” I replied.

“Okay…” Sonic subtly nodded and scratched his chin. “And uh… why? Are you doing this?”

“Cuz… we can?”

“Fair enough…” He turned around and walked right back out of the workshop.

Tails and I looked at each other for a second to make sure that really did happen. Afterwards we went right back to working away, we almost got Metal’s head to stick on when Sonic zoomed right back in.

“Wait a minute!”

This startled Tails and he lost his grip on Metal’s head causing it to fall with a loud CLANK.

“Just what do you guys think you’re doing??”

I saw Metal’s eyes flicker on for a second.

“SH!”

“Don’t shush-!”

“SSSSSHSHSHHSHSH!! He’s awake!” I whispered.

Metal blinked, only one of his eyes rolling around, blindly looking around the room. He pinged out P0-L0 as he continued to look. We were all dead silent. I looked over at the pieces of his body left scattered on the worktable. They didn’t move.

“P0-L0” He chimed again until his eyes flickered out and we could all breathe in peace.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of!” Sonic commented. “You sure this is really a good idea?”

“It should be fine!” I reassured, “Tails and I looked into all his parts and found that his optics don’t work so he couldn’t really see us.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about! You’re trying to piece together a killing machine!” He pulled me aside and murmured, “I know you’re kind of attached to him, but Metal’s dangerous.”

“I know that… But we’re only going one piece at a time. We’ll try to get his head right first. Then it’ll work! He deserves a second chance too.”

Sonic looked at Metal and sighed.

“Alright, just don’t go overboard and let him loose. Okay?”

I agreed and Sonic went to bed after grumbling something about how he was too tired for this.

Tails and I worked long hours into the night, reprogramming Metal and getting small pieces to work and respond. By the time we finally went to sleep it was in the early hours of the morning. I sent Tails to bed half an hour before I turned in. After I shut off the light to the workshop, Metal Sonic’s eyes flickered on again. I waited. Metal chimed P0-L0 and waited. Against my better judgement I called out ‘Marco’ then Metal started to play an audio recording.

“I don’t care what it takes for you to bring her back. Even if you have to kill her! Get me my test subject at any cost! I need that data to complete my research, got it?”

Then Metal shut off again. Spooky bastard.

The afternoon after, I hadn’t even gotten a chance to wake up and Knuckles was already in my face shouting.

“I thought I told you not to play with fire!” He scolded.

I grunted and turned over to go back to sleep. He pulled me back over.

“Oh no you don’t! You don’t get to snuggle up all cozy while I’m talking to you!”

I slapped my hand into his face and pushed him away.

“Just let her rest, Knucklehead.” Sonic said from the kitchen. “It’ll give us a chance to throw Metal in the dumpster.”

“Don’t you dare!” I said and started to sit up.

“So now Sleeping-Tiny decides to wake up, huh?” Knuckles snorted then walked over to the kitchen to snack.

I stretched out my arms and slowly started to ease out of bed. It took me a while to get ready for the day considering Knuckles was hounding me every chance he got. But once I was fully awake, I set him straight.

“Listen, tough guy! This is a project Tails and I have been working on for a whole week! If you screw this up, I’ll give you something to really be fussing about!”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!”

He started on his way toward the workshop but Tails blocked the door.

“Out of the way, Tails!”

“No way! I worked hard on this too! I’m not gonna let it go to waste!”

Knuckles sighed heavily and glared back at me. Checkmate.

“Fine!” He yielded, “But from now on, you don’t work on this thing unless I’m watching over you guys.”

Tails and I groaned.

Regardless of Knuckles’ presence, Tails and I continued to work. Busying ourselves with reprogramming Metal a bit more. We finally had his software set up that if a certain lyric was hummed or sung, he would automatically shut off. Tails and I recorded our voices several times in order to make sure it would always work. We even brought Sonic in to do that same thing. I didn’t know he had such a good singing voice.

Knuckles only found the whole process silly and refused to record anything. We left him alone as I continued to work on reprogramming Metal and Tails worked on fixing Metal’s busted parts with whatever we had lying around.

“We need to do something about his optics.” Tails mentioned as he was affixing the broken metal end of a screwdriver to Metal’s left hand as a replacement fingertip.

“Hm… Maybe we could use an old video camera?” I suggested as I was reading through some lines of code trying to pinpoint where I could make the necessary changes.

“Too expensive. I don’t think we have one of those anyway.” Tails replied.

“Why fix his eyes at all?” Knuckles questioned, “He’ll be safer without them.”

I sent Knuckles a glare.

“We’re giving him a second chance not neutering him!” I remarked.

“Whatever…” Knuckles scoffed, “Just don’t come crying to me if he wakes up and tears you to pieces.”

“If I recall correctly, you came crying to us!”

Knuckles scoffed again.

“Cherry,” Tails said, “what if we settled on a motion detector for Metal’s eyes? It’s not the best but it could work as a good replacement for the time being.”

“Yeah, that should work. It’s probably better than giving him full vision before his reprogrammed.”

“Do you really need to be doing that?” Knuckles asked, “Just erase everything and start over or something.”

“I can’t do that! Eggman has a fail-safe in all his machines that if their programming is deleted the basic stuff is reinstalled and takes over.”

“So basically,” Tails queried, “it goes back to factory settings?”

“Pretty much.”

“But I’ve been watching you go through line after line and it’s driving me nuts!” Knuckles complained.

“Then watch something else!”

Knuckles grunted and slumped onto the nearest seat to pout. As we continued to work, he fell asleep at one of the worktables. I tried to ignore him but his snoring was just so loud! Even Tails needed to take a break and went outside to spend time with Sonic on the beach. I was in the process of reattaching Metal Sonic’s arm to his torso when Knuckles nearly rattled the windows. I walked over to him and shook his shoulder to wake him up. No luck. After pulling my hand back to go back to work I saw that I had mistakenly left a handprint of oil on him. Then I got a mischievous idea. While he continued to sleep, I drew a mustache, bushy brows and a goatee on his face. I snickered at my art for a moment then went back to work.

He slept like that for a while, I had finished with Metal’s arm and started getting the motion sensor attached as temporary eyes when Sonic walked in.

“WHO’S READY TO PARTYYYYYYYYYY!”

I jumped in my seat, Knuckles jolted awake and Metal’s eyes flickered on.

“Give us a warning before you charge in here like that! Jeeeez!” I exclaimed.

Sonic shrugged.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be so quiet in here.” He saw Knuckles’ face and snickered but didn’t say a word about the beautiful artwork I had left on it. “Anyway, Tails and I are setting up a bonfire on the beach. You wanna join us?”

“Sure, let me just reach a stopping point and we’ll join you.”

Knuckles eyed me with suspicion, somewhat cluing into Sonic’s snicker but not completely catching on. A few minutes later, Tails walked in to tell us we needed to hurry if we wanted any roasted marshmallows. At seeing Knuckles’ face he also started to snicker. He left the room before Knuckles could ask just what was so funny. I continued to work in silence, pretending that I didn’t notice until Knuckles walked over and picked me up by the nape of the neck.

This was a very odd sensation, everything I was holding in my hands fell out and I couldn’t move my arms or legs. All I could do was hang there as he lifted me up.

“I don’t know why, but everyone around here seems to think something’s funny and I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve got something to do with it!” He said as he glared into my eyes.

I averted mine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” I replied.

“Is that so?”

“Y-yup!”

“What are you hiding from me?!”

“Nothing! I think you’re just imagining things. It’s probably nothing!”

“We’ll see about that!”

He rushed out of the workshop and toward Sonic and Tails who were relaxing around the bonfire. He thrust me out toward them and exclaimed.

“WHAT DID SHE DO?”

Sonic and Tails did their best to hold in their snickers but as soon as Knuckles asked, they were howling with laughter. I knew for sure my goose was cooked. I just hoped he didn’t get any ideas about throwing me into the fire.

“I KNEW IT!” He shouted. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Go look in a mirror!” Sonic replied between his laughter and gasps for air.

Knuckles promptly dropped me and ran inside to go see what Sonic meant. I started running down the beach to keep him from picking me up again. As I was running, I heard Knuckles shout from the house.

“YOU’RE DEAD-MEAT, TINY!”

I looked back and saw he was chasing after me, fists at the ready. I ran faster and screamed.

“JUST YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!” He bellowed.

He chased me down the beach for what seemed like forever. I was going to run out of track soon, I needed to find a place to hide! I ran into a collection of trees by the beach, they got thicker the further I ran in. Perfect! If I was careful, he’d lose sight of me and I could double back to the house and get back to work. Maybe even find a better hiding place if it came down to it.

Before I could get too far into the brush he reached out and snagged me again. This time by the arm.

“Draw on my face, will ya? I’ll show you!”

“You deserved it!” I shouted as I tried prying his hand off. “Next time don’t snore!”

He dragged me back to the beach and toward the ocean, he actually seemed like he was having fun. This was a bad sign! He was gonna do something but what?

“That’s big talk from a little fire-cracker!” He teased.

I pulled my arm back and started running again but he grabbed me by the nape of my neck again. Now that I was aware, I tensed up my arms and legs and started squirming so I could move them this time.

“No fair! Let me go!” I shouted and tried to kick him.

He dodged my kick and chuckled.

“Nice try, Tiny! But I won this time!”

I crossed my arms and pouted.

Knuckles seemed to think this was funny.

“Aaaw, is de wittle Chewwy Bomb upset?” He mocked and started to poke my cheek. “Is she sad cuz big stwong Knuckles outsmarted her?”

“If this is what you call outsmarting, I’d hate to see what you call a genius move.” I remarked. “And will you quit jabbing my face? You’re gonna leave a bruise or something!”

Knuckles only laughed.

“Oh, am I being too rough on your poor sensitive cheekies?” He started boring his finger into my cheek with more force.

I had had enough! As he continued to poke my cheek, I turned my head and bit his finger.

“OW!”

As soon as he dropped me, I bolted for the house leaving him behind to bemoan his injured hand and shout threats at me. I ran past Sonic and Tails and into the workshop. Knuckles was soon behind me but couldn’t find me in the shop anywhere. I stayed as quiet as I could as he searched the workshop for me.

“You can’t hide forever!” He shouted.

I continued to hide where I was, my muscles where aching at all the effort but I was confident he would give up before too long. He looked around one last time, sighed then left the room. I waited until I could hear him washing off his face in the bathroom and finally climbed down from the rafters above the door. He gave up looking for me after that and I could continue to work on re-coding Metal Sonic in silence.

I continued to work late into the night again as my friends told stories and sang songs around the fire. Knuckles had left the door open to the workshop so I could hear all of it from where I was working. I just finished re-coding Metal and rebooted him to get the code working. I set up the laptop I was borrowing to display what Metal Sonic was seeing, it looked like his original optics are were pretty damaged but still working and with the assistance of the motion sensor he at least could see something if it was moving. His eyes flickered on and looked at me. I could see the pixelated, blurry and incomplete image myself in the screen of the laptop. He didn’t seem to recognize me as he chimed ‘P0-L0’ a couple of times. I smiled and leaned in closer so he could get a better look at my face.

“Good Morning, Metal! It’s me! My name is Cherry Bomb!”

. . .

Thank you for reading - you can find previous chapters here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13241826/1/Undesirable-Truth

#undesirable truth #sonic the hedgehog #fanfiction

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the-duchess-lablanc-blog · 6 years

Text

Cat’s Out of the Bag || Duchebus

Summary: Duchess and Phoebus reveal some secrets to each other that have long been kept secret.

Trigger Warnings: Eating disorders, self depreciating thoughts, shitty families all around basically.

@phoebus-de-chateaupers

DUCHESS:

Election Day was looming nearer and nearer and Duchess was more than a ball of nerves. Her typical once weekly therapy sessions had turned into twice weekly peppered with phone calls in between. Why? Because Duchess was watching the online polls avidly. She was behind. Third place. Technically, a loser.

When she’d first started her campaign, she’d been confident that the people of Swynlake would with her. After all, she wanted to make the town safer for everyone. Her dream was all inclusive. Helped along by Phoebus’ bolstering and ideas. The town would be safe if they had better checks and balances.

It had been naive of her to think that way.

Still the bad was peppered with good. Namely her evenings with Phoebus. With him she did not have to doubt herself. His confidence in her helped her confidence in herself. With him she was able to ignore the tweets calling her extreme and comparing her to that oaf that was in charge of the States. She could simply be a woman with ambition.

Except with the election drawing closer her mind was occupied all the time. But she had to keep up appearances. It was why she did not decline when another invite from Phoebus came. Dinners with him were becoming commonplace, something she could depend on. The stability was good, or so her therapist said.

It went by as usual, she allowed him to lead most of the conversation. Keeping him engaged as she merely pushed her food around on her plate and took small bites. She’d eaten way too much that day, a rare day where she didn’t go to the studio and insisted Marguerite go annoy the single men of the town, and she could feel her stomach bulging. It had been the reason for the poncho sweater she wore over her outfit. She had to conceal it somehow.

Typically she was good at hiding her illness. Her body more than accustomed to having to wait for whatever was to come. But as they rode home from the restaurant, she couldn’t help the queasy feeling that took over her. It made her unnaturally quiet and before Phoebus was even able to get to her side of the door (as he was prone to do, ever the gentleman), Duchess was moving up the path to her home quickly.

The door was left ajar as she moved to the closest bathroom, barely making it in time. Her stomach heaved once as she knelt before her meals for the day were coming back up, the feeling of relief and satisfaction passing through her even as she continued to empty her stomach.

PHOEBUS:

Things were not going as well as Phoebus would like.

This was, for the record, no fault of Duchess’. She was doing marvelously. Better than he expected. Better than he could hope. He was confident that she would cinch a seat. There was little possibility that JEFF Triton was going to get another chance at the proverbial throne. His frivolity about parties and the event budget was not resonating. The sorcerer was a shoo-in, even Phoebus knew that. But Cruella was old news. Duchess was fresh, and she brought a new perspective. Though, in his idea world, Triton would lose over Mrs. De Vil.

No, his problems were much more personal.

Since Halloween, since the opening of the Gates, he could not get warm. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how much salt he put on the line of his door. No matter the charms he hung around his bed. In the mornings, he found the salt scattered, as if a wind had blown the granules about. The charms knocked off the headboard. And words in his ears. Clemens’ voice echoing from his nightmares and into his waking days.

It left him feeling exhausted. He barely had the energy to chide Merida for getting sick and missing a week of drills. He had even cancelled on Duchess once, claiming illness himself—just a cold. He knew it would not last long as an excuse.

He didn’t want it to either, because he did want to see her.

