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crescentsteel · 3 years

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Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you.

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members.

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him.

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear. Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight.

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively.

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane.

“If you think so, go confess or something then.”

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain. Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs.

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody.

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself.

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable.

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be.

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down.

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you.

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way.

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection.

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add.

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.”

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you, you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head.

Liar.

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face.

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened.

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you.

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy.

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder.

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise.

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching.

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you.

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out.

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away.

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones.

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head.

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad.

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them.

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you.

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after.

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less.

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly.

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately.

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.”

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence.

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena.

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima crack #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima angst #tsukisima series #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 3 years

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Top five fanfics?

Oh fuck (gets shot)

Well, I shot myself in the foot with that one.

Keep in mind, these are in no particular order, and I'm a bit of a pleb when it comes to reading fanfic. I just tend to like what's popular or stuff written by my friends.

I need to give Height Treason by @wholesomeklei a huge shout-out.

I'm not sure if this fic will ever be continued or not. Last I heard of Klei, they had a cancer scare (it wasn't) updated a chapter about Sizz-lorr and then vanished from the internet entirely. I hope they're taking a much needed break from online stuff and nothing bad happened to them.

But anyways, I can not thank Height Treason enough for existing. It gells with the humor of canon so seemlessly it feels like I'm watching an "Invader Zim after dark" show. Yes, even despite the not safe for work canon.

I love the lore they weave and I'm always a fan of "zim finds out the truth of his mission and schmoops and gets revenge on the Irken empire" stories. Also Pining Zim has my whole heart.

And it even paints side characters with much love.

Membrane tries his best and sucks at parenting and it inspired me greatly for how I write and came to understand Membrane as a character.

Miss Bitters is a delight. Sargent Slabrankle gets a cameo. Tak's ship has an existential crisis. Gosshloog gets an entire chapter about a spicy love afair with his boss. Zim's Computer is his usual sassy self and has ackward conversations with a frustrated teenage Dib.

Like the love for the side characters is amazing.

Height Treason was the fanfic that inspired me to write an entire fanfiction based on Computer Brain lore.

The lore is amazing, it's in character and this fic inspired me SO MUCH and is the reason that Tech Support (and the Brainbrane fic by extension) even exists.

I've probably reread this fic over twenty times.

However, I can't link the fic here, since it's VERY nsfw. As in, explicit sex scenes later. (The chapter where zim learns sex education is great)

So I can't link it, but it's easily searchable on A03.

If you're of age, and don't mind nsfw I highly recommend it.

Honesty Hour by @patchworkpoltergeist is one of those new fandom classics.

Like I don't even know how describe this fic.

Honesty Hour chills me to the core and has me looking at my ceiling for hours on end questioning my own existence.

Like it's Zim gets therapy, but in a psychological horror way.

Patch is a master wordsmith and just has a way of describing things. Everything is in the details.

I just love how Zim thinks and that half the time I don't know what's going on as much as Zim does. Which is honestly more scary then I think.

There's lots of details that I miss and usually after talking about the chapter with Patch or the Moo-ping10 gang, I realize "oh fuck that's what happened?! The hell"

Anyways. I fear and look forward to every update.

But I honestly have to run a mental health check before I even attempt to read the chapters.

Emotions, Cryptids and the possible end of the world series by @bamsara

I feel Bamsara does onto theirself and I don't need to sing her fics praises but I will.

I am a bit behind on my reading, cause I haven't read the latest chapter of Galaxy Days yet.

But I love the casual yet feral friendship Dib and Zim have built throughout this series.

There's just a constant yearning throughout the whole thing, and the two boys are at the center of it all. Like the feeling of a real long road trip with no destination in mind. That's often what these series of fics feel like. There's an underlying tenderness and longing but also something dark and sinister. A lot of moments stay in my head for days after the fact. Not just the cryptids of the fic, but the smaller moments. Zim and Dib having breakfast in France as the sun rises, Dib crying his eyes out in a dingy motel room near the beach, Zim breaking into Dib's hospital room in the dark, Dib attacking Zim in a fit of insomnia hallucinations....

The list goes on.

There's plenty of good moments, and I've even drawn Zim giving Dib space (cause that's the fucking gayest romantic thing and I still lie in bed thinking about it)

Also Dib constantly running into Death's arms and Zim often doing fisticuffs with her and both getting stupid trauma over stupid decisions is very good.

I feel a lot of Sara's soul in these fics and it shows. Especially with how Dib is written and I can tell this is an extremely personal project with passion behind it and I can't help but admire that.

Every star another sun series by @dionysuscrysis

I really love this series. The end.

Okay, unfair.

But Dion's series really needs more views and appreciation.

I like how it just skips over the "zim and dib become friends somehow....realizes mission is fake..yadda yadda" part of the story and just jumps right into the thick of it.

Space Adventures! Wooooo!!!!

A giant sandworm, a Battle Zoo!!! An alien spa, badass good guy Skoodge, and mad max style sci-fi racing.

And I'm glad that Dib is already in his early twenties here. And Dib is just so smart with machines and not a complete lost duck in space. He's sharp as a tack and dumb as an ox this boy and I love him very much.

Lol I'm old. I'm sick of seeing teenage drama sometimes.

And I can also feel a lot of Dion's soul in their fics.

Lots of hurt comfort in here....

It's actually kinda like the Bamsara effect in reverse...

Instead of Dib throwing himself head first into danger...

Zim is the one doing it.

And Dib thinks an appropriate way to fix this is throw himself at the same danger.

Idiots.

Help them.

Parade of Indignities by @rissynicole

Finished recently and since then my heart has never known peace.

It's one of those fandom classics that I ended up reading due to Bamsara's fic recommendation list like roughly two years ago.

Rissy has a way with words and their strengths lend themselves to action scenes extremely well.

Zim finds himself critically ill and it's up to Dib to travel back to irken space to save him.

Thats the basic premise but there is so much more.

A conspiracy, involving the other Invaders, Zim's massive wall of denial, and how everything Zadf happens from Dib's perspective.

I remember reading all the available chapters (like 15 of them) all in one night until 5am the first time I read it.

It's a master suspense and thriller story and I enjoyed it very much.

I still have to leave a huge comment.

Also honorable recommendations:

@melodyofthevoid 's Royalty AU.

....just. it good. Save these kids.

And ofc me and @paketdimensioncomic 's collab fics:

"Jerking around the House" and "Membrane's guide to be a better parent, lose your fucking arms"

You're a delight to work with and I love how your writing style compliments my insane ramblings so they're less wordy.

Also gotta give a shout-out to my Baby Tech Support.

Is it vain to plug your own fics? Maybe.

Do I care.

Nah.

I love my stuff. And I'm glad others do too.

#invader zim #fanfic recs

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Callisto (Part 9 - Retreat)

And I clocked over 5000 words on this chapter, too. Oops. Lots of John one-on-one with both Virgil and Scott. Including a bit of mild whump which I quite enjoyed :D

As always, many thanks to @janetm74 @tsarinatorment @vegetacide @scribbles97 and @onereyofstarlight for all their amazing help and support. you guys rock :D

And thank you to all of you who commented and liked last week’s chapter. It all means so much to me. Thank you sooo much for your support with this crazy endeavour ::hugs::

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

-o-o-o-

They dug the pod out of the ice, Lee and Alan tackling it while Virgil assessed Four.

Virgil was exhausted and worried. And shaky if he wanted to admit it, which he didn’t.

Ice echoed in the back of his mind where he refused to acknowledge it.

Eos kept them updated on the now quiescent water levels. There were no more reported seismic incidents. Everything was as quiet as it was before.

Except now the sparkle of crystal was far more sinister.

Virgil would be so much happier being not here.

He managed to activate the functional hoverjets on Four and with some heavy lifter muscles on the end of the appropriate toolset, he was able to relocate some of them to areas on Four’s hull that needed the support. He unwedged her roof from the rock wall, tipped her onto her belly, and, climbing inside, managed to get her moving in a stuttering echo of her usual smooth and darting operation.

The cockpit was partially crumpled on one side. Some hasty oxygen-assisted welding secured part of Gordon’s pilot’s chair back into place. Not perfect but it would do the job for now. It would not be the most comfortable ride.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s voice was exasperated.

“What does it look like?” He had zero patience and just wanted to get his brother’s ‘bird back to Three so she could ultimately be taken home. There was no way he was leaving her here any more than he would have left her at the bottom of the ocean.

“Virgil, you shouldn’t be flying. I’ll take her.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” Then he could check on his brothers.

The cave glittered at him through mangled viewports. It was still beautiful, but he no longer trusted it. He wanted out. “Have you recovered the pod yet?”

“Clearing the last of it now.” An indrawn breath. “Virgil-“

“Is it functional?”

An abrupt silence at the other end of his comms sketched out the thinned lips and frown John was no doubt sporting. “There appears to be minimal damage.”

“I’ll meet you in the Dry Cavern. I’ll need help to get Four out.”

Ignoring John’s protests, Virgil pushed the injured sub past the still partially iced in dragonfly and down the kilometre long tunnel to the exit cave.

Reaching the floor of the dry expanse ahead of his brother and uncle gave him a moment to himself. He sat back in the remains of Gordon’s pilot’s chair and closed his eyes.

It was so tempting to just let go, to give in to the phantoms teasing at the edge of his mind. But he couldn’t afford a breakdown right now. Scott was injured and their brothers were depending on him.

He had to keep control.

If only his head would stop hurting.

His eyes did not want to open again.

Consequently, it took John calling his name to ‘wake’ him.

Virgil startled to find both his astronaut brother and Uncle Lee glaring at him through the remains of the marine acrylic in Four’s viewports.

“Virgil?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

John’s lips now appeared to be permanently thinned...and about to call him on his bullshit.

Virgil didn’t let him. “Hook up a tow line. We need to get Four above ground.”

His space brother did not stop glaring, but at least he decided that towing Virgil was better than arguing further.

They could meet half way.

Uncle Lee, sparing Virgil a worried glance or two, secured the line as Virgil sat and watched - an odd sensation since usually he would be the one out there doing what needed to be done. Perhaps it was a sign of exactly how gone he actually was.

Get Four to Three.

Get his brother and Uncle back to the Base.

Check on Scott and Gordon.

He was clinging to his list of goals and he knew it, but the alternative was very unproductive.

He startled again as John signalled his readiness. The dragonfly gently tugged on the line as it lifted smoothly off the ground.

Virgil shook himself and activated the hoverjets best to assist with the tow and then he was airborne. They coasted the long mole-made tunnel, took a sharp turn and climbing the vertical drop made by Three, shot into the open.

Jupiter glared balefully out of the darkness.

From there it was a blur of ‘Virgil, stay there’ and Four being hoisted into the huge, red spacecraft, the close of her hatch and the blessed familiarity of Alan’s ‘bird.

Virgil climbed slowly out of Four as John and Uncle Lee stowed the dragonfly, and clambered to the ladder that would take him to her cockpit. It was likely a further sign of his exhaustion that he had to think which way Three was currently situated. She was nose down, which meant he had to climb down.

The ladder looked like it stretched on forever and a rogue part of his mind pondered exactly how hard he would hit bottom if he just jumped.

He was ever so tired, but he couldn’t stay here, so he forced one foot after the other and began the descent.

Halfway down dizziness hit him again.

It was all he could do to cling to the ladder to prevent himself from falling.

And this time it didn’t go away.

“Virgil!” John’s voice was like a beacon in the darkness of a roiling stomach and a pounding head. Virgil had his eyes clenched shut.

The clatter of boots on rungs, hands caught him under his arms and he was being urged to continue down. “C’mon, not far to go.” John’s voice was ever so soft in his helmet. Gentle. Reassuring.

Virgil took that first crucial step and let himself drop another controlled step while mentally clinging to his stomach.

The dizziness disappeared.

Oh god.

The relief almost had him letting go of the ladder, but strong arms held him and continued to guide him down step by step. His stomach protested the entire way as if this bout of dizziness was the last straw.

John helped him through the main hatch and, from there, Virgil flung off his helmet and stumbled to the facilities.

Fortunately, there was very little in his stomach to expel, but that didn’t stop it from spasming repeatedly.

Low gravity environments sucked.

This would have been the perfect opportunity to curl up in a ball of misery on the bathroom floor, but space bathrooms sucked as much as space itself.

It became very clear that his head and body had had enough and if it wasn’t for John he probably would have fallen to that floor anyway.

“Virgil.” His brother caught him gently, drawing his head to his shoulder. Virgil didn’t have the energy to resist. “You are going to the infirmary.”

“John-“ But his head throbbed and he clenched his eyes shut in pain.

“No arguments.” In the light gravity, John lifted Virgil up and, leaving the bathroom, carried him down the corridor towards Three’s tiny infirmary.

“John-“ This was a first. Virgil usually did the carrying. The thought bounced through his aching head. But before he knew it, he was being strapped into a soft bed.

Opening his eyes would involve more than he had.

Yellow light flickered over his eyelids. Machinery beeped as John mumbled something, possibly into his comms, but Virgil had nothing left. The phantoms swooped in and the ice swallowed him whole.

-o-o-o-

John was used to worrying about his brothers. So often he was so far away when they were in peril. But as Virgil’s hand fell limp in his, John’s heart clenched.

Both of them had been running on adrenalin. He had watched as Virgil performed as he always did when needed despite being ill.

Many times John had listened to his brothers over comms, their voices strained by what they had seen and experienced. Hell, this wasn’t John’s first rodeo, he knew what it sometimes took on a rescue.

He’d done it himself.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when it happened again.

The medscanner flickered over his brother casting his pale skin in an even sicklier shade.

Stress factors were flagged. Virgil’s heartrate was up and his blood pressure was far from happy. But there was no injury.

John frowned. Virgil had been unconscious at least part of the time he was buried in the ice. He was obviously unwell and was showing all the signs of a head injury.

But there was none.

He poked the scanner as if he could drag further information out of it.

But no, it reported Virgil as stressed, tired, possibly exhausted, but there was no explanation for the symptoms he was displaying apart from some tightening of the blood vessels in his brother’s brain. Classic sign of a headache.

“John, all vehicles are stowed. You wanna drive?” Uncle Lee’s voice over comms snapped him out of staring at his brother’s medical readouts.

Virgil was asleep, restless, but asleep. He was safe for the moment. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. His brothers were well known for pushing it too far.

Perhaps it was psychological. It would be fair considering his history with ice.

But it still didn’t quite add up and it gnawed at him. He had seen his big brother tackle this issue before. It still didn’t quite sit right.

But now the priority was to get Virgil back to his brothers, and reunite with Scott, Gordon, Alan and their father.

John double-checked the patient was secure and deployed the bed pivot that would support him when the ship flipped in flight.

“FAB, Uncle Lee.” He said the words at almost the same time he entered the cockpit.

It was strange to be here without Alan. It had been a long time since Three had been his ‘bird. Even then it hadn’t really been his. It had been Dad’s and then Alan’s. John had only been her pilot out of necessity.

Sliding into the pilot’s seat, all his reflexes shifted to the needs of the Thunderbird. Pre-flight was worked through at speed, Uncle Lee providing the input needed.

Eos chimed in with clearance for their flightpath.

Callisto Base acknowledged they would be arriving in minutes.

John fired her thrusters and launched Three into the thin atmosphere of Callisto, pivoting her mid-air and taking off in a southerly direction.

The trip was very short, barely worth igniting her engines, but honestly, John was grateful.

Three hovered in the massive airlock once again and it grated on John’s need for speed. The equations that listed the reasons why those doors were so ponderous gave him plenty of explanation, but he had no patience for physics at the moment.

Landing Three was like exhaling in relief.

Their father met them on the gantry. John towed Virgil out of Three on the bed he was still sleeping on, hoverjets keeping him level and secure. The fact he had not woken despite launch and landing was just a further sign of his brother’s exhaustion.

Uncle Lee followed them out without a word.

If John was irrationally grateful for his father’s hand landing on his shoulder, he wasn’t going to examine it too closely.

Concerned grey eyes stared down at Virgil...

“He’s sleeping, Dad. Exhaustion appears to be the culprit.” His father looked up at him and John swallowed. “That’s all I could find.”

A nod and they hurried Virgil off to the Base medical centre.

Grae had set aside a part of the small facility with enough beds to support the injured Tracy brothers. John, Virgil and their father entered in the middle of an argument.

“I’m not going up to Five! It’s a broken arm, Scott, that’s all.” Gordon’s expression was furious. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a plastic cast. It was obvious Gordon wasn’t well. There was no spark about him. The impression was grey where there was usually sun.

Scott’s response was appropriate. “It’s enough! You are off rescues until it is healed. You know that is the rule. Health first!” Their eldest brother was sitting in a chair beside the Fish’s bed. A bed behind him had mussed covers and was obviously where he was supposed to be.

It was ever so typical that he wasn’t.

Either way, John took some comfort in finding both brothers conscious despite their injuries.

Of course, that meant yelling.

“We’re in space!”

“You’re not crucial to this mission!”

“It’s underwater! I call that crucial!”

“Gordon-“

“Scott-“

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Their father’s voice cut across the yelling enough to disturb Virgil who groaned in his sleep and attempted to roll over. The groan turned into a whimper and his brow crumpled.

That shut everyone up.

Scott tried to stand and move to his prone brother’s side, but wavered. Alan who had been sitting wide-eyed next to him, hurried to steady his big brother.

John touched a finger to Virgil’s cheek and murmured soft words of reassurance. The unconscious engineer leant into his hand, eyes still closed, and settled back into his uneasy sleep.

Alan was trying to wrestle Scott back to bed with little success, until their father strode over and made some silent but very firm gestures in the direction of the empty bed.

Scott wilted in Alan’s grip and did as he was told.

But his eyes did not leave Virgil or Gordon alone, darting worriedly between them.

John docked the hover stretcher into place beside Gordon. His positioning was purposeful, giving Scott both brothers at one glance and no doubt allowing his eldest brother the chance to at least relax a little with both of them in sight.

Gordon’s eyes tracked Virgil as John draped a blanket over his sleeping brother.

“What happened?” Gordon’s voice was ever so quiet.

“Ice and exhaustion. He needs rest.” A pointed eyebrow. “You all do.”

John did, too, weariness suddenly hitting him. Such a mad scramble to get to his brothers, get them out of the ice.

“I think perhaps you should sit down, space bro.” Gordon never missed a thing. Those carnelian eyes saw everything. It was what he did with the information that mattered, though.

“John?” A worried pair of foggy blue eyes had targeted him now. Well, that sealed it.

Sure enough, their father turned around and wordlessly led him to a chair. “Sit down, son. They’re all safe now.”

There was a hitch in the man’s voice that had John questioning if he was saying it to reassure himself as much as others.

Regardless, the words had the tension in John’s muscles suddenly relaxing and he found himself shaking just a little.

The mechanics of mild shock sprang to mind and he was disgusted with himself.

A blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his father’s hands squeezed his arm gently.

There was silence in the room for a while. Dad found Uncle Lee a seat and John was ashamed to realise he had forgotten the man existed for a moment there. Perhaps he was as tired as Virgil. Sleep was a long time ago.

A Base doctor came in and confirmed John’s analysis of Virgil’s condition and quietly updated them on both Scott’s and Gordon’s status - all of which IR equipment had already revealed. Perhaps with the exception of Scott’s concussion that while still had him a little wobbly, seemed to have found some healing in whatever sleep his big brother had managed since being yanked out of the ice.

And there was the source of John’s heartrate. Pulling brothers out of the ice had been terrifying. Flashbacks to images sprouted by the news reports all those years ago regarding their mother. Scott’s desperate attempt to hide the reality from his younger siblings, but failing due to the determination of irresponsible media.

John closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

“What do we do now?” Grae’s eyes were pleading and Jeff wished he had a good answer for him.

He had left the infirmary knowing his friend would be frantic.

Hell, Jeff was a little frantic himself. Berry and Ju were still missing. They only had readings on two out of five missing life signs. They didn’t even know who those life signs belonged to.

“We wait.”

“Jeff, they could be dying!”

“Both life signs are strong. I know it is not the best, but we don’t have a choice. We have to wait.”

“Why? You have the equipment. You, Lee, two of your boys are fine. Hell, I’ll come with you. This is Ju we are talking about!”

Jeff straightened. “I know who we are talking about, Graeme. But the first rule of a rescue is to make sure the rescuers are safe enough to do their jobs and for the moment, I am not willing to send anyone into that cave until we work out what the hell happened!”

“Seismic anomaly. You told me yourself.”

“John is not satisfied with that assessment.”

“Why not?”

“He needs further information.”

“Then let’s go down there and get it.”

“John is working on it.”

“John is sleeping!”

Jeff’s lips tightened and he took a step closer to his old friend. “My sons were nearly killed. I am aware that this is an urgent situation, Graeme. I know what is at stake. But there will be no gain in putting anyone in further danger until we know what we are dealing with.”

A silent hand wrapped around Jeff’s arm and tugged him backwards gently.

Lee.

Jeff had known he was there and old patterns were obviously still in place.

It was reassuring.

He understood Grae’s feelings. Hell, he shared them. But his boys were hurting and, if he was honest, they had terrified him. Seeing first Scott and then Virgil entombed in ice had ripped scabs off memories from so long ago as much as tempting new horrors.

But above and beyond it all, there was something very strange about this situation. Something was off. Everything that made him the astronaut he was, was screaming alarm bells. So, while he could gather Lee, John and Alan and go down there himself, he wasn’t.

Because he trusted his sons and John said no.

Jeff couldn’t help but agree with him.

They needed further information and Eos was working hard to deploy enough probes and up the sensory reach to delve underground and veto that interference. And while John had protested - all of them had protested, except Virgil who had already been asleep - this had been an opportunity to try and get some rest.

Grae sagged where he stood, all signs of the Base commander falling away. “She’s my wife, Jeff.”

Voice ever so quiet. “Believe me, I understand.” He caught his friend’s eyes with his own. “I do.”

Grae stared at him a moment before uttering a wounded sound and turning away. Jeff watched his back as he strode out of the infirmary.

Lee’s hand squeezed gently, but Jeff still stared at the door.

-o-o-o-

John wasn’t sleep. Honestly, he tried. Their father had corralled two more beds into the room with his injured brothers and both Alan and John had been sequestered there. He appreciated it, he did.

But he couldn’t sleep.

And it wasn’t Virgil’s snoring.

He kept running scenarios over in his head. Building and dismissing equations that could explain the liquid water in the cavern and coming up with nothing.

Liquid water demanded the existence of energy to keep it that way, likely with a heat source. Gordon had mentioned a temperature increase before the wave hit.

John’s fingers itched for his information sources on Five.

He was still wearing his suit. He had slept in it often enough not to care. But he had removed his helmet. The infirmary had its own air circulation system separate from the rest of the Base and, really, with his brother’s injuries, they hadn’t had a choice but to break the seals on their suits.

The upside was that he could squirrel under his covers and access his wrist comm and Eos.

His daughter was sending perplexed emojis at him because he had requested text only.

Her use of repeating gifs had the effect he had no doubt she desired, enough to curl up the corners of his lips at least.

His fingers darted across his virtual keyboard with a speed almost as fast as the voice he couldn’t use.

The probe net was in its final dispersal phase and the first of the reports were coming in. Eos had focussed the deployment in a spiralling pattern using the Crystal Cave as the central point and consequently, the information was more detailed in that area. In fact, Eos had doubled up the probe above Burr Crater and the cave beneath it.

His daughter highlighted three other craters, an attention icon flashing on the map. John zoomed in and frowned. There were more lakes.

His fingers darted over the map, repeatedly hitting attention icons flagged by the AI. Lake after lake showed up on sensors. A quick cross-correlation and his suspicions were confirmed. The lakes lay under the younger craters on the moon’s surface. The ones still shining from impacts of recent millennia.

John manipulated one of the probes pulling it from the net and drawing it closer to the surface. Eos threw up a warning that he was causing a brief blindspot, but he didn’t care, he needed confirmation.

Tornarsuk Crater was slightly smaller, but it was fairly equidistant from Callisto Base as Burr and almost as young. The lake registered as similar to the one in Crystal Cave and a network of tunnels branched off from it merging with the network.

Because it was a network. Initial readings tracked tunnels riddled beneath the entire Callistan surface. He couldn’t tell with these readings, but he would bet a lifetimes worth of savings that all the tunnels were made by water. Despite liquid water not being physically possible in these environs.

Not physically possible, but the lakes did exist.

Of course, that led to the question of why the water hadn’t stayed water once it left the cavern. It had behaved exactly how it should when it entered the tunnel. It froze.

Trapping his brothers.

He closed his eyes a moment as images he hadn’t fully processed yet flashed up in his mind.

He let out a sigh.

Focus.

Science was a saviour.

He returned to glaring at the holograms hidden under the blanket. It grew stuffy and he was reminded of many a late night when he was a child, shoving his tablet under the covers in order to read that little bit more despite being told to go to bed.

Memories.

He requested a planetary body analysis and the probe network boosted Five’s scan of the moon, giving him an indepth gravity and mass analysis. The readings confirmed what the Callisto Expedition had reported, that yes, there was an ocean deep under the Callistan crust, and that unlike most of the planetary bodies in the solar system, Callisto was undifferentiated. It had no core, no mantle, just a shallow ocean a couple hundred of kilometres below, sitting on a mix of rock and ice, sealed in by a crust of similar material.