So, he’d done his best to sleep and managed to make himself as charming as ever at dinner. Even if sometimes there was the feeling of breath on the back of his neck whenever he’d take a sip of wine or laugh at something Duchess had said.

Still, the night was rosy, and Phoebus could not wait to bury himself in Duchess’ sweet-smelling hair and warm body. Maybe then he would grow warm himself.

Apparently, tonight it would not be that simple.

Duchess darted from the car before he’d even gone around the hood of it, rushing to the door. Phoebus was startled into in action for just a moment before he kicked himself into gear. With a frown on his face, he slipped into the house after Duchess, closing the door and locking it. Only then did he hear the tell-tale splash of vomit in the toilet. (Phoebus had spent plenty a drunk night with Clemens and the other boys of the Order to know what that sounded like.)

First, he thought: sick?

Then, he thought: pregnant?

And Phoebus realized he had a decision to make.

He could pretend that he heard nothing. Move into the kitchen, grab a mug for tea and set the kettle on for the two of them. This had appeal. Sickness. Pregnancy. These things were messy. Phoebus did not know if he wanted to be involved.

Though, he could not help the twinge he felt in his heart which travelled down into his gut.

The ghost breathed down his neck.

Phoebus stepped towards the bathroom, just to escape it.

“Duchess,” he said, knocking softly on the open bathroom door. “Is…everything alright?”

DUCHESS:

No, Duchess was not alright. The evening had been ruined by her stupid illness and she hated herself for it. Not enough to stop the convulsions of her stomach, the need to be thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough. Enough, enough, enough. Her hands pressed against the floor, fingers curling into fists as she heaved and tried her hardest to keep the tears from falling.

She’d been so careful. Had made sure that this little secret was kept tucked away from everyone in her life. Even her parents assumed she was over it. Though even when she’d been younger they’d done their best not to bring it up or even broach the subject unless speaking to her therapist. And even then it was hushed whispers that never left the room they’d been seated in. At home the advice that had been given was ignored in favor of passively aggressive remarks concerning her. In the end she had just learned how to cope with it, live with it. It came and went like a headache. There one minute and gone the next until something else triggered it.

Phoebus was never supposed to find out.

It took a long moment for the dry heaving to stop and when it did Duchess was left shaking on the floor as tears streamed down her cheeks. The make-up, however lightly she’d painted it onto her face, was messy and running down her face. Go away. Just leave. Those were the words that she wanted to say. He didn’t need to see her like this. No matter how much she cared for him or he for her. This would surely scare him away. Make him realize that Duchess LaBlanc was nothing more than a fake. A fraud. Her entire life built on lies she whispered to herself to make herself feel better.

Another moment passed and she pushed herself up from the floor, sniffling once, before moving to the mirror. She tried not to look at Phoebus’ reflection. The last thing she wanted to see was pity on his features. Pity was not what she needed. It would never be what she needed. Not even the scandal that had nearly ruined her empire had warranted pity in her opinion. What she needed was a minute to compose herself. Build up those high walls that protected her from everything that could (and would) harm her. Only then would she be able to even contemplate the conversation that was going to be had once the both of them left the bathroom.

With her make-up fixed as best she could, the blonde turned towards Phoebus, no hint of a smile on her features. The frivolity of earlier in the evening was long gone now. Replaced instead by something more morose.

“I-- am sorry you had to see that,” she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest. And she was. If she’d had better control he would have never seen it. They would be curled together in her bed, relishing each other’s warmth and company. The evening would have played out like many of the others. “If you are not entirely repulsed, I can explain all of… this.” She waved her hand dismissively.

If Phoebus wished to leave she couldn’t stop him, wouldn’t think of it. The rejection would sting, probably just as much as Thomas leaving had, but she would accept it. It was her own doing. Even if she hoped that he would allow her this chance and not reject her for it.

PHOEBUS:

Phoebus didn’t really...know what there was to talk about, if he was honest. She’d gotten sick--could be food poisoning or illness or pregnancy. (Really hoped it wasn’t that last one, mostly because he didn’t want a child out of wedlock. Everyone in the Order would see through a speedy wedding. They had very specific courtship rules. (Though, she could be sleeping with someone else. He didn’t know...and didn’t know if he wanted to know.))

Now, he felt a foreboding that had nothing to do with the chill of the ghost on his heel.

Perhaps she was sicker than he thought. Would she not have brought that up sooner? He didn’t think she would. Illness was a private thing. In the Order it was not much discussed outside of immediate family.

He didn’t like the thought of her being sick. There was a pang of worry through him that felt--jarring. He hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected any of what he was feeling when he first moved to this idyllic little town. Phoebus had lived in many idyllic little towns. He had met many beautiful woman. He had not, however, met many smart women. Or many intriguing women.

This woman, however--

She was different and he knew it, even as he felt the urge to leave and pretend that none of this had happened. That all of this had not, somehow, suddenly gotten very serious.

The urge to comfort was stronger. The urge to protect was stronger--even if he knew there was not much he could do to protect against illness.

“If I was repulsed by a bit of chunder, I don’t think I’d be able to call myself a man,” he told her with a little smile and reached out his hand to slide it over her shoulder blades, pulling her towards the living room.

“What is wrong?” he asked her once they had settled onto the couch.

DUCHESS:

Part of her didn’t want Phoebus to touch her. She was repulsed by herself in that moment. It was the weakest she’d been in front of anyone in a long time. Even with these ungodly events happening in town, she hadn’t faltered. She was going to be a leader in this town, she needed to act like that. Show the people of Swynlake that they were in good hands if they voted for her. So she’d kept herself together, didn’t let that fear take over her and instead channeled into something else. Something better and more controlled.

That was her biggest thing. Control. She controlled every aspect of her life. Hardly ever allowed anyone to see into the chaos that was her inner self. It wasn’t something that could be helped, though. She was not raised to lash out or even act out. It was expected of her to be the best and so that is exactly what she did. It was who she was. Perfect in the eyes of everyone. Except herself and her parents. The three people she strived so hard to be perfect for. Hence--- everything she was about to tell Phoebus.

The surprise had come in the early hours of the morning. A package had arrived from her PR manager and it had kept her up throughout the day. Thankfully Angela had been able to get it taken down before any real damage had been done but it had still affected her. Affected her life. Thinking of it now made her angry, even as Phoebus led her back to the living room. Of course she would show it to him. Let him see for himself just how out of sorts she really, truly was.

Hopefully he did not run for the hills.

It took her a minute to settle. She never felt quite herself after an episode such as the one that had just taken place. There was always a span of a few hours where she just laid in bed, whether she rested or came to terms to what she was doing to her body her therapist was still trying to figure out. When she would finally pry herself from her bed, she’d wander down to the day room with her paints. Pull that control back to herself, lock everything that was unseemly back up tight in the vault that was her mind, and come back to the world.

Sitting there with Phoebus did not allow her the time for that. Instead, she was forced to face it outright. Her therapist would be proud of her. Call it moving forward, taking a step in the right direction in terms of overcoming her illness. And because it was frightening, Duchess would only be able to agree.

She cleared her throat as she shifted just enough to be able to grab the tabloid that had been overnighted to her and without much grace she tossed it onto the table before them. “That was printed last evening. My PR manager was able to get a hold of it before it was mass produced.” She explained as she settled back into the couch, one leg crossing over the other as she glared daggers at the magazine. “Someone-- Someone found out something that has been kept a very safe guarded secret for years and it is in that vile tabloid.” She felt the anger bubble away to something else, something more potent but less volatile. It settled like a stone in her empty stomach. “The short version is that they were correct and, for once, these tabloids are not spilling vile rumors.

The headline in question? “DUCHESS LABLANC BULIMIC; THE UGLY TRUTH”

PHOEBUS:

Phoebus, really, still did not have any idea what was going on. His brow was furrowed as they walked back towards the living room, but he said nothing, simply allowed Duchess to situate herself on the couch. He sank down next to her, suddenly feeling very out of place in this very posh house. He had grown up in a castle himself, but it had not been grand, like the Lyons castle. The walls dripped sometimes and there was a terrible draft. He liked it like that. It had made him tough, his mother had always told him.

And he was tough. He did not belong her among the gentle, soft things of Duchess’ living room.

Or, maybe, it meant he did. Because Duchess was a soft, gentle thing—underneath that exterior of hers. All women were. He had seen plenty of brave women, but their centers were always as gooey as taffy. As soft as pillows. He liked this about women, of course. It gave him a reason to stay—and that was to protect.

He felt like there was some invisible enemy, like his own ghost, haunting Duchess. If there was anyone suited to fight it, it was him.

Still, he was not prepared—nor expecting the tabloid she slapped onto the table. He glanced at her, brows furrowed, but she was not looking at him. Reaching out, he grabbed the magazine and his eyes found the headline he assumed he was looking for rather quickly.

Bulimic.

His brow furrowed deeper. Phoebus was not entirely familiar with what the word meant. He knew that there were women who starved themselves to look beautiful, but became, instead, ghastly, thin, frail things.

It was something that he would never understand.

Phoebus didn’t understand it now, thinking of Duchess. Who was one of the most confident women he had ever met. One of the most beautiful too.

“Are you—saying that this is true?” He looked back up at her, repeating what he already knew. The confusion was plain on his face. “But…why?”

DUCHESS:

For a long moment Duchess did not answer Phoebus. The answer was obvious. He had seen it for himself. Even if she had not eaten much during dinner, she had gorged herself enough during the day for it to all come back up later. He had watched that happen. Saw the ugly truth for himself.

His question, though, caught her off guard. No one had ever asked her that question before. It had always been “how does it make you feel?” “how can you do that to yourself? You have everything.” Never a simple why.

Of course, she knew exactly why she did it. It had been instilled in her at a very young age. So much pressure put on a young girl to be perfect, to look perfect, to never let anyone see you for anything less that immaculate. But she had never been perfect, had never looked perfect. Forever in her sister’s shadow and compared to those girls with thinner waists. Nothing she had ever done had been good enough for her mother or even her father. And as far as she was concerned, it never would be. No matter how hard she tried.

“My mother,” she started, still not looking to Phoebus. She didn’t want to see the pity that was sure to be in his eyes. Didn’t want to know how that would feel coming from him. “Please do not think that this is some poor little rich girl thing. Even though it may seem that way.

I was thirteen when I was diagnosed with it. There has always been immense pressure to be… perfect. It is why no one is allowed here or any insight into my life. Most of what these tabloids print is false information. That is the way I prefer it because what they do not know will not taint whatever vision it is they have of me. Which is extremely selfish, I am aware of that. But I digress. My mother was a hard woman to please. She still is. There were very few kind words or compliments afforded me. It was always how I could be better, thinner, prettier. I was to be married as soon as possible and to have children. Much like my sister. We both had our careers but they were not to be more important than the prospect of family.”

She turned to look at Phoebus, giving a soft scoff at her words. It was clear to see that she had followed none of that. Her business was her baby and she had been courted by many but none were serious enough for marriage.

“I wanted so badly to fit that image that my mother had for us. Adelaide and myself. That was the only way I could see it happening. It didn’t matter how many diets I tried, exercise routines. The weight never came off. I could never be as thin as the girls I was compared to, as my sister. And then I started throwing up and it happened.”

Duchess hadn’t realized that as she’d given her explanation that her eyes had started to water. This was not some little sob story, though the emotional damage that had been done was still there. Would be there until she finally came to terms with it all. That her mother had unrealistic expectations and that she was under no obligation to try to achieve them.

“It has been fine. But the election has brought old habits back to light, I’m afraid.”

PHOEBUS:

Duchess spoke and Phoebus listened.

The more she spoke, the more he understood. Had he not lived under the same pressure and scrutiny his entire life? Had he, too, not failed to rise to his father’s expectations? Of course, his choice of punishment was to rebel completely. He decided to pretend that he did not care. He did things his own way, broke from tradition to pursue things in his own way. Everyone in the Order whispered about him, but none could say that he was not a successful Prince. For he was. Even if he had not taken a wife, if he did not kill at the first sign of demon. He bided his time, he learned, he planned. It was not the normal way of doing things, but it was how he had decided to do them.

He realized he could give Duchess the same advice and would have too—if not for that last line.

It has been fine. But the election has brought old habits back to light, I’m afraid.

The election. Something that Phoebus had put her up to.

Looks like old habits die hard, Clemens’ voice chuckled in his ear, making him jerk slightly in surprise. It had never sounded so clear.

The words curdled in his stomach and he felt immediately guilty—for Clemens was right. Phoebus had forced Clemens’ hand, might as well have been the one to run Clemens through with his sword. He was doing the same to Duchess now—not caring who fell on his path to succeed.

Except, he did care. Phoebus had, much to his own surprise, perhaps learned his lesson.

His hand reached out and covered Duchess’ with his own.

“If I would have known,” he started, which was a stupid thing to say. He shook his head and started again. “I am sorry that I have had some hand in causing this. But, darling, you are the most wonderful woman I have ever met. If anyone cannot see that, what do they matter? There is no point making yourself sick for people like that. They will never see what they want to see. There are simply some people whose expectations you shall never meet. Trust me.”

DUCHESS:

Duchess wished it was as easy that. As easy as telling herself that her mother’s opinion did not matter. It was something her therapist had been telling her for years. Her mother’s opinion did not matter, she was much too hard on herself. And she did know that. But she had ingrained that way of thinking into her mind, had let it consume her everyday from the time she was thirteen until now. It was not going to be so easy to get away from.

But Phoebus’ hand on hers distracted her from that way of thinking. At least for a bit.

“Do not feel guilty, cher,” she looked to him as she spoke, turing her hand to tangle her fingers with his. “If I had not wanted to run, I would not have. The idea had been there before we spoke about it. You helped cement the idea, yes. But you did not force me into doing it.” Her words were earnest and she wanted him to see that. That she did not blame him in any way for the resurrection of her illness. That blame lay solely on her naivety. In thinking that she could sway such a close knit community with her ideas.

There was just the slightest pause as she turned her attention to the painting on the far wall; Palazzo da Mula at Venice. It more than likely was not her place to ask him anything about past but she was curious. Especially considering the way he spoke. As if he had gone through something similar with impossible expectations. She was curious, after all, about the man sitting next to her offering comfort instead of disgust.

“If I may… it sounds like a part of you, at least, is speaking from experience.” She hedged softly, turning to look at him.

PHOEBUS:

Ah, she’d caught on to that, had she? He wasn’t surprised. She was perceptive and astute. He knew saying such things was dangerous. It meant that someone could latch onto those little pieces and try to figure him out. However, if Duchess was to figure him out, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. At least, he did not think so.

However, he was not about to reveal all of himself.

Pieces--pieces he could give her.

Especially because the guilt still sat heavy in his chest. Sat like a chill going through him. Which, of course, was probably Clemens’ ghost looking over his shoulder, breathing down his neck. Whatever it was, he felt ashamed for having any part in causing her harm. His job was to protect innocents like her. He already could not protect her from a vampire. And once again, he was failing her. Might as well give her what he could in return.

It was the least he could do.

“Yes, well--you’re not the only one with parental expectations thrust upon you.” He gave her a little smile. “My father expects me to take over the family business eventually--we manufacture different metals for construction sites. Very exciting, I know. It is a lucrative business, however. Obviously not what I want.” He gestured a bit at himself as if to indicate the truth.

“Besides that, uh--my family...we’re big...outdoorsmen. I was born prematurely, not by much, but back then, you know, medicine was not so advanced. I spent several years indoors, weak and frail in my father’s eyes. It sometimes...felt as if I would never make up for those years, no matter how good of a hunter I became.”

He shook his head a bit. “But, I did become an excellent hunter. One of the best, if you must know.”

Liar, you know I was better.

Phoebus ignored this voice. “And I told the old man he could stick his sword up his ass.”

DUCHESS:

Honestly Duchess found it hard to think of Phoebus as a frail or sickly child. He was so strong, so… brawny. There was not a piece of him that looked boyish. But if there was one thing that Duchess knew, it was that people changed. Despite the fact she still suffered with an illness she’d developed as a young girl, she had still changed over the years. Hardened to the outside world, hidden from any who didn’t actually know her. Phoebus had done the same.

She squeezed his hand; nothing more than a light pressure, a reminder for herself as much as him that she was there. In what way she didn’t fully understand herself. Whenever she thought of Phoebus there was something. A strange sensation was quick to flow through her at even the simplest thought of him. And their evenings together, even their dinners, made her feel better than she usually felt. There was no need to flee from him or text Marguerite with such annoyance that she considered never allowing her to set up a blind date again.

And knowing, now, that they were cut from the same cloth was--- well, it made that warmth move through her again.

“It would sound as if you are better off without him,” she spoke softly. “Perhaps we are both better off without our parents.” And wasn’t that a terrifying thought to her. After all, it was her parents that had helped her get back on her feet after her first scandal. When she’d lost nearly everything, it had been her father’s stern words that had made her get back in the fashion world. When Taka had humiliated her and harmed her family, they had been the ones to take her in and then loan her the money to get back to Swynlake. Without them there would not have been a winter line last year. Her comeback would have come much later or not at all.

But was that worth the cost? Was it worth her mental health? Her physical health? Surely not.

“Parents are not supposed to damage their children in such ways. Even if we are better for it.” She gave a soft smile as she shifted once more, disentangling their hands from each other. Her mouth felt disgusting, the realization that she had moved directly from the bathroom to the couch to explain finally hitting her. An apologetic look was given to Phoebus then, a hand even coming up to cover her mouth to keep the more than likely terrible smell from reaching him. How disgusting he must think her. “Would you excuse me for just a few moments? I just-- I need to freshen up.” And collect her thoughts again.

PHOEBUS:

For all his posturing, it wasn’t quite true that Phoebus scorned his family. He loved his family, in actual fact. He had strived so hard to garner his father’s attention and love. Finally, after years and years, he had it. Though even that tasted sour on his tongue, knowing that it came with the stipulation that Clemens was better than him. The only reason Clemens was disgraced was based off a lie, so Phoebus newfound status was also based off a lie.

Phoebus would never be better off without his family. Even Clemens, he ached for his cousin every day, though if anyone knew the truth, they would not believe him. He missed his nieces and nephews and his mother and father. Could not wait to see them in December.

But he did agree that sometimes their opinions were wrong. It was his father’s opinions that he could do without. The Order’s hard and fast rules could be exhausting. He had never cared for them, since they did not always suit him. He could always find justifications for why he did what he did differently, he just wished everyone else saw it the same. Merida was refreshing in a sense, because he knew she felt just as frustrated. If not moreso. And Phoebus was of the opinion that that frustration was not entirely misplaced.

He chuckled a bit at the parent comment. “Ah, I’d argue that was what parents are for. To show you exactly what not to do when raising your own children. But, yes, gather yourself. Do not worry, I think we may still be able to salvage the evening, if that is something you want.” He caught her hand again as she stood, kissing the back of it and giving it a little squeeze before he let her go.

#ch:phoebus #th:cats out of the bag #s:duchebus #tw:eating disorder #tw:self depreciation

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gxthicruins-blog · 6 years

Text

hey so remember 2000 years ago when i said i wrote a julerose drabble... yeah here it is. maybe i’ll post it to A03 eventually but here ya go

Juleka Couffaine always knew she was different. Maybe it was the way she was determined to get the purple dye in her hair to contrast the pitch black and match her regular outfit. Maybe it was the way she was secluded from most, hiding from crowds and hidden from every photo due to her atrocious luck. Maybe it was the fact that throughout her life there was the single pattern of girls only taking her interest.

Wait, what?

While this revelation would not shock many, it shocked the person it affected the most. Juleka always knew she was different but she didn’t think it would be in that way. The only reason she would ever have come to that conclusion was due to one girl. A best friend since they were young, growing up with her throughout the years.

Rose had Prince Ali, though. How could she forget about Prince Ali? Rose was infatuated by the prince in every way, from the way he talked to his kindness. There was no way such a meek, secretive person could dream to compete with that. Juleka was out of the running.

Sure she had many crushes over the years. She thought all girls had crushes on other girls at some point, but even she knew it couldn’t be common to only ever have crushes on girls. There was one girl in CP whom was very outgoing, with ginger hair and a fiery personality to match. But she moved away. A girl in elementary school with brunette locks and was quite reserved, however ended up getting a ‘boyfriend’ (the legitimacy was rather doubtful). None of them could even compare to Rose, the last girl she had met and the first to become so important so quickly.

Even if at first Juleka found herself okay with the situation, it began to change very slowly. From what seemed to be a simple admiration turned out to be a massive crush Rose held--and consequently crushed any hope Juleka ever had. Hearing her gush over the prince during the many lessons throughout the day soon took its toll, breaking her heart piece by piece. If only Rose loved her that much.

She was used to sitting in her cabin on her mother’s boat, listening to encouragement from her brother. Of course her brother was the first one to hear her secret. Apart from the small blonde, Luka was the person Juleka trusted the most.

“Luka,” Juleka whispered. Her legs swung off the end of her bed and she sat with her head down. The one advantage to having a generally soft voice was that it was easier to hide any anxiety caused by anything she spoke about as no matter what passed her lips, it was almost guaranteed to come out in a soft spoken tone.

Hands crossed her body like a protective hug, shielding her from the possible backlash that could occur with such an event. Blinking, she raised her voice to grab her brother’s attention. This was important to tell, right? He was family. He didn’t seem like the type who would hate based on attraction but alas, you could never fully know a person and their intentions.

“Luka.” Repeating herself, she let out a quiet cough. This time Luka looked up from his guitar, eyes softening as he set it aside.

“Yeah?”

Silence threatened to choke Juleka for a moment as her hands moved to either side, gripping the bed. Why was it so hard to say out loud? It was hard enough to admit it in her own head, out loud was even worse.

“I think I might be a lesbian.” Tears glittered her eyes, flinching as if she was afraid the action of coming out would warrant an unfavourable reaction. Instead, she felt his presence come closer to her as he looked down, the same warm look in his eyes. Voice trembling and growing even quieter than before, she whimpered.

“I-I’m sorry--” She was cut off abruptly by a soft giggle from her brother. Luka sat next to her, attempting to look her in the eye.

“Why would you need to be sorry? It’s just who you are,” he questioned, back arching to meet Juleka’s posture. “Is it Rose?”

Juleka’s head immediately shot up in uncharacteristic surprise before her amber hues dulled. Though she had to admit it to him, it didn’t change the fact that there was no way Rose would ever like her back. The adoration Rose held for Ali seemed to confirm it. They were best friends, but that was the extent of it. Juleka just accepted that, whether or not she wanted to, she was trapped in the fate of bridesmaid, never to be Rose’s bride.

“Yeah,” she admitted in her monotone voice, her lower lip trembling with overflowing, nauseating sentiments. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. She’s my friend, my best friend, one of my only friends. I don’t know how I was able to mess it up so horribly by falling for her, I can’t ruin it.” Distraught emotions strained in her tone. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Marinette or even Alya or Alix?

A moment of stomach churning silence followed.

Why did it have to be her Rose? A rose which was covered in thorns known as Ali, preventing her from being picked and taken as another’s own. Her thoughts were shifted once Luka spoke.

“Maybe it wasn’t an accident, Juleka.”

---------------------------------------------

Those words rang through Juleka’s head all throughout the next day. All the way through science class, she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. Instead of learning about chemical reactions, she was leaning about her own reaction to the way Rose enthusiastically answered every question.

“Can you believe it, Juleka? I get all of this!” Rose marvelled as they packed up to leave. “It’s really amazing!” Yet all these words fell upon deaf ears as the gothic girl was caught up in a world of her own. Juleka just couldn’t help but think that if she managed to gather up the courage to confess right there, if she could raise her voice to louder than a whisper to proclaim her love for the girl who was sweeter than her own name, it could maybe work out.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe it actually was. An accident to punish her for attractions she could not control.

“Yeah, you’re really talented like that,” Juleka complimented nonchalauntly, hand picking at her laced black glove. “Are you going to write lyrics for Kitty Section after school today?” Her question was met with an uncertain stutter.

“W-Well, today I said I would meet Prince Ali before he leaves! B-But I can cancel, if you want-” Cut off, Juleka just nodded, eyes subtly glancing to the ground. While there was slight excitement in her tone, Juleka could sense something else--which she hoped was hesitance towards the date. She could dream, right?

“No, don’t. He’s important to you.” Realising that her answer couldn’t sound anything but cold towards one of her only friends, she offered a weak smile. “I wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

“You’re the best, Juleka!” Rose chirped, throwing herself at her friend to hug. Met with hands awkwardly wrapping around her, Rose soon broke out to check her phone once more. What was it next? Oh yeah, French.

Great.

Juleka’s mind became foggy as she walked next to Rose, noticing every feature of her body. Her short blonde hair which Juleka just wanted to run her hands through, her clothing choice of bright print to express her cheery nature, her smile as she talked about the date she had with Prince Ali.

Why couldn’t Rose just like her back?

————————————-

Here she was. Juleka Couffaine, known for her timid nature and silent presence, playing her guitar in the art club. Alix worked on her street art, gas mask prevented a possible choking hazard as she jumped about with the spray paint. Nathaniel sat at his desk, sketching out pages for his next comic. There she was, sitting at her normal seat, strumming a few chords.

Kitty Section was made of more than the two. It was made of her brother and Ivan as well, two key members of the band. It just felt strange being alone, it reminded her of days long past and days she never wanted to return to. Rose was always a welcomed, looming presence in her life and now that Ali was whisking her away on dates, it was just her playing on her guitar.

“Where’s Rose?” Alix called out, shaking her spray can as she pulled the mask down. “Usually you two seem stuck like glue.”

“She has a date today,” Juleka answered calmly, continuing to play. “With Prince Ali.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“I’m happy for her, really.” As long as Rose was happy, she was happy, right? “As long as she’s happy.”

“Seems to be really bumming you out. You sure you’re alright with it? That prince guy isn’t givin’ her trouble or anything, right? If he is, we’ll get-”

“Of course not.” Juleka strummed her guitar pick against the strings once again. “They could be soulmates.”

That was as much as she wanted to talk about it. Even the word soulmates made Juleka feel sick to her stomach. She had been friends with Rose for years, though. She was happy for her, right?

Right?

Rose was the driving force that kept Juleka invested in her own life. Without her encouragement she would have never gathered the courage to join the band coined by her own brother. Without her, Juleka would be a complete loner sitting in the back of the classroom without a single friend in the school. Thanks to Rose she had Marinette, Alya, Mylène, Alix and many others to call her friends. Yet Rose was the most special and piece by piece the petals of her time were getting picked by Prince Ali.

Convincing herself she was just fine, she began to mindlessly play, catching the attention of the art teacher.

“Do you have any lyrics to sing?” he questioned, observing the girl as she was lost in the music. The question broke Juleka out of her trance.

“Not particularly,” she explained shyly, avoiding direct eye contact. Avoiding the reason why no original lyrics popped into her head. Rose was the songwriter and Juleka was the composer and with one piece of the machine missing, everything was doomed to a talent turned to failure.

“Well, do you have any songs of your own to sing?” By now, Alix and Nathaniel had ceased their activities, fixed to the conversation as if it were a siren’s call.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Juleka murmured. Of course she did, she had hundreds of songs to sing about unrequited love. Of how her heart soured when she laid eyes upon the most beautiful girl in all of France, of how her heart shattered into hundreds of pieces shredding her vocal chords at the mention of a single prince. “Nothing original, anyway.”

After a raised eyebrow from the concerned teacher, Juleka accepted her defeat and began to play once more. This time an extra instrument played along in the form of her voice. Luckily for her, the art teacher had stopped paying attention, as did Nathaniel and Alix.

While singing, another presence entered the room, unbeknownst to Juleka. Her heart was poured into the song, a couple of tears streaming down her face as she vented every negative emotion into this one performance. She knew she could trust her art teacher, she knew she could trust Alix and she knew she could trust Nathaniel, even though none particularly heard her soft spoken tone. She didn’t even stop to realise the girl who she sang about was so near yet so far.

Rose stood near the door. Of course she had felt guilty for flaking on her best friend on such a short notice. How could she? Juleka was her best friend! Her poor, sweet Juleka! Rose knew her best friend better than she even knew herself and she could tell when she was secretly upset. However now, she was captivated by her friend’s voice.

“Andante, andante, tread lightly on my ground,” Juleka sang out as loud as she dared, yet her voice strained in whispers. It took a lot of her energy to even speak out loud to anybody who was outside of her friendship group or family and she could not say her confidence extended outside of that group. Even if Alix was there, she wasn’t as close to the art teacher or Nathaniel, both distracted by their own creations.

“Andante, andante, oh please don’t let me down.” Juleka opened her eyes and chills raced up her spine. Blood running cold, she sat frozen in place as amber hues set upon blue. Freezing, she stood up and set her guitar aside as Rose approached her.

“That’s a great song, Juleka!” she complimented, cheerful as ever. Of course only Rose was able to so easily decipher anything which passed Juleka’s lips. Grasping at the gloved hands of her friend, Juleka’s heart began to race. Her face flushed up as red as the beautiful sunset in Paris. Only Rose could hold this power to make her weak at the knees at the thought of her name.

Yet she was her regular, voiceless self.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, avoiding direct eye contact, lest she found out who the song was directed towards.