So there was water in the moon. That was no surprise. Europa had proven something similar, but these subterranean oceans followed the laws of physics. They had the pressures required to stay liquid. The lakes did not.

There had to be another reason.

The next step was research. He knew what he knew, but that didn’t mean he knew everything. There must be something to explain the water.

Accessing Five’s library, he initiated a connection back to Tracy Island via the chain of buoys stretching back to Earth.

The covers over his head were suddenly ripped off, the waft of cooler air startling him even more than the sudden appearance of a tall shadow leaning over him.

John’s whisper was cutting. “Scott, what the hell!”

Because it was Scott. It was always Scott.

Well, except when it was Virgil, but this shadow was too tall, had the wrong hair and Virgil was still snoring.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” His brother’s voice had an echo of commander.

“You more than me!” John grabbed at the covers and pulled them back up to his chest. Why, he didn’t know, but there had to be a principle there somewhere.

The shadow of his big brother pulled up a chair and literally fell into it. Elbows dented the side of John’s bed and Scott’s head dipped out of silhouette as he dropped it into his hands.

John’s heart softened. A gentler whisper. “You really should rest. Get some sleep.”

“I did. Virgil is making a racket.” It was muffled as his brother was looking down at his feet, but John knew it was a load of bullshit. They had all been putting up with Virgil’s snoring since the man was born. If anything, it was a sound of comfort and was missed if it wasn’t there when they were together like this.

It was a running joke that their brother’s snoring was a great wildlife deterrent when camping.

John persisted. Scott was notorious for ignoring his health when focussed on an objective. “How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

“If you’ve come over here just to lie to me, I’m not sure I want to listen.”

“Whatever.” Scott ran his hands through his hair, messing up what was usually meticulously neat. “What happened, John?”

John sighed and pushed himself up on the bed until he was sitting upright, covers still on his legs. “You should be in bed.”

“Bed is a waste of time.” Blue eyes caught what little light was in the room and flashed it at John. “I need information.”

And John was the source of that information.

He held back another sigh and instead pulled up a virtual representation of the Crystal Cave and associated tunnel network. “The sensor readings are marred with static, but as far as we can tell water appeared to enter the lake from this tunnel.” John pointed at one of the entrances on the north-east side of the lake. “With the probe network we now have, the closest source of water I can find is under Tornarsuk Crater to the south-east.” He rotated the image until the star-rayed splash of brightness appeared. A flick of a finger and the hologram delved under the crater, bringing up another lake. John focussed the probe, switching to mineralogical detail and many spikes of crystal appeared in the cave. Eos threw up likely chemical formulae that could only be proven with samples, but had an accuracy somewhere near ninety-five percent.

He could not delve under that lake any more than he could under the lake in the Crystal Cavern.

“There’s another one?” Scott’s whisper spoke of widened eyes. “Are they connected?”

John answered by zooming out and tracing the connection via the maze of tunnels between them.

“How?”

This time John did let out the sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Is it a natural phenomenon?”

John stared at his brother. “Nothing about this is natural. That water shouldn’t exist in that state. If water came from the other lake, then how did it get to the Crystal Cavern so fast? Seismic readings epicentre the activity to the north-east of the Cavern, yet the closest source of water is to the south.”

“Can you get any further life sign readings?”

“No.” It was a defeated quiet. “And no further information on the two under the lake. All I can say is that they are there. Interference is almost complete otherwise. We cannot see below the surface, yet I can see all the way to the moon’s lack of a core.” He threw up his hands and the hologram flickered at the rough handling. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Scott was lit up by the light of the hologram. A ghostly echo of his brother’s usual vibrant self. “Is this humanly possible?”

John stared at him. “You think someone is orchestrating this?”

“Could they?”

He threw the concept back and forth in his head. “Possibly. At great expense and difficulty. There would have to be some serious science involved and I would want to know how that water is liquid in this environment. But the ultimate question would be ‘why?’”

Scott let his head drop into his hands again. “Hell if I know.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time something massively expensive and ridiculous had been deployed against us.” Gordon’s voice was sharp in the sudden silence.

And silence it was because John suddenly realised there was a serious lack of snoring in the room.

Sure enough, beside their fish brother the shape of Virgil was moving slowly to sit up. His throat cleared as he settled sitting on the edge of the bed. “So what is the plan?”

Scott straightened where he sat. “The plan is to get some rest.”

“Done that. Feeling better. There are some lives waiting to be saved.”

No pressure.

Gordon’s eyes were catching the light and aimed right at John. “You think this is planned?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it is a possibility.”

“At this point, everything is a possibility, Gordon. I don’t have enough explanation to make any conclusions.”

“I vote aliens.” And yes, Alan was awake as well, his tousled hair reflecting holographic light.

“You are all supposed to be asleep.” Commander Tracy glared at them.

“Speak for yourself, Scott. I bet you’re sporting a doozy of a headache.”

Scott didn’t answer, but John was pretty sure Gordon had hit a nail right on the aching head.

“John?” Eos’ voice cut through the glares and grumbles bouncing around the room.

“Yes, Eos.”

“Callisto Base is receiving a distress call from Kate Berrenger.”

“What? Relay!”

A terrified female voice cut the air in the room. “Base, do you read? I need help. Uh-“ The voice fell silent a moment, but every body in the room was already moving.

One of the life signs had changed position. It was now located on the same beach where Four had lain crumpled several hours earlier.

John switched to transmit. “Eos, relay! This is Thunderbird Five, Director Berrenger. Help is on the way.”

“Somebody, please help me.” It ended in a whimper.

He leapt off the bed as Scott dashed out the door. “Help is on the way.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #callisto

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lazyliars · 3 years

Text

I FINISHED DELTARUNE CHAPTER 2

Very fun. I was genuinely struggling with the last boss, played it up to 1 AM last night, was about to give up and go to bed, and then...

I don't know what happened, but something clicked in my brain? Suddenly I was perfectly dodging attacks and had the pattern LOCKED down?? I was having such a miserable time right until then. Then out of nowhere I started seeing the freaking code and owned it.

Spoiler-laden thoughts under the cut.

THAT ENDING.

So Kris opened a dark fountain in their house, right? That's what happened?

Setting aside the obvious "What the hell does it mean for a fountain to exist in the Light world" question, does that imply that they're the Knight? Probably not, right, because the King and The Queen would have recognized them...

I'm still on my crack theory that Papyrus is the knight. Think about it! He just arrived to town, and this business with the dark fountains only started recently iirc? And in UT, Papyrus wants to join the royal guard... in other words, a knight.

And considering the Lightners that have entered the Dark World so far seem to be ones facing serious emotional issues (Susie feeling like she'll always be "the bad guy", Noelle's difficulties speaking up for herself and dealing with her family life crumbling, Berdly's superiority/inferiority stemming from skewed self-perception, the myriad things going on with Kris...)

Papyrus just moved to a new place, and doesn't seem to want to leave the house. It's not hard to imagine a person struggling with the loneliness that comes from a situation like that.

The allure of being a powerful, influential figure in the Dark World would make sense.

That ties Sans into this weirdness, which in turn gets us a little bit closer to whatever the hell Gaster has to do with everything.

...or maybe not.

Theories aside, I really loved the cyber-city as a setting. I was skeptical at first because I usually dislike "electric" themed worlds, just, aesthetics wise, but they knocked it out of the park. I especially liked the glitchy garbage heap part.

The enemies were cool and adorable, the Werewires as a standout were creepy and awesome. Also liked the mechanics of the Butlers.

For characters? I liked the Susie and Noelle-budding romance, it was cute. The ferris wheel was such a good sequence.

I liked Noelle in general. Not too many specifics, I just liked the way they handled her.

AND BERDLY. Goddamn it. As soon as I saw him in the dark world, I fucking KNEW he would be my favorite by the end of the chapter because Toby Fox does not do things half-assed and I'm a sucker for character development. But Yeah no, I really, really liked Berdly's arc.

This wasn't as much of a Susie-heavy chapter as the last, but the developments she did have were nice. Her excitement at seeing Lancer was so sweet! And at the ending, I took her to the bunker, where two other kids were there, and one off-handedly said something mean about Kris and she stepped in and scared them off and then checked on Kris like... 🥺

And Ralsei. Ralsei... Gonna be honest, I was super sus of him at the start of the chapter, and still kinda am, but in a different way now. He DEFINITELY knows more than he's letting on, but whereas at the start of the chapter I was getting almost... idk, smug vibes? Now I feel pretty confident that he's more in the vein of "doing what he thinks is best" type beat. Still sus, and I still wonder what he talks to Kris about when the player's perspective shifts to Susie in both chapters... but I don't think he's a villain-in-disguise. At least, not intentionally.

There's still a lot of mysteries surrounding him that might point to something more sinister, but... yeah, idk. I think part of my initial hesitance was because I was still adjusting to his goat-face after having replayed ch. 1 with the covered bird-ish face.

Also the Swan-boat scene was soooooooooooo cute.

The big plot still remains obscured, but what with "the roaring" being name-dropped, we have some sort of endgame we could potentially ascribe to the Knight, but no motivations to couple with it yet...

I really hope in chapter 3 we get to see them. Maybe not like, ACTUALLY see them, but hear them speak, get a feel for their voice and what they're like...

ANYWAYS. tldr, Deltarune ch. 2 was very good, just as good as ch. 1 in my opinion. Now, the waiting game begins for chapter 3.

OH. Also, I am absolutely OBSESSED with the Snowgrave route. Hooooooly shit. Just... wow. I need to watch a full playthrough before I make any judgements about what it says for the story, but what I've seen so far...

It seems like a deadly reminder that the events of the Dark World DO have consequences for the Light World. It may feel like fantasy, but it can easily twist out into reality, in drastic and horrifying ways.

#deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune spoilers

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mira--mira · 3 years

Text

Hogwarts AU

(AKA another shiny distraction my brain latched onto, but I’m not writing this one bc 1. it’s already too long and 2. Valentine’s AU is already my wip bad idea one-shot of the month(s) lol.)

Half ficlet/half random plot points.

4K words

First and foremost: Madara is a Hufflepuff. Seriously. The heir of the Uchiha, a well-known pure-blood Slytherin family*, has the hat on his head for half a second before it’s yelling Hufflepuff. Madara’s family is the single most important thing to him and he will protect them no matter the cost. That loyalty triumphs even a desire for power.

His house mates are terrified of him. In the first-year Madara’s mostly quiet and homesick so he’s a loner. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his reputation but he’s an Uchiha in Hufflepuff. It’s the talk of the town for weeks. That all changes in his second year when Kaito gets put in Gryffindor. Despite Kou being a former Gryffindor, he gets bullied and told he doesn’t belong in his house. Madara gets in five separate duels in the span of two weeks, manages to win despite the bullies being fourth and fifth years and one time doesn’t even wait for wands to be drawn before he starts swinging at one of them. His reputation is well-deserved now and he absolutely does not care as long as the Gryffindors are terrified he’s going to appear behind them if they so much look at his brother wrong. Kaito is resigned, expecting nothing less, but does manage to make friends with two muggleborns.

*The main Uchiha branch, before Madara’s generation, were one of the most pure-bred families and could trace a completely Slytherin legacy back to the beginning (though there were always rumors that a Veela or two intermarried.) And then Tajima fell head over heels for an extremely powerful muggleborn Gryffindor. The extended family was not pleased. To put it mildly. The heir is a half-blood and a Hufflepuff and the second eldest a Gryffindor. But at least Tajima didn’t marry a Senju, the family consoled themselves...

And speaking of, in his second year Madara also meets Hashirama. Hashirama, who is a Slytherin. He loves his family more than anything too but sees power and charm as the best way to protect them in the long run. Similar to Madara, he’s from a well-known family but the Senju before him had, at times, married half-bloods and muggleborns, but always were Gryffindors. Hashirama’s “defection” to Slytherin was not well-looked upon by his family, his house, or the house he was “supposed” to be in. He’s friendly and charming which is slowly winning people over, and incredibly powerful for his age. His and Madara’s first meeting is in the Forbidden Forest. Hashirama was out after hours looking for special plants, while Madara was out trying to spot a hippogriff. They run into each other and are very wary, but since they’re both second-years and they’re both breaking the rules...it’s not like one of them is in a “better” position than the other. Though with how many detentions Madara’s had for fighting his punishment would probably be more severe.

Somehow they manage to run into each other three separate times, before the incident happens. The incident being stumbling upon a dead hippogriff and her one newly cracked egg with an injured newborn. Madara sees the baby, the dead mother, grabs it and tries to run back to the school. Punishment be damned, it won’t survive and he doesn’t know healing spells. Only to run smack-dab into Hashirama who’s been gathering herbs and happens to know healing spells. Madara sucks up his pride, and wants to avoid detention, and asks for his help. Together, Hashirama heals the hippogriff while Madara goes to find it something to eat. They spend hours with the baby together, but they don’t know what to do with after. So Madara, in his 12 year old wisdom, decides to take it into the castle. Due to the sheer terror of his presence, he and Hashirama manage to keep it hidden between them for three days. When it eventually gets discovered, both boys get punished with a week-long detention and that’s the start of their friendship. They’re pretty inseparable after that and it’s comical, from a distance, to see a scowling Hufflepuff and a sunny Slytherin walking side by side. Not a lot of their interests overlap, but they’re both waaaay too into dueling, join the dueling club, and quickly rise to the top of their year until the other kids really don’t want to go up against either one.

They’re each others first real friend. Madara is stubborn and, let’s be real socially obliviousness enough, that he sticks with Hashirama no matter how many barbed comments come from the Slytherins, Gryffindors, or anyone else. Madara’s terrifying reputation has no effect on Hashirama, his first serious interaction with Madara was seeing him near tears holding an injured baby hippogriff after all, so his prickly demeanor and scowls don’t faze Hashirama.

Third year starts and Tobirama and Izuna are placed. Tobirama in Ravenclaw, and Izuna joins Madara in Hufflepuff. Tobirama tried to argue with the hat to place him in Gryffindor to please Butsuma, but that’s not happening. Izuna, similarly dedicated to family, isn’t a surprise to Madara but freaks the school out that there’s a second Uchiha in Hufflepuff and expect him to be like Madara. Izuna’s not. He’s sweet and innocent, and a terrible little prankster who no one suspects or can hold a grudge against. He’s also a little jealous of Hashirama for taking up his brother’s time and starts to wage a cold war against him. Hashirama thinks Izuna is adorable and it’s cute that he loves Madara so much, but like hell Hashirama is giving up his BFF. Tobirama thinks his brother is being childish and questions why he’s even friends with Madara in the first place, given Madara’s reputation and the fact that he still gets into fights though not as often. Kaito pretends he doesn’t know them, and only hangs out with Madara at school when Izuna and Hashirama aren’t around.

Fourth year starts, Yuuto, Reo, and Kawarama start their first year. Yuuto and Reo live up to the Uchiha name and are placed in Slytherin. They’re also Izuna on steroids when it comes to pranks, set up a prank business based on favors, and insert themselves as agents of chaos in the ongoing cold war between Hashirama and Izuna. They tell Hashirama it’s all about ‘house solidarity’ with matching sinister grins and Hashirama knows he’s walking into some ongoing sibling thing in the Uchiha family. Still, he accepts their help and in response Izuna ropes an unwilling Tobirama into his schemes. Madara is still oblivious. Kawarama also lives up to the Senju name and gets placed in Gryffindor. Ironically, he looks up to Kaito as one of the ‘best’ example of a Gryffindor, and starts to follow him around like a duckling. Kaito’s first pearl of wisdom is to avoid their brothers, unless they’re alone, or all together.

Fifth year starts and Itama is the last Senju to enroll. He gets placed into Hufflepuff and is absolutely terrified of the two older Uchiha in his house. Hashirama tries for a week to rope him into his and Izuna’s war and Itama blanches at the idea of acting like a spy, despite Hashirama’s protests that it’s not spying per se, it’s just keeping a very close eye on Izuna so Hashirama can get a leg up. Itama joins Kaito and Kawarama in the camp of “this is not my problem to deal with” and feels better about it even though it still means dealing with (another) Uchiha. Tobirama desperately wishes he was part of that camp. It all comes to a head before the Yule Ball. (I know it’s a Tri-Wizard tournament thing, but I want to use it.) Tobirama, fed up of Hashirama needling him, tells him if he wants a guaranteed night of uninterrupted peace where Madara’s attention is fully on him, just ask him to the Ball, third-years can’t attend. Tobirama was being sarcastic, but Hashirama takes the idea and runs with it. Runs all the way to Madara to immediately ask him on the spot. Madara who’s with Izuna. Who says yes with only a little bluster and two high spots of color on his cheeks.

Hashirama is ecstatic. He is over the moon and Tobirama is regretting every single life choice that brought him to this moment. Over the next month he bothers all of his brothers, ‘should I cut my hair?’ ‘which haircut looks better?’ ‘do I need to get new dress robes?’ ‘which style do you think Madara would like best?’ ‘how does this cologne smell?’ ‘which kind of breathmint smells better?’ He asks Tobirama the last one and gets met with a scathing look and a silencing hex that seals his mouth shut for the next two hours. Itama is still paralyzed at the thought of Madara so Kawarama ends up being the one Hashirama hounds the most. Kaito also gets dragged in as a ‘Madara expert’ bc he’s with Kawarama a lot.

The night of the Yule Ball comes and Hashirama, with uncut hair, new robes and cologne, and the fanciest kind of ten varieties of breathmint, sets out for his totally-not-a-date. Only to met with Yuuto on the stairs who wishes him luck. Hashirama thanks him and Reo, standing behind him immediately knocks him out with a stunning spell. They strip him of his fancy robes, tie him up, and leave him in a closet. Outside Slytherin’s dungeon entrance, Izuna’s waiting impatiently. The twins appear with a flourish, Hashirama’s robes in Reo’s hand and a polyjuice in potion in Yuuto’s. Family special. When Hashirama asked his brother out on a date right in front of him, it was time for Izuna to get serious. Even if meant sucking up his pride and asking his younger brothers for help. Yuuto and Reo like Hashirama but the chance to rub this in Izuna’s face forever? Him being eternally in their debt? So worth it.

Izuna takes the potion and clothes and meets up with Madara as “Hashirama”. He has one plan. Make Madara see how insufferable Hashirama is, so he stops spending every free moment with him and instead spends more time with his family. First he’s late and shrugs it off whenever Madara asks. They go to the Ball and “Hashirama” ignores Madara. Barely responds whenever he speaks or constantly interrupts him and talks over him. Dances with other people and the one time Madara mutters that he wouldn’t mind dancing, says he’s too tired and retreats to the snack table. Internally, Izuna feels equal parts thrilled and guilty. His plan is working perfectly, but he feels a bit bad he’s putting his brother through this, even though it’ll be better in the long run. He doesn’t even have to try and ignore him in the later half of the night, Madara sits by himself in a corner and won’t even look at or speak to “Hashirama.” They leave the Ball early and barely round two hallways, only the barest cover of ‘privacy’ before Madara whirls on him and starts yelling about how embarrassing and humiliating the entire experience was and why did he even ask him out if this was how he was going to act? Izuna sees the final nail in the coffin and and says he was confused and thought he liked Madara like that but decided he didn’t. He didn’t want to go to the Ball together, but he couldn’t think of a good way to tell Madara before. Izuna expects anger. Expects to see Madara’s infamous short temper and has prepared to flee with three distinct escape routes in mind in case his brother pulls out his wand.

He doesn’t expect Madara’s face to collapse in devastation. Or worse for his eyes to turn shiny with tears before he spins and starts stalking away. Izuna realizes how bad he’s messed up and tries to stop Madara. But the infamous temper sparks now, and he’s barely touched his shoulder before Madara’s turning and slamming his fist into “Hashirama’s” face. Izuna drops, unused to the pain and with a choked snarl not to follow him, Madara flees.

After a minute or two, Izuna picks himself up and dusts himself off. Only to immediately get shoved up against the stone walls as the real Hashirama comes flying around the corner, dressed in his undershirt and pants. He’s furious and for the first time in his life Izuna is actually scared of him. Hashirama demands to know where Madara is and what Izuna did. Izuna explains, in half-formed sentences, feeling like he’s about to cry. The more he says, the paler Hashirama gets until now he’s the one tearing up but his face is still twisted in rage. He yells at Izuna, how he would never do or say any of that, how important Madara is to him and how much he was looking forward to tonight. Izuna’s crying now, mumbling out apologies, and other partygoers are starting to happen upon them and see the very confusing sight of Senju Hashirama shoving Senju Hashirama up against a wall.

Hashirama drops him and tells him to go back to his dorm while he takes off after Madara. There is a chance Madara went back to his dorm but it’s unlikely. He doesn’t like to be around people when he’s upset. Hashirama checks the owlery, he peers into the magical creatures’ enclosure, he’s considering going into the Forbidden Forest or trying to get on a broom to check the skies, when he spots the greenhouse’s door cracked open. He creeps closer and hears someone sniffling inside. Peering around the corner, he can barely make out Madara’s dark form. It’s only because he’s sitting under the moon lilies in Hashirama’s portioned off area of the greenhouse he can see him at all.

Hashirama stumbles in as Madara looks up and yells at him to leave. Hashirama sees the tear tracks on Madara’s face and immediately starts sobbing himself. He moves closer despite Madara’s protests and eventually gets the full story out. Madara doesn’t yell at him to leave again and together they sit in silence under Hashirama’s moon lilies until he can’t take it and moves even closer, grabbing Madara’s hand. He doesn’t have his mints and his breath is still hitching from crying so hard, but he learns forward and kisses him. For one moment, Madara doesn’t respond and Hashirama thinks the night is going to get even worse before he finally reacts and kisses back.

They’re curled together under the moon lilies until the sun rises and the flowers wilt. Both of them are exhausted, but neither wanted to leave and burst their little bubble of peace. It lasts until a harried professor walks into the greenhouse and spots them. When neither returned to the castle, Izuna panicked and thought they were hurt so he told a teacher and the entire staff has been searching for them for a better part of the night.

Parents are called and there’s a conference. Tajima, Kou, and Butsuma can barely be in the same room together without wands or fists coming out. Soroko is sitting in the middle of it, trying to actually figure out why they were called in. Everything eventually comes out and Yuuto, Reo, and Izuna are punished for attacking another student, creating a polyjuice potion, and impersonating a student. Butsuma is torn between fury that three Uchiha attacked his son, and irritation that their ultimate goal, to separate Madara and Hashirama, failed.

And fail it did. If they were joined at the hip before, it’s nothing compared to now. The rest of their fifth year was a bit rocky with family dynamics. Izuna does apologize to both, but Madara’s disappointed and Hashirama’s not quick to forgive in this situation. Neither are happy with the twins either, but they were opportunistic rather than the masterminds. By the end of the year the worst has been smoothed over but Hashirama and Izuna still have an uneasy relationship. In groups, they’re fine, but it gets awkward fast if it’s just the two of them.

Sixth year starts and Hashirama and Madara are officially dating. The extended Uchiha family mourn, it’s Tajima all over again, and the Senju have to reckon with an unlikely friendship becoming an unlikely romance. And hopefully it’s just a teenage fling, but with the way Hashirama talks about their future after school, each career choice changing depending on the month but always the two of them together worries the Senju. There’s an attempt to arrange an engagement between Hashirama and Uzumaki Mito, a Ravenclaw who transferred in their third year, but it falls apart quickly.

Seventh year starts and those far off plans becomes reality as they pass their NEWTS and graduate. They spend a few years in a professional dueling league before eventually inheriting their fathers’ spots in the government. It’s a...bit awkward for the extended family bc they still hate each other but the heads of their houses are married and live together. In their spare time, Madara fosters and rehabilitates injured magical birds and Hashirama has a garden that is less of a garden and more of a forest with a lot of (illegal) magical plants. Tobirama is an arthimancer but dabbles in potions and he threatens to report his brother every week, but comes to collect rare ingredients because the shops never have the same quality. Izuna gets a respectable job in the Department of Mysteries, but moonlights as a diviner that reads people’s fortunes and scams them out of their money. Kaito has no interest in politics and is the only person in the history of hogwarts who wants to willingly teach history of magic. Kawarama becomes a defense lawyer in the wizengamont and is notorious for bringing up loopholes and obscure magical laws that haven’t been used since 1632. Yuuto and Reo open their prank shop...and low-key revive the wizard mafia. They always know someone, somewhere that somehow owes one of them a favor. They never get into politics and everyone, including the extended Uchiha family, are glad.

Misc. Facts about this AU

Kou’s abnormal power in this AU is that she cannot use a wand. She was taken wand shopping but all of them eventually...exploded. Kou’s magic reacted negatively with other magical focuses and she relies completely on wandless magic. Madara inherited that natural ability from her, but his magic doesn’t react negatively with his wand. It allows him to, at the height of his power, “double-cast” once with his wand and once wandless with only a slight split second delay between them. Meanwhile Hashirama has insane stamina and a weird ability where spells just...aren’t that effective against him. They work, but never seem to be at full strength. This is great for offensive spells, not great for defensive/healing ones. Hashirama’s own magic, however, reacts normally to his body.

Tajima and Butsuma are both politicians in the Ministry of Magic and their seats are the farthest apart in the room. They were rivals in school and it continues now. They even occasionally agree on policy decisions, they just hate each other.

Madara loves flying but he was banned from the school quidditch team. Kou is a professional player and he tried some of her prohibited moves. Namely, jumping off his broom, to drop down and grab a bludger and hurl it at the enemy before recalling his broom.