“Who was it for?”

Juleka froze up again, fingers which once gently laced into Rose’s delicate hands soon gripped out of the fear that if she were to let go, she would never feel her serene touch or presence again.

“Nobody-” she replied hastily, Rose growing more unconvinced. Soon she leaned in closer, an eyebrow raising.

“I know it’s got to be for somebody, Juleka! I know you well enough to know when you’re lying!” There it was, the same cheery voice, the same smile that could brighten a room. The same smile that held no aura of mischievousness, just the honesty and kindness that came from being her.

“I can’t tell you,” Juleka murmured, retreating more and more into her shell. Breaking her grip, she stood back, legs pressed against her chair.

Rose pressed on, leaning forward until Juleka felt a tear run down. She had to reveal it eventually, right? Rose was her best friend, she knew every dark secret, every down day. This was the only secret the blonde did not know.

It was about to change.

“It’s for you.” Juleka raised a hand to raise her bang, rubbing her eyes to shield away any tears which formed and streamed down. Hands lowered to her sides and curled into fists, the tears properly flowing despite feeble attempts to stop them. “I know I can’t have you, Rose. You don’t need to react.”

Forcing herself to stare at a gobsmacked Rose, Juleka soon raced off as swiftly as her legs could carry her. Why did she do that? Now the best friendship she ever had was going to be permanently torn apart, never to be stitched at the seams. Forever broken.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juleka had ran to her favourite place. A single bench at the park where she curled up, head buried between her knees. That was it. Her secret that was known only by Luka was out. There was no way to escape her fate. Rose was gone from her life--scared off by unfamiliar feelings. Doomed to be friendless. She knew Rose wouldn’t just... tell. Even if they hadn’t been friends, Rose always had such a bright spark of kindness dwelling in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t tell.

What Juleka didn’t count on was the sound of Rose’s voice calling out for her, panting as she ran. “Juleka! Wait, please!”

“Forget it, Rose. Forget I ever said anything. Please…” Juleka pleaded, eyes still glimmering with tears. Rose, however, decided to persist, grabbing Juleka’s hands.

“Juleka…” she trailed off, blue eyes staring into the goth’s. She didn’t exactly know what to say, how to make her best friend feel better. Instead, she just leaned in, stretching on her toes.

Contact.

It took a moment for Juleka to process the idea that she was actually kissing her best friend. Her eyes widened before she gently lulled herself into the kiss, another tear rolling down.

“I like you too!” Rose chimed as they broke out. Juleka’s eyes widened in shock as she stammered slightly. Words seemed to fail to come out of her mouth as she spoke.

“I thought… you and Prince Ali-”

“He’s just my friend, Jules! I don’t think I ever admired him in any other way!” Reaching for Juleka’s gloved hands, her fingers laced with hers once again. “I wish I knew sooner.”

“I was afraid,” Juleka mumbled. “Afraid of what you’d think of me if you found I was a… lesbian.” Juleka flinched as she noticed Rose’s eyes widen in shock as she gripped harder.

“Why would you be afraid? I would never hate you! Especially over something you can’t control!” While Rose spoke, Juleka sniffed as she let out a little chuckle.

“Thank you, Rose.”

Rose blinked for a moment before she flashed the gothic female a grin. “Do you want to go with me to see a movie?”

Juleka thought for a moment before her hands gently pressed against Rose’s.

“I’d love to.”

#this was like my first fanfiction since 2010/2011?#it's really bad i know but im tryna practice #anyways if you wanna reblog go ahead but i'd appreciate it if you didnt for the time being SDFGHJKL #▓ ♪ DRABBLE ┊#▓ ♪ OUT OF CHARACTER ┊ OH THIS ONE #▓ ♪ SHIP: JULEROSE ┊ I LET YOU INTO MY WORLD AND THEN YOU BECAME IT #but yeah i tried guys pls... btw im writing a draft now so excuse all the ooc im working on it

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kestrelsansjesses · 7 years

Note

I woke up & you were gone for Ryder x Kandros? :)

[This, uh, ended up both angstier and longer than I intended. Whoops. AO3]

Morning and no sunlight streamed in through blinds, something that was impossible to get used to. Not that there were blinds anyway, but the lack of real light felt so grating, constantly making her sleep schedule feel off. When all this was over, Wren Ryder was determined to get a room on one of the new habitats, somewhere with the biggest windows they could make. For now, her more immediate concerns were the lack of Tiran Kandros by her side in bed, where he was supposed to be.

“SAM, what time is it?” She could just check the terminal, but that would involve leaving the pocket of warmth she had formed around herself, one that seemed more critical than ever to keep given the distinct lack of tall turian boyfriend to add his own body heat.

“It’s currently 5:37 in the morning, Pathfinder. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour and-”

“I get it SAM, thanks.” So now she was awake for no particularly good reason, and she was resigned to not falling asleep again until she found Kandros. Groaning, she didn’t so much get out of bed as fell out of it, feet hitting a cold floor that didn’t even have the benefit of a carpet. That would be her next gift to Kandros; something so she didn’t freeze and immediately want to go back to the safety of blankets.

A quick look around the spartan apartment revealed he wasn’t there at all. This necessitated putting on her actual clothes, carefully folded within his wardrobe, just an extra outfit. It was handy, or so she tried to defend to herself. It wasn't as if she wasn’t getting domestic. Not at all. Kandros was, however, rubbing off on her, if the carefully folded pants and shirt were any indication. Before him, she would have just left them in a pile on the floor, but it seemed almost wrong to spoil the pristine cleanliness of his room, even if her clothes were clean.

Dressed and still bleary-eyed, Ryder checked the bathroom one last time. No luck, leaving her to shake her head, clearing the clouds that still lingered, walking out the door into the Nexus’ dim corridors. There was hardly anyone about this hour, and those that were blinked owlishly at her, some offering a wave but none with a word for her. Ryder preferred it that way, without the falsity of deference some now saw fit to grant her with.

First came coffee. There was a small stand set up, a new wave of commerce coming into the Nexus, not yet enough to warrant a full cafe. Without coffee plants being grown yet, the prices were increasing by the day, reaching outlandish heights, but the Pathfinder could afford a mugful for herself, and an even larger cup of the turian equivalent. Kandros would thank her for it later. And hopefully pay her back.

Two steaming mugs now in hand, Ryder walked towards Nexus Security, passing a few more faces, offering a few more nods, mostly concentrating on sipping and not spilling, eyes constantly scanning for the familiar white face and blue markings. Not him, not him- oh! No. Not him, but a young turian who served closely under Kandros, freshly an adult. Glaucio, if her memory served her correctly.

“Your boss around?” Ryder kept her tone light and casual, but worry was starting to creep up. He was an early riser, yes, but this was unusual.

Glaucio gave her a solemn nod, eyes flickering to the two cups. “I hope there’s enough in there. He’s by the console in the back.” It left her doubting, taking a burning gulp of her own drink before thanking Glaucio with a nod.

Kandros did not turn to look at her as she approached, even though Ryder’s shoes were audible on the floor. She put her hand on his waist and he still didn’t interact, except to move slightly away, still intent on his task, fingers whizzing over a series of commands and coded messages, typing faster than she thought possible. It was only when she placed the coffee on a surface next to him that he finally turned to look at her, a membrane sliding over his eyes and making them look filmy and exhausted.

“I woke up and you were gone,” she said, not reaching out to touch him again. Kandros was too stiff, holding some part of himself away from her. “You okay, Tiran?” She rarely used his first name, and when she did, it brought a sense of immediacy and intimacy to their conversation that was impossible to ignore, though Kandros looked sorely tempted.

He took a long sip of his turian coffee, holding the warmth in his mandibles before releasing it with a sigh. “A situation with APEX. It’s under control now.” His tones were clipped, staccato.

“Are you sure?” He was turning away from her even now, trying to go back to the terminal and back to whatever had so wholly absorbed him.

Another sip of his drink and he turned back to look at her. “No,” he finally said, tone bleak. “It was a routine mission. It should have been. Get in, get the data, get out. Blow up the kett stronghold and leave those bastards wondering what hit them.” It was best for Ryder to let him talk it out, Kandros’ eyes far away.

“We lost two of them. Susan Hill, human, thirty-three years old. Nakmor Greash, krogan, barely fifty.” He ran a hand over his face, tugging at his own fringe as if the pain could give him answers. “Radars didn’t pick up the kett ship waiting. I should have been more vigilant. I should have stayed up to watch, stayed up on comms. It was routine, damn it!” His tone raised, fist punching the terminal’s side so that the screen flickered for a minute.

“Tiran, I…” There weren’t words for what he was feeling, and Ryder had never been good with saying things in the first place. Instead, she put her arms around him, pulling him close. After only a moment’s resistance, Kandros relented, arms draping around her shoulders, far taller body sagging against hers. She could hold him up, at least for a little while.

“This is my responsibility.” His voice was muffled by her hair, teeth catching in it.

“Maybe. But it wasn’t your fault.” Shit happened. It happened to her all the time.

Kandros’ arms tightened around her a moment before he released her and stepped back, face a careful mask of professionalism again. “I wish I could believe that, Wren.”

“I’m taking you back home.” He was surprisingly unresistant to her tugs, mind still somewhere far away. Nodding to Glaucio as she moved out, she was gratified when the young turian gave her a grateful look. “I’ll help you write the letters to the family.” It was something she had become all too experienced in.

“Thank you, Wren.” It wasn’t much she offered, but sometimes all you needed was a familiar, loving shoulder to lean on.

#Tiran Kandros #Kandros #Rydros #Ryder #Turian #Mass Effect fanfiction #Mass effect fan fiction #Mass Effect: Andromeda #Mass Effect Andromeda #Andromeda #ME:A #MEA #mass effect #goodbibarbarella

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marshmallowgoop · 7 years

Note

Platonic Senketsu/Ryuko fanfic ? ( please ? )

I’m not sure if this is a request for fic recommendations or a request for a fic, so…

If you’re looking for the former, I made a list for Senketsu fic recs a while back, of which most are platonic Ryuko/Senketsu stories.

I also include a lot of platonic Ryuko/Senketsu stories in my own fic, Strings and Threads, a collection of Kill la Kill short stories. Any romantic Ryuketsu will be labeled with “Ryuketsu” there; the rest is platonic.

If you’re looking for the latter, well. I’ve been working on a platonic Ryuko/Senketsu story that might be of interest, maybe?

Title: comfortable

Fandom: Kill la Kill

Summary: A trip to the movies becomes something more.

Notes: Author’s notes/commentary for this story can be found here.

[AO3] [FFNET]

It all begins on July 7th, with a romantic space adventure.

The movie was Senketsu’s idea, ‘cause somehow—and it wasn’t any fault of hers—Ryuko’s ridiculous uniform got it in his ridiculous head to find the trailers intriguing.

Like, intriguing-enough-to-warrant-a-trip-to-the-theater intriguing.

And Senketsu didn’t just want to go as a joke, either. He was stone-cold, dead serious. Some sappy, insufferable love story between an alien and a human that those damn promos and TV spots couldn’t stop overhyping got him all starry-eyed in a way that Ryuko thought only a good ironing could do, and he was completely unapologetic about his excitement, eagerly gushing on and on and on.

And, well, Ryuko wasn’t gonna rain on Senketsu’s parade (he just hasn’t seen enough movies to know any better, she told herself), but if she were being honest, she was absolutely, utterly convinced that no one else in the entire world wanted to see the corny mess. Even Mako of all people passed up on it.

But beyond Ryuko’s most out-there, nonsensical, wildest expectations, Satsuki agreed.

Satsuki Kiryuin.

“I think it looks quite sweet,” Satsuki said, when Senketsu inquired about the cheese-fest while out on one of their shopping extravaganzas. She smiled his way—that-too-nice-for-Satsuki kinda expression that Ryuko’s still getting used to—not even hesitating as she declared, in no uncertain terms, “I would love to go with you, Senketsu.”

Ryuko right choked on her ice cream at that.

Senketsu couldn’t have been happier.

(But he tried very hard not to let it on, the obnoxious outfit.)

Still, even if the thought of her own flesh-and-blood sister having such terrible taste made Ryuko die on the inside a little bit, she put it on herself to see the best of the situation. She was stuck going to the theater with Senketsu no matter what—God knows (if there is a God, of course) that Ryuko would endure ten trillion times worse than a shitty movie to see Senketsu happy—but at least with Satsuki tagging along, Ryuko would have someone else to keep her company, too.

There would be no way that Ryuko’s very own big sis could think such a ridiculous, gooey, feel-good sap trap was any good at all once they were actually there in the theater.

No way in hell.

On the sunny, balmy afternoon of July 7th, Ryuko is wrong.

Very, very, very wrong.

Well, actually, Ryuko tells herself, as the three of them exit the dark theater, the movie was just as bad as she had expected. (Maybe even worse, if she were telling the truth.)

But she certainly, definitely didn’t expect the absolutely nauseating gushing that Senketsu and Satsuki got up into as soon as the credits rolled.

Heck, how they even kept paying attention past the first fifteen minutes is well beyond her understanding, but as soon as Ryuko comes face-to-face with the overly-bright, too-hot reality of summer in Japan, she can’t try to deny the sickening, horrible truth a second longer.

Satsuki and Senketsu didn’t just like the movie.

They loved it.

And they’d spent the last who-the-hell-knows-how-long spouting out nothing but praises and overeager blubbering, and they’re not stopping. They’re standing out in broad daylight and walking down the sidewalk talking their mouths off about the most embarrassing movie to hit the theaters in ten million years.

Ryuko half-considers tossing the last remnants of her Calpis over herself just to get them to yap about something else.

But she doesn’t.

And on they go.

On and on and on.

“If I saw it again,” Senketsu says, after spilling out a whole stream of I know, I know!s, “I still wouldn’t be able to keep myself from crying when the pair parted in Australia!”

He blinks movie-theater darkness from his eyes, staring up at Satsuki, who nods her head. “I didn’t cry, but I got awfully close,” she admits. “The scene was ruined a little by the night sky. There would be no way you could see those constellations at that time of year in Australia.”

Senketsu just about leaps right off of Ryuko’s chest at that. “I was thinking the same!” he cries. He’s as bubbling with excitement as he would be after the best damn ironing in the world, and he pushes Ryuko to walk a bit more quickly so that they can keep up with Satsuki’s always-too-fast pace.

Ryuko only begrudgingly follows his lead, sipping those final bits of Calpis from her cup as obnoxiously as she can.

Neither Senketsu nor Satsuki make any note of it.

“The inaccuracy wasn’t enough to pull me out of the moment,” Senketsu goes on, now right beside Satsuki, “but it was a bit glaring.”

Satsuki nods some more in agreement, and if Ryuko weren’t so fed up over a silly movie, she might have found something amusing or funny or nice about how thoughtful Satsuki is over a thing she enjoyed.

Maybe even something sweet.

But now Ryuko’s just tired and it’s not so amusing or funny or nice or comfortable to be ignored by your clothes and your sister, and she only feels her irritation build inside her as Satsuki continues, “You would think the filmmakers would do more research for such a big-budget film!”

Satsuki shakes her head, frowning a bit, clutching her bag a bit tighter. “And there is also no way that robot could have moved so easily in the sand,” she adds. “It was shaped like a soccer ball.”

“And practically all of Earth’s satellites orbit the planet west to east, not east to west!” Senketsu and Satsuki say together.

They both break out laughing.

Ryuko throws away her empty cup into the nearest trash bin with a grimace.

“I had no idea you were so interested in astrophysics and astronomy, Senketsu,” Satsuki says. She’s now smiling a very strange smile that makes Ryuko just a bit uncomfortable.

Senketsu blushes—at least, Ryuko thinks that’s what he does, since she suddenly feels a lot warmer (and she was already hot enough to begin with in this 500-degree weather).

“Well, y-you know,” Senketsu tells Satsuki, “Ryuko and I have both been to space. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

And Satsuki just won’t quit it with that smile. Ryuko swears it’s only getting worse. Weirder.

“You should take a look at some of the books in the Kiryuin library,” Satsuki says. There’s that overeagerness to her tone that’s almost as uncomfortable as the ever-increasingly-uncomfortable look on her face, and she smiles a bit wider, adding, quickly, excitedly, “I think you would particularly like—“

And Ryuko can’t help herself. She groans.

“Jesus,” she whines. “If you wanna yap about this stuff so much, I don’t think I should be the one wearing Senketsu!”

And they all stop walking. Right there. Just like that.

An awkward silence falls over the three of them, and in retrospect, maybe Ryuko would admit that she maybe sounded a bit too fed up and pissed off.

But at the time, Ryuko feels more than justified in her outburst. Being dragged along in a conversation by your damn clothes isn’t exactly what she would call a good time.

Or comfortable.

But Senketsu hardly seems to mind the abrasiveness of Ryuko’s words. He just brings his full attention to her, his eyes wide.

“Would it really be okay?” he asks. “For Satsuki to wear me?”

And Ryuko can’t really find the words to answer right away. Senketsu can no doubt feel her heart fluttering, and she’s come to feel very, very, very hot—like, way more than the this-is-summer kind of hot.

But Ryuko eventually takes a deep breath, tryin’ to think a bit before she speaks. “Kamui Senketsu,” she says, using the most chastising mom-voice she can muster (even though she’s well aware that she is not convincing in the slightest), “I thought you finally got it through your head that you ain’t just some outfit.”

She pauses, on fire, and then gently, quietly, she adds, “You got a will all your own, Senketsu. You’re your own person.”

They’re still stopped in place. Senketsu can’t stop staring up at Ryuko, and Satsuki is staring, too.

Ryuko bites down on her lip, turning away. “And grown people don’t go around asking other grown people for permission to be with a grown person who ain’t them,” she continues, hastily, face flushing. “Well, at least, they shouldn’t! So you shouldn’t be askin’ me any of this.”

Nobody says anything. They stay standing obtrusively on the sidewalk, and Ryuko can’t help but feel even more embarrassed when she sees that Satsuki’s awkward, uncomfortable smile has shifted into something you’d see plastered on the face of some proud mom at her kid’s violin concert.

But Ryuko doesn’t get too long to fuss over that as Senketsu sighs against her, which she takes immediately as Senketsu-language that he’s gonna disagree with her, or something.

And he promptly does nothing of the sort.

“You’re right, Ryuko!” Senketsu declares. “I should be asking Satsuki if it’s all right!”

So Senketsu looks to Satsuki Kiryuin and the big weird smile that she’s now directing his way (that’s continuing to make Ryuko feel even more uncomfortable), and he asks, very nervously, “What do you say, Satsuki? Would you… wear me?”

Satsuki’s smile only grows. “I would be honored, Senketsu,” she says. “It has been too long. And I—“

Satsuki stops abruptly, meeting Ryuko’s eyes, her icky, uncomfortable smile falling into what Ryuko could only describe as shame.

“And I would love to wear you again,” Satsuki finishes, weakly.

And, well, now Ryuko’s mild (yes, mild) discomfort and annoyance has twisted into the desire to just throw up all the popcorn and Calpis she’d spent the last two hours focusing on rather than the kill-me-now kitsch that was the ridiculous movie she’d overpaid for (even if it was Ladies’ Day, she still always bought a ticket for Senketsu (and the hot mess wasn’t worth even a single yen, if you had to ask her opinion)).

It wasn’t like Satsuki was trying to be a bitch or anything—at least, Ryuko hopes so, anyway. But the reminder of that time just turns and turns Ryuko’s stomach.

She doesn’t let it on.

“Let’s get on with it, then!” she says. “Let’s go change right fuckin’ now.”

“Now?” Satsuki repeats.

“This minute?” Senketsu tries to clarify.

“Right now this minute,” Ryuko insists.

And, okay, maybe she sounds just a little done with them.

But Senketsu and Satsuki agree, however reluctantly.

The three decide to grab lunch at a nearby convenience store, but before they do any of that, they head into the restrooms to change.

Ryuko, for one, is quite glad that no one else is in the facilities when they step inside. Quiet and emptiness meet them in the bathroom (as well as a space that Ryuko has to admit is much cleaner than she would expect from a convenience store).

Ryuko sighs as she enters a stall with Senketsu. Without a word, Satsuki goes into the one right beside her, the door closing with a click.

And Ryuko sighs once more, surrounded by mustard-yellow walls and a gleaming toilet. Though she would never say it out loud—and though she knows she hasn’t even been with Senketsu a year yet—life without him by her side still feels like a gross, distant past, and the thought of walking out of here by herself is… strange.

Uncomfortable.

Ryuko would never say it makes her nervous, though. Never nervous.

Her heart must say otherwise.

“Ryuko…” Senketsu starts, looking up at her with big, concerned eyes.

But Ryuko turns away, pulling him off as aggressively and suddenly as she had the day his memory returned.

She talks fast. “Senketsu,” she groans, “y’know better than to get all chatty in the bathroom. People’ll think we’re doing weird shit in here.”

Senketsu falls to the bathroom floor, leaning up against the wall. “But there’s no one else in here, Ryuko…” he says.

“Whatever!” Ryuko says right back.

She flings open the door and shoos Senketsu out like a little lost child. “Sis,” she says, much more loudly than necessary, “open your door up so Senketsu can get over there.”

Ryuko awkwardly reaches one arm out of her stall, using the other to hold the door close to her (as though to cover herself from anyone who might happen to wander in, but why the hell she gives a shit about modesty anymore is beyond her).

“Also I’m holding my hand out for your clothes,” Ryuko adds. “So, like, just, uh, give ‘em to me, or somethin’.”

“Very well,” Satsuki answers, and very uncomfortably, very ungracefully, she successfully passes her clothes into Ryuko’s hands. (Of course, Satsuki’s prissy ensemble almost falls to the ground what feels like half a dozen times and Ryuko has to stretch her arm out the farthest it’ll go to get to them and there’s a bit of swearing involved, but somehow, they manage.)

And armed with a new outfit, Ryuko retreats back into her stall and locks the door with a frown. Maybe they shouldn’t have done this right now this minute after all. The thought of wearing her sister’s clothes has never seemed so unpleasant—uncomfortable—until she has them in her hands.

“Sats, you dress like such a mom,” Ryuko whines, pulling an ankle-length wrap skirt over herself. Rayon has never felt stranger to her after wearing little but Life Fiber and cotton pajamas for so long.

“And who the hell wears sweaters in the middle of summer?” Ryuko’s barely pulled the cream-colored knit over herself and already she feels hotter than hell.

But Satsuki isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to Ryuko’s complaints.

“Senketsu, you are lovely,” she says to Senketsu instead. “But I do think I’m a little old for sailor uniforms—don’t you think you are too, Ryuko?”

Ryuko’s frown deepens.

“I suppose you are still in high school…“ Satsuki muses.

Ryuko ties the slick white ribbon on the indigo skirt that now covers her into a sloppy bow. “Yeah, I am,” she grinds out. “So, what?”

Ryuko so doesn’t need this kind of patronizing bullshit right now. She fiddles with her sister’s clothes, trying—and failing—to look somewhat presentable. It’s more than obvious that nothing fits her quite right, and the sweater is the worst offender, hanging off her body loosely and awkwardly, the threads bunching up in a manner that’s way uncomfortable.

Deep inside, a part of Ryuko never even wants to leave this stall.

But she’d never let any of those feelings on.

“Do you not wanna wear Senketsu anymore, huh?” Ryuko finds herself asking. A familiar anger bubbles up inside—the kind that’d bring her to strip down to her underwear and take on a gun-toting, even-more-naked guy with just her fists. “I swear, Satsuki. I don’t care if you’re my sister. If you make Senketsu cry, I’ll—“

“And why would I ever do a thing like that?” Satsuki asks.

“I am not so prone to fits of crying!” Senketsu adds. He sounds so damn defensive that Ryuko doesn’t have to be anywhere near him to know that he’s got that hurt, put-upon look on his face.

Ryuko crosses her arms, leaning up against the mustard-yellow wall. “Hmph, excuuuse me for caring,” she says, feeling damn hot in the face, but Senketsu and Satsuki pay her no mind.

“You are an incredible person, Senketsu,” Satsuki is saying. “And I have been thinking. You are certainly more than a mere sailor uniform, so I know you are capable of looking like more, too.”

Senketsu stutters. “I-I…” he says, and though Ryuko can’t see, she imagines Satsuki giving him one of her uncomfortable, weird-o smiles.

“If we do something like Life Fiber synchronization,” Satsuki goes on, “then I know you can become whatever you like. Whatever suits you.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Senketsu says. His voice trembles in a way that Ryuko has hardly ever heard coming from him, and for some reason, it all makes Ryuko feel like she’s melting even more in this unseasonal sweater.

But she’d never say anything.

“I know you can do it,” Satsuki tells Senketsu. “Let’s try!”

“All right, Satsuki!” Senketsu says.

And before Ryuko knows it, together, as one, Senketsu and Satsuki shout out, “Life Fiber Synchronize!,” their words seeming to echo across the empty, desolate space around them.

And Ryuko sinks down to the bathroom floor (that probably isn’t quite as clean as she thought it was coming in) at the sound, letting her head fall against wall, wishing more than anything to tear this suffocating sweater off.

But she doesn’t.

And they laugh. Senketsu and Satsuki laugh more intensely than Ryuko even thought possible for the two of them.

“You look great!” Satsuki cries, when the laughter falls away. “This is exactly something I would put in my closet. How did you know?”

Senketsu can’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “I just gave it my best!” he says. “I saw what you gave Ryuko, and I thought, “If any ordinary clothes can look like that, then why can’t I?””

The stall beside Ryuko opens with a creak, and Ryuko hears her sister rush out with Senketsu, calling her name with that overeagerness that just serves to make Ryuko feel even surer that she’d love to never leave this stall.

But Satsuki insists. “You must see this,” she says. “Senketsu has done a fantastic job.”

“We did a fantastic job, Satsuki,” Senketsu butts in. “Remember, you are the one wearing me.”

So with a groan and a grumble, Ryuko rises to her feet, brushing down on Satsuki’s skirt and sweater and slowly, embarrassingly opening the stall door to reveal a sight that boggles the mind almost as much as the fact that human evolution was literally a thing just because of clothes aliens that wanted to eat them all.

Because her Senketsu… no longer looks like her Senketsu at all.

The outfit her sister wears before her is entirely foreign. Gone are the midriff-baring top, the suspenders, and mini skirt, replaced with a frilly, baby-blue button-up and a cozy-looking circle skirt in gray.

Ryuko wouldn’t even believe that the sight before her was her Senketsu at all, had she not looked towards the elaborate, floral pattern embellishing Satsuki’s collar and noticed, without a doubt, Senketsu’s warm eyes staring back at her.

She swallows very hard, feeling her face turn very, very red.

Satsuki smiles Ryuko’s way. “You ought to try this yourself sometime,” she says.

But Ryuko can only nod, dully, as Senketsu and Satsuki skitter to the bathroom mirrors and laugh and spin in front of the glass, complimenting each other and gushing about their teamwork.

In her head, Ryuko would admit that, well, okay, sure, maybe it is a bit jarring to hear Senketsu’s voice coming from somewhere other than her.

But she would never, ever admit that what leaves her firmly Not Hungry is the strange smile on her sister’s face and how Senketsu and Satsuki just can’t shut up. They’d gone right back to talking about that damn movie again, blathering on and on about this and that and how romantic!

Ryuko could hurl.

Somehow, though, Ryuko manages to at least nibble on her yakisoba-pan.

Then again, never in her life has convenience-store yakisoba stuffed in a hot dog bun tasted as bad as it does right now, as she sits next to Satsuki and Senketsu in the park and they act like some half-baked love story is worth more than a one-word review that just says, “Sucks.”

‘Course, Ryuko thinks, spending so long chewing the ends of a noodle that it quickly just tastes like mushy nothingness, Senketsu would tell her—all smugly and condescendingly—that it’s better to not eat much of this stuff. Junk food, he’d say. How can you expect to keep up your strength with that?

Least, he would say all that crap, if she were the one wearing him.

Ryuko sighs. It’s still summer and hot and sticky (and she’s still stuck with Satsuki’s sweater), but even she could admit that it’s a fine enough day. The sky is a rich, deep blue, the way the sun filters through the leaves is so picturesque that if Mako had come along she’d beg to take about a hundred photos, and sitting here in the shade surrounded by all this niceness—with a cool breeze fluttering by that should keep her from getting too overheated—would normally be great. Any other day, any other time, Ryuko would love to be where she is, eating cheap-o convenience store food with Senketsu and Satsuki beneath the trees.

But now, well. Now she’s never felt sicker. The yakisoba-pan seems to taunt her with its smell and pitiful, this-stuff-was-made-really-fast appearance, and it’s only when a bit of yakisoba slips from its bun and falls to the ground with a heavy splat that Senketsu and Satsuki take any note of Ryuko at all.

Senketsu looks her up and down at the noise (abruptly cutting off some conversation about space and time and love and who-knows-what).

“Ryuko,” he says, his voice filled with the kind of concern that makes Ryuko feel even more ready to just vomit all over the place, “are you all right? You’ve barely touched your food.”