Hashirama has a fear of flying. He fell off a broom as a child and gets extremely nervous when his feet don’t touch the ground. He will fly with Madara, but his eyes are close the entire time and he’s clinging to Madara’s back.

Kaito and Kawarama are best friends. Not “best friends” like Hashirama and Madara’s love-struck romance or “best friends” like Izuna and Tobirama’s frenemy status, but actual good platonic friends. Kaito made the joke that Itama could make friends with the twins and then it’d all even out. Itama takes one look at those crazy two and bursts into tears.

Itama eventually gets used to Madara. They both love magical creatures and Itama is forced to see him a lot after hours. Madara still terrifies him, but at least he treats the animals nicely. The other three Uchiha still terrify him.

Mito transferred to Hogwarts in her third year. She’s a Ravenclaw and is friendly with the Senju, especially Hashirama and Tobirama. Hashirama is an endless source of amusement for her and Tobirama balances it out with interesting ideas.

Madara has a falcon for his pet instead of an owl. He was told it wasn’t allowed and responded by saying the falcon’s name was Owl. Why can’t his Owl be allowed in school? The administration is not amused.

Soroko is the most normal and level-headed out of the Senju/Uchiha parents. She reaches out to Kou once it becomes obvious Hashirama is determined to keep Madara as his friend, despite Butsuma’s disapproval. Once they start dating Kou and Soroko start meeting regularly for tea and lunches. She also has a bit of a mischievous side and likes Yuuto and Reo best (polyjuice incident aside)

The Uchiha’s maternal muggle grandparents are still alive. They usually visit for at least two weeks every summer and there are hijinks. Tajima still can’t stand muggle newspapers and their non-moving pictures. He despises muggle cars and traffic jams and still doesn’t understand what a TV is, but can turn the channel and raise/lower the volume. However, he loves fountain pens and scandalized the entire Ministry by exclusively using them after his father-in-law got him a fancy engraved set. Kou’s parents take the invasion of magic into their space remarkably well. Madara dragged in god only knows how many freakish alien looking birds from a supposedly normal non-magical wood. Kaito, as a child, refused to go anywhere for more than a day or two without the talking portrait of great-great-great-great-great grandma Uchiha. Izuna was sweet as sugar, but insisted on trying to cast every charm he knew on their furniture and clothes to show them, despite Tajima and Kou’s repeated warnings about underage magic and not turning grandma and grandpa’s couch into a miniature version of itself. And Yuuto and Reo were causing trouble before they could walk. Countless times Kou’s parents had to tip-toe around booby-traps in their own house that would dump frogs on them, or politely put smuggled howlers at the bottom of the mail pile to deal with later. They are very patient people. Very.

Kiddo Breakdown

Madara

Hufflepuff Interests - Dueling, Care of Magical Creatures (loves anything with feathers) Patronus - peregrine falcon Wand - red oak, phoenix feather, 12.5 inches, inflexible

Hashirama

Slytherin Interests - Dueling, Herbology, Healing Spells Patronus - brown bear Wand - english oak, dragon heartstring, 12.5 inches, springy

Kaito

Gryffindor Interests - DADA, History of Magic Patronus - canary Wand - pear, unicorn hair, 9 inches, pliable

Izuna

Hufflepuff Interests - Charms, Divination Patronus - ferret Wand - rowan, unicorn hair, 10 inches, inflexible

Tobirama

Ravenclaw Interests - Potions, Arithmancy Patronus - polar bear Wand - walnut, dragon heartstring, 9.5 inches, stiff

Yuuto

Slytherin Interests - Potions, pranks, entrepreneurship Patronus - coyote Wand - sycamore, unicorn hair, 10 inches, springy

Reo

Slytherin Interests - Charms, pranks, entrepreneurship Patronus - jackal Wand - sycamore, dragon heartstring, 10 inches, pliable

Kawarama

Gryffindor Interests - Transfiguration, History of Magic Patronus - lynx Wand - larch, phoenix feather, 9.5 inches, reasonably springy

Itama

Hufflepuff Interests - Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy Patronus - rabbit Wand - willow, unicorn hair, 11 inches, unpliable

#naruto #madara uchiha #hashirama senju #hashimada #madahashi #tobirama senju #izuna uchiha #kawarama senju #itama senju #kaito uchiha #yuuto uchiha #reo uchiha #kou uchiha #tajima uchiha #butsuma senju #soroko senju #hogwarts au #i swear this was supposed to be short....

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Text

Icarus

A/N: Me- ‘I can’t stand angst’

Also me- Lemme just write an angst fic rq

Hehehe anyways I hope you guys enjoy the pain and suffering I went through writing this. Side notes, I wrote this wayyy before 299 or any chapter that described Hawk’s life story, so I tried to make it as canon as possible when in the midst of creating the fic. Also, I just called Hawks’ dad ‘Takami’ since we obv don’t know his real name lol.

Pairing: DabixHawks

Taglist: The one and only @bakugosbratx!❤

“What the hell Dabi,” Hawks hissed through gritted teeth. He brandished a large sword-like feather in front of the villain’s face, but the raven-haired man easily sidestepped it with a sleazy smirk adorning his stitched mouth. “The plan was for tomorrow, at the factory on the coast. Not in the middle of the damn city.”

“I changed my mind. Did I mention it was a test of the Nomu’s abilities? My bad,” Dabi said lazily. The shadows from the crumbling building they were meeting in fell on half of his face, making him look beautifully sinister.

“But I wasn’t the only one who acted outside of the plan, now was I? You said you’d ‘send some random strong guy’, but sending the Number 1 hero doesn’t exactly make for a good test. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Well, hey, it did some serious damage to him. You should be happy. I haven’t broken my promise-you’re the only one who went back on his word.” The winged hero spoke lowly, attempting to recollect himself.

“But it's even more unreasonable for you to think that I’d trust the Number 2 hero right off the bat. So this was also a test to see if you were trustworthy,” Dabi stared evenly at him, not breaking eye contact.

And it’s because I know you better than you know yourself, bird brain, he thought bitterly.

20 years ago, both men weren’t at each other’s throats and behind each other’s backs.

20 years ago, Keigo was holding his arms around Touya’s throat while perched on Touya’s back.

***************

“Keigo, loosen up a bit, you’re choking me,” the red-haired boy groaned, shifting the 20 pound body of chub and feathers on his back.

“Sorry,” Keigo giggled, moving his little hands on top of Touya’s head so he could push down and elevate himself to peek above the marble table. His mouth watered when he laid eyes on all the refreshments and appetizers decorating the stainless steel platters that filled up the white island.

His wide eyes quickly scanned around for his objective, and when they finally landed on a small corner of chicken dumplings, he reached a grubby hand out and snagged two that were big enough to fill his palm. He brought his fists down to Touya’s eye level, and the strained delinquent beneath took the sweaty rolls from Keigo’s hand.

“Lemme just grab a fried wing really quick, do you want some sushi or something?”

“No, I hate fish. Just hurry up, I think his speech is almost done.” Touya bit out, his body shaking in effort to not topple over and drop the food and his best friend.

To confirm their time, Keigo swiveled his head to the podium in front of them and realized Touya was right- his large, equally red-headed dad was almost finished giving his speech. He was speaking about some winged villain escaping by a hair’s breadth from custody, and how it wouldn’t happen again under his watch. The crowd was smiling, nodding their heads as they clapped for the hero’s future success, cameras flashing in his broad face that illuminated every sharp contour of his brutish features.

One reporter had turned around, and had spotted a thick little hand waving around on the table, attempting to grasp the goodies that were placed meticulously in orderly arrangements. She saw a little round head poking over the top of the table and watched as the toddler’s face scrunched up in concentration.

Managing to swipe 5 or so pieces of chicken off the table with one brush of his arm, the little boy’s face disappeared under the side of the marble, but not before the lady made eye contact with him. He gave her a little grin and flashed his tiny pearly whites, some of the gaps in his gums emphasizing his innocent age. She tried to lean over to catch one last glimpse of the child when he sunk down, but unbeknownst to her, the boys had already fallen over in fits of giggles and were racing out of the conference room precariously holding the many assortments of grub against their little bodies.

Little thief, she thought amusedly.

Outside the Hero Commission headquarters now, the devious duo quickly rushed around to the side of the grand building where a dark alleyway embraced them. They stood in the cool midnight air, looking around for the man who had sent them for the errand.

“Where is he? Didn’t he say he was gonna be here?” Touya questioned, his aching arms struggling to keep a piece of teriyaki on his elbow.

“I dunno, but he said he’d be right here so I trust him,” Keigo shrugged.

As if on cue, a sudden gust of wind started billowing around them, almost causing the food to fall when they attempted to cover their faces from the dust and leaves swirling around their faces from the air pressure. They looked up to the source of the breeze and stared in awe as a silhouette of a lean man with huge wings descended down to the ground in front of them. He blended in with the shadows of the navy blue sky, the only indication of anyone actually being there apart from the wind was the way the constellations above broke their uniform formation around his outline.

Even the stars make room for my daddy, Keigo thought with naive pride as he beamed at his father.

“Mr. Takami!” Touya and his counterpart rushed forward and gleefully gestured to the feast they held in their arms.

“Woah, when I asked for some grub I didn’t mean bring the whole damn buffet,” Takami laughed, running a hand through rugged dirty blond locks. Nonetheless, he gave the kids a proud wink and scanned the alleyway for any clean place to set the food down on. He might be an outlaw, but he’d be damned if he ate like a hobo.

They eventually found a relatively clean albeit rusty trash can lid to settle their bearings on, and abruptly dug into their meal.

“Mr. Takami,” Touya spoke through a mouthful of food, “that move you did last week when you flew upside down avoiding my dad's flashfire fist was amazing. You gotta teach me how to get bad guys like that!”

Takami laughed heartily and leaned in to swipe teriyaki sauce off Touya’s lips.

“Mmh, kid, I don’t think your dad would be too pleased with you if you referred to him as the ‘bad guys’. He’d kick my ass and yours all in one, and I don’t think my wings are any good with too much heat. Ain’t that right chickadee?” He grinned slyly at his own son now, knowing how much the boy admired the hero despite his chemistry with his own elusive father.

“Yeah kid,” Keigo tried to mimic his father’s attractive lopsided smirk at his best friend. “Don’t you know Mr. Endeavor can kick dad’s butt and yours all in one?” He didn’t even know what that fully meant, only knowing from his dad’s tone that it was in begrudging respect of his idol.

Touya rolled his eyes and continued munching.

“He beats me anyways, even outside of training. I don’t think it would matter what I said at this point.”

Keigo laughed loudly, not fully understanding what this conversation was about but still wanting to fit in from the previous jokes. Takami stopped chewing however and looked at the boy, observing his leaner figure more than Keigo’s, the way his red bangs covered most of his eyes even though he never made an effort to move them out of the way. A thin white streak sprouted from the side of his head, standing out against the vermillion locks. His hands, like any other kids, were always grimy to a certain degree but unlike other kids they were bandaged from his wrists up to his elbows and then some.

Touya was quiet now, simply looking down and not eating anymore. Quickly trying to change the subject, the young father attempted to think of something that would cheer his enemy’s son up.

“Yo, I’ve got an idea. Since you guys did so well in bringing the grub, why don’t I take you guys for a midnight ride? We can fly by the beach if we have enough ti-”

But he was suddenly cut off by the sound of doors barging open around the corner. Touya whips his head around the corner of the alleyway and sees an entourage of reporters and paparazzi tripping over the entrance steps to follow Enji Todoroki outside. The large man squints his turquoise eyes and looks around the dark street. The crowd is shoving their mics and cameras in his face, and Touya catches a glimpse of his mother cowering behind her husband as everyone begs her to make a statement about the hero’s missions and future conquests. She looks slightly burnt out, but manages to keep up a tired smile on her face as she descends the concrete steps.

“TOUYAAAAA,” Enji bellowed, “we’re leaving, I know you went outside so get over here this instant.” His voice echoed through the street, and the small flame user quickly turned his head to bid farewell to his friend and admirable father.

But the alleyway is already empty.

Not wasting a second more in pondering where they both (and the food) could have gone so quickly, he stumbles around the corner and speed-walks towards his fuming father, hoping he remains inconspicuous.

That failed, seeing as how the second his son rounded the brick corner, the number two hero folds his arms and glares at the defiant boy who has his bottom lip stuck out.

“Touya! There you are love, we were worried you got lost,” Rei Todoroki laughs, albeit slightly shrill.

“Where were you?” Enji demands, paying no heed to the media circus eagerly watching the scene for any new content for tabloid headlines.

“I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn’t see one inside.” Touya retorted stubbornly.

Endeavor snorts, not buying the obvious lie. But on closer inspection, he sees a smear of something on the corner of the boy’s mouth. Before Touya can stop him, he reaches a calloused thumb out to swipe it off his face and peers down on the substance.

A brown sauce, suspiciously looking like the teriyaki sauce drizzled onto the chicken on the appetizer table he would know personally because he had chomped down on a few in anger before leaving the headquarters.

He looks to his son expectantly with narrowed eyes, asking an unspoken question.

“I was hungry,” Touya said simply, not offering any more relief for his father.

Enji growls at his impertinence, and everyone shifts uncomfortably when the temperature around them rises a few degrees.

Rei decides to step in.

“Ah, dear, he’s here now and we have to get home. It’s late,” she almost reaches a hand out to his shoulder but stops when her husband suddenly takes a shaky step forward, brushing his son aside to the curb.

Touya staggers at the brute force and falls on his forearm, wincing as parts of his elbow and wrist bloom with white hot pain. Looking around to see what his father had got so worked up about, he whips head behind him and pales instantly, the blood sprouting from underneath the fresh wounds in his arms turning to ice.

Both father and son watch as a few red feathers trail out from the same dark alley Touya emerged from and into the sky.

Endeavor furiously turns in circles as if he were possessed and desperately runs forward a couple of paces trying to keep up to the feathers, trying to see where they flew to the designated body.

But Takami has long since snatched Keigo and thrown him over his shoulder as he takes to the sky, conducting his feathers to hide away the remaining food to try and prevent their presence from being known.

No sense in worsening those bandages, he thought about Touya as the toddler on his back waved goodbye to his friend, unaware of the trainwreck about to unfold beneath their feet.

“Endeavor is gonna beat you dad,” little Keigo stuck out his tongue and his dad ruffled his hair affectionately, knowing he meant no harm in rooting for his beloved hero that he so looked up to.

“Ohh I bet he will, no doubt. But if he’s gonna take me down, it better be on the ground ‘cuz he’s never gonna catch me in my damn sky.” He chuckles

“Your sky?” The warm bundle in his arms looks up at him with huge golden eyes.

“That's right, my sky. It can be yours too, if you learn to master those wings of yours. See, even the birds in the sky make way for us. The moon too! Look Kei, see how it's lighting the way? That beauty is only for me and you.” Takami spreads his arms out and closes his eyes, basking in the way the moonlight drenches his face, the way the wind tousles his handsome rugged hair and swirls around him, embracing him as if he were an old friend.

Keigo hugs his arms around Takami’s neck tighter, looks up at his dad’s face and thinks to himself that maybe Endeavor won’t actually be able to take him down. Because in this light, his dad looks like he could live forever.

They both are silent for a couple more minutes, until Keigo has the guts to take one arm off his dad’s neck and reach out into the endless open space, hoping the moon could spare him some light too if he were to inherit the sky one day.

Takami grins and lifts his boy with both hands higher to an angle where the entirety of Keigo was covered in silver ethereal light.

Birds of a feather must truly flock together, because Takami can’t help but think that his son is going to outlive him and the moon itself. His heart squeezes and soars when he hears the tinkling bells of laughter emitting from his kin when small droplets of water tickle his chubby cheeks.

“You know the story of Icarus, Kei?”

“No, who’s that?” Takami pulls him down and holds him tightly to his chest as they begin to descend, the cars and buildings below coming into clearer view.

“Well, Icarus and his dad were escaping a cruel king when they were locked in this tall tower, so Daedalus-the dad- makes these big wings to use for him and his son to escape with.” He abruptly pulls a small finger out of his son’s nose.

“They had wings? Like us? Were they red too?” Keigo smiled a gap-toothed smile at the thought of a boy his age having a similar quirk.

“For sure he did, little bastard could fly twice as high as you though,” (“Hey!” from an indignant Keigo) Takami spoke louder as the wind rushed by their ears as they lost altitude from getting closer to the ground.

“So anyways, they jump out the tower just on the chance that they can actually make it, and they did! They mastered how to fly after a couple of close calls falling to the ground, but eventually they mastered it. Icarus flew higher than we did just now, and got realll close to the sun and-”

“Did his dad get close to the sun too?” Keigo interrupts, clinging to his dad’s rough leather jacket as he buries his face against the material to escape the cold stinging wind.

“Oh he got close alright. But uh, he kinda...fell after a while.” Takami finished hesitantly.

Keigo is silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I like this story.”

“Hey, don’t worry about the dad! He loved the sky and feeling the sun rays on him. He got to see the birds, feel the warmth, and most importantly see his kid be happy and fly away to safety and a better life.”

Even though the very same sun and sky are the things that lead to his demise, Takami laughs internally at himself, at the irony of it all and at his own fate.

***************

It’s raining in Osaka.

“Hawks. I’m sorry about what happened last time.”

“Yeah, same here.”

“Don’t bother tracing this call.”

“Haha, I won’t, I won’t! Please, spare me the attitude.”

Right, because you’ve got enough in that overly inflated head for the both of us.

Nevertheless, Dabi continues, keeping his voice low despite the deafening rain splattering the outside of the phone booth. He shifts the phone in his hand, and pulls his hood down lower on his face to avoid prying eyes from outside his sanctuary.

“Listen, I want you to trust what I’m about to say. For the sake of the League of Villains, we must demonstrate our dedication to taking down the system. This time we’re asking for someone besides the Number 1.”

Hawks.

You might be right if you think I can’t cut you off-you’re too valuable. But even if you still keep playing the fool, I won’t forget about you at the back of my mind. That’s a promise.

Unlike you, I keep my promises. And I don’t forget about the past, ever.

Because the past never dies.

***************

Touya bites at his already-blunt nails, hissing as he rips a cuticle off.

He continues to walk down the hall, not letting his nerves get the best of him. The building itself was a pain to navigate, but being the son of a prominent hero had its perks. The staff fell over themselves trying to be the first to guide the young prodigy to where Keigo was living now.

Not that he told his father where he was going, though. It’s fortunate that Fuyumi’s favorite bakery and the Hero Commission were on the same street- he could bring back some cakes to give a good excuse for his whereabouts.

Approaching the designated door, he took a deep breath before knocking. He didn’t even get to rap his bandaged knuckles twice against the dark mahogany before the door swung wide open.

“Touya?”

Keigo stared open-mouthed at the boy, noting how more than half his hair was white now, giving a strange and out-of-place look to the new forming blueish/black scars on the lower half of his face and purple bags near his eyes.

He giggled, before stepping aside to let his friend in. “It looks like someone painted your face with all the funny colors on it.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Touya mumbled as he shoved past and saw for the first time where the fledgeling had been cooped up for weeks now.

The room itself wasn't huge for an adult, but for a kid around their age it was a glorified playground.

A single bed rested in the corner of the room, plain white walls blinding Touya’s weary eyes under the artificial fluorescent lights. A little desk was situated right next to the bed, and a closet adorned the adjacent wall. Nothing too crazy or fancy for the Hero Commission headquarters, but then again it wasn’t supposed to be a place for kids anyways.

Keigo sat comfortably at the edge of the bed, tossing his Endeavor doll back and forth between his hands.

“So you heard what happened huh? I guess your dad really did beat mine. He was so cool with his Jet Burn move! But I bet you they’ll fight again and this time my dad is gonna take yours down for some good revenge.” His gold eyes flashed as he adorned the trademark Takami smirk-hooded eyes, a lazy lift to the side of his mouth. Touya would’ve laughed at the pathetic attempt at mimicry if he had more energy.

But as it was, he wasn’t so amused at the moment.

He didn’t have the heart to tell one of his only friends how the elusive thief and murderer wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

Especially when it was at the hands of his own father.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and got off the wall he was leaning on, making his way to sit next to Keigo on the rickety bed.

“Yeah, um, about that Keigo...have you heard from your dad yet?” Touya bit his lip and tried anyway, hoping that Keigo would have a different answer than what he already knew.

“Nope!” Keigo said cheerfully. “All I know is that I saved some family from this huge car wreck when I was waiting for dad to pick me up. We were going to try and get some of those white pills for mom, but she hadn’t been home for a while again so dad thought it was better if we just got some food anyways...” And at this, Keigo trailed off as a small frown furrowed his eyebrows and caused a little crease in between them.

“Right...so the Hero Commission saw and somebody got you?” Touya filled in the blanks, trying to not let the younger boy catch on to why exactly his dad didn’t come back yet.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since then. Your dad told you?”

“Not exactly...I didn’t tell him about you specifically, I just asked him what happened ‘cause you were in the newspaper. He thought I was asking about the Hero Commission and got really excited about that. Made me train twice as hard that day, I told Natsu-”

“Wait, I was on the headlines?” Keigo interrupted. “How’d I look?” He cocked his brow and flexed his puny bicep, running a hand through his hair-the same way his dad would do after flying in high winds.

Finally Touya couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the ridiculous look Keigo had on his face. The latter laughed as well, both of them doubled over on lumpy sheets and rough-housing each other as playful fists went flying, shoving the other down.

“Well you looked a lot better on paper than you do with that stupid face you got on now,” Touya sneered, holding his foot down in between Keigo’s shoulder blades. He let the soles of his feet warm up to the point of feeling slightly more than ticklish as his captive shrieked with laughter and for mercy.

Touya thought about his father at that moment.

Would he be proud of the way he tackled Keigo down so quickly? Would he say he’s using his quirk to its fullest extent?

After a few minutes of staying in that exact same position, only the sound of Keigo’s increasingly pained screams brought Touya back to reality.

“Crap, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Keigo I just zoned out, are you okay?” Concern laced his voice and was evident in his guilty face as he rushed to flip the sniveling blond over to sit up, a hand bracing his back as he did so.

“Y-yeah I’m okay. Man you gotta control your quirk, aren’t you supposed to be better at this since you train with your dad, like, every day?” Keigo fought to keep his shaky breath and wavering voice under control. He didn’t want to seem even more immature to his idol’s son.

Touya immediately stilled at Keigo’s question, his eyes darkening marginally, bandages seeming even more heavy underneath his layers of clothes. He suddenly felt pathetic and dirty under Keigo’s seemingly judging expression, and decided it was time for him to go.

He picked his trembling body up off the bed, avoiding the scrutinizing figure he was sure was mocking him from his earlier quip. Who was Keigo to say that he wasn’t training hard enough?

Did he not see the bandages? His burnt skin? Was he so blind to the weary demeanor he surely emitted?

He’s just like my dad. Should’ve burned him anyways.

But the vibrant eyas’s face held nothing but adoration for his partner-in-crime, even after he almost got burned. It took Touya some coaxing of false ‘no, I’m not mad, you didn’t do anything wrong’s and ‘yes, I’ll come visit again soon’ to let Keigo permit him to leave.

And as Keigo closed the door in front of him, he felt bubbling pride at his friend for becoming stronger since the last time. Even if it meant he might need some ice for his tender wings, if it was any indication for Touya that all his training wasn’t for naught then it was worth it-heat and all.

***************

Dabit spots a tuft of blond hair poking out from amongst the darker villainous colors around the massive underground bunker. How could he miss it, when it was so obviously out of place?

Shigaraki has just finished speaking, rasping something about him being leading the Violet Regiment.

He doesn’t give a fuck, honestly.

Boredom is etched on his face as the crowd cheers and yells its support for the new Paranormal Liberation Front, and he stomps his way down the stage steps with the other League members.

He thinks about a couple weeks ago, when Hawks brought him a black duffel bag with the Number 3 hero inside.

“Whether this is really him or not... clearly you actually killed someone.”

Following in your daddy’s footsteps, I see.

It doesn’t really matter what the reason is, Hawks. Takami had his own justification for taking lives, and you do too. This is what the League is about. Who are you to hold someone’s life higher than another’s? What makes your cause so much better than somebody else’s? It’s all just bullshit anyways.

“Well, how d’you do, Mr. Number Two?”

He’s finally made his way over to the eccentric blond who has just finished giving autographs to some lower-rank villains.

Hawks snaps his head around to the sound of the grating voice, and the grin he puts on makes Dabi feel things he hasn’t felt in decades. It makes his heart clench and causes his palms to smoke slightly. It makes the staples on his mouth twitch and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

So he grits his teeth and bears it with an even more determined smirk as Hawks weaves through the bodies and throws an arm over his shoulder.

“You look quite happy.”

“Sure am!” the winged hero responds easily. “Now, how about some intros?”

As Dabi steers the both of them around the cramped grounds, going from person to person, he can practically see the gears in Hawk’s head turn.

He knows he will be meeting his father soon, thanks to the spy he’s currently arm-and-arm with. He’s counting on it.

One down, one more to go

I bet you think you’re so smart, huh, pretty boy?

You haven’t changed in all these years.

Still doing everything you can to show me just how trustworthy you are, even though you’re nothing but a sick, twisted bastard whose morals come from a serial thief and murderer. At least I’m honest about my views, the same as before.

It doesn’t matter if we’re older now. You’re still the same person who breaks his promises. You’re still doing everything you can to reach Enji.