More yakisoba drips from the bun to the ground, and Ryuko watches it fall, making absolutely no attempt to get it to stop. The cicadas are screaming and flies make their way to the dropped food, and, quietly, Ryuko stands herself up.

“It’s shit,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly calm for how much she wants to scream along with the cicadas, and as she makes her way to the nearest garbage can, she wonders when in the world she got this kind of self-control.

Ryuko stops before the bin. “I don’t want this crap,” she goes on, and without any feeling at all, she watches as the yakisoba-pan falls apart in the trash, the yakisoba spilling every which way, breaking away from the bun.

Ryuko takes her place back on the bench beside Satsuki and Senketsu. Satsuki frowns. Ryuko ignores it.

“I thought you’d like that I’m not eating that stuff,” she says. Ryuko meant to direct the words at Senketsu, but, well, actually, it probably applies to the both of ‘em.

Satsuki really didn’t like hearing about all the Cup Curry Rice and instant miso soup she ate before she lived with the Mankanshokus, after all…

And now, Satsuki just frowns harder—and it’s harder for Ryuko to ignore it—her caterpillar eyebrows furrowed in Concern. “Ryuko,” she starts, “are you—“

“I just wanna head home,” Ryuko blurts out. She supposes it’s true, but that doesn’t stop the blush creeping over her cheeks. “I-I mean,” she stutters, “it’s just been a long day, and I’m, uh, like really tired, and, uh…”

Satsuki stands with a graceful flourish and swish of Senketsu’s now long, gray skirt. “I see,” she says. “I suppose it is getting a bit late. I’d best return Senketsu to you, shouldn’t I?”

Satsuki’s sweater might as well be eating Ryuko alive. “Jesus,” she grumbles, looking away. “Senketsu ain’t fuckin’ mine. I don’t own ‘im. It’s Senketsu’s choice to do whatever he wants.”

Ryuko lets her eyes meet his, for just a moment. “Right, Senketsu?”

Satsuki’s blue top looks very suddenly a bit pink. Ryuko tries very hard to smile, though she’s not really looking at Satsuki and Senketsu anymore, and her effort probably just comes out seeming kinda fucked up and demonic.

“Look,” Ryuko says, standing up again herself, cracking her back as though she’s toootally cool with this whole situation (which she is, of course, definitely, absolutely, why wouldn’t she be?). “You two’re havin’ so much fun, so why don’t you stay with Satsuki for a change, Senketsu?”

The words fall out before Ryuko can even stop herself, and both Senketsu and Satsuki stare at her wide-eyed.

Well, Ryuko would be happy to join her fallen yakisoba and the screaming cicadas right about now.

But she can’t stop it with the incessant, worthless blubbering. “Y-Y’know,” she says, trying very hard—and failing even harder—to hide the twitter in her voice, “I was just thinking about how nice it’d be to spend some time away from obnoxious outfits!”

Satsuki and Senketsu exchange worried glances.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Senketsu asks.

“I don’t need ya babysitting me!” Ryuko says—well, shouts, more like, which just serves to make Satsuki’s frown become even more intense.

Ryuko sighs, and more quietly, more calmly, she adds, “’Sides, you should be askin’ Satsuki if it’s all right, not me.”

So up Senketsu’s eyes go, to his wearer. “Would you mind if I stayed the night with you?” he asks.

“Not at all,” answers Satsuki. “But—“

Ryuko claps her hands together. “Well, I am just so glad we got that figured out!” she says. Her attention falls to the baggy, ill-fitting ensemble dripping off her body. “I’ll return these mom-clothes to ya when we meet up again.”

Satsuki doesn��t even react to Ryuko’s insults. She says, “Are you sure—“

But Ryuko storms away without waiting to hear the rest, waving a hand behind her.

“You guys just have fun,” she says, even as she hears Senketsu call her name and Satsuki mutter something or other that she can’t especially make out.

And, okay, sure. The walk back from downtown has never seemed so long.

Fine. Ryuko would admit that much.

Slouching and dragging her feet along the sidewalk, Ryuko keeps herself distracted by kicking along pebbles and listening for the click, click, clicks as they hop across the pavement. Whenever she loses a pebble to the grass or the streets, she picks out another on her path to hit along instead. Ryuko never seems to hold on to a stone for more than fifteen sidewalk squares, and maybe another time that’d annoy her, but she’s got more than enough eating at her now.

It’s not that she’s jealous, of course, Ryuko thinks. Satsuki just doesn’t know how to wash Senketsu right and ain’t got a clue about how he likes to be ironed and maybe Satsuki would hurt herself wearing Senketsu for so long in that weird state because Senketsu was designed for her after all and she’s just concerned, okay?

Ryuko loses another pebble on her walk. This one can’t even have lasted five sidewalk squares, and she pauses on her way, groaning, trying to find another.

But it seems this sidewalk is fresh out of pebbles, and Ryuko ain’t got anything even close to the patience or energy or care to go pick out the one she lost to the grass.

So she’ll just deal with it, she thinks. If Senketsu and Satsuki come cryin’ back to her in the morning, then she could at least say that they’d tried.

Ryuko almost-smiles at the thought. Things are gonna be okay. It’s not like Senketsu is gonna…

Well, Ryuko doesn’t get the chance to ponder anymore on that. Seemingly out of nowhere, she’s attacked with a loud, energetic, over-peppy shout from none other than Mako Mankanshoku.

“Lady Satsuki!” the girl cries. She promptly throws down the yellow sponge she’d been using to clean the family car and rushes to where Ryuko stands, her arms outstretched for a hug.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming to visit!” Mako goes on, but her smile quickly falls as she gets a better look at the very not-Satsuki Kiryuin with the too-big, uncomfortable clothes and ordinary eyebrows and wild hair that will never sit flat, no matter how hard you might try.

“Oh, it’s you, Ryuko,” Mako says, frowning a bit. “Why’re you all dressed up like Satsuki? Where’s Senketsu?”

Ryuko feels her stomach churn. She barely even ate that yakisoba-pan, but she might just throw it all up right now.

She doesn’t.

“Oh,” she says, trying very hard to sound casual, but Satsuki’s clothes don’t have pockets or even little pouches like Senketsu does, so she can’t oh-so-nonchalantly fiddle with something as though the conversation they’re having is no big deal at all (which it isn’t, of course, why would it be?).

She ends up rolling up the sleeves of Satsuki’s sweater, like she’s getting ready for a fist fight. “Well, Senketsu n’ Satsuki just decided to hang out a little while longer, that’s all,” she explains.

And Ryuko smiles, sort of, melting in this horrible sweater more than ever.

And Mako’s mouth falls wide open.

“You mean that Satsuki is wearing Senketsu?!” she bursts out. “Are you sure that’s okay, Ryuko?”

Ryuko flushes, turning her head away from Mako. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks. “Senketsu is his own person, you know.”

Mako can’t stop looking at her funny, but eventually nods her head sagely. “Okay, Ryuko,” she says, very matter-of-fact, very knowingly. “Your secret is safe with me!” She winks, offering Ryuko a wide-toothed grin, but now it’s Ryuko’s turn to have her own mouth fall open.

“My what now?” she gasps. “Mako, don’t tell me that you still think that Senketsu n’ me—“

“It’s okay, Ryuko!” Mako repeats, patting Ryuko on the back as they walk towards their home. “You don’t have to hide anything from me!”

Ryuko sighs. It’s still one ear and out the other with this family sometimes, but she supposes she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Why don’t I help you with the car?” Ryuko asks, smiling for real now. “It’s… partly my fault that it’s all covered in blood, after all.” (Only partly, though. It’s not her fault that overpass bridges aren’t nearly as high as they should be.)

Mako nods her head eagerly, handing Ryuko an oversized sponge.

Okay, but maybe there’s still something that’s just kinda-sorta odd as hell about changing into pajamas at night and not hearing a peep from Senketsu.

Ryuko steals a glance at the bathroom mirror before going to wash Satsuki’s clothes. Her hair’s just as all-over-the-place as ever, and, feebly, Ryuko brings a hand to her head to push the wild strands down.

It all just fluffs back up again in moments.

Of course.

It’s not like Ryuko would like her hair all flat and silky and refined like Satsuki, though. No way in hell. She’s not that boring, and it’s not her fault if Senketsu’s so boring that he prefers the boring-boringness of Satsuki Kiryuin over her.

Unlike that sister of hers, Ryuko doesn’t have some stick up her ass and isn’t some lame-old fine lady who drinks tea and acts all proper-like and you can tell that even from her hair and…

She’s not jealous, okay?!

Ryuko rushes out from the bathroom with Satsuki’s clothes clutched too tightly in her hands, her fingers digging into the fabric and threads. She scrambles over to the wash tub and throws the garments down more furiously than she should, and fills the basin more viciously than she should, and adds more of Mrs. Mankanshoku’s laundry detergent than she should, and when she goes to scrub out all her sweat and stench, she scrubs much more aggressively than she should, too.

If it were Senketsu she were washing, he’d be screaming and crying at her to “be gentle!” and to “quit it!,” but these clothes say nothing and Ryuko’s just fine with that!

But when Ryuko hangs Satsuki’s too-big, ugly sweater and prissy, ankle-length skirt to dry on the line, and when she heads to bed, there’s an odd sensation that overtakes her, one that she can’t especially explain. It’s a bit out-of-body, a bit surreal, a bit uncomfortable, and when Ryuko pulls her polka-dotted blanket over herself, a part of her hopes that it has only been a dream, this entire atrocity of a day. She’d wake up in the morning and look to the wardrobe and there wouldn’t be an empty hanger anymore and…

And what the hell is her problem, anyway? She’s not five years old anymore, Ryuko tells herself, calling her dad from her dorm every night and twisting that damn phone wire ‘round and ‘round her fingers as he doesn’t pick up. She’s not fifteen anymore, listening to punk-ass bitches she woulda swore were on her side talking shit about her (and going outta her way to break more noses than anyone probably should).

But when Ryuko pulls her sheets completely over her head, to cover herself in total darkness, to hide away from her family and a shadowed wardrobe and abandoned hanger, sleep still only comes to her in short, nightmarish fragments full of Maiko Ogure and Fight Club and dinners all alone.

On July 8th, long before morning, Ryuko wakes with her heart racing and her body slick with sweat, and she sits up quickly, holding a hand over her mouth.

Her pajamas stick uncomfortably to her skin, but it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as the horrible ache in her stomach. That yakisoba-pan’s getting to her, or maybe it’s the Calpis, or the popcorn, but whatever it is, Ryuko needs the toilet.

Now.

She hurries to her feet, careful to step around her family’s sleeping forms as she hops straight to the bathroom, where she promptly throws on the lights and shoves her head over the toilet bowl.

Her mouth falls open. She coughs and gags, and hardly keeps herself quiet. However selfish it is, nothing else matters right now besides getting this shit out of her.

But nothing comes. Ryuko’s stomach feels ready to explode, but nothing comes.

With a groan, she leans away from the bowl, unsure if she should sit around here and wait for the inevitable vomit flood or try to sleep again, but she pauses as she catches her reflection in the water.

She nearly screams, too, when she sees the white gloves that have covered her hands.

“No…” Ryuko mumbles, shooting up to her feet.

But the cracked, murky bathroom mirror confirms everything. Her hair is even wilder than usual, spiking up unnaturally—so much so that no amount of pressing down or water or hell, even gravity could tame it—and it’s streaked with red and blue, adorned with twisted silver that juts out from her scalp.

And it laughs at her. Her entire appearance laughs at her.

“Come on, Ryuko…” her reflection says. It has the most shit-eating grin on its face, and its eyes are wild and manic, the lids painted scarlet. “Did you really think he would want to stick with you?”

It laughs some more, and Ryuko backs away. She leans against the wall, pulling at the blue-edged collar that brushes uncomfortably against her cheeks, but it’s stuck, stitched on, and this time, no amount of tearing or snapping seems to get it to budge.

The expression in the mirror darkens. “You’re so damn annoying,” it says. “Actin’ all high n’ mighty, like you can jus’ get away with anything you want ‘cause you think you deserve it.”

Ryuko stops struggling. Her reflection glowers. “But here’s the thing, princess. You can’t erase what you did.”

It smiles once more, and Junketsu only seems to hold Ryuko tighter, its fabric pulling her so close that it’s suffocating.

And Ryuko can’t say anything, as her reflection laughs in her face, and Junketsu screams, and the white gloves won’t go away.

And she still can’t say anything, as blood covers the mirror and splatters over her, and she sees in the glass the blurry image of Senketsu drenched in red.

And so it is on July 8th that Ryuko really wakes with Senketsu’s name on her lips.

She only barely manages to keep herself from shouting out, clamping a hand over her mouth before she can make any sound at all.

It’s late—or disgustingly early (Ryuko can’t say she can tell). The house is as quiet as it ever gets, filled with only the distant sounds of the screaming cicadas and the gentle rumble of her family’s snores, and it’s so dark that Ryuko can hardly tell that the hanger perched on the wardrobe is empty.

She pulls her hand away from her mouth, staring down at her blanket, ignoring the uncomfortable, too-hot feeling she has on account of her shit sleep tonight and her shit dreams.

And nervously, twittery, Ryuko bunches and bunches her sheets up in her hands, smiling a little, knowing that any other time, Senketsu would tell her to wear his glove “for protection against the nightmares!” right about now, and she’d say back (like always) that he’s being ridiculous and she doesn’t know where he got it in his head to spout out that kinda crap.

But she’d do what he said anyway. Of course she would. Of course she would.

And of course Senketsu would rather be with someone who never betrayed him and treated him well and Senketsu and Satsuki had even come up with Senjin-Shippu together and that’s something she hadn’t considered and it’s not Senketsu’s fault that she’s terrible and he’s tired of putting up with it, right?

Ryuko shakes her head, falling back into bed. No, no, she thinks, Satsuki and Senketsu can’t possibly get along like she and Senketsu can, of course not, no way, Senketsu was made for her after all, isn’t that right, and after those two spend one night together they’ll realize that—

That what?

Ryuko turns over to her side, facing away from the wardrobe and towards Mako, who sleeps just as heavily as usual. Piles of drool puddle up across Mako’s pillow, and normally, any other day, Ryuko would inch away at the sight of all that spit.

But now, tonight, Ryuko is instead filled with a sense of longing. If only she could get some sleep.

And then she just kinda wants to swear at the top of her lungs at the thought.

What the hell is she sittin’ around moping about? It’s not that she’s jealous or anything petty like that and tomorrow everything will return to how it was anyway and besides there are just ways that things should be and Senketsu being with Satsuki all night isn’t how things should be and Ryuko can’t sleep only ‘cause she’s been horribly amused this whole time ‘cause it’s just so damn funny and there’s a natural order to stuff and—

Okay, maybe that’s not the best way to put it.