The Hero Commission trained you well.

***************

There’s a flash flood warning throughout Japan, the heavy rain and thunder confirming everyone's preparations.

Keigo has nailed the blindfold practice down to its core, and pleasing superiors means an early bedtime and extra dessert in the cafeteria.

He grabs an antiseptic pack from the nurse along the way and holds it between his fully developed teeth, now easily balancing two cheesecake slices and three fat chicken dumplings in his lean arms. He is so thankful for the Commission in aiding him shedding off unnecessary baby fat.

But he knows all the credit doesn’t go to his superiors though. As he walks down the empty halls, he thinks of earlier times, when he and Touya would race each other down concealed alleys and streets with food piling up in their holds, both boys trying to make the other drop their treasure by abusing their quirks to sabotage each other with glee.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, he arrives at his room and frees a hand, turning the gold knob and pushing inside. He turns on the lights and the pack from his mouth is dropped as his mouth gapes in shock.

“Touya!”

It's a name Keigo has uttered a thousand times, but Touya reluctantly admits to himself that he will probably never get used to it, will never get over the happy butterflies in his stomach as he feels his ever-standing guards being let down when he knows he can finally be himself.

Even more bitterly he comes to term with how he's sure it's not just his quirk that gives him the warmth that lights up his spine as Keigo draws nearer, beaming at him as if he were the only person in the world that mattered.

“Man, where have you been? It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you, how are things going?” The blond runs a hand through his hair, his locks longer than the last time Touya remembers.

He stands from being perched on the bed for hours now, feeling returning to his numb and more heavily wrapped legs.

Not that he expected Keigo to notice.

But Keigo does notice.

He notices how wobbly Touya stands, as if he were prone to fall over any second. He notices the blue flames that silently fume from his forearms and heels, the bandages he usually wears nowhere near in sight. Touya’s white hair has flecks of black soot embedded in the soft pristine tufts, and his eyes have a wild look in them, resembling that of a cornered animal.

An animal that knows it’s at the end of the road.

But he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he listens to Touya explain how he came here.

“Yeah, yeah it's definitely been a while. Wouldn’t kill you to try and contact me too once in a while, y’know considering your idol beats my ass every time I leave the house without permission.” He laughs shrewdly, the scars on his face splitting and making Keigo internally wince at the pain he must feel.

“Oh right...hey listen, I’m really sorry about that dude,” Keigo awkwardly scratches behind his head and his wings ruffle slightly at his tension. “They just kinda keep me on a tight leash here with the training and all. Speaking of, how’s training with your dad? Any guys he’s bagged again?”

None apart from your dad, bird-for-brains.

“-I keep hearing about the people here talk about All Might, but obviously you know I'm rooting for your-”

And Keigo continues, as if the confession of Touya’s abuse has no weight to it at all.

Touya doesn’t want to hear or talk about his father anymore. Especially considering what hell he raised back home, and why he caused it merely a couple of hours ago.

He doesn’t have much time left.

“No he hasn’t. He’s just been training me until my skin burns and my nerves get fried.” Touya snaps, finding a sick pleasure in the way the other boy’s bright eyes deflate at his response.

Keigo can’t ignore Touya’s tone or passive aggressive words anymore, so he falls silent.

Both of them are facing each other, the distance between them so close yet becoming farther and farther the longer they stand.

Whether or not he meant to spite the winged-boy or because he was internally reminiscing on the easier days where he and Keigo wanted the same things, desperately trying to make at least one normal conversation before he left indefinitely, Touya blurts out, “Any news from your dad yet?”

Immediately he wishes the bandages on his limbs were stuffed in his mouth. Stupid, of course he couldn’t’ve, not when its been months since his father locked the latter’s elusive father up.

If Takami isn’t dead by now, he most likely will be soon.

An image of burned wings sears itself into Touya’s mind.

“No...I haven’t heard from him in over half a year now man. Honestly, I’m not really bothered by it. He’s a thief anyways, I’m sure he can take care of himself wherever he is,” Keigo shrugged, making his way to the window and looking out as if expecting to see his dad fly across the navy blue sky.

Touya did a double take at Keigo’s level-headed confession. This was the first time he had openly acknowledged his dad’s less-than-holy lifestyle.

How could you not care? He did everything for you-made sure you were safe from my dad and your own mom!

How could you not care about the only man who was worried for me?

“I have a life here,” Keigo continued as he gazed at the star-dusted horizon accentuated with violent gusts of wind that rattled the window frame. “I can finally do good things and make the best of my quirk. Yeah, sometimes I’m pushed more than I can take, but the training and potential is worth it.”

He turns to the lanky figure slouching in the room shadows, and his eyes flash with a glint of golden, his lips upturned slightly as his white teeth gleam in the moonlight.

“Don’t you want to be a hero, Touya?”

“Don’t you ever think about the families you could save?”

What about my family? Can’t you save me?

Touya stumbles back, and Keigo reaches towards him alarmed.

“Hey woah, woah. Sit down for a sec’, you okay dude?”

He falls backwards onto the bed, the same place where he and Keigo wrestled oh so long ago. His head is spinning, the faint ringing in his ears is making him panic even more, his breath is coming out in shallow pants.

Burning wings sear through his head again. As the boy is reaching for the sun, his wings are gradually melting off.

And now the training room is burning, burning, burning up in flames. His skin is completely eroded, skin grafts making his once youthful face look like mediocre patchwork done from the hands of a child, at most.

A piece of jaw, nothing more. Blue flames engulf the vicinity, reflecting off the red and blue flashing lights outside along with police sirens.

He hopes Fuyumi is sleeping in her crib, and the smoke doesn’t choke her.

He wonders if his mom is scared more for herself or him.

“-forehead’s burning up, Touya can you hear me? You need to relax man, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Do you need me to call someone?”

He hears Keigo’s frantic voice swim around in his head, and he wants to reach out to him to beg him to just stay, don’t go, don’t leave me like everyone else, you’re all I have left.

But instead, he settles for gripping Keigo’s thin arm as hard as he can, silently begging him to not get up.

“Alright, if you don’t want me to get someone then I need you to calm down, you’re freaking me out. Can you do that for me, just take a deep breath?” the blond relents, rubbing Touya’s back and taking an odd note of how ash is covering his clothes in a thin layer.

And they’re still warm.

“Hey, did I ever tell you that story about Icarus and his dad? My old man told me about it the night your dad had his press conference.” Keigo continues on, grateful that Touya’s breaths come in a little slower as he listens to the sound of his voice.

“So basically, there's this dad and his kid, and they’re like escaping this evil dude from this high tower right? But get this: the dad crafts wings, Touya, big red wings like mine-only, they’re made of wax so they’re not really like mine I guess…” Keigo trails off, pouting slightly, but immediately stops when he sees Touya’s face of incredulity as he clutches his slightly heaving chest. He hurries on with his story, encouraged by distracting his friend long enough to allow his breathing to normalize even if he looked like a madman spouting random, nonsense stories.

“B-but anyways, they have no choice but to jump off the tower and use their wings, and it actually works! Well, I mean it kinda does. They fly as well as they can towards the sun since they were in the dark for so long, like this.”

He demonstrates with a large jump, using his wings to boost him higher, and does a somersault in midair. Unfortunately he lands flat on his butt, much to Touya’s amusement. Keigo’s face lights up as the latter lets out a breathy chuckle and looks in anticipation at him as if to ask what happens next.

He discreetly detaches a feather to rub his sore bottom as he gets up and joins Touya on the bed again.

“I think the dad fell or something, if I remember it right, and the kid just flew up to the sun. I think that’s it. It reminds me of you and me-y’know, you with your fire or heat, and mine with my wings obviously.” Keigo grins widely, and Touya shakes his head, even though he smiles too.

“You’re so full of shit birdbrain. But whatever, if your dad told you that story then I’ll pretend it was worth listening to and wasting my time.”

“If I recall right, you were the one who came here to waste time, ashtray.” Keigo teases as he pokes Touya’s sides, causing him to yelp and swat his hand away as they both burst out cackling.

They both gained their breath after their fits of laughter, and layed on the bed in contentment. A flash of lightning, however, reminded Touya he couldn’t stay in this heaven forever.

He slowly pulled himself up the bed, and stood up facing away from Keigo.

The winged boy looked in confusion as Touya redid the bandages on his arms, and he squared his shoulders. His eyes started stinging, and he cleared his throat as he willed an imaginary dam to hold back the waterworks.

He started walking towards the door, and Keigo felt a sudden clench in his heart that served as his only premonition.

“Touya?”

He didn’t turn around fully as his wrapped hand turned the doorknob in its place, only enough so Keigo could see the sides of him. The shadows on his face made his eyes and the lower half of his face almost indistinguishable.

“Hey Keigo? We’re always gonna be on the same side, right?”

Please say yes.

Please say you understand me even if I know you won’t.

“Yeah, man, I promise. I’m...I’m gonna see you again though, yeah?”

And as Touya Todoroki felt the impending dam spill freely over his eyes and down his face, he let Keigo hold onto his last promise that he knew he would have to fulfill, whether the hero-in-training lived up to his word or not.

“Of course. I promise.”

***************

“‘You’ve just been unlucky’, was it?”

He extended an arm and shot out a blue column of fire straight at Hawks and Twice. Hawks propelled himself and the unconscious man across the crumbling room just for a moment’s reprieve.

“Well, whatever...your ‘weapons’ have dwindled away anyways.”

The severely burned hero coughed and steadied himself on the floor.

“You nearly burnt your friend, you know.”

“It’s fine,” Dabi casually waved a hand. “That instinctive lifesaving schtick is what you heroes are all about after all.”

Hawks wiped some soot off his face, desperately trying to keep Dabi’s face in his line of blurry vision.

“Well aren’t you sarcastic. You sound as if you had known all along...was I exposed?”

He scoffed and upturned his patched face in a sneer before answering the hero’s speculations.

“Whether you were exposed or not,” and as the shadows fell on Dabi’s face in an eerily familiar light, Hawks felt a shudder or deja vu pass him, as if he had seen the villain before but in another lifetime.

“I never trusted you from the start.”

“Is that so?” Hawks needed to stall.

My wings are burnt to a crisp so my ability to take flight will be inhibited...plus we’re in a tight space. This is a worst-case scenario.

“Light him up!”

Twice was conscious.

“I said don’t move!”

But before the singed hero could subdue his objective, he felt the searing flames of Dabi’s heat encompass his body. He groaned and heard the villains’ voices swim in and out of his head.

“With you alone we can get rid of these heroes”

“Yeah...okay!”

That was Hawks’ cue to get the hell up. He launched himself out of the window when he felt Dabi’s next hit coming through, and used the momentum of the wind and flames to break through the shutters. Not wasting a moment, he spun mid-air and circled around the top of the floor and vaulted back down towards the entrance of the room.

At the same time, Jin Bubaigawara cloned himself and attempted to escape through the same way Hawks was coming in.

Dabi saw all of this in almost a split second, not even with enough time to fully lower his still-extended arm and turn around.

“You’re too fast.”

As Twice and Hawks collided, Dabi realized he was on his last straw, his last trick up his torn sleeve.

“TAKAMI

KEIGO.”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. A fact made solid as his gaze landed on the vermillion sword-like feather already erupting from Twice’s back.

Both men turned to finally face each other, indescribable emotions reflecting off their eyes.

Hawks felt another shudder light up his body.

How does he know my name?

“Who...who are you?”

He didn’t have time to protect himself as another wave of blue hellfire rained itself on his back and wings, knocking him to the ground.

“Good work hero! You killed Twice!”

An inflamed boot dug its way into Hawks’ back, and Dabi internally thanked his former self for remembering his old friend in such a vulnerable position.

Memories so vague he could barely see them flashed through Keigo’s mind, but he didn’t have time to ponder on them even though he wanted to.

He wanted to feel where that zing of clarity up his spine originated from when he felt a heavy weight crush his scorched wings. He wanted to know why it felt so familiar, and why it brought him a faint sense of bitter happiness instead of just pain.

But he quelled the flames of curiosity, and turned his shaking body to meet the hungry eyes of the man above him.

“Is that-is that the expression of someone whose friend was just killed?!”

Dabi felt his stitches rip at their seams as his haunting grin stretched wider.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, huh! Your words hurt! My tear glands are burnt so I can’t cry y’know!” He gleefully pressed his boot deeper into his victim’s shoulder blades, as he did when he was younger. He felt a sick sense of giddiness as he felt Hawks’ body shake, just like it did almost a decade ago.

Just like old times.

“With Twice around, my dream would certainly be seen through, so of course I’m sad about it.”

“I’m heartbroken,” and all Hawks saw for a split second was Dabi’s body engulfed in a wall of fire, his standing silhouette showing nothing except the reflection of light around his eyes. There was no remorse, no guilt, nothing but sadistic pleasure in his orbs.

He wheezed as the boot slammed on his back again and scrunched up his bleary eyes, fending off the smoke curling through his lashes.

“I looked into the backgrounds of each of the League’s members. But only you...and Shigaraki. You were the only ones I couldn’t find anything on..!”

Dabi said nothing but let the pathetic mess under his feet cough out desperate theories. It was funny, Keigo never specified how he wanted his best friend to fulfill his old promise. He was just unlucky that the latter completed his own promise, and expected the same from him.

Look who's unlucky now, huh ‘Hawks’?

“So who-”

His attention snapped back to reality.

“Who the hell are you?” Hawks bit out.

And as Touya Todoroki extended an arm and opened his mouth to speak, the sun welcomed Icarus into its warm embrace and fiery downfall.

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 3 years

Text

so I wrote most of this...four days ago, and then somehow didn’t get around to finishing it until just now, which feels super weird because after writing this I started getting worried about future episodes again for a variety of reasons, and of course now we’re at T minus 10 minutes? (honestly if I’m somehow late for my own funeral I’m pretty sure no one will be surprised.) but I still wanted to post this to go over some of what I liked so much about episode 4, even if...I am no longer anywhere near as confident as I was a few days ago about where the show might be going. whatever.

***

I’ve done almost nothing for the past day or so except chew over episode 4 some more, partly trying to figure out why I liked it so much when it was broadly very divisive, and I realized that a lot of what I’ve been feeling from this episode is relief.

the thing is I’ve been paranoid since at least Infinity War about Marvel doing setup that looks like it’ll lead to a big payoff and then nothing (Loki’s death, but also Gamora’s and maybe Vision’s, and the general fact that the “fix” to IW was convoluted, took place much later, and caused as many problems as it solved, and just, Endgame in general), so I don’t really trust Marvel that way anymore. plus Marvel has pretty badly fumbled a lot of different things in the past, especially on various social issues, by introducing unfortunate implications that apparently didn’t occur to them even though they’re obvious to literally everyone else...stuff like Thanos’s “sacrifice” of Gamora, or how the Flag-Smashers were portrayed and Karli was a villain for no real reason, or how it would’ve been so easy to add a couple lines in WandaVision that would fix the whole thing where the Maximoffs weren’t just whitewashed but they also voluntarily worked with Nazis and they whiffed that too.

so, while I’ve been enjoying the show, a lot of that enjoyment has been based on meta I’ve seen and me sort of going “this interpretation is really cool and it makes a lot of sense, but at this point I can’t know if it’s something the showrunners are doing on purpose or if they sorta accidentally implied depth where there wasn’t any and it’s not actually leading anywhere” with things like the TVA being very clearly authoritarian but also supposedly the good guys, Loki being constantly described as an awful person, Loki sometimes being manic or incompetent, etc. etc. etc., along with the similar interpretation of “sure, we fans know all this stuff about how Loki is not an awful person actually, thanks, and the people who arrested him aren’t automatically Good Guys just because they’re in opposition to him but casual viewers--including not-casual-but-not-fannish viewers who should really know better--have not figured any of this out and so the show needs to go out of its way to demonstrate things that are obvious to us” but I wasn’t sure. the second half of episode 1 made me feel pretty good about where the show was headed as far as Loki’s characterization and emotions were concerned, but the more lighthearted aspects of 2 and 3 had me wondering again.

so then what happens in this episode?

the TVA goes fully mask off. the Time-Keepers are in fact fake, the Sacred Timeline by extension is also basically fake, the people who work there are all variants, the ones we know (C-20, B-15, Mobius) show grief and anger over the lives that were stolen from them, Sylvie is arrested as a child who did absolutely nothing wrong (and then put through the same process Loki was in episode 1, which is cool because a lot of it was kinda played for laughs then but showing the same things happening to an innocent child also serves to reframe what happened to Loki as, hmm, not that funny after all maybe!), Renslayer is willing to prune innocent people--friends and coworkers, even--just because they learned too much, all the sinister propaganda WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SINISTER

Loki gets very serious very fast in this episode. he displays a lot of genuine emotion and trauma but he mostly does it in a calculated way that shows just how fast his brain works and how he’s always, always thinking about what other people want/expect from him. (like--even the complaint about too few guards seems to fall into that category, given that he only says it after Mobius insists he must be wanting to make some kind of quip!) his self-image is garbage but through Sylvie he’s starting to maybe work on that. he goes up against multiple armed enemies while completely unarmed and holds his own until he gets a weapon. he pushes back when it matters and doesn’t just accept everything Mobius throws at him. he lies, pretty competently (the fact that Mobius doesn’t believe him is...really not his fault, considering Mobius wouldn’t believe him at first about the truth either, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t planning to believe anything Loki outright told him), when it actually matters, primarily in what sure seems like an attempt to protect someone he cares about.

and Mobius. says that Loki WAS RIGHT. ABOUT THE TVA. FROM THE BEGINNING!!! I would still love to hear him say explicitly, look, I said a lot of shitty things to you and tossed in some actual physical torture at the end there oops but the vast majority of it was stuff I didn’t really mean and was only saying to get a reaction and/or information and of course it turns out I was wrong about all the TVA stuff, so I want to say for the record that I was wrong about you personally in many different ways and I’m sorry. (which, honestly, would probably be very awkward for both of them because I doubt Loki has much experience receiving genuine apologies.) but I’m mostly okay with it if he doesn’t, because I feel like you were right from the beginning, and by the way you can be whatever you want does a decent job of implying most of that. (...enough for casual viewers to pick up on it? well, I’m not hoping for miracles but sure, probably some of them.)

in other words? all that stuff the casual viewers were missing (not helped by misleading statements from the showrunners), about the TVA so clearly being bad guys, and Loki being a pretty decent person who presents different versions of himself in different situations and also has some shitty coping mechanisms, and the other Loki variant also not being evil just because they were trying to take down the TVA? we were right. that is, in fact, how the showrunners intended all those things to be taken. they didn’t want to come right out with that stuff at first because they wanted to tell a story and have some twists, and the fact that these things were twists for casual viewers is exactly why it was frustrating to a lot of fans, because it felt like obvious things were being misrepresented or overlooked. I still think that’s reasonable, because see above on why Marvel doesn’t necessarily deserve that trust, but at this point I’m a lot more comfortable believing that this specific show more or less knows what it’s doing.

I mean, yeah, there were some cool fan theories that went nowhere, like the whole thing with the broken TemPad, and I agree that was dumb and it’s very annoying that it really was just sloppy writing, but I guess specific things like that just...don’t bother me as much as more systemic, overarching elements like the characterization of Loki and the TVA. and yes, of course I’ll always be annoyed that we’re apparently never going to get explicit confirmation that Loki’s alliance with Thanos was coerced at best. but, you know, what we got isn’t nothing.

#loki #loki show #loki spoilers #mobius m. mobius #sylvie #marvel cinematic universe #meta #loki meta #my meta #I should add links but uh...maybe later

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anarchy-n-glitter · 3 years

Text

Nothing to Fear

Summary: Lake County, Colorado 2011

Dr. Catarina Crane arrives at Mount Massive asylum to check on a patient who happened to be working there. She’s offered a job instead.

(Warnings: more uncomfortable flirting, minor stalking, gore, illegal experimentation)

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

Screams filled her ears and echoed in the halls. It was her work at its finest, though her victims probably wouldn’t agree. She was sure their cells had morphed into some hellish realm, with their worst fears surrounding them. One was screaming about spiders, which was amusing to Dr. Crane, and the other muttered about water. She was more intrigued by the water inmate.

He was huddled on his bed, looking down at the floor with wide, glassy eyes. He was sobbing, begging for help. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize the water wasn’t real. Another doctor was standing next to her, she was shorter than her, with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was young, and she just finished her residency at another nearby asylum. She was sweet, but Dr. Crane suspected that she wouldn’t last another few weeks. It almost felt like she didn’t know what she was getting into when she accepted the job.

Her name was Lillian Dawes, and she wouldn’t last longer than a year.

“Is that normal?” She asked, placing her hand on the glass and stepping closer. Dr. Crane grabbed her shoulder and gently pulled her away.

“I wouldn’t get too close, Dr. Dawes. I’ve seen people break through observation glass like it was nothing. Fear is such an interesting thing, but the mind can only take so much. Let’s see how long this’ll go on for.” Dr. Crane stated, watching intently as the man stood on his bed and reached for the ceiling. He was definitely panicking now, and he was calling for help.

“Shouldn’t we send someone in?” Lillian asked, clearly distrubed by the scene in front of her. Dr. Crane shook her head.

“No, check on the other subject.” She nodded and walked toward the other observation cell. The scene before her, however, was gruesome. Blood covered the walls of the cell as well as the floor. The man had clawed the skin off of his arms, and now he was laying on the floor unconscious. Lillian gasped and jumped away from the glass, shocked by the scene before her. Dr. Crane practically rushed over, a little too excited about the situation. She peered into the room with a sickening smile before looking back at Lillian.

“Get security. Tell them to take this man to the medical center immediately,” she turned back around as Lillian ran past her, “if he isn’t dead already, that is.” She finished, watching the man lay there motionless. Sometimes, the toxin was so potent the person dies, but she wanted a strong reaction without the death, and Murkoff wanted the same. They believe that her fear toxin would help in Project Walrider, but she needed strong doses to keep the subjects in a terrified state for hours on end. Most of the time - with the stronger doses - people only lasted five minutes. At this rate, she’d go through the whole damn asylum and not even be able to perfect the toxin.

She moved back to the water patient and, just as she predicted, his heart gave out. The stress of the constant terror (and the brain believing he was drowning) put enough strain on him to kill him. Depending on the fear, they either die from self mutilation, or they have a heart attack. She suspected the man didn’t realize it was his heart that gave out, and she had a feeling his last moments were far from pleasant. He was lying face up on the floor, with wide, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. She was surprised he didn’t pass out from holding his breath, but she figured his heart stopped before he suffocated.

She quickly wrote down the results of the tests, and felt disappointed. She knew she could do better than that. Fear toxin that lasted hours normally created hallucinations that came and went in waves, what she needed was something strong enough to create a panic even when the hallucinations died down. They needed to be aware of their surroundings when they weren’t hallucinating, but afraid of what would come next.

Dr. Crane decided to take a break and return to her office to try to figure out where to go from there. She ignored the guards rushing into the cell of the mutilated man, and ignored Lillian as she asked a slew of questions. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her office and think for the rest of the day; do a little problem solving.

She rushed through halls full of screaming patients, not bothering to stop on her way to her office.

Yet, when she got there, a familiar face was waiting by her door. She’d worked there for weeks without running into him again. Bright colors seemed to be his thing, though this time he wore a blue shirt and a white sweater over it. Instead of khakis, he wore black dress pants, and black shoes that shined under the lights of the hallway. Dr. Crane stopped in her tracks and gritted her teeth.

“What are you doing here? You’re not in this division.” She asked, daring to step a little bit closer. He smiled widely, but there was something off about it. It looked like a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and that was just one of the many things about him that was off-putting to her.

“Relax, doc, I was just coming to congratulate you on the job!” Rick explained in his usual cheerful tone. Dr. Crane couldn’t help but glare at him. He was in her space now, even if he wasn’t exactly in her office. She wanted him to go away, and when she accepted the job nearly a month ago she figured the facility was big enough so she wouldn’t see him again, but she didn’t account for him seeking her out. The fact he did seek her out sent shivers up her spine.

She hadn’t felt fear in a long time, but when she was around Rick Trager, she was terrified.

“Thank you,” she responded, “I’d like to get into my office now.” Rick nodded and stepped aside, letting her step into her office. She didn’t stop to close the door properly, instead she let the force of the door shut it for her. However, the door didn’t slam shut like she thought it would. She let her shoulders drop and let out a small sigh of irritation. He was still there.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me, Mr. Trager? After all, I assumed you worked here and had actual stuff to do rather than wait outside my door.” She asked, not even attempting to hide her disdain. He let out an airy chuckle and took a step toward her. He towered over her, despite the fact that she was rather tall herself, and while he was jovial in tone there was almost something sinister about his action. It felt like he was trying to intimidate her for whatever reason. She wanted to act like she wasn’t afraid, but too many things about him didn’t add up. He scared her more than anything.

She took a step back before turning around and sitting at her desk. She hoped she could get her act together and seem calm when she was sitting down and going over various medical records. He didn’t follow her - not right away, at least. He watched her walk behind her desk and sit down, much like how a predator would watch its prey. He would learn though, sooner or later, that Catarina Crane was not some small, meek creature to be devoured. She was much more than that.

She wasn’t completely aware of how he had her picked out from the moment he walked out of his office to see her asking his assistant a question. Murkoff might’ve known about her before him, but he was going to take what he wanted from her eventually.

“So, Cat, I was wondering,” he began, leaning over her desk and peering at the documents in her hand briefly.

“It’s Dr. Crane.” She interjected, speaking through gritted teeth this time. He ignored her obvious annoyance.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner sometime this weekend?” He flashed her another smile, but she could only stare at him blankly. In spite of all the signals she gave off that she wasn’t interested, he still pushed forward. This time she was cornered in her office, but she wasn’t afraid - not this time. She was frustrated. She was borderline angry.

“I’d rather have my fingers cut off. Let me put it this way, since you ignored my multiple signs that I wasn’t interested, no. I don’t want anything to do with you, Mr. Trager. Please, get out of my office, I have work to do.” She looked back down at the documents in her hand, refusing to spare him even another glance. He scared her, yes, but she was repulsed by him even more. It wasn’t like he was particularly unattractive, but his persistence and refusal to read the signs she put off made him unattractive. He couldn’t seem to grasp that she was uninterested, and that was what frustrated her, and this was only their second meeting.

She didn’t see the dark look that came over his features at her rejection. He knew she would be tough to get, but he wouldn’t give up. He had Blaire to cover his ass, or at least he hoped Blaire would cover for him. He half scoffed, a smirk immediately made its way to his lips.

“Damn, Cat, I didn’t think you could be that harsh.” He stated, this time he stood straight. His hands were buried in his pockets, and despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were trained on her. She didn’t bother correcting him this time though.

“Perhaps you were more incompetant than I thought.” She muttered, though she didn’t think he could hear her. He did, and it struck a nerve. He turned around and all but stormed out. He stopped at the door, feeling the need to have the last word.

“See ya around, Cat.” He said, but Catarina thought nothing of it. He left without another word spoken between the two of them, though she could have sworn she heard him greet someone happily outside of her office; a faint ‘hey buddy’ that slightly concerned her. She wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t spread nasty rumors about her - not that she cared if he did - but after their conversation she could see him doing it.

Little did she know, he had bigger things to worry about than her.

Shortly after that uncomfortable exchange, Catarina decided to actually go to lunch. She locked up her office, but deep down she wished she could double up on security to keep creeps like Trager out. She really didn’t feel like getting ambushed again, though she doubted he’d do it twice in one day.

The walk to the cafeteria was almost as tense as the walk past her father’s office when she was younger. He always had frightening masks and other scary things hanging in his work space, and chances were he would try to get her to understand why she feared those things. He’d try to make her feel better about it all, but there was always one mask that terrified her, and that terror never faded. It was a burlap mask with straw coming out of the top and various stitches around the mouth. It had blank button eyes that stared down at her, much like the blank eyes that would stare up at her in her career. It was a scarecrow mask, and nothing sent shivers down her spine more than scarecrows. She was lucky to grow up in the city, the same couldn’t be said for her father. It was an interesting case, the fact that they were both afraid of scarecrows, but it was enough to get her interested in fear and phobias, like her father before her.

The line in the cafeteria wasn’t too long, with only a few members of staff waiting on line to order something. The man in the front of the line was staring at the menu on the wall and placing a seemingly long order, which had Cat mentally rolling her eyes. She wondered if there was another place she could get something to eat in the building. Going to lunch off the premises wasn’t allowed, so it was eat at the cafeteria or bring something from home.

In front of Catarina was a short, plump woman with red hair. She wore a light blue dress and a string of pearls around her neck, she was dressed nice, though Cat doubted she was an executive. The woman glanced at her nervously, and it was obvious to Cat that she was getting impatient too, but she doubted this woman would speak up about it. She smiled awkwardly, letting out an airy chuckle.

“If I knew he’d be ordering for a whole circus I would’ve brought something from home.” She joked, prompting a small smile from Cat.

“Sorry, it just feels like I’ve been standing here forever.” She continued, turning completely around this time. Now that Cat could see her completely, she came to the conclusion that this woman was pregnant.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.” Cat smiled at her, and while normally she’d formally introduce herself with her title and whole name, she decided against it.

“Catarina.” She introduced, and for a moment she swore she saw something short of recognition flash in her eyes. If she had heard of Cat, she didn’t mention it to her. Instead, she went the more predictable route, recognizing her as the new doctor and welcoming her, even if she had been there for nearly a month.

The line had finally moved up, but Michelle hadn’t noticed. Cat smiled awkwardly and pointed behind the woman, who promptly turned around and moved up a little. This time the line was moving faster, with people knowing exactly what they were ordering unlike the man who held the line up. After ordering and paying for her food, Cat was going to walk to her office, but she was stopped once more by Michelle.

“Hey, just let me know if you need anything. I work down in IT, so just call that line and I’ll probably be the one to pick up.” She stated. Cat smiled and nodded, but deep down she knew she wouldn’t really go to her if she needed something. Michelle seemed nice enough, but it looked like she was hiding something just below the surface, like she wanted to reach out to her and tell her something. Cat wouldn’t pry, she wasn’t one of her patients and even then it was up to her to tell her. It was intriguing, and she couldn’t help but see it as a mystery for her to solve. Maybe one day Michelle would open up about what was bothering her, but Cat knew she couldn’t count on that. At least she knew she wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

#outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast fanfic #outlast oc #richard trager x oc #richard trager x reader #richard trager x catarina crane #richard trager #dr catarina crane #nothing to fear #outlast x reader

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immodestmussorgskyy · 3 years

Text

you have (1) new message

“I don’t believe in you!”

“I believe in you…”

You can’t help but snort, bursting into a fresh round of giggles. The dialogue in Nightmare on Elm Street is absolutely diabolical-- you struggle to figure out how anybody could consider this a horror movie. But hey… meteoric fame is hard to come by. It’s a cult classic for a reason.

You’d usually be marathoning classic slasher flicks with your roommate, Chloe, but she’s on a month-long Hawaii dream vacation with her new boyfriend. What happened to bros before hoes? But hey, his wealth is apparently abundant enough to fund weeks of paradise beachside living, so good for her for getting that bread. And anyway, you’re content to sit alone in your little mousehole apartment and melt into the couch after work with a family-size bag of salt & vinegar chips under your arm.

You watch the flickering screen with mild interest as you chomp down another handful of chips. Freddy Krueger is definitely failing to get you on the edge of your seat. Wiping your hand on your sweatpants, you pick up the remote and turn the movie off.

“Nightmare, my ass.” you mutter under your breath.

As much as you’d like to, eating nothing but salt and vinegar chips for dinner seems like a great way to end up with an upset stomach and a lot of regret later tonight. The pantry is well stocked with Chloe’s foods of choice-- organic steel-cut rolled oats, a billion different kinds of nuts and seeds all in cute little labeled mason jars, gluten free bread, a mockery of cheese puffs (chickpea puffs? Come on!). Your side is a library of boxed or canned foods in stark contrast: a couple opened boxes of Pop-Tarts, a few boxes of Kraft mac & cheese, a family sized box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and, the only thing not in a box: another bag of salt & vinegar chips.

The fridge tells a similar story. Chloe’s avocados, farmer’s market tomatoes, and thick stalks of celery gleam in the vegetable drawer. She’s consumed half the shelf space with just kombucha and a few swanky craft beers. And bottles of oat milk, or soy milk, or some kind of thing pretending to be milk. You actually don’t have much in the fridge besides leftover Indian food from your favorite place downtown and a gallon of milk for your cereal, so you don’t mind her hogging more space.

Muffy, Chloe’s ragdoll cat, stalks into the kitchen with you and gives you a tiny yowl. You lean down and give her an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

“Scram, Muffy.” you murmur to her. “I’ve already fed you.”

She looks up at you with a look that can only mean “and you’ll feed me more.”

She stalks back into the living room, fluffy beige tail disappearing behind the wall in a flick and a wave. You tie your hair back and yawn. What’s on the menu for dinner tonight?

Before you can think too much about eating, you remember that Chloe left you a voicemail before she took off. You fish your phone from your pocket and open your voicemail, tapping your toe against the linoleum floor as the dial tone plays.

You have one new message, chirps the robot voice of your mailbox.

“Hey girl. I’m boarding soon, so you probably won’t hear from me for a while. Make sure you feed Muffy, water the plants…” she clicks her tongue a few times, “take your meds, and don’t lay in bed for too long on the weekends. You know how that tanks your mood.”

Chloe might be a total hipster health nut, but it doesn’t make it any less sweet that she frets over you so much. You break into a smile and make a mental note to call her back.

“And. You can eat anything perishable of mine in the fridge or pantry while I’m gone. I doubt the bread or the veggies are gonna last long… you need to eat healthier anyway. No potato chips for dinner.”

Your smile grows. She knows you so well.

“I gotta go, but I’ll send you tons of pictures when I get there. Bye, babe.”

You hang up and set your phone down on the counter. Eyeing the bland looking loaf of brown bread, you decide you’ll have breakfast a la Chloe for dinner.

You toss the loaf onto the counter, then stalk to the fridge. The avocados seem pretty ripe. Tomatoes, too. You pick out one of each, then pluck a couple eggs from the carton you two share and set it all on the counter. Avocado toast with scrambled eggs sounds pretty Chloe.

You gut the avocado, tossing its pit in the trash and scooping its innards out into a bowl. The fork makes quick work of it, turning it into a mound of mild green paste. Salt, pepper. Done.

Hey, if Chloe let you eat her food, she’s bound to not mind that you’re using her nice kitchen knives too, right? You cut a few slices of tomato and grimace at its gelatinous, glistening center. You never liked tomatoes much, but she’s kinda right-- you do need to improve your diet.

Before long, you’ve got a nice thick slice of toast slathered in avocado and garnished with ripe red tomato sitting next to a steaming pile of scrambled eggs. This may not be your beloved salt & vinegar chips, but it sure looks delicious.

You snap a photo of your meal and text it to her. Am I healthy yet? you type, with a grin on your face.

Muffy stalks up to you, looking up expectantly. You sigh and toss her a morsel of scrambled egg. “That’s all you’re getting, you little twerp.” you admonish through a mouthful of toast. It’s not… delicious, but it’s not bad for some mushed up vegetable on top of an excuse for bread. You curse yourself for not adding some cheese to your scrambled eggs. That would’ve really been delicious.

You’d usually be scrolling through your social media right now, but something inspires you to look longingly out the window of the kitchen. The sky is a starless, inky black, obscuring everything except for whatever is illuminated by the weak orange streetlights. Usually there would be more traffic or drunk yelling-- you and Chloe didn’t exactly get lucky with the placement of your unit-- but tonight it’s eerily silent. That’s perfectly welcome to you, though. It’s much better than cranking up the volume of your music to drown out whatever street fight is occurring three floors below you.

Suddenly, your musing and its silence is broken by the sound of your ringtone. It’s half past midnight… who in their right mind would be calling you right now?

Unknown number. You frown and let it go to voicemail. Probably just some spam caller.

You finish your dinner and sit there in the silence, then check your phone again. You can’t help but be curious as to what message they’ve left you. Gingerly, you open your voice mailbox again and listen dispassionately to the dial tone and the little robot voice.

You have one new message and one old message.

The voice that erupts through your speaker is unfamiliar, smooth, low. All you can discern is that it’s a male voice, its tone almost perversely cloying.

“I was hoping you’d pick up.” A long inhale, a long exhale. “You seem a little lonely. Breakfast for dinner… cute.”

Ice cold horror washes over you and you can barely move your fingers to hang up. This has to be some kind of joke. Some stupid kid getting really, really lucky with their prank call.

But a question still sears into your thoughts:

Who would have known what you were doing?

That you were alone in your apartment?

Maybe, just maybe, by some insane stretch of the imagination, Chloe’s new boyfriend got ahold of her phone, saw your text, and decided to pull some prank. Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s the only situation that makes sense, unless…

Somebody is watching you.

You nearly jump out of your seat as the phone rings again. Unknown number. Your hands tremble over it as your panicked brain deliberates picking it up. Before you can think about it any more, you’ve snatched it into a sweaty palm and brought it up to your ear.

“Chloe, this isn’t fucking funny. Cut it out.” you try to sound intimidating, but your voice trembles in just the wrong way with each word.

“You picked up.” the voice breathes, and you swear you can hear a sinister smile creep onto whoever’s face it belongs to. “You must really be lonely.”

“I said stop, Chlo--”

“My name’s not Chloe.” he snarls, and your empty threat dies in your throat immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, his voice slips back into that relaxed, amused tone. “But I do wish I were spending a month in Hawaii right now. Lucky girl, isn’t she?”

Another pang of fear hits you like a brick. You swallow hard, biting your lip. “Whoever you are, leave me alone. Or I’ll… I’ll call the cops.”

“What exactly are you going to tell them, sweetheart? That some big mean boogeyman is leaving scary messages on your phone?” he lets out a mocking laugh. “They’ll send their best officers, I’m sure.”

“Leave me alone.” is all you manage to say, breathless and trembling, before you force yourself to hang up and practically slam your phone down onto the counter. Muffy jumps and cocks her head at you. You force yourself to break out of your panicked stupor and hurry over to the kitchen window, glancing hurriedly to the left and right of it. If somebody were on the fire escape, you surely would have heard it.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You yank those curtains shut, then the curtains on the living room window, then finally the ones in your bedroom. You remember Chloe locking and shutting her windows, so there’s no need to check in there. Something tells you to anyway.

You creep to her doorway, palms sweaty. There’s probably nothing to see in there, you think to yourself, the curtains were already shut.

Looking into her room, your stomach drops.

The curtains are tucked neatly to the side, and her window is cranked all the way open, letting in the cool night air and the sounds of the streets. You nearly choke in horror and rush over to shut the window, making sure the lock is tightly down before throwing the curtains back over them. You must have just misremembered. She probably left the window open to let some fresh air in, or something.

But she never leaves her window open, or Muffy would get out, you realize.

“Oh my God.” you gasp to yourself, before you sprint to the kitchen and grab the biggest, meanest looking knife in the drawer, as well as your phone. Muffy meows at you curiously, then yelps in indignance as you swiftly scoop her up by the stomach and fly to your room.

“Sorry.” you mutter as you practically toss her onto your bed, then lock your door. It’s a pathetic, flimsy mechanism, and could probably be picked with a fork, but it’s better than nothing. You pause, surveying the room for any heavy objects, and settle on jamming your full laundry hamper under the doorknob. At least this way you’ll hear any intruder before they make it into your room. The knife you tuck under your pillow as you scramble under your covers and turn your lamp off.

Your hands shake as you dial Chloe’s number. The phone rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, Chlo,” you say shakily. “Uhm, I got some really weird calls from somebody tonight and I think our apartment might have been broken into. Or something. Uh,” you swallow hard, “Muffy and I are locked up in my room right now and I have a knife. I could be just imagining things, but if you don’t hear from me for a while, I probably got murdered or something.”

God, you sound so stupid right now, but it’s the best you can muster when your thoughts are racing at a million miles an hour.

“I’ll call you when I wake up tomorrow. Bye.”

You plug your phone in and set it on your nightstand, shrinking down underneath your duvet. Nothing is visible in your room, even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, except for the glow of the hall light you left on under your door.

It’s going to be a long night.

Check out this story and the rest of its chapters on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688007/chapters/70331253

#dead by daylight #danny johnson #the ghostface #jed olsen #fanfiction #murder and intrigue huehuehue #getting stalked basically #cat and mouse type shit

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whimperwoods · 4 years

Text

Arms of the Enemy (D&D Whump)

This is part 4.

Here are part 1, part 2 , and part 3.

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. In the space between the Old One and the Emperor, they might be able to become something else.

(Also, Castor is winging it and Ed is, as usual, recalcitrant. And emotional. It’s been a long day for both of them.)

tw: Gosh, probably something. Aftermath of torture. Mental mess. Ed is easily triggered and maybe paranoid and definitely having a traumatic experience. Physical anxiety symptoms? Yeah we’ll go with that. Physical symptoms of anxiety/trauma.

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump

***************

Ed was deeply, horrifyingly present in his own body, the last place in the world he wanted to be. His body was all he had left to him, the only thing he controlled at all, and he had to keep it breathing, had to keep it conscious, had to keep himself from crying, even as the pain and shame rolled through him in deep, unstoppable waves.

Castor the Black was talking, but the words came to him like he was underwater, like the mage was miles away, and they meant nothing. The mage’s hand carded softly through his hair, and Ed squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about that.

The touch felt good. Comforting. His attention kept falling back toward it, to get away from the pain, and he hated it. Hated it. Couldn’t cry. Couldn’t cry.

He was ashamed of himself, ashamed of lying here, ashamed of letting one of the enemy’s battle mages touch him like this. He should shrug away. Should fight back. The hand in his hair was the only good thing in his world, and he hated it, because it couldn’t be good at all. It wasn’t allowed to be, and he wasn’t allowed to like it.

Heat and cold swirled through him, shame and pain and, when he couldn’t bear to shut it out, comfort.

He had cried, already. He had cried until his body gave out, exhausted by the sobs, and part of him wanted to let go and allow it to happen again. Instead, he breathed, and breathed, and breathed, and kept his breaths steady even as his eyes began to leak tears, hoping that it meant something that he was quiet, this time.

*****

Sir Edmond’s breathing slowly settled, and Castor knew they should move, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he kept rambling softly, explaining his plan, such as it was, and hoping it was comforting.

“Don’t worry about the change in plans. My master said it would protect us, and like I said, I don’t think the healer’s kit will be missed, or even remembered. There’s no reason for them to look in the stables, not with all the horses accounted for. Not that you’d have been able to ride off on your own, but then, you couldn’t have gotten out on your own, so that hardly matters, either.”

He sighed. “I should move us. Better to hide, protection or not.”

Sir Edmond didn’t respond, still lying listless on the ground beside Castor.

Castor stopped stroking Sir Edmond’s hair and found as whole a patch of shoulder as he could to shake. “Did you hear me, Sir Edmond? I need to know you’re alright with moving. I need to know you won’t try to wriggle away from me. I don’t want to drop you.”

The knight hissed, though Castor couldn’t be sure if it was in pain or anger. He reached down and scooped up Sir Edmond’s hand, holding it in a way he hoped was reassuring. “Hey. I’m not - I know you don’t trust me. I know you have reasons not to. But I have to move you.”

For a moment, he considered thinking to Sir Edmond again, since at least when they spoke telepathically, they could both manage full sentences, but then he thought of the pain of being driven out and he didn’t.

“Just - squeeze my hand if it’s ok to move you. If you won’t try to hurt me or get me to drop you.”

*****

Ed held himself stiff. even as the tension of it hurt and tired him. He couldn’t let Castor the Black think he liked having his hand held, couldn’t let him think he wanted the comfort of that any more than he could let him think he liked having his hair combed through.

He was forcing himself to listen, now, everything the mage said clicking into place and becoming understandable only with a moment’s delay.

He didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t squeeze the mage’s hand. Would they just stay here? There was only so long they could be outside in the open, but he didn’t know where he would be agreeing to go. He focused on breathing, on staying calm, on seeming to be in control of himself.

If they stayed here, they’d be caught eventually. If they were caught, he’d be back in the dungeon, where his captors hadn’t shown any more inclination toward a quick death than the mage had. He had already told them what they wanted to know, betrayed his comrades and his king in a moment of weakness, and whatever awaited him in the dungeon at least couldn’t make that any worse. But he hadn’t been strong enough to hold out, and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to go back there, to take the pain again, even if it meant getting away from Castor the Black’s sinister games.

His face grew hot. He could give himself over to the man holding his hand, or he could put himself back in the dungeons. To go back - to refuse to cooperate - it seemed more honorable. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. The thought of the dungeons made his breathing speed up, his heart pound, even as his mind skated instinctively away from it.

He couldn’t go back to the dungeon. He didn’t have a choice.

He closed his eyes and squeezed Castor the Black’s hand, knowing he was making a deal with the devil.

*****

Castor relaxed as soon as he felt Sir Edmond’s hand squeeze his, and squeezed gently back, acknowledging the answer. Good. Good. They were on the same page, as impossible as that still seemed if he thought about it too hard.

He let go of Sir Edmond’s hand and brushed the man’s hair off his forehead before getting to his feet to get a good look around them in the dark.

No one seemed to be coming, which was good. He’d been careful when he’d charmed the guards, been careful not to push too hard, not to say anything that would tell them definitively that he planned to take Sir Edmond with him, rather than just paying his old enemy an unsupervised visit. Maybe they wouldn’t look into the cell. Maybe they’d just return to their posts, assuming he’d roughed the knight up and left. But no, they would at least check to make sure he was gone. And then they’d find out that Sir Edmond was, too.

He closed his eyes and reached outward with his awareness, feeling for other minds and finding none within the admittedly limited range of his telepathy.

He squatted back down beside Sir Edmond and started packing up the little he’d taken out of the healer’s kit. “Alright,” he said quietly, “I can’t sense anyone coming. If we’re lucky, the guards will spend some time looking for you before they sound the alarm. They’re human, so until they call in someone else, their vision will be limited in the dark.”

Sir Edmond didn’t answer, but the knight’s half-dazed eyes met his, and that was good enough for the moment. Castor collected the healer’s kit, straightened up for one more glance toward the castle, and then scooped Sir Edmond up into his arms and tucked the hanging chain from Sir Edmond’s ankle out of the way so he couldn’t trip on it.

*****

Ed wrapped his arms around Castor the Black’s neck, clinging to him with what strength he had left, only to find that the man’s grip on him was surprisingly solid.

He tried to think about that, instead of the pain that jolted through him with every one of the mage’s steps, or the fact that he was being carried like a bride crossing her threshold, curling willingly into the man’s chest where he felt more secure.

Castor the Black was strong for a mage.

That was a problem. Or it could be, at any rate.

They moved more quickly than he’d expected, though the jolts meant he couldn’t focus on where they were going without also focusing on the pain, and he was surprised when they reached a building and Castor the Black carried him inside without hesitation.

He found himself inside a stable, one that looked shockingly normal, and whose horses were apparently unbothered by their presence.

Castor the Black carried him to the ladder that led to the hayloft, then stopped and looked up toward the loft itself. “Shit.”

Ed started shaking, his body responding to the sense that something was wrong even as his brain was still trying to make sense of being inside a place that felt so familiar. Things were falling into place, but it was hard to make sense of it, hard when his body hurt so badly, hard when he kept having emotions that muddied the water.

He shook, and clung tighter to Castor the Black, and hated it.

*****

Castor stared up at the hayloft, the weight of Sir Edmond pulling at his arms. “Ok,” he said softly, “Ok, so we’re not gonna make it up there. There’s an empty stall and we’ll just have to -”

He looked sideways. The block and tackle for hauling the hay up there would never do for getting Sir Edmond up there, and they’d never make it up the ladder if he tried to carry him.

“Yeah, we’ll just have to stay down here.”

Sir Edmond was shaking in his arms. Castor’s brow furrowed. He needed to move. He needed to get Sir Edmond somewhere safe and hidden, so he didn’t have to move him again.

He bit his lip, thinking for a moment, and then moved quickly toward the empty stall farthest back, toward the storeroom. It was a risk being closer to where the horsemaster slept, but he’d risked that once, and it was still less dangerous than someone coming in and happening on them before he could adjust to their entrance.

Setting the knight down was a relief, but instead of turning his face away, Sir Edmond stared back at him, his eyes confused, half-dazed, and locked intently into Castor’s. A shiver ran down Castor’s spine, and he knelt down, laying a hand on Sir Edmond’s forehead. He still didn’t seem feverish, and that still didn’t make sense, and Sir Edmond was still shaking.

“It’s ok,” he said, forcing himself not to break eye contact until the knight did. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be ok.”

*****

Castor the Black stared into Ed’s eyes, and Ed stared back. He hadn’t gotten an answer to why. Not really. He hadn’t even gotten an answer to what, not that he’d asked. And yet - they held eye contact, the mage staring back at him deeply, intently. Ed’s heart raced and his body shook, every part of him buzzing with the knowledge that something had gone wrong, that something had made the mage swear and change his mind, that whatever this was that he’d just given himself over to was every bit as dangerous as he’d feared.

“You’re gonna be ok,” the man whispered again.

Ed’s head spun. The eyes looking into his were an icy blue in color, but where he expected something cold and hard behind them, he found a soft, open gaze with something warm behind it. He hated it. It had to be a lie. And he’d fallen for it. He’d agreed.

He reached out and grabbed the mage’s sleeve to keep him from pulling away. Finally, the eye contact ended as the other man looked down at his wrist and Ed’s hand wrapped around it.

Ed couldn’t talk. Not the way he wanted to - the way he needed to. He gathered his strength, took a deep breath, and wheezed, “head.”

The ice-blue eyes looked confused, the eyebrows over them contracting. “Does your head hurt? I mean more than the rest?”

Ed grunted in frustration and tugged at the mage’s sleeve, pulling it toward the ground. “Talk,” he managed.

The eyes widened in comprehension and Ed relaxed, letting go of the bloody sweater sleeve.

Then Castor the Black was speaking in Ed’s head again, still half hunched over him, and Ed not to let his revulsion show.

“Is this what you meant?”

Ed fought not to insult the man and managed, narrowly. “Why are you so strong?” he asked, “I don’t understand. What are you doing with me?”

“Oh!” the mage answered, aloud. “Yeah, I’m not -” His voice showed up in Ed’s head again. “I’m a battlemage, but I’m not actually a wizard. It’s - people aren’t supposed to know, because they’re supposed to think my magic’s wide open and limitless and all that but - nobody’s is.”