She’s just—she’s not jealous, right?

Right?

Ryuko turns over once more, back towards the abandoned hanger glistening in the starlight, and no matter how much she tells herself that it’s nothing and she’s fine and it’s not like that (of course it’s not), she can’t sleep for the rest night, tossing and turning even worse than she did right before she first faced Satsuki all decked out in that piece-of-shit Junketsu.

It’s only when streaks of morning punch her in the face that Ryuko thinks back to her dreams and Junketsu and then Senketsu covered in blood that she knows it’s not jealousy at all, what’s kept her up all night.

But the truth certainly doesn’t make her feel any better, and if she could only get some damn sleep, she’d just stay in bed all day.

Easily.

But at 6:17 AM, Ryuko gives it up. She forces herself out from the warmth and comfort of her sheets—‘cause of course Satsuki would be wide awake at that godawful time in the morning—and she punches in the number of Satsuki’s cell on the phone, pulling the cord with her ‘til both she and the phone are outside.

Cool summer air hits Ryuko’s skin and the sound of ringing hits her ear and she shudders at the thought of figuring out what exactly she’s going to say.

Just seein’ if you survived one night of my obnoxious outfit, she thinks. Just checkin’ up to make sure yer not dead.

The more Ryuko considers, the more ridiculous it all sounds.

The more Ryuko thinks about it, the more uncomfortable everything feels.

But Satsuki picks up before long, gigging incessantly. “This is Satsuki,” she says, still laughing. “Hush, Senketsu! It’s important to keep a proper presence on the phone!”

Well, that certainly doesn’t make Ryuko feel any better. She blanches, clutching the phone wire tight.

“You sound well,” Ryuko says, dully. Faintly, Ryuko hears Senketsu laugh, too, and it takes everything she has to hide the hurt in her voice as she adds, “Senketsu sounds great, too.”

“Oh, yes,” says Satsuki, trying—and failing—to keep her tone level and free of giggles. “We are both doing quite well, Ryuko. And how are you?”

Ryuko doesn’t get a chance to really answer (and it’s not like she would want to, anyway). Satsuki seems to turn her full attention to Senketsu right then, and the phone line is filled with incoherent fuzz and split-off conversations and laughter and Ryuko could really be throwing up now, probably?

But she doesn’t.

“Forgive me, Ryuko,” Satsuki eventually says, after an annoyingly-loud throat clearing. “Senketsu would like to talk to you, but I’m not quite sure about the best way to get him to speak over the phone—“

The line fills up once more with laughter. And fuzz. Tons and tons of fuzz.

Ryuko pulls her head away from the speaker, groaning.

“Okay!” Satsuki says soon enough, very loudly, as though she is far away. “I’ve put the phone against Senketsu. Can you hear him?”

Ryuko scowls. “I can just hear you, actually.”

“Very funny, Ryuko,” comes Senketsu. His voice is still a bit fuzzy, but it’s clear enough that Ryuko can tell that he is in high spirits. There’s a bounce in his tone—the kind he gets when he’s being ironed or when they go flying in Senketsu-Shippu.

And Ryuko didn’t even think it was possible at this point, but her own spirits fall below the ground and straight into the Earth’s core at that. She can’t find anything to say back to Senketsu, standing with the old landline phone held up against her face and her fingers nervously twirling and twirling the coiled wire, her whole body burning hot no matter the chill, early-morning summer breeze that can’t stop hitting her.

Senketsu must notice. Of course he does.

“Are you all right, Ryuko?” he asks, all kindness and worry, and Ryuko can only clench her fist around the phone wire at the sound of it.

“’Course I am,” she says, so loudly that she might-probably be bothering the too-close neighbors whose houses are just about rammed up against her own. “In fact, it was so nice to get a break from your annoying ass!”

Ryuko spits onto the ground, scoffing like she’s about to go fight up against the latest competitor ever. “I think you should stay with Satsuki longer!” she says.

Senketsu is quiet. Ryuko’s heart races in her chest. Well, it is nice to get away from how he can read shit like that so easily.

Not like being distanced really stops him, though, and he says, very Concerned, “Ryuko, are you—“

And Ryuko clutches the phone wire so hard she might just have to invest in a new one again.

“I said you should just stay with Satsuki longer, didn’t I?!”

She doesn’t wait to hear anything more. Ryuko busts back into the house, slamming the phone down with a too-loud huff, her face very red and her heart still beating way too quickly.

If this is the way it’s gonna be, she thinks, it’s completely fine! It’s more than fine! She’s just so incredibly, wonderfully fucking fine!

And maybe Ryuko would just simmer in her complete and total fine-ness, but a knock sounds on the door before she even knows it, startling all her thoughts and leaving her suddenly very aware of the fact that she’s breathing hard and fuming after talking with her clothes on the phone at 6:30 in the morning.

But something tells her that the door is for her, so Ryuko makes her way over, giving absolutely no shits about how her hair must be even worse than usual and giving even less shits about how the strands really oughta be stickin’ up in fifty different directions and she also doesn’t give any shits about how she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas and she definitely, absolutely, 100% doesn’t fucking care about the dark circles that must be drooping off her eyes because she slept worse than garbage and would probably just fall over if she weren’t so fine right about now.

So Ryuko opens the door, looking very much like the trash she slept like, only to see none other than Senketsu and Satsuki themselves.

And she promptly slams the door in their faces.

Satsuki wrenches it right back open. Ryuko scowls.

“You really flew all the way over here?” she asks. She tastes the nasty-ass morning breath in her mouth, and she hopes it smells just as bad as it feels. “What the fuck for?”

Well, that makes Satsuki look quite Exasperated. “What for?” she repeats. “Because of this sight before me!” She gestures up and down at Ryuko, her motions uncharacteristically sloppy and frenzied—but completely-characteristically full of Concern.

Ryuko only feels her irritation grow. “Says the one wearing Senketsu around like that in the middle of the street,” she says, dully.

But neither Satsuki nor Senketsu are really paying any attention to her anymore, quite content with talking among themselves as though Ryuko isn’t even there.

“I told you,” Senketsu is saying, his voice obnoxiously matter-of-fact, like his I’m-only-a-year-old ass really knows more than anyone else, “Ryuko needs someone to keep her in check. It was selfish of me to leave her alone all night.”

Satsuki frowns. Ryuko could spontaneously combust. Mako tells her people have done that at her dad’s “hospital” before. It’s possible.

But she doesn’t.

Satsuki says, “Senketsu, but what if it’s simply the stress of—“

And Ryuko can’t take another word. “I am right fucking here,” she says—well, just-about-screams-to-the-heavens, more like. “You wanna say something about my appearance or whatever the hell else, you can say it to my fucking face! Or blow it out your fucking ass!”

And Satsuki raises one of her giant caterpillar-butt eyebrows at Ryuko at that outburst. “Ryuko, as your older sister, I am just concerned—“

And, well, Ryuko doesn’t wait to any more. She slams the door on the two of them (again), fuming. She would have thought that this patronizing crap was behind Satsuki ever since the two of them had figured out their blood connection, but now she’s half-convinced that this shit has just become even worse: it’s gone from just patronizing to the kind of garbage, over-protective, big-sister, patronizing for your own good crap.

And it’s just made even worse when added on to Senketsu’s already worry-warty self.

And it’s only after Ryuko has stood still for a good few seconds that she notices the entire Mankanshoku family behind her.

“Don’t say anything,” she says, and she storms off into the main room before they even have a chance to stop her, as if she could really get away that easily, grimacing as she catches the sight of Satsuki and Senketsu in the window.

Ryuko slams that shut in their faces, too.

Doesn’t stop them from running their mouths, though.

“Senketsu would like to say that he cares about you very much, Ryuko!” Satsuki shouts, her voice just as loud as it had been when she’d spouted out orders from the top of Honnouji Academy. (Her tone is just as irritatingly commandeering and contentious, too.)

“And Satsuki loves you very much herself!” Senketsu adds.

“We’ll be back in the morning!” they shout together, and though Ryuko doesn’t watch, she hears them fly away, chattering among themselves, and she falls back to her sheets at the sound of it, pulling the covers up ‘til her shoulders.

Well, there’s no way she’s going to school today. No way, no way, no way.

But Mako is in the room in only a moment, peering over at Ryuko with big bug eyes. “Ryuuuuko,” she says, leaning over, her hair brushing up against her neck, “we have to get ready to go or we’ll be late again!”

Ryuko pulls the covers completely over. “I’m sick,” she says. She turns the farthest away she can from Mako, scowling to herself.

“Yeah, heartsick!” Mako cries. With a great huff, she pulls Ryuko’s sheets away and scowls a scowl that could rival Ryuko’s own, refusing to let Ryuko grab back her covers (no matter how much Ryuko’s hands reach over to snatch them back from Mako’s grip).

“Ryuko, you can’t cure your heartache moping around here, so stop it! You’re not gonna win the fight for Senketsu’s heart lying around here on the floor all day!”

Well, that brings Ryuko right up to her feet.

“The what?!” she gasps, hardly keeping herself from falling over.

Mako gets very, very close to Ryuko’s face.

“You heard me!” she shouts. “The. Fight. For. Senketsu’s. Heart!”

Ryuko’s mouth falls open. Her face burns.

Mako can’t stop staring at her with starry eyes.

“Two sisters,” Mako says, dreamily, “torn apart by love! What tragedy! What horror!”

Ryuko could die.

She doesn’t.

“Okay, first of all, there is nothing appealing about that kinda situation,” Ryuko manages to say. “But you’re misunderstandin’ again. It’s not—“

“You don’t have to lie to me, Ryuko!” Mako cries. She drapes a dramatic arm across her forehead, shutting her eyes and leaning over as though the weight of what’s going on is too much to handle.

“I see the way you look at Senketsu!” she says. “I see—“

And Ryuko promptly snatches her blanket back from the distracted Mako and pushes herself right back under them. “I’msickandstayinginbed,” she says, but Mako lifts her up as though she’s nothing, the covers falling away.

“W-what are you doing?!” Ryuko blubbers. She struggles to break free, but Mako’s grip doesn’t let up one bit.

“I’m rooting for you!” Mako declares. “You are going to win this war! I’ll make sure of it!”

Mako brings Ryuko right into the bathroom and plops her flat down onto a chair that seems to have come from nowhere because Ryuko is sure it wasn’t there last night and she’s slept like shit and—

God, all she wants right now is just to sleep.

Ryuko sighs (for what feels like the millionth time in the last 24 hours). “Look,” she starts to say, but she stops pretty abruptly when she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror.

Oh, she thinks. She does look horrible. For real.

Her hair is sticking up in every direction, defying all logic, reason, and, well, that gravity thing. It seems more than impossible to have just woken up like that, but there her hair hangs above her, a frizzy, wild mass of human and Life Fiber and…

Right. Maybe it’s not so weird, being what she is.

Ryuko turns away, quiet. There’s only so much lookin’ at herself that she can stand, especially when her pajamas are crinkled and too tight and falling off at the same time and her face is all red and her eyes are all bloodshot like she’s been crying but she hasn’t been cryin’ not a bit not even a little she hasn’t she—

And Ryuko is quite quickly forced to notice that Mako’s taken a wet brush to her hair. She gasps suddenly, breaking herself away from her thoughts, grimacing as cold water drips down her neck and forehead.

“…and once Senketsu sees how popular you are,” Mako is saying, and Ryuko realizes all at once that she hasn’t heard a word of whatever the heck Mako had been goin’ on about up to this point, “he’ll see just what he’s missing and come running right back! He’ll see that he’s your uniform and only yours!”

“But he’s not,” Ryuko says. The words come out much calmer than she had expected, and even she is surprised by the composed tone she’s taken on. “He’s not mine. He can do whatever he wants…”

Mako pauses in her furious brushing of Ryuko’s hair. “And date anyone he wants?” she asks. “Look deep inside yourself, Ryuko! You don’t want Senketsu with anyone but you and you know it! You have to fight!”

Ryuko feels her hair deflate—and not from Mako’s brushing “Why would I have to do that?” she asks. “It’s his life.”

“But what about your life?!” Mako cries. She stands before Ryuko, placing her hands firmly on Ryuko’s shoulders, squeezing, tight. “Ryuko, you deserve happiness with Senketsu!”

Ryuko pushes Mako’s hands away, her touch gentle. “You’re still misunderstanding,” she says, and then she smiles a little, as much as she can. “Senketsu and I aren’t like that at all.”

“But—“ Mako tries, her eyes very wide, but Ryuko squeezes Mako’s hands now, and the girl quiets.

“We’re not like that,” Ryuko repeats. She stands, and Mako doesn’t try to stop her as she leaves the bathroom, her hair dripping icy water that falls to the floor and across her pajama top, and as she prepares herself for the day.

She’s fine, Ryuko tells herself. There’s no reason to stay in bed. She and Senketsu aren’t anything like that at all, so what reason is there to be upset? To sit around mopin’ all day?

None. No reason at all!

So why is it, Ryuko thinks, as she sits in class that day, and hastily finishes her homework, and unenthusiastically jams food into her mouth at lunch, that she can’t stop thinking of him? Why is it that every classmate that passes her by reminds her of him, and his stupid comfortable fabric, and reminds her of how he isn’t there to talk with her anymore, and to tell her to calm down, and—

Mako’s gasp breaks through Ryuko’s thoughts. It takes Ryuko a moment to realize that the hamburger steak between her chopsticks had fallen right to the ground.

“How horrible!” Mako cries. She frowns at Ryuko, her expression very serious. “Ryuko, you have got to talk to Senketsu!” she pleads. “Otherwise, there will be more unnecessary food death!”

Ryuko scoffs. “Food death?” she repeats. “Aren’t you just going to eat that anyway?”

Mako already has the fallen bit of steak in her hand, and she turns a bit red at Ryuko’s accusation. “T-that doesn’t matter!” she insists, jamming the hamburger steak into her mouth. “You still have to talk to Senketsu!”

“I’m glad to get a break from that obnoxious know-it-all,” Ryuko answers, just as she has been this whole time, poking chopsticks into her smiling tako sausage, but she drops some lettuce and tomato to the ground before lunch is over, and she can’t pay any attention at all to her afternoon classes, no matter how much she knows she ought to be thinking about end-of-term exams.

On July 8th, Mrs. Mankanshoku prepares a bath for Ryuko after dinner, just as she always does.

“Take as long as you like, dear,” she says, extra sweetly, more so than usual, and Ryuko tries very hard to hide her embarrassment.

She just wasn’t hungry, she wants to say. That’s the only reason why she just pecked at her food more than she ate it.

But Ryuko still spends an extra-extra-long time in the bath, drenching herself in the horrible, wonderful stench of cucumber and vanilla, trying to let herself believe that it’d be enough to make her feel better, and to quell her fears, and to allow her to imagine, just for a moment, that she is not alone.

And maybe it would have worked, if Mako hadn’t caught Ryuko returning Mrs. Mankanshoku’s homemade laundry detergent to its proper place.

Mako looks Ryuko up and down then, her eyes catching on Ryuko’s wet hair and the detergent pail still clutched in her hands.

“Ryuko,” she says, very slowly. “What were you doing?”

“Taking a bath,” Ryuko answers. Her grip around the detergent pail tightens. She feels very hot.

Very uncomfortable.

“With Mom’s laundry detergent?” Mako asks. She frowns, only for her eyes to get so big that Ryuko becomes half-convinced that they’ll bug right outta her face.

“Oh. My. God!” Mako cries. She gets very close to Ryuko’s face, that bug-eyed look still very much staying put. “Your love for Senketsu is so strong, you even want to smell like him! How romantic!

Mako’s expression darkens. “How tragic!”

And Ryuko is so exhausted and overwhelmed that she can’t find it in her to even be surprised or offended at Mako’s outburst.

She just stands very still, her hair dripping, her grip on the laundry detergent slipping.

What was she even doing?

Mako takes a hold of Ryuko’s free hand. “Ryuko,” she says, “you have got to fight! Fight for your love!”

Somehow, Ryuko manages to shake her head. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she tells Mako, for what must be the umpteenth time. “It’s just, I’m… I’m part-clothes, right? So who says I even can love, huh? And-and, who says I should even use human stuff in my baths, huh? Maybe I shoulda been usin’ laundry detergent my whole damn—“

And Mako quite abruptly takes Ryuko by the shoulders. “Do you want me to iron you now, too?!” she cries. She’s got a wild, almost manic look to her now, her big brown eyes wider than ever. “Ryuko, listen to yourself! You can’t replace Senketsu by being him! You are Ryuko! You aren’t Senketsu! You have to fight, fight, fight!”

Ryuko looks away. “Fight for what?” she asks.

And Mako looks more than ready to spout on and on about that, but Ryuko’s grip on the laundry detergent just so happens to slip completely right then, and the pail falls to the ground, dumping laundry powder all over the floor.

“Shit,” Ryuko says at the sight, and she groans, and she falls to the ground herself, to pick up the mess she made, but something about that damn tipped-over, rejected laundry detergent pail and the scattered powder brings a sob to her throat, and she clasps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Mako softens at the sight, not even hesitating to crouch down beside Ryuko, wrapping gentle arms around her.

“Ryuko,” she says, and there is none of the dramatic flair or fighting spirit in her tone any longer, “you have to talk to him.”

Ryuko dully nods her head. She swallows back her tears, calms her breathing. “Yeah,” she says, quietly. “Yeah. You’re right.”

And shyly, she brings her own arms around Mako, and returns the hug.

It’s not until the late evening that Ryuko sums up the courage to call Senketsu, and she stands a long moment before the phone, her hair now dried, the stench of cucumber and vanilla filling her ‘til she feels sick.

Mako gives her two thumbs up. Ryuko takes a deep breath, reaching her hand for the phone…

And the phone promptly rings as soon as her skin makes contact with the cheap plastic.

Ryuko picks it up, hesitantly. Mako scurries away with a grin.

“Hello?”

There’s silence, and then, quietly, “Ryuko.”

Senketsu. Ryuko can’t help herself. She freezes up at the sound, twirling the phone wire in her fingers.

“Senketsu,” she says, “I…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Ryuko swallows, shuts her eyes. It’s so much different over the phone. She just wishes… she just wishes…

“I’m worried about you,” Senketsu says for Ryuko, filling the space. “Satsuki is, too. We’re going to come over in the morning.”

Ryuko manages a laugh. She acts like it’s a surprise, like she hadn’t heard them declare that they were coming back just this morning.

“Again?” she asks. “You were just here!” She tries to force another one of her lies, that she’d hoped they’d stay away a little while longer no matter what they’d said before, because she was just starting to get used to all the peace and quiet she got without his annoying ass around.

But Ryuko can’t do it anymore, and she’s silent, her mouth dry.

“We have… something to tell you,” Senketsu says, and Ryuko doesn’t get any time to react to that as he shouts a hasty, “Goodbye!” and the line goes dead.

Ryuko takes a long moment before she puts down the phone, and when she finally forces herself to, she does it slowly, quietly, standing horribly still.

It’s only when she sees Mako in the corner of her eye that she grits her teeth together, her hands folding into fists.

“Well,” Ryuko says, much more loudly than needed, “if there was a fight here, I sure got my ass handed to me!”

Mako’s smile falls, and she is uncharacteristically quiet, and she stays that way as they prepare themselves for bed—for sleep that Ryuko knows will never come.

Something to tell you, she thinks.

So, it’s true after all.

Morning takes too long to come.

Ryuko rises as soon as she sees the first glimmers of light, stepping quietly outside to watch the sunrise.

She pushes away the thoughts of Senketsu watching the sunrise with her when she couldn’t get any rest.

She pushes away the thoughts of wearing his glove to bed.

She pushes away the thoughts of sleeping with her hand over her heart, to keep that worry wart satisfied with the sound of her heart.

Ryuko absolutely, positively, most-definitely does not think about any of that shit as scarlet and orange and dandelion-yellow light up the sky, so she doesn’t know why her face is wet when she comes back into the house and why her insides are so twisted up with her real issue here that she can barely breathe.

She wipes her face as quickly as she can muster when she sees Mako already awake.

“You’re up early,” she blubbers, as nonchalantly as she can (which is about as “nonchalant” as a Mako ten centimeters away from an all-you-can-eat buffet).

Mako pays Ryuko’s tone no mind, though. “Of course I’m up, silly!” she says. She seems to want to be whispering ‘cause the rest of her family’s still asleep, but there’s a kind of bubbly excitement in her that has it so she’s just-about shouting. “I have to help you get prettied up!”

“Prettied up?” Ryuko repeats.

“Of. Course!” Mako cries. She takes her hands from behind her back, revealing one of the new frilly outfits she’d gotten on one of their shopping trips.

Mako shakes the fabric with a grin, and Ryuko doesn’t have the chance to say or do anything as Mako grabs her by the hand and rushes her to the bathroom with an over-eager, “Come on!”

Ryuko only manages to escape Mako’s makeover to open the door for Satsuki and Senketsu, but by that time, it’s already too late. Her hair is tied back into two girlish pigtails, and to make her even more of an eyesore, they’re all held up by pink ribbons that match the oversized bows on the frilly, ruffly, pink-and-purple dress drenched in lace that Mako had begged her to put on.

Her entire ensemble also matches her bubblegum-pink lipstick.

“You’re going to wear clothes so cute that Senketsu’ll be green with envy!” Mako had said. “And the rest of you will be even cuter! He won’t be able to resist!”

And, well, Ryuko thinks she must actually look like some ridiculous cosplayer who’s lost her way to her convention—and she’s probably a million times more uncomfortable than a girl in that situation, too—but she pulls open the door for Satsuki and Senketsu in the ridiculous get-up all the same. (And tries very hard to ignore their wide-eyed stares.)

“So, what’s so important that you had to come all the way over here to tell me about?” Ryuko asks, as casually as she can muster, but she knows that she can only sound so casual when she’s wearing an outfit and makeup more fit for a magical girl anime than reality.

And she can only be so casual when she knows that Senketsu has decided to leave her for Satsuki.

For good.

She clenches her fist at the thought.

Satsuki can’t stop with the staring. Neither can Senketsu. He’s a navy blue dress today, not too unlike his usual self (though, being on Satsuki, his fabric falls to her ankles, of course), and his eyes rest on a red scarf that Satsuki has tied around her head as a headband.

“Well, Ryuko,” Satsuki eventually manages to say, averting her eyes oddly, “I think… Senketsu would like to sit down, for this.”

“Well, Senketsu can tell me that himself, can’t he?” Ryuko asks in a huff, but she softens a bit as Satsuki holds out a bag for her.

“I know it’s a bit early,” Satsuki says, “but I made these for you earlier this morning. I hope you like them, and that they’re still warm.”

Ryuko takes the gift with a heavy heart. A consolation prize, huh?

Part of Ryuko wants to be angry at the gesture, but she only feels a mixture of guilt and pity and shame when Satsuki explains, “It’s nothing much, but I thought you would like some homemade yakisoba-pan after the other day.”

Ryuko swallows the lump in her throat as she peers inside and sees the neatest fucking yakisoba-pan she has ever seen—with yakisoba so damn perfectly kept inside the bun!—all enclosed in cutesy-pink food storage boxes that Ryuko would have never, ever fathomed her sister having.

“Thanks, Sis,” she manages to say, and she lets them in, prompting an overly-excited Mrs. Mankanshoku to make them all some tea.

But Senketsu is quick to drop the news before any tea arrives and before Ryuko even has a chance to open up the yakisoba-pan, running his mouth almost as soon as they sit at the table.

“Ryuko,” he says, all nervousness and anticipation and quiet enthusiasm, Ryuko trembling horribly at all of it, hardly even able to breathe, “Satsuki and I wanted to tell you that…”

Senketsu looks up at Satsuki before he goes on. Ryuko is so uncomfortable she can barely believe her Life Fiber-infused heart hasn’t just given up by now.

But it clearly hasn’t, and Satsuki nods her head, and together, she and Senketsu look right at Ryuko as they say, quite matter-of-fact, “We’re dating now.”

And, well, Ryuko is quite silent for a long, long moment.

Satsuki’s cheeks flush. Senketsu sweats.

And then, without any warning at all, Ryuko breaks out laughing.

She doesn’t even know how she has it in her to get such a bombastic sound out of herself on account of her shit sleeping for the last two days, but somehow, loud, shrill laughter pours out of Ryuko, and she pounds her hand on the table, blinking tears from her eyes.

“I don’t see what is so funny,” Satsuki says, sounding hurt.

But Ryuko just keeps laughing through it. “Okay,” she says, amidst giggles, “you’re tellin’ me that-that…” She pauses, more and more laughter spilling from her lips, her chest aching as she wheezes and gasps for air.

“You’re tellin’ me that,” she tries again, still spluttering out laughter, still hardly able to breathe, “that-that-that Satsuki Kiryuin—Satsuki motherfucking Kiryuin—is dating—dating—my Senketsu? That Satsuki Kiryuin and—“

But, well, Ryuko can’t quite go on after that.

That’s right, she thinks. Not her Senketsu. Not anymore.

Ryuko grits her teeth together. She laughs again, but it’s no longer the kind that’s for something funny.

“So, it’s true, huh?” she asks. “You’re-you’re really… pushing me out, huh? Don’t wanna be my uniform anymore, huh?”

Somehow, Ryuko gets up to smiling so hard that her face hurts. “Well, it’s about time!” she says. She leans back, crosses her arms as coolly as she can. “Being my uniform must blow! And-and, I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how nice it was—“

“Ryuko.” It’s Senketsu, his voice carrying none of his annoying, know-it-all sassiness, instead full of sappy, feel-good goo that makes Ryuko feel a million, trillion times worse. Senketsu wouldn’t bother to be an asshole when he’s dumping her ass, of all times he should be an asshole?

She’s just about ready to call him the biggest dick in the world, but Senketsu speaks first, his voice far too gentle, too kind.

“Is that what this is all about?” he asks. “You think I would abandon you?” A bit of laughter comes over him. “After all we’ve been through, Ryuko? Why in the world would I leave you now?”

“Because you’re an obnoxious outfit and it took ya this long to get it through yer head that you shouldn’t bother with someone like me,” Ryuko says—mumbles more like—her face very red, her fake-ass smile long gone, and her eyes very sore.

She fiddles with the ends of the pink ribbon on her frilly bodice, keeping her eyes fixed on the stupid thing. “But it still took ya less time than my dad, so I guess you’re not that out of your mind.”

“Ryuko.” Senketsu has gone right into a somber sort of Seriousness, and it makes Ryuko’s stomach turn and turn. “I would never, ever leave you,” he says. “You know that, right?”

Ryuko is silent. Senketsu sighs.

“Ryuko, Satsuki is my girlfriend, but you—you’re my soulmate.”

Ryuko looks up to see Satsuki nodding her head. “I couldn’t keep the two of you apart if I tried,” she says, with a wink. “You’re “two in one,” remember?”

Ryuko looks away, but even she can’t help the small smile coming over her. “Is-is that so?” she asks.

“It is,” says Senketsu. “Now, why don’t you take that ridiculous outfit off and put me on instead? I can be anything you’d like!”

He looks towards the bag Ryuko’s left on the table. “And you should make it quick! Before the yakisoba-pan get cold!”

“This coming from you?” Ryuko wants to say, but she doesn’t, her entire being overwhelmed with something so strange and new and different that she can’t speak.

But it’s not uncomfortable. None of this is uncomfortable at all.

And okay, maybe Ryuko smiles just a bit and is just a bit glad when Satsuki’s scarf comes her way, and she brings him into her arms, and she wraps him around her neck, just like they’d done when she had sworn on everything that she would bring him back if it were the last thing she ever did.

And when Ryuko finally returns her sister’s clothes, and goes to come back into her own, she thinks that someday soon, she will be too old for sailor uniforms, and Senketsu will be too old to be sailor uniforms, too.

But right now, on the brisk, balmy morning of July 9th, Ryuko is still in high school, and still a teenage girl, and she thinks, she’s going to enjoy that for as long as she can.

And she’s glad, and satisfied, and so damn comfortable, that she doesn’t have to say a word to Senketsu about any of it, as he comes to her, and she comes to him, just as they always had.

#Anonymous #kill la kill #ryuko matoi #senketsu #satsuki kiryuin #mako mankanshoku #writing #strings and threads #replies #goop fic #klk fic #i am so sorry this is literally 2 months old #but i was taking 5ever to finish writing this thing ^^;#i tried to write something 'fun' but...#i don't know how well i succeeded at that ^^;#my brother was like #'if you wanted it to be 'fun' you shouldn't have written it from ryuko's pov'#and like #yeahhh #probably...#anyway #i am feeling so sad rn #because i just told my boss to take me off a work assignment because i know i'm not capable of doing it #and i know it was the right thing to do but...#i just feel so bad #especially because i shoved that awful assignment on one of my coworkers now #so here's a 'fun' fic that i hope is maybe-kinda feel-good...#also senketsu and satsuki's comments are taken like directly from neil degrasse tyson tweets lol #also public restrooms in japan have stalls that go -all the way to the floor-#which is why i had to write that scene in the bathroom that way

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