Ed grunted, impatient.

“I’m not a wizard. What I am has its upsides and its downsides but it mostly just means I - uh - well, I don’t exactly hang out in the library. I train with everybody else.“

That made sense. It mostly made sense. It wasn’t the important part. “Why are we here?” he asked again, “What are you planning to do with me?”

The mage’s eyes were locked into his again, just as intent, and still softly, bewilderingly kind. “I don’t know,” he answered aloud, his voice soft. “I know that’s not the answer you want, but I don’t.”

*****

Castor’s heart raced as he made his admission, looking into Sir Edmond’s dark brown eyes as they started to clear, or at least to focus on his own better than they had before. “What now?” the knight asked, reaching up and grabbing his sleeve again.

Castor sighed. “Now we hunker down for the night and hope nobody finds us.”

Sir Edmond grunted, still displeased.

Castor closed his eyes, sighing. “I offered a look into my head before,” he said. “You won’t find a better answer. I saw what they were doing to you and I acted. I don’t have an answer for that. I can put you back, if you want. I can just let the guards think I wanted to hurt you, too, and pretend I did. Or you can trust me, and we can hide. That’s what now.“

Sir Edmond whined, an unexpected noise of distress, his hand squeezing tighter at Castor’s wrist.

Castor slid down onto his knees, giving up on this being a short conversation.

“I don’t understand,” Sir Edmond said into his mind, pushing again, not as sharply this time, and Castor could feel a deep anguish under the words, an anguish the knight was pushing at him just as hard as the words. “Something’s wrong. What aren’t you telling me?”

A lot of things were wrong. What had happened to Sir Edmond was wrong. Breaking out one of his biggest enemies on an impulse was wrong. Being out here instead of safe in his room. Not having the time he needed to properly clean the man’s wounds while they were next to fresh water. Sir Edmond’s persistent, infuriating stubbornness, and his own inability to be angry about it, to blame the man for putting every ounce of strength he could muster between the two of them and Castor’s goals.

He sighed. “I know. But I’m not - there’s not that much not to tell. We’re here. I can’t get you into the hayloft to hide, so we’re gonna have to make the best of it down here.”

There was another shove against his mind, just the anguish and confusion, without any words, and he wasn’t even sure Sir Edmond knew he was doing it.

He shoved back, trying to focus on the way he’d felt deciding he had to rescue the knight, the way he’d felt when Sir Edmond was unconscious and he could see the wounds he was cleaning in their full horror, the way he’d felt watching the knight grow calmer under his fingertips the way he’d calmed down himself as a boy, having his hair stroked.

“No.” The anguish was still there under Sir Edmond’s words, “I don’t understand. Why are you lying to me? I don’t have anything left. I know something is wrong. I feel it. Why are you making me feel like it’s not? Why are you trying to trick me? I don’t understand.”

Castor didn’t know how to answer. He pulled his wrist out of Sir Edmond’s hands. “I - I’ll explain tomorrow.” He should use his telepathy again, should try to push his honesty at Sir Edmond like the other man was pushing his anguish, but he couldn’t take it, and he stayed away from the knight’s mind, giving in to his own frustration. “We have to hide. And I need rest so I can hide us better tomorrow. Let me finish saving you, and I’ll explain tomorrow.”

The knight’s fingers scrabbled desperately at Castor’s ankles as he stepped away, but he didn’t stop - couldn’t stop. He had no answers. He had no answers and that was hardly something new, but right now - he scrubbed a hand over his face. Right now, it was late. Right now, he was tired. Right now, he couldn’t do anything but try to make the stall as comfortable as he could, and trust that his master meant it when it said it was protecting them.

#whump #fantasy whump #d&d whump #aftermath of torture #hurt/comfort #emotional whump #somehow is most of this even though the plot started with bad physical injuries?#trauma tw #trauma response tw #ptsd tw #anxiety tw #one of those is probably right #just a couple guys who are confused and having a lot of feelings that slow them down #if they're lucky maybe they can eventually have some of those feelings together so they slow them down less #i really wanted to get this to a soft and fluffyish place but instead - this #anyway taking bets on the next installment which will involve either crying or fluff or both #probably both

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Losing My Mind

SSA Main ✧ Luthor ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧

When you live in a world full of superheroes, there are worst things than meta human villains, invading aliens, and psychotic clowns. One of them is having a soulmate.

Some say it's better because your other half is easier to find, but they're not the one who has a hero or a villain for a soulmate. You do.

As far back as you can remember, there has always been this boy. So full of wonder and adventure. You followed him everywhere he went. Into tunnels of tangled tree roots. Through curtains of thick green vines. Under the shade of the tallest tree on their farm.

You live next door but you were always on their farm with him. It was a big property with fields of corn where you always played hide and seek. It was your favorite game but he always found you so quickly. Like he knew exactly which patch of soil you were lying on.

“It’s my property. Of course, I’ll find anyone hiding on it,” he boasted.

“There’s no way you can just tell, Lex. You must have superpowers or something!”

The boy scoffed. He stuck out his chest and his hands on his waist, “I don’t need powers to find you. You’re just bad at hiding.” He laughed as you chased him out of the cornfields.

When you moved to the city, Lex was sitting beside you in your parents’ car. He was sniffling with an angry expression on his face, glaring out the window at the night sky fading away. His hands were clenched into fists by his side and you reached out and held one in your hands.

He turned to you and you can see snot dripping down his nose. He used his free arm to wipe it with his sleeve. He looked down at the floor of the car and spoke only loud enough for you to hear, “I killed my parents. I started the fire.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth hung open. He looked at you with his brows slanted upward and eyes narrowed, “They kept telling me that I’m crazy. That you’re not real. And I just wanted them to stop. Stop the hitting and the screaming.” He touched your cheek, “But you are real. You’re here right now.”

You don’t know what to say. Too young to understand. Too naive to believe that there was violence in the boy who lit up your days brighter than the sun. You nodded and touched your forehead with his. “I’m here,” you say.

Then the boy turned into a teenager and he stayed the same. Bright, amazing, full of ideas and ambition. You spent so much time together that you believed you were basically attached at the hip. You were usually in the library studying, reading, and listening to him ramble on about the different theories that kept coming to him.

You had fewer adventures. In fact, you always took the time to remind Lex to greet the sun every now and then instead of locking yourselves up in your rooms. But Lex had his comics of superheroes, superheroes that were real and flew over your heads when you’re walking down the sidewalk together. That was where he found his new sense of adventure.

His bedroom floor was always littered with open pages of comic magazines. You sat on his bed and watched, amused, as he walked around the room, stepping over each magazine, moving his arms around in the air, trying to animate the powers of each hero he read about. Whenever he started imitating sounds like ‘bang’ and ‘boom’ with his whole body you would always laugh, which made him more excited as he kept going.

He always got too loud. His foster father would barge up the stairs, forcing you to hide under the bed as you hear him storm through the hallway. You would listen to him yell at Lex to keep it down and then slam the door shut behind him.

Lex would always slump on the floor, crinkling the magazines as he sat with his knees pressed against his chest. You’d slowly crawl out from under the bed and sat beside him. He never looked at you after that because his eyes would always have this angry look, the same one he had in the car years ago.

You’d pull on his cheek until he looked at you. Then you’d pout at him. It doesn’t wipe away the sinister look on his face so he always hid in the crook of your neck. You always let him stay like that for a while, until he calms down a little, with one of your hands soothing his back.

But not for too long because then he would start trailing kisses along your collarbone that made you feel hot and flushed. Your eyes always half-closed as he continued to kiss up the side of your neck to your ears and nibble them. You would start breathing through your mouth and you can feel his warm breath graze the red tips of your ears.

Then he would pull back a few inches from your face to stare at you with the same narrowed eyes and eyebrows slanted upward. He would wait for you to bite your lips, your tell that yes you want this, before he’d take your lips in full and lay you gently on his bed.

You would always wake up afterward in your room, always wondering when Lex had snuck you back in.

You always told your parents about him, telling them how smart he is and hardworking and innovative and brilliant. Your parents would tease you and smile at how happy you are.

Then one day, your mother finally asked, “When are you going to let us meet this boy?”

“Mom,” you chided, “you’ve met him thousands of times. We grew up together in the country-side.”

Your parents stopped eating and looked at each other. You watched them and waited until they turned back to you. “Honey,” your mother said gently, “we’ve never lived in the country-side. We’ve always lived here.”

“What?” you laughed, “Come on, mom. We did.” You continued eating and talked with food in your mouth. “I was always on Lex’s farm, running around in the fields and exploring the forest behind their property. They even have this huge tree at the back of their house. Don’t you remember?”

They put down their forks and knives and your father looked at you seriously, “Y/N, you’ve never been to any farm.”

You stared at your parents. “I was,” was suddenly all you could muster.

Your mother shook her head, “Sweetie. When you were younger, you always locked yourself in your room for hours at a time, every day. Maybe this boy is actually... an imaginary friend you made up years ago.”

You suddenly found your appetite lost and can’t stand to be in the same room as your parents or to be in this house. You got up and ran out as they yelled for you to come back. Your feet padded along the concrete pavement as you tried to recall the directions to Lex’s house.

He’s real. He was your neighbor in the country and you moved here to Star City at the same time. It should be around this corner. His dark red house with green picket fences should be---

There was nothing there but a convenient store. You walked back and forth in front of it, pulling your hair back away from your face. “He lives here. I know he does. I’m always here!”

“Y/N?” Lex called out to you.

You quickly ran to him and hugged him around the waist, immediately making him feel uncomfortable. “Y/N, we’re in public. What are you--” He felt the shaking of your shoulders and you rubbed your face against his clothes. “What’s wrong?” he said gently while rubbing your head.

“You’re real. You’re here,” you mumbled through his clothes.

He scoffed, “Of course I am.” He smiled down at you with half-closed eyes, a dreamy look he only showed to you. “Where else would I be?”

“My parents,” you mumbled, “they were probably pranking me. Telling me we didn’t live in the country and that I just made you up in my head.”

Lex laughed and held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Could your imagination really come up with someone as great as me?”

You laughed as last drops of tears fell down your face. Lex rubbed them away with his thumbs.

You blushed and finally remembered that you’re in public. You looked around, hoping no one was watching you. You looked back at the convenience store and found it gone. Standing in its place is a dark red house. Luthor’s house.

It all suddenly came crashing down on you like hale on a sunny day. “Lex.”

“Hmm?” he kept rubbing your cheek, cleaning away the remnants of your tears.

“Where… where do you live?”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “Are you sure you’re okay, YN?” You stared at him until he answered. “We’re standing in front of my house right now.”

You gripped the ends of his shirt, “What city?”

He was surprised by how frantic you sounded. He looked at you more seriously and answered, “Metropolis.”

It took several more days before you had the courage to tell him about your link. You had to do your own research before you turned his world upside down just like yours had been. But no amount of preparedness could save you.

When you told him, he lashed out. He thrashed everything in his room until his foster parents came in. He yelled at them to tell you that you’re wrong, that you’re there in his room. Their eyes took one sweep of the room, “It’s just you in here, boy. So don’t think you can blame all this shit on someone else.”

Lex stopped wanting to be in your life after what happened. He felt betrayed that you weren’t physically beside him all those times, and worst, your link made him feel crazy. Made him doubt what was real. It made him kill his parents. Alienated himself from everyone. It also made him paranoid about what people think of him, talking about a girl who doesn’t exist. Falling in love with you who’s not even in his world.

You tried to talk to him, telling him you’re only a few states away, that you can move closer to each other for college. But that was all in vain because the damage had been done. He could never stop looking at you like a parasite that’s sucking on his brain.

Your perception was so skewed by your rosy happiness with him that you never really paid attention to his developing arrogance. His bright personality was swallowed by his need to control the circumstances around him. And you, your existence in his memories is the worst thing he can’t control.

A decade past and the boy you once knew, the teenager you made love with, is now a man. Too smart for the world that has been too cruel on him. Even when he turned his back on you, you still see him. Sometimes when you’re drinking coffee, he’s there walking down the street. You always tuck your hands in your pockets and look away.

It’s worse when you’re alone in your bedroom and you think of him out of the blue. Suddenly, you’re sitting in a corner of his office and he’s glaring at you from his work desk. You don’t know how to stop the link, neither of you does. So you try to make yourself small or Lex will walk out and slam the door behind him.

Finally, instead of fighting it, you continued to watch from the sidelines as this man, your soulmate, rose up into a powerful man that has half of the world’s criminals in his pocket. You would disguise yourself as a waiter in a restaurant where he meets his clients. You would pretend to be a driver when he’s collaborating with syndicates. You’d don on a lab coat when Lex spends days and weeks at Cadmus. You’re getting better at hiding yourself as you spring up in his memories.

Or so you thought.

Then today, Lex appears in your room. He’s sitting at your desk as soon as you walk in. You jump up with a yelp.

He stares at you with the same angry expression of the child in the car years ago. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

You drop your things on the floor and cross your arms. Ten years has been a long time. After everything you’ve seen him done, Lex isn’t the only one who’s changed. “I know what you’re up to, Lex.”

He grits his teeth, “No one calls me that anymore. No one alive.”

“I do,” you clench your fist. You know he can’t hurt you here. “And I’m still breathing.”

He studies you, watching your fists and your narrowed eyes, before he grins, “Not for long.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

Lex pauses and laughs, it resonates the times he would talk about superheroes in his room. “My. Have you grown.”

“I’ve changed. And so have you.”

“For the better.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You always did,” he stands up and walks around your room, examining the printed pictures on your wall. “I only came here as a courtesy to what we had. Our childhood. And our… teenage selves.”

You suddenly blush but you try to hold your own, forcing your breathing to be even. “So you agree that they’re real.”

He stops in front of a picture of you and your roommate. He pretends to examine it before he speaks again.

“I want you out of my head, Y/N.” He turns to you, “Now.”

You scoff, “Do you think I love seeing you hurt people? We can’t control it, Lex. The links are a sealed deal.”

He smiles, a knowing smirk, his tell when he’s got an idea playing through his head. “You said you know of my plans.”

You narrow your eyes, “Everything you’ve done is only temporary. I’m your last piece and I’m going to make sure you never find me.”

Lex shakes his head lightly. He walks up to you and you tense. He holds his hands up by his side for you to see. Then slowly he leans in and leaves a peck on your cheek. He moves his mouth close to your ears and whispers, “Remember, Y/N. I don’t need powers to find you.”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #superhero soulmate au #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Lex Luthor fanfiction #Lex Luthor x reader #Lex Luthor imagine #villain imagines #watchtower-feed #atbucud #lex luthor

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years

Text

Hidden Depth

(SUMMARY: The five times Remus Sanders proved he was more than just Intrusive Thoughts, and the one time it was acknowledged.)

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey, I know it has been a while, but I recently discovered 'Sanders Sides' (I know it has been around for ages but it is new to me), and fell in love. Much more specifically, Remus 'the Duke' Sanders (also known as 'Dark Creativity') stole my heart the second he knocked Roman out with a morningstar to the head. I have dreamed of doing that many times to many people, but still... Ignoring my macabre thoughts, I love this character and I wanted to show him some appreciation (in the form of angst).Cruel to be Kind.)

#1 (UNDER PRESSURE)

Pressure.

That was the first thing to register through Virgil’s mind; a solid weight resting upon his chest, crushing his lungs. Every exhale threatened the succeeding inhale; the breathing sounded loud through his ears like a haunting wind tunnel.

Opening his eyes, Virgil was greeted with a great abyss; he felt weightless, unable to discern which way was up. All around him the universe was a black pit; no light, colour or sound. His clothes splayed out all around him as if he was in a vast ocean, but he felt his skin taut and dry. He couldn’t see anything to determine his location. Or anyone to cry out to. It didn’t stop him from trying.

“…”

Opening his lips, like water, the inky world around him flooded into his mouth and throat; it was tangible, slimy and cold. He mutely coughed it down, clamping his pale lips shut around the intrusive substance. His teeth severed a connection, and as quickly as he started to drown he had swallowed down the offending mass. It clung along his raw throat, until it fell heavily into his stomach. Similar to his chest, it felt like a ton had been rested in his gut. It made him nauseous; he could almost feel his skin change to an icky green. He didn’t dare open his mouth again.

His movements were slow, lazy and exhausting with each inch he turned and twisted. He could barely turn his head without feeling hundreds of sticky hands forcing him to remain in place. The pressure was too much. It hurt. The thing in his gut caused his whole body to churn in discomfort, his eyes beginning to brim with tears.

Why was he here?

What had happened?

“Virge.”

A voice, clear as day, sounded somewhere in his surroundings. He couldn’t move his body around to see whoever it was, but he felt something wrap around his fingers and a gentle tug pulled him down and backwards.

The figure rounded him, almost cautiously, until they stood before him. It was a figure familiar to him. He knew them from somewhere. But for the life of him, he couldn’t place it. Hell, he couldn’t place how this person seemed to know him.

“Hey, Emo. Good to see you’re back in the land of the living. Well… Almost.”

The voice was a higher pitch than he was expecting, and whilst this figure was familiar, something about the man before him was off-putting. Really off-putting.

“Guess you can’t talk yet. No matter! Makes my job easier. I don’t have to listen to every single question you probably have in that itty-bitty brain of yours!” He emphasised his point with a painful poke to Virgil’s forehead. The point of pressure was enough to start Virgil drifting again, but that hand in his prevented him from drifting too far.

My God, those eyes…

They were crazed. Grey eyes with flecks of emerald through them. If it had been anyone else staring him down, he would arguably think that gaze was beautiful. Instead, the dark, sunken eyes and the twinkle of manic glee had him thinking perhaps this place, as horrid as it was, may be safer than the man before him.

“Welcome, my dear Virgil…” He spun him around, pulling him tight, shoulder-to-shoulder, one hand out in presentation, “… to the Subconscious!” The man’s voice echoed in the deep, spreading out and around them forever and onwards in all dimensions. “Not many peeps come here, you know.”

He turned Virgil around, holding him out at arm’s length, like the weightless being he was. The man bore a wide grin on his face; a sinister appearance with canines just a couple millimetres too long and lips pulled back just a little too far.

“And for good reason! Sides can’t survive out here, after all. Well, not for long, anyway.” He leaned forward, Virgil attempting to move himself away from this claustrophobic space between them. “But you didn’t come here, did you? Not intentionally. Or… yes intentionally. No… Yes! No. I don’t really know what you would count it as, but you sure as Hell didn’t walk here!” He let Virgil’s shoulders go, leaning down and out of sight of Virgil’s gaze.

Not seeing this lunatic was worse; knowing he was still there but doing something out of sight was beginning to cause Virgil’s breaths to pick up from stress. Where was he?! What was he doing?! He felt hands on his left leg, trying to pull away from the unwanted touch. What he felt next caught him by surprise. A solid surface beneath his sneaker. Then those hands reached up to his right leg and pulled it down to mirror the left.

Once more, the man reappeared in sight, pulling Virgil’s jacket down forcefully and, just like magic, Virgil could feel his weight on his feet. He stumbled, falling into the man… Remus’ arms. How did he know his name? What about him did Virgil know? Surely they weren’t friends.

“Ah! Much better!” Remus flicked the few floating locks from Virgil’s violet fringe back down and just over his eyes. He snickered. “Can you walk, little storm cloud?” He asked, helping Virgil to stand properly on his own two feet.

Everything seemed as if in slow motion. Virgil raised one leg, feeling as if he was weighed down by iron shoes, and took a single step. He was like an infant. Almost as quickly as he had taken that first step, he was falling back into Remus’ embrace. Laughter trickled its way from the man’s mouth, but Virgil was a little distracted. There was no laughter from within Remus’ chest. There was no deep seated laughter. There was something missing beyond that though. It was… strange. Like the man himself.

“I’ll give you a wittle hand den, storm cloud.” He teased, wrapping one arm around over his broad shoulders and beginning the walk along what was an invisible platform. Virgil’s eyes darted downwards, watching how the ‘floor’ clung tightly to the bottom of his sneakers and Remus’ boots, sticking tight like mud.

“Now then… I know how much you hate us, Virge, but maybe don’t scare Dee-Dee like that again, yeah?” Dee-Dee? Who was that supposed to be? “He does actually worry, you know. He’s such a sap. It’s like watching the Titanic sink. Why cry for the lives lost and not celebrate all the shark food and the ruins at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean?!” He laughed, harsh and blaringly loud in Virgil’s ear. He took a sharp breath in. “Wait! That was a bad metaphor…”

Virgil ignored the ramblings from Remus, focussing instead on what he had done to cause this ‘Dee-Dee’ to worry. Flashes, bright and sudden blinded him as he caught sight of a white porcelain tub and tile, stained a brilliant, royal red. He felt Remus round on him suddenly, taking a hold of either side of Virgil’s head. The thoughts of a blade slipping through his skin like it was warm butter sunk away and out of his grasp.

Opening his eyes, there was a dazed look in Remus’ eyes, before the taller man spoke. It was unlike his ramblings and much more like his first word to Virgil. Softer. Cautious.

“Virgil… No matter what anyone says, you cannot do that to yourself. Again.”

“B-But…” His own voice was a croak; exhausted and dry. “I… I hurt-”

“Who? Thomas? Shit happens, storm cloud. But you are a necessity. Maybe… One day, Thomas will see that. Otherwise, you have me. And Dee-Dee.” He returned to his original place, supporting Virgil’s unsteady movements. “I might be an asshole, but we… Care.” He seemed almost disgusted saying it.

“No. You… You don’t care… ‘bout me…”

“I’m not Dee-Dee. I don’t lie.”

Who knows how long it took, but soon, a tiny white speck on the ‘horizon’, grew in size, almost the shape of a door frame. White light poured inside, blindingly bright. By this point, Virgil could feel Remus sinking under his weight. He was tired, it seemed. Before crossing the threshold, once more, Remus turned Virgil around so he could look him in the eye. That malicious glint was still there.

“You won’t remember much of this place. Of what I have said. And, honestly, I’m too lazy to tell you when we’re back home, so…” He raised one hand up to Virgil’s brow, resting a warm palm there. A heat bloomed outwards from the touch, spreading through Virgil’s skull and following his spine, blossoming into his muscles and the rest of his body.

Images flashed through his head, too fast for him to comprehend. But whatever they were, Virgil felt sick. Disgusted. He felt molested, assaulted and terrified of whatever had just transpired. He pulled back in shock, adrenaline shooting through him as he tumbled out and through the white rectangle.

He landed on his ass in a corridor, not nearly as blinding as the light had seemed. Instead, it was a dim glow, with low hanging bulbs, sparking with electricity. Five doors lined the corridor behind him, and before the dark, rotting wood door closed, he caught sight of where he had come from. An all-consuming abyss; a cosmos as dark as ink with not a hint of life within. The giant, black maw roared, the door slamming shut of its own volition, leaving Virgil there, trembling.

“Virgil!” A voice, one normally filled with such dignity and a tone of superiority echoed from further down the hall. Looking behind him, all Virgil could catch was a flash of bright yellow and a black suit, as a figure came up to kneel behind him. The reptilian half of his face was emotionless as ever, but his human eye was wide with concern and a raw horror at seeing Virgil appear.

“D-Deceit?”

“No! I-I mean… yes! It’s me.” He helped Virgil to stand, immediately latching on with a vice-like grip to Virgil’s left wrist. He roughly pulled the sleeve up to the crook of the elbow, those shoulders sinking in relief as a breath escaped him. As quickly as he had pulled up the sleeve, he had wrapped his hands around Virgil’s head, pulling him tight to his chest.

A heartbeat, soothing and constant caught his attention. He burrowed his head into Deceit’s chest, unashamed as he felt tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Deceit led him down the corridor and towards the bathroom that they all shared. Once inside, he settled Virgil into the corner, before pouring a glass of water and wetting a hand towel. He offered both to Virgil who accepted them quietly. He sipped at the glass whilst Deceit began gently dabbing at his sweating skin.

“What happened?”

Deceit stiffened from his crouched position, before offering him an uncomfortable smile. “Please, Virgil don’t- Clean yourself up. Take your time. I’ll go and not- I’ll get you something to eat. I won’t be long. We can talk once you’ve eaten.” With a flourish of his cape, Deceit had disappeared from the bathroom.

Virgil picked himself up from the floor, contemplating. Why? What had he done to earn such worry from Deceit of all people? Why did he cause him to worry? Without thinking, his hands brushed over the vanity drawers, opening them almost without realising. What was he searching for?

He finally found it. There was a sting in his fore and middle fingertips. He wrapped his hand around a wooden handle, pulling out the Duke’s straight razor. He flicked it open, noting with an almost sick fascination how it was one of the few items the Duke kept in pristine condition. There was a desperate need to sate something deep within him.

The sleeve was once again moved up to the crook of his elbow.

He rested the fine edge against the skin of his forearm.

He stopped.

His fingers leaked a few drops of royal red onto his paper skin, Virgil’s head tilting in confusion. And then he gasped. Images ran through his head like a blur, the blade slipping from his fingers.

The room’s stunning white was painted over with buckets of blood. On the floor beneath him there was the obstruction of heavy legs and feet. Virgil turned, almost throwing up at the sight. He let out a cry.

Deceit slammed the door open suddenly, looking down at Virgil as he sat there hugging his knees tight to his body. He was sobbing, muting the loudest cries in the torn jeans. On the floor of the sparkling white bathroom was the straight razor.

No blood.

Deceit sat beside Virgil, taking him into his arms, as those brown eyes looked up at him in horror. “I… I was…”

“Yes.”

“I did it.”

“You did.”

“How am I…?”

“How are you what?”

“A-Alive…?”

“I…”

Silence passed between them.

“I don’t know.”

~X~

#2 (LEGACIES)

How vast was the universe? Was there sentient life apart from humans? An infinitesimal chance that you would exist, and yet you were here. Why? Why you? What would you provide that the world had not seen a hundred times before? What hadn’t the world seen a thousand times before? A million times before?

Thoughts cascaded in a blinding rush through Logan’s pounding skull; the Side in question having to remove his glasses, pinching the corners of his eyes to clear his head of the imagery. The flashes of colour and questions playing on loop like a broken record; they had been running marathons through his head all night. Whilst Thomas slept, the brain was supposed to be quiet so that it might allow for Roman to work his figurative ‘magic’.

Logan’s own room proved to be less of a sanctuary from his thoughts, his bedroom walls covered from top to bottom in mind maps, pie charts and graphs. All his work to determine how best for Thomas to live his life, but even now, he had no clue. A healthy life was optimal, but just as Roman had once questioned, ‘what comes after?’ What was Thomas to do once he had the time or made the sacrifices?

The common room provided a quiet place for him to sit, removed from his thoughts on paper, and with everyone else fast asleep, he had the space he needed. He had to keep his mind in the game. Keep his thoughts straight (to an extent) and just calm down.

How his mind had turned to all of these questions so quickly, he had no idea. Perhaps it had been Virgil’s earlier outburst, or the movie selected by the others to watch that evening. He hated that question. ‘What are we here for?’ He had heard it too many times and still he did not have the answer. Sure, Thomas was not Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking, but Logan’s whole existence was to answer Thomas’ questions and provide him with every piece of knowledge that would help him with his way in life. But even now, even though Logan’s own existence as a figment of Thomas’ psyche was certain, the living, breathing human that was his host still had no answer to that question. No one did.

He leaned forward in his seat on the couch, running his hands through his hair, pushing the locks away from his pale, exhausted face. He was being driven up the metaphorical wall! The stress was getting to him. It shouldn’t! He knew how to avoid it and all the steps you could take to relieve it. His dark blue eyes peered down at the blurred carpet, attempting to piece together a picture from the blurred particles. He could almost make out a few crumbs on the floor, replacing his glasses and swiping them up with a huff. Roman and Patton always left a mess after eating in the lounge, it was a wonder they didn’t have any imaginary ants running around.

That was it.

The answer.

“Insignificant.”

“What was that?”

Logan nearly leapt three feet in the air, hopping off the couch at the muted but still recognisable voice of the Duke. He peered around, expecting to see the second half of creativity peeking his dark eyes over the end of the lounge, or sitting on the bench in the kitchen. Instead, thankfully, the Duke was not present in the kitchen or behind the lounge. Stepping around the couch and peering up the stairs, Logan failed to see him sitting on the top stair or underneath the dining room table.

“Remus?”

“You said ‘insignificant’. Something got you down, dork?”

Still, there was nothing. Where could he be? His voice was still muffled ever so slightly, but was otherwise as loud as ever. Logan was starting to feel just a little uncomfortable now.

“Where are you?”

A shift in the lounge cushions, the one at the farthest end, just beside where Logan had been sitting, was pushed out of place, revealing the Duke in all his glory. Au naturale. A shiver ran its way up Logan’s spine as Remus chuckled.

“How long have you been there?”

“Eh, not long. Was hoping to scare Ro-Bro at breakfast, but I guess I’m a little early.”

“It is 2:36 in the morning. Roman does not normally get up until about 8:00 am.”

“So?”

Logan rolled his eyes, taking his seat at the opposite end of the couch.

“So, you are about five hours and twenty-four minutes early.”

“And I am dedicated to my role!” Remus seemed so offended (well, as offended as he could be), beginning to manoeuvre his way out from under the cushions, revealing more of his pale torso and body. It was only now that Logan hurriedly averted his eyes, cracking his jaw to distract himself.

“Must you be naked?”

“Well, if I want to scar Princey, I need to take it up a notch from just bludgeoning him.”

“We’re figments of Thomas’ psyche. We can’t get scarred.”

“Ah! Not physically!” The duke practically purred, pulling himself free at last and replacing the pillows. He turned around and took a seat, one leg cocked up so he rested casually, Logan trying not to grimace. “But mental scars can last forever!”

“T-True.”

“So? What were you saying about being ‘insignificant’? It seemed like you hit a breakthrough. What’s going on in that itty-bitty brain of yours?” He cooed. The Duke just cooed at him like Patton when Roman first gifted him an imaginary puppy.

“Well, I was just thinking about how insignificant the human race- Thomas’ life is. I mean… We’re like ants.”

“In a matriarchal dictatorship, communicating through smell and touch whilst being crushed under the boot of the less than one percent?”

Logan cocked his head over to the Duke, unfazed by the other’s lack of clothing, but still stunned by the other’s apparent comment. The absurdity of its comparison or the surprise Logan felt at the other’s knowledge; he didn’t know what had left him so speechless. Probably both. When Remus grinned, his expression dividing his face near in half, Logan felt heat beginning to enter his cheeks.

“N-No. Not quite what I meant- How do you-?”

“I know things, Loogie! Can’t be accurate without knowledge, after all.” He said, leaning forward in his seat, resting his chin in the palms of his hands. Well, that was not a revelation Logan was expecting to have this evening. Out of the twins, he did not expect Roman to attempt accuracy, but he certainly was not expecting Remus to openly admit he aimed for accurate representation in his… art.

“W-Well… Anyway, what I actually meant was humans as a species are insignificant.” Remus tilted his head, uncharacteristically quiet, waiting for Logan to elaborate. “The human race has only been around for about three hundred, thousand years, out of a near fourteen billion that the universe has existed. We are dust. Doomed to die out just as the dinosaurs before us and who knows what else.”

“What does this have to do with ants?”

“Insignificance!” Logan’s voice rose against his wishes, feeling rather sheepish when he heard a muffled ‘shut up’ from upstairs. “Insignificance. At the end of it all, we can’t promise that Thomas will do anything memorable. Just as you questioned whether he will ever have a legacy, I can’t determine that Thomas will ever be remembered or make an impact. In the end, he will go through the same cycle that all humans do: breathe, eat, defecate, sleep and repeat until he eventually dies and us along with him.”

“Hm… I see what you’re saying…” Remus hummed, pouting his lips in a way that tilted his moustache ever so slightly. A thoughtful look on Remus’ face was a strange appearance to behold. “And I disagree.”

“What? You just said so yourself, ‘you can’t be accurate without knowledge’. So, if you are aware of all of this, how can you say that this is incorrect? We both know it isn’t. At the end of it all, if there is a higher deity, which I sincerely doubt, he will get judged and then some day, trillions of years down the line, the universe will cease to be.”

“Yep!”

“Are you just ignoring me or are you truly ignorant to what that means?”

“Nah, just don’t see the point of worrying your pretty little head off.” He leaned back in the couch cushions, head held high, staring Logan down like the personification of Logic had once done to him. “After all, if we are so insignificant, what is the point of worrying? We can do anything we set our minds to!”

“How optimistic.”

“How practical, I think you mean.” Logan furrowed his brow. Was this naked idiot really trying to argue against him? “After all, that’s life! An experience that we lucky few get to live, and guess what? If it wasn’t for the lucky few before us, where would we be now?”

Logan cocked a brow, not quite catching onto the Duke’s reasoning.

“Nikola Tesla was a brilliant nutcase that played with electricity, giving us the stepping stones to modern inventions that all require electricity! But…” He wagged a finger in Logan’s direction, tutting. “Without him, who’s to say no one else down the line wouldn’t have discovered it? Without Pythagoras, we might not have Pythagoras theorem, we might instead have the Florian theorem or we might not have anything!”

“You’re just ruining your point.”

“Let me finish.” Remus scooted himself across the couch cushions until he was sitting right beside Logan, the Logical side grimacing. He would have to wash those cushions come tomorrow. "Yes, anyone could have done it or no one at all, but guess what? They did it!”

What?

“I don’t-”

“We, the human race, any one of them, can put their minds to it and do something new! Something exciting! Tesla, Percy Julian, Einstein, Marie Curie, Pythagoras, Aristotle… They were the ones that discovered all of those amazing things. That invented all of those awesome contraptions!”

“But-”

“Let me go further! If it wasn’t for Jordan Peele, we wouldn’t have ‘Get Out’! If it wasn’t for Francisco Goya, we wouldn’t have that awesome painting! You know the one, um… The one where big boy Cronus is eating his son…?”

“I think you mean ‘Saturn’.”

“Yep! That’s the one! And it’s a fucking masterpiece! All creepy and bloody… God, he makes that arm look so fucking tasty.” Logan tried to ignore the sight of Remus’ tongue sliding over his teeth and lips. But still…

“I… I will concede…” Remus leaned forward, grinning down at Logan. “T-That you have a point.”

“And Thomas the fucking dankest engine that there ever has been? What has he done?”

“Um… I don’t-”

“He’s entertained millions with his stupid little Vines!” Logan shrugged. “He’s been releasing his own songs and covers of other awesome bops on Youtube and Spotify! Hell, he’s let us make our own playlists!” Logan cringed, recalling some of the rather… unusual and grating pieces Remus had handpicked. “He’s been in several musicals and theatrical productions, posing and bounding about for those asshole critics and doing bloody amazing!”

“I guess…”

“And! And he has been introducing us to the world! That’s a fucking first!”

“Well, I mean, the Disney Pixar film Inside Out did it first.”

“They just did emotions. We’re the fucking mechanics, Logie Awards! We’re more than just a kid flic, no matter how heart wrenching it was.” Was it just an illusion of some kind, or did he actually see the Duke nearly shed a tear? “Fucking Hell, Bing-Bong. How dare you be so selfless… You were supposed to just rocket your fat-ass out of there and leave that yellow bitch behind! Sadness deserved better!”

…

They were getting off topic now.

“Anyway! We are now known to the world and that is all thanks to Thomathy! Isn’t that a fucking achievement?!”

“I mean…” Logan thought it over. His mind was in a whirl. After all, Remus wasn’t wrong. People knew about them. Thomas had achieved more than the average person. He had done far more than was expected of him in his youth. He had done so much and Logan… Logan felt his chest swell with pride.

The heat of Remus’ presence was fading, Logan looking up to then blush a bright red as he caught the almost amusing sight of the Duke attempting to shuffle his way back under the lounge cushions. He stood up, holding the pillow up and out of the way, the Dark Side grinning up at him as he scooted himself under all the pillows. Before Logan replaced the final one over Remus’ head and shoulders, he took a moment to gather his words.

“T-… Thank you, Remus. I didn’t… I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

“Eh, not a problem! You better go to bed. You look like you’re going to pass out and you don’t want to know what I’ll do with your unconscious body if you do.” Logan obliged, hurriedly and roughly slamming the pillow down and over Remus’ face, forcing the embarrassed flush to his cheeks to cool down.

He returned to his room, laying down, mind calm and focussed on only one thing; his exhaustion clawing at his eyes and audibly pleading him to sleep. Or that could just be Remus downstairs, demanding he sleep. Either way, Logan obliged, even allowing himself an extra hour of blissful calm before the alarm call of Roman’s horrified shriek reverberated up the stairs. Today was going to be a good day.

~X~

#3 (A HISTORY, FORGOTTEN)

The Imagination was laid out before him; a vast landscape with a variety of unique worlds to explore. Patton had never realised just what Roman had meant when he said that the Imagination was enormous. He had been expecting a room perhaps a little larger than a gymnasium at most, but instead, there was a horizon, and a wide range of places to explore.

He had been so excited when Roman had invited him to explore, but since he had been called away by his villagers to plan an upcoming festival for Christmas, Patton had been left to wander the streets. This was just one of Roman’s many medieval-inspired towns; small with crooked stone lining the roads, a large well at its centre and a church up a winding hill path. The people were bright, with wide eyes and large smiles that would politely offer a flower or baked bread if they weren’t busy with decorating.

The town was an explosion of red and white, ribbons connecting building rooftops and fir trees growing on every street corner. It was beautiful, truly. Patton just wished he could spend his time fawning over the festive spirit with Roman. Without him, the townsfolk seemed to enter into a different setting, still participating in conversations with each other and seeking out Roman like the celebrity he seemed to be. The further away Patton had walked, the more the townsfolk came to ignore him and go about their days like he was an invisible entity.

He didn’t mean to walk so far, but he had been distracted. He felt like a Disney princess when the first white bunny came up to sniff at his hand. Then another, this time a dark brown. A fawn and its mother leapt through the tall grass outside of the village limits, and Patton was head over heels. He had always loved animals (spiders being the exception), but to have them not be so skittish was a dream come true. He looked back at the village behind him, hearing the commotion faintly from within, but turned his baby blue eyes back over the sight before him.

Roman didn’t have to worry. He could surely just wander and explore a little more without the other getting distracted from his duties. He knew it wasn’t a particularly smart idea to walk off, but he wasn’t a child. He knew what to look for, and besides, he wouldn’t go far. With one last, hesitant glance over his shoulder, Patton stepped off the road and bounded after the deer, the bunnies hot on his heels.

They led him deep into a nearby forest, filled with wild oak trees and emerald grass, lines of white and red mushrooms and the faint trickle of a natural spring somewhere deep in the woods. Birds had come to join him as he ran; sparrows, finches and bluebirds, each singing their little tunes. It was harmonic and joyous. He felt like he could fly. His cardigan’s sleeves flew into his face a couple of times, but it only helped to stir his laughter. He felt like a kid all over again.

He didn’t know how far he had gone, but by the time he tripped over a high root, he could feel a deep-seated burn in his muscles. The ache from his fall caused him to shake his head, trying to get those little birds to stop twittering so loud in his ear. He sat up in the dirt, looking all about, noting how the birds had fluttered away as quickly as they had joined him. There was no sight of the deer and its baby, and the rabbits, it seemed, had scampered off or had been left behind in Patton’s rush to explore.

He sat at the base of a gnarled tree, looking up to see how the leaves and branches all came together to make an emerald roof above his head. Faint, golden glimmers of the setting sun shone down onto him, the forest around him growing darker, but no less beautiful as the sun sank in the sky.

‘Over here~’

Patton’s ears picked up on the sound. It was almost a click in his paternal instincts. A child’s voice, faint and distant spoke to him, from somewhere in the surrounding foliage.

“Hello?” He called, standing up and glancing about, hoping to see someone. Instead, he saw nothing. The forest was quiet; no birds, no footsteps, and no wind. It was a little strange, but Patton was much too focussed on finding the owner of that voice.

‘Hello~’

There it was again. Patton glanced back over his shoulder, the sound of childish laughter ringing in his ears. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, watching as there was a flash of a small figure darting between the trees behind him. He turned, jogging over with a smile on his face, chuckling as he tried to stealthily approach the tree. He whipped around the corner.

“Gotcha-!” Only, he didn’t. No one was there. But… He was certain he had seen them dart over that way…

‘I’m over here~’

Patton’s eyes turned up, noting the bright eyes peeking around the side of a tree, a mischievous grin on the chubby face. Those little hands held on tightly to its bark, the child’s laughter sounding again. How did Patton know this little one? He seemed so familiar.

That mop of dark hair darted behind the tree once more, Patton catching the wisp of silver strands in the fringe before the head disappeared. He felt his heart leap into his throat. No way… It couldn’t be… He darted forward, once more rounding the tree but greeted with only a patch of grass and dirt. More laughter.

‘Silly-Billy, Papa-Patton~’

‘I have run away again~’

He knew these words. He hadn’t heard them in years. Not since... He spotted the child running away through ferns and bramble bushes, avoiding the thorns and every root with such adventurous grace. There was laughter again, wild and familiar.

‘I want to play some tricks and run~’

‘Away from home and have some fun~’

This nursery rhyme was something Patton had not heard in at least two decades. Though it was something to help find the tot when he and Roman were still young, now it felt so much more haunting. He was running at full speed after the child, noticing he was closing the distance.

“Remus?!”

‘In the forest, I do not worry~’

‘Cause Papa-Patton will be in a hurry~’

‘To catch me and take me home~’

‘Into danger I will not roam~’

He reached out with one hand, watching how his hand was almost at Remus’ shoulder. He almost had him. But as his hand stretched and made to halt the running figure, he watched as his fingers fell through, Patton tripping forward and into the dirt. He looked up, in time to see the child vanish like a puff of smoke. Remus…

‘When I trip and fall, he’ll be there to catch me~’

‘Or the monsters will come, and away they’ll take me~’

Patton felt tears rolling down his face, helping to glue dirt to his cheeks. His glasses were gone, having fallen free from the crook of his nose. His hands searched the ground, feeling nothing but sharp rocks and dead grass. That… That was not what Roman’s forest was like.

There was the crunch of heavy footsteps, larger than anything Patton had been chasing. He felt his chest rise and fall, attempting to take in deep breaths and calm down. He was beginning to panic. He turned around so he was on his back, eyes wide. The world around him was dark. He would barely be able to see a few feet in front of him if he wasn’t blind already. However, he did see movement. Something dark shuffled closer; Patton could hear heavy breaths and bellows of a giant creature as it moved closer.

Then came the smell. Something decaying and rotten washed over him with the hot breath of the animal. It was putrid. Sickening. What was it?! Patton attempted to scramble back, but one large paw pressed him into the dirt, sharp claws tearing his shirt but not yet flaying his skin. He couldn’t breathe.

“Help…”

The thing just huffed in response, turning its apparently massive head back and forth as if to eye him closer. To understand what he was. Patton could feel the saliva dripping down onto his cheek, burning hot to the touch and just emphasizing the smell of something deceased.

“Help.”

It tilted its head. Then, Patton felt his heart nearly stop, watching with a blurred mix of colour as the beast opened its jaws, a red tongue lashing out to lick up his face. Patton then felt another tongue, and then a third. He felt sick. He breathed again.

“HELP!”

“Heel!” Patton heard a familiar voice command, the creature releasing Patton from beneath its weight and backing up. Patton scrambled away, feeling for his glasses in desperation. He heard footsteps, nothing like the beast that had nearly eaten him, and then felt someone’s fingers gently place something over his nose and eyes. He could see!

“Hey, little grey, cardigan hood~.” Now that was a purr that Patton recognised. From where he lay, he lifted his gaze from the black, calf high boots, up the green and black striped pants to the over the top sash and suit that Duke wore. The man was smiling down at him, offering him a hand up. Patton graciously took it, backing hurriedly away and behind Remus as the beast came closer.

“Cerberus, heel.” It did so. Now that Patton had his glasses, he could see that it was a three headed dog, with fur as dark as Remus’ own fashion sense, moss and vines threaded through fur, with a tail more akin to a donkey’s that was lashing about excitedly. It had taken a seat at Remus’ command, the Side moving over and wrapping his hands around the middle head’s snout, rubbing the muzzle affectionately. “It’s okay, Cerby~. Pattoncake was just a little scared.” He turned around to look back at Patton, grey eyes wide and wild.

“You should give him a pet, Patty.”

“N-No, thank you. He’s… Um…”

“Oh, Cerby was just wondering who you were.” The left head opened its mouth as if to yawn, but then a tongue whipped out, far longer than Patton had ever seen, taking the opportunity to roughly lap up the side of his cheek again. Remus guffawed, grinning at Patton. “He likes you.”

Patton bit his lip, looking up at the dog’s three heads, all of them stooped down so Remus could share his affection between them. Even at this position, the dog was about eight feet tall. He nervously stepped closer, raising a shaking hand up to the left head, Remus turning his attentions to the right most head. The panting beast tilted its skull one way, offering Patton an open space to scratch and rub. He took it with relief.

He felt himself beginning to relax, and though he had been disgusted and terrified (and still was), watching this great, lumbering creature kick its leg at his chin scratches had him giggling with glee.

“So, what are you doing here? I don’t often get visitors.”

“Visitors?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you passed onto my territory about an hour ago.”

“Oh…” He had the decency to look as embarrassed as he sounded. “I didn’t realise.”

“Nah, that’s okay. You just got to be careful. I love all my creations, but not all of them love you. Trust me. You’re lucky you didn’t run into Grendel, or my zombies. Those undead bitches could run you down faster than a machine gun could mow you down.” He grinned, though it slipped at the sight of Patton’s grimace.

“W-Well, I just was following what sounded like a child.” He didn’t feel it necessary to give all the details. “They were calling out to me, and I thought they looked familiar. They disappeared when I got close enough though.”

“Oh, that.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Those are just wisps.”

“Wisps?”

“You know… Will-O-Wisps?”

“I heard you, but I thought they carried lanterns or fire or something…”

“Oh, they do. But sometimes they employ other tricks. Sometimes, their little lamps are not enough, so they use other methods.”

“So, that child…”

“Is dead. Whatever you saw, that child is dead.”

Patton felt his heart go ice cold, constricting in his chest at the thought. No… That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. After all, Remus was standing before him right now. Wasn’t he?

“And what if I know for a fact that the child is alive?”

Remus gave him a crooked look, confused as to why the other seemed to press this issue. He whistled up at Cerberus who took to standing, Remus moving around to hoist himself up onto the back of his mighty… hound. He held a hand out, offering Patton a comforting look. Well, that was something Patton hadn’t seen in years.

“Then you must be wrong.” He hoisted Patton up and onto Cerberus’ back with ease, and gave a light kick to Cerberus’ ribs so that the three headed dog started off charging into the trees. Patton yelped, clinging on for dear life whilst Remus’ maniacal laughter sounded through the air.

They reached the border in no time at all, Cerberus bounding to a final stop, crouching low to allow Patton to slip onto his feet. Having seen the transition from Remus’ land to Roman’s, it was a wonder how Patton didn’t notice the difference the first time. Where the dark forest with thorny brambles ended, the lush meadows began. Patton could see the sky now, dark, but filled with stars.

“Thanks Remus.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.” His looked turned dark, leaning forward from where he sat to glare down at Morality. “Don’t fucking mention this to anyone.” Patton felt a heavy stone in his throat, making it hard to swallow. His worries were washed away with Remus’ eyes glinting and his smile returning.

“You know. Don’t need my reputation as a ‘bad guy’ going down the fucking toilet. Otherwise, I’ll have no excuse to invade Roman.” He laughed aloud, Patton joining him. It had been so long since Patton had spent any real time with Remus, and now, even with his potty-mouth and rather dark sense of… well, anything… Patton could still see the faintest traces of the boy he raised.

The boy he left behind.

“Remus, I know you said otherwise, but I know what I saw…” The Duke’s head tilted, curious as to where Patton was going with his words. “That wisp… It showed me a child that I know is alive and well. I’ve seen him.”

“You’re wro-”

“I’m not. Remus… Who I saw was-”

“Patton!” Roman’s voice, clear as crystal, cut through their conversation, Patton peering back over his shoulder. Roman approached on his white steed, looking rather frazzled but no less relieved. “I was wondering where you had been. I had half the kingdom searching for you.”

“Ro-Bro!” Roman shot a glare Remus’ way, turning his attention back to Patton and offering him a hand to climb atop the horse’s back.

“Remus.”

“Is that all you have to say, cityscape?” Roman’s glare turned back up to Remus. There was tension in the air, Patton could feel heat from both of their looks; one angered and the other taunting.

“Stay on your side.”

“Ah, well, of course. Good to know you are just as straight to the point as ever.” That didn’t sound like Roman. “Welp, this was fun, Moron-ality.” That stung a bit. Looking over at Remus, his wide baby-blue eyes connected with Remus’ glaring grey eyes. He could see the flecks of emerald within flashing, but it was not with malice. “Try not to get lost again.”

With a gentle kick to Cerberus’ ribs, the hound picked up its haunches, all six dark eyes wide in much the same way of a pleading puppy. With a whine from Cerberus and a pet down each of his dark necks, the two of them disappeared back into the woods. Roman, in turn, pulled his horse around gently, and started at a slow trot back towards his castle, and inevitably his bedroom door.

“Roman?”

“Yes, Patton?”

“What can you tell me about wisps?”

“Why?”

“Please…”

Roman took a moment, glancing back at Patton with confusion, but no frustration. He sighed softly, taking a moment to think.

“They’re spirits. Ones that lead travellers off the path so they may too be lost forever and become one of them.”

“So, they’re… really dead?”

“Well… Yes and no. Some are exactly that. Poor, unfortunate souls passing through that became malevolent spirits. But, there are some that are a little… different.”

“How?”

“One’s physical form does not technically have to… pass. Sometimes, all that is needed is the trauma of being lost or left behind. It is like an astral projection as Logan called it-…” Patton had stopped listening, eyes brimming with tears. He shed them quietly, hiding his shame by nuzzling his face into Roman’s back.

Oh Remus…

He never meant to leave.

~X~

#4 (DON’T STOP ME NOW)

After everything they had done. After all of this. Why now? What had changed? He just didn’t understand. Why would they do this to him? He trusted them. Was it misplaced? Had he done something foolish by trusting them to have their best interests at heart? Surely those two villains had done enough, poisoning their minds against him. That was why he was in here and everyone else was downstairs. Those… creatures had ruined everything.

Roman’s room had never been in such a state. He couldn’t bear to look at the destruction he had caused. The walls, with their golden trim, had been stained a bright and sick wash of colour. The rainbow of paints were beautiful to start, but then they had started leaking down the wall, mixing together in an amalgamation of browns, sick greens and greys. His mirrors were shattered, arcs of glass lining the floors like a minefield of hideous broken smiles and crooked glares.

His bed was a mess, the swan feather pillows torn to shreds and the draperies that normally hid his sleeping form from sight were ripped off and shredded across the glass shards. His room was a disaster zone of canvases, broken pencils and crushed roses. It would have made quite the dramatic sight, and he had no doubt that if Logan were to see what he had done, he would be chastised for his childish behaviour. Patton would probably be on the brink of breaking down and Virgil would probably just roll his eyes at Roman’s anguish.

Those two, however… He grit his teeth, grinding down to prevent himself from letting a sound undignified of a prince. He wanted to roar, take his sword out and charge down the stairs. Strike out, clash weapons and then turn up victorious to shouts of his fellow Sides praising him for saving them from Deceit’s lies and Remus’ threats.

There was a knock at his door. He bit back the urge to hiss at the one disrupting his thoughts, and felt his voice come through without his permission.

“Leave.”

There was silence from the doorway. No one tried to turn the knob, but he couldn’t hear anyone make the walk of shame back down the corridor. Good for them. There wasn’t anything to entertain them here. Roman was done entertaining. He was done with this and how everyone seemed to turn against him.

He finally heard whomever was outside stepping away. It seemed slow, hesitant, but Roman cared little for them and their feelings. He had enough of being selfless. His opinions were shot down continuously, and with Logan and Patton constantly giving their input, Thomas seemed unable to put another’s words on the same pedestal. He held those two in such high regards that there never seemed much point in arguing.

Another series of knocks. He hadn’t noticed the Side’s return, but just felt a low growl sound deep within his chest when he opened his mouth to answer. He shut himself down, not wanting to give the others more of a reason to ignore him. He wasn’t his brother. He wasn’t an animal.

There was an explosion of sound, Roman shocked to his feet as his door caved in with a powerful swing of an all too familiar Morningstar. Splinters of wood cascaded across the room, Roman’s hand whipping to his left hip and pulling his katana free from its place. Through the hole where his door once stood, the familiar form of him entered, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, eyes wide and crazed, bearing a toothy grin. He reminded Roman of a wolf or shark with how he appeared; a predator hunting.

“Oh, brother~!” Remus lunged forward, swinging his weapon high. Roman had little time to dodge, just managing to dart to the side. The Morningstar’s head came down where Roman had been standing, leaving a crater in his bedroom floor. He whipped his head around, eyes flashing dangerously as he darted ahead, keeping up with Roman’s every move. From the door, Roman could hear Patton’s cries of horror.

He brought his sword up, in time to prevent the Morningstar from connecting to his jaw. It would have broken it, probably his entire neck if he hadn’t been fast enough. Their weapons clashed, a glint of silver and sparks, Roman holding his brother back with what strength that remained. After the destruction of his room by his own hand, he was exhausted. And it showed. Remus’ strength was pressing down on Roman’s, his katana screeching.

“REMUS! Get a hold of yourself!”

“No.” Remus pushed him back, sending Roman onto the mattress, the prince having to scramble back to avoid a blow to the family jewels. “Nein.” Another swing down in the same location, caving the bed in with a crunch. “Non.” He swung just over Roman’s head. It would have been like one of those dramatic fight scenes where a blade would just barely cut his hair. It was too close for comfort. “Nyet.” His brother had gotten slower in their time apart, it seemed.

“What has gotten into you?!” He dodged back, Remus tackling him across the bed, pinning him to the floor with his weight. He lifted his Morningstar high, but with a strong hit of the katana’s hilt, Remus lowered his weapon, one hand clutching his ribs. Roman kicked him off, scrambling back over glass and paint, wincing as the shrapnel sliced the skin of his hands.

“Me? What has gotten into you?!” He recovered quickly, following Roman quickly across the bedroom. Roman had stood and was immediately kicked back into the vanity, feeling the wind rush out of his lungs. Remus stepped forth, arm arcing high above his head, bringing it down just as Roman crouched. What was left of the mirror was obliterated.

“Remus! Stop this!” Logan’s voice, unusually loud and panicked, carried over the sounds of their battle.

“That’s enough! You’re hurting him!” Patton cried, Virgil keeping him from running into the room to get between them.

“I want to.” Their weapons clashed again, Roman pressing back against his brother. All of his swinging and wild motions had caused him exhaustion. He was weakening. “I want to hurt him.”

Roman could recall how often the two of them had practised their fighting skills when they were young. Just as they were now, they were enemies; Roman constantly being invaded by Remus who just sang about how much he wanted to ‘play’. Well, it became almost a weekly practise. They exchanged blows and Remus would return to his respective side of the imagination. Remus had always lost every battle. Every fight Roman would be the victor. It would be no different now. They played their roles well as children, and it certainly wouldn’t change now.

There was an ear-splitting shriek of steel and a loud crack. Roman and Remus shared a look of shock, watching how half of Roman’s blade crumbled under the pressure. It flew out of sight beneath the bed, Roman letting out a pained wretch as the shaft of the Morningstar slammed down over his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His arms flung out wildly, attempting to push back against Remus’ grip. Remus, despite his efforts against him, still seemed just as stunned by the turn of events.

“Remus, enough!” The words of that snake cut through Patton’s cries and Roman and Remus’ heavy breathing. Remus turned his head ever so slightly, the smile beginning to etch its way back onto his face. It was slow. Malicious.

“Ani.”

“Remus…”

“Ochi.”

“Remus, this has gone far enough!”

“NO, IT HASN’T!” With a forceful push onto Roman’s throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely for a brief moment, Remus took to standing. He stalked towards Deceit, arm swinging lazily. Roman watched with wide eyes as the human half of Janus’ face morphed from one of anger to horror. Deceit had never been afraid of Remus.

“It has never been enough.” Remus said, Roman forcing himself to turn over and pick himself up. He was coughing. Trying to regain his thoughts through his swimming vision. He saw a glint beneath his bed. Something sharp.

“Remus, please…”

“It is not enough! I need… I need more…” Remus glanced back at Roman, and for a moment Roman feared Remus was aware of what he was doing. For a moment, Remus’ eyes followed his brother’s arm, up and under the bed, with his hand out of sight. He turned his attention back to Deceit.

He didn’t notice.

“I want him gone. I want him dead!” He raised his Morningstar, Deceit backing up under that frightful gaze. “He stifles me! He keeps me locked away!” Roman could make out how Deceit’s cape opened further, all of his hidden hands peeking out from under the cloak, ready to fend off his friend. “I am DONE!”

Roman lunged forward, his hand having gripped tightly around the broken blade, feeling the edge cut deep into his fist. He aimed downward, watching as the point enter into Remus’ calf, slicing down through his pants and flesh. Blood spurted free, blinding Roman as it entered his eyes. A roar erupted from deep within his brother’s chest, the Morningstar falling to the floor behind him. Deceit ran forward, attempting to grab Remus and prevent his descent. Instead, Remus slapped his hands away as he collapsed.

Roman pulled himself up from where he was on the floor, wiping his face free of blood. Remus let out a sound similar to a whine, hands trying to staunch the bleeding. Roman quickly pushed the Morningstar away and out of Remus’ now reaching hand. A look of fury passed over Remus’ tired features.

“You’re done, Remus.”

“I-…” Remus attempted to stand, immediately falling back into his crouched position, his teeth grit tight. He turned his dark eyes up at Roman, the prince noting how he could see the faintest traces of tears in the other’s eyes. Never had Roman seen that before. Every time Remus and he had fought, it didn’t matter the injuries, Remus never cried. He had never cried from pain before. “I’m not done.”

“Leave.” Roman stared him down, the Duke growling between bared teeth, attempting to stand once more. It was a pitiful sight. “It’s over. You’ve lost. Again.”

Roman took a breath when he watched Remus sink into the floor, his body becoming near transparent to allow for Remus to return to his hovel. Their eyes never parted, Roman’s warm brown eyes, filled with pity and a rage slowly simmering down, meeting eyes filled with fury, upset, embarrassment and… what was that?

“Roman.”

“Quiet.” He turned back to the reptilian side, Deceit holding his head high despite Roman’s tone. “I… Thank you, Dec-… Janus.” A look of confusion through Deceit’s features, Roman biting back the urge to say something demeaning. “You really helped me there.”

“That’s my job.”

“I mean it. Thank you.”

Patton, Logan and Virgil entered, each of them beginning to fuss and express their concerns as to what had just occurred. Remus was unpredictable but never had he lashed out in such a way before. Patton immediately started worry about Roman’s throat and the bruising that was beginning to form. Logan headed downstairs and out of sight to collect the first aid kit, not wanting Roman to receive an infection from the glass. Virgil offered to help clear his room of the debris whilst Janus sunk out of sight. As he disappeared in much the same fashion as Remus, he told them he would speak to Remus, and determine what had set him off.

Even now as the Light Sides continued their ministrations and fussing, Roman’s thoughts played back their fight and how they played their roles. How Remus had seemed so slow compared to his usual manic behaviour. How he could have killed Roman then and there but turned his attention to Deceit. The unshed tears in his eyes and the look he gave Roman as he sunk out and back to the Dark.

He knew that look. It was the same look Patton gave Virgil when he agreed to talk about his problems. It was the same look Logan had when Thomas came to the necessary conclusion. It was the same look Virgil had when Logan had complimented his train of thought. It was the same look that Janus had when the Sides had agreed to accept him into the Light. But it couldn’t be…

In those last moments before Remus had sunk out… The villain had given the hero a look of pride.

Remus was proud of him…

~X~

#5 (EVERYBODY SINS)

Deceit had sunk back down into the Dark Side corridor, looking back and forth down the hall. Where there was once six doors, including the one that opened into the Subconscious, now there was only four. The one that opened to the shared bathroom was open, with a long trail of blood leading into it. There was the sound of running water in a porcelain tub, Janus taking a moment to steel himself for what he was about to see.

He had never been scared of Remus before. When he had found him as a child wandering about in the Imagination, he had been surprised. He had heard about Romulus’ split, but he didn’t expect the divide to revert the brothers into children. Still, he had offered his hand and led the crying and screaming child back into the Dark. Remus had grown quickly to accommodate Thomas’ age, and during this time, Remus mind went manic. Thousands of thoughts ran through his head, all of them building up into a painful migraine that couldn’t be relieved. Even then, Janus had never been scared of him or his episodes.

He had been so caught up in the moment, the adrenaline pounding through his head and drums beating loudly in his ears, he couldn’t decipher lies from truth. How Remus had shouted and roared about his desires to kill and maim. To get out of the cage he was trapped within. Now that Deceit had the time to calm down, his mind caught onto the lies.

“Remus?” He stepped into the bathroom after Remus, looking down as the other lay deep in the water, his left leg propped up on the rim of the tub. The cut was deep, the water already a sickly colour. He held a thin line of thread and needle in his fingers, paying Janus no mind when he entered. He grimaced as the needle was pushed through skin and muscle, piercing it and then pulling the thread through it with a wince. Remus was biting down hard on the leather of his belt, eyes fixed and concentrated.

Janus stooped low, picking up the Duke’s uniform and tossing it away in the hamper, before moving and taking an uncomfortable seat on the tile. For a moment, Remus’ eyes looked up at him but they seemed tired. Ashamed.

“Do you not need help?”

Remus took a moment, eyes turned down to the water. He seemed to think on it for a moment before nodding his head bashfully. Janus took the needle from him, Remus laying back and trying to relax his body, the tension in his calf loosening. It was a sickening sight, as if Remus’ calf was a raw piece of pork, sliced open with a meat cleaver. The muscle hung off the bone. Sewing it together would take some time, as would the healing process. He got to work.

Every stitch was slow and calculated. He needed to be sure he did it right lest the wound fall apart and open again. Every prick of the needle caused Remus to wince, the grinding of his teeth became especially prominent however when Janus had to pull the muscle together. Even though they were metaphysical human beings, with the power to conjure and create within the Mindscape, injuries still caused them a lot of pain and strife. And if left untreated… Janus tried not to think about the last time he was sitting on the rim of the bathtub, watching as someone bled out in the water.

It was a long and excruciating process, the water now cold from how long the two of them sat there. Remus appeared paler than usual. It was not surprising, considering how it seemed he had all but stained the bathwater red. Janus stood, beginning to rummage his way through the drawers until he found some bandages. Since that time, he always kept them in there, and since Remus’ exploits often left him bleeding and bruised, it meant they would be used. Just as they were now. The belt was discarded onto the floor, Janus clearing his throat as he began to wrap up the wound.

“Remus…”

No answer.

“What happened up there?”

Remus let his head loll lazily to one side, exhausted features and his dark eyes half-lidded were enough to tell Janus that this was a conversation best saved for later. But he couldn’t let this get swept under the rug like so many things before. This was not something they should be quiet about.

“Don’t tell me.”

“Are you still accepted?”

Janus furrowed his brow in confusion, watching as Remus’ lips stretched to accommodate a tired smile.

“Yes. Just as you are.”

“No.”

“W-What do you mean ‘no’? Just because of what happened, they’re not going to-”

“I’m not going up there.” He pulled himself up to sit higher, and then into a standing position. Almost immediately Janus was there to catch him as he half tumbled out of the tub and into Deceit’s six waiting arms. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, after that-”

“I don’t just mean that. Everything… Everything I have done… I don’t-” Remus’ breath caught in his throat, and Janus was shocked to feel Remus’ shoulders wrack with sobs. He collapsed completely in Janus’ arms, the Side having to hold up both their weight, and beginning to drag Remus out the door and down the long corridor towards his room.

They passed by the door to the Subconscious. The dark and rotting wood, the sound of whipping wind and crashing waves from within causing them to quick their pace. They passed by his door, leaving it far behind them, the fiery, orange door glaring at them in the dark. The words ‘KEEP OUT’ were carved sharply and sloppily into the wood, something that they all kept in mind. Even Remus never bothered him.

They finally reached Remus’ room, the door painted a deep green, chipped and with all kinds of scars and stains across it. Not all of them were Remus’ work. They entered the room beyond, dark and with a mess of papers strewn across the carpet. He helped Remus to the side of his bed, a nest of pillows and blankets, helping him reach the foot of the mattress and then using all six hands to clear it of the many pillows and excess blankets. Remus didn’t need his movement impaired.

He laid him down, tucking his shivering body under the blankets. As he pulled his hands away, for a moment, he could see the tear tracks on Remus’ chubby cheeks, how his small hands clutched at the blankets, terrified in his new home. He shook that thought free when the real, adult Remus turned over in the sheets, offering him a thankful smile.

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“Because… Dee-Dee-…”

“Don’t you-!” He caught himself from shouting as Remus’ smile dropped. “Please, Remus… Be serious. Just answer me this: Why?” The Side bit his lip, trying to well up the courage to answer.

“Because Dee-… Janus… I knew his thoughts…”

“And?”

“He was angry. Scared… And he felt… Unwanted. He felt like he had no place. He had nowhere to go. I… I know how that feels.”

“So-?”

“So, I gave him what he needed. I played my part, and I think I did a pretty good job.” He tried to sit up, to produce a grin on his face, but it morphed into a wince. “And you are definitely accepted now, since they saw what you did, standing up to me, and…”

“You didn’t need to do that, Remus!” He regretted raising his voice, at how Remus had sunk deep into the blankets, looking rather sheepish and embarrassed. He sighed, taking a moment to calm down. Remus was intelligent, but the man had always had a round-about way of thinking. It wasn’t a perfect train of thought that went from destination to destination. It was more like a puppy or child’s; rushing from topic to topic, from idea to idea, until something finally caught on.

His methods had never been perfect. He had always been a little twisted, but that is what happened when you split your necessary mechanics into an overly complicated machine. Without the Ego to boost him, and without the thoughts of love and care, all that left Remus with were the thoughts no one wanted. Imagery of gross wounds and terrified souls, the feeling of fear and hatred that stemmed deep within, and the brutal honesty of this world. The reality of it all meant that Remus had no choice but to shoulder the heavy burden of all of Thomas’ unwanted thoughts and fears. Virgil was more than Fear and Anxiety, but Remus was the sum of his unfortunate parts.

“Remus.” He got the other to raise his gaze up to meet his again, feeling his heart constrict at the sight. Despite his wounds, the Duke would always bounce back faster than any other Side. His morbid curiosity and playful habits caused him to be a non-stop machine of excitement and manic glee, but now… This was wrong.

“What you did was a truly noble thing.” Remus’ eyes lit up. “I’m… I’m proud of you. Everything you have never done.” Remus mouth twisted into a grin, the look one much more suited to his face, but even now it looked strange. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Janus.”

“No! It is not nothing.” He moved to sit on the bed beside him. Remus sat up and shifted, allowing Janus space to sit beside him. A pair of hands wrapped around Remus’ shoulders, a second pair lifting the blankets back up to cover Remus. Remus lifted himself up to remove his bowler hat, tossing it onto a nearby bedside table. He smirked up at Janus.

“Your hair is a fucking mess.”

“As eloquent as ever, Remus.”

“Least I don’t look like Edward Scissorhands came at me.”

“He wasn’t canonically good at cutting hair.”

“Oh…” It took Remus a minute to think. “Well, then you look terrible.”

“Oh, my cold, shrivelled heart~!” Remus began laughing, a pained sound but no less delighted at Janus playing along. “You wound me with your sharp tongue!”

“I can do more than just that with my tongue~.” They both began laughing together, loud and unashamed. Truly it was a few minutes of careless delight, as if what had happened within the last two hours had never happened at all. Even now, it seemed as though Remus was the one caring for him and making him feel better, despite having a slice in his leg a little over half a foot long.

After they had calmed down, they sat together in peace, Remus resting his dark head of hair against Janus’ collar, the silver fringe tickling the deceitful Side’s chin and neck. One hand rose to pet down Remus’ hair, a sound akin to purring coming from deep within the Side’s chest in response. He was just like Virgil in how they both loved their hair being stroked and played with.

“Remus…”

“Mhm?”

“Are-… Are you going to be okay down here?” There was a shrug in Remus’ shoulders, Janus hoping for something more but rolling his eyes when he heard nothing. “Will you not be alright on your own here?”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m really alone. You know-”

“I know he still lives here, but you know as well as I that his presence here does little to stave off boredom.” Remus cringed at that. Yeah, he was one that was much more prone to boredom and loneliness. When Deceit had left him behind the first time so he could go and see Thomas in person, when he returned he had been barrelled over by a bored ball of energy that had wrapped him up in a hug so tight he could barely breathe.

“I’ll be fine, Janus. I just… I’m just tired. Can we just go to sleep?”

“You can. I have to go upstairs and tell the others you’re fine-”

“Don’t!” Remus had shoot up, eyes wide with what seemed to be fear and mania. “You can’t! Roman can’t know!”

“Remus.”

“No! You can’t tell them! If they find out, they’ll kick you out and back down here, and I know you have wanted to be accepted forever but they-”

“Remus.”

“- Will probably think you were working with me to do it and Roman… He needed it, Janus! We can’t take that away from him-”

“Remus!” That shut him up. “For the love of everything bad in the world will you let me finish?” The other remained silent, Janus taking the moment to conclude he was letting him speak.

“I won’t tell the others about that if you really want. I won’t take it away from Roman. But I’ll see to it that my room will return so I can stay here.”

“No.”

“Remus-”

“I won’t lie to you, Janus.” Well, he couldn’t anyway. Both of them knew that Deceit could determine any lie, especially when it was said to his face. “I don’t want you here.”

His heart broke.

“What?”

“I don’t want you here. I want you to go to the Light side. I want you to leave.” There was no string pulling on Janus’ mind. No feeling of a fly trapped in a spider’s web. No tug on his heart letting him know what he heard was false. He felt his heart clench in his chest.

“I don’t want you here with me, anymore.” It was the truth. “I don’t want you here and worrying about me anymore.” The truth. “I want you to be with the Light Sides, because that’s where you belong.”

Truth.

“You’ve finally been accepted and I don’t want to take away from that. If I have to be the villain, then so be it. If I have to be on my own, I need to learn to deal with it.” Janus felt the ice in his heart melting. “I care about you, Janus. A lot. I can’t bear the knowledge that you won’t be with them because of me. It is what you have always wanted and I refuse to take away from that.”

“Remus, I won’t leave you here.”

“Let me be selfless, just this once.” The other’s look was a serious one; it told him there was no room for arguments and as much as he wished to ignore him and wish his door to return, he couldn’t do that to Remus. The second half of creativity had always hated it when others ignored him or his ideas; how they spoke over him and altered his words. It broke Remus a little every time and Janus… Janus was not about to do that to him again.

“I’ll visit.”

“When?”

“Every day if I have to.”

“God, you’re such a sap.” But the smile on Remus’ face was genuine, the light in his eyes brighter than ever. He turned himself over so he laid back against Janus’ chest, shutting his eyes and beginning to drift away. Janus would tell the Light Sides in the morning about Remus’ condition. Now was not the time.

Now was the time to sleep.

~X~

#6 (BROKEN THINGS)

‘We’re done listening to you.’

‘You have nothing of valuable measure to contribute.’

‘P-Please, just go.’

‘Return to your little lair, brother dear.’

The words rang through his head, pounding like a school bell on crack or a fire alarm on acid, wailing like mad through his skull. His hands clasped at the side of his skull, trying to relieve the pressure with more pressure. He didn’t get how it worked, but it always did somehow. Now though… Now it didn’t do anything but cause the voices to cry louder.

He laughed at the irony of it all, feeling the hollow sound in his chest reverberate through the cavity between his ribs, where his heart should be. His apparent lack of heart had been brought up many a times, but he didn’t believe it. It might be small, insignificant or disgusting but it existed. Now though, he wasn’t so sure.

‘We’re done listening to you.’

When did you ever listen to him, Emo? The only time Virgil actually paid attention to what he had to say, he couldn’t even remember it in the fucking first place! The Subconscious ate up his memories as it was prone to do. After he had thrown him through the doorway and into the corridor, he had sunk faster than ever out of sight, tired but still fighting back the Subconscious death grip on his waist and arms. He had pulled himself free in time to see Virgil and Janus sat in the bathroom together, arms wrapped tightly around each other and in near tears.

His method had worked. Implanting that trigger in Virgil’s mind had kept his wrists clear of further scars, but after that experience, Virgil had put further distance between them. It was clear he didn’t remember Remus’ efforts, but he could still tell that part of his anguish was the fault of the big, bad villain.

‘You have nothing of valuable measure to contribute.’

That is not what he said that night when it was just the two of them. Despite the other’s obvious discomfort, something Remus still delighted in, Logan had listened to what he had to say. He had been sat on the lounge for some time, contemplating and stressing all on his own until Remus had revealed himself.

Despite his admittance and the many times the two had taken part in private, intelligent conversations, it seemed that Remus had barely left an impact. Logan was right. When Remus had first entered the picture and introduced himself to Thomas, Logan was right when he said he didn’t leave an impact. He couldn’t do fucking anything of note. Nothing to certainly be remembered.

‘P-Please, just go.’

As polite as ever, Patton. As polite as fucking ever! Remus had stood to kick over the coffee table in the Dark sitting room, growling aloud like a wild animal. ‘Oh, won’t you stay here for just moment, kiddo?’ Oh, why yes, Patton! He could stand there as long as was needed! Apparently you needed eighteen years to actually return and come to see him again. That was fine!

No… It wasn’t fucking fine! He didn’t even last eighteen minutes. He had messed up as he was prone to do. He had wandered after him, calling for Patton up until the edge of the thick, overgrown forest. He could see Patton walking away, hand-in-hand with his brother. Roman. The perfect child. Patton never held his hand. It was always too sticky, covered in mud, glue or blood. Even at a young age, Remus couldn’t help himself from sticking his fingers into what he found, including dead squirrels and birds. He always found them fascinating.

‘Return to your little lair, brother dear.’

Well, was he happy now?! He had done exactly as Roman wanted. He had returned to the Dark side common room. Was that enough? Or did he mean for him to go further? His bedroom? His side of the Imagination? Or did he mean to the bloody Subconscious? He could get rid of himself if that was what Roman wanted, but then how would that affect Thomas?

Thomas would probably be delighted. Now he would have only thoughts of butterflies, magic and rainbows, but then without Remus, he wouldn’t want to be honest. He couldn’t be. Without Remus, where was the confidence to talk about mature topics? Believe it or not, Thomathy, mental health was a fucking mature topic. Without Remus, he would be too scared to talk about it. Without him…

Without him, Thomas wouldn’t have those nightmares that kept him up at night. Scenes of murder, executions, horrible acts of violence, disgusting scenes and visions of R-Rated topics would never occur. Without him, the others could keep him in line without trouble and without fear. Without him, Roman could have the entirety of the Imagination to himself, so he could create any and all things Thomas would ever want or need.

He stormed about, tearing at the wallpaper and lounge cushions, leaving behind him a trail of ruin wherever he went. He had such pent up anger at them all. He had hid it all behind a smile and his insane laughter, and it was enough. Instead of seeing the pathetic shell that was left, they saw exactly what they expected; a Side on his home stretch. Remus turned his eyes over to the corridor. The one that once led to six rooms; the bathroom, Virgil’s room, Janus’ room, both of which had disappeared, his room and Remus’ room. And the Subconscious.

His eyes held their gaze on that rotting door a little longer than he meant to, the thought louder than ever in his ears. Blood was pumping, muting him to anything other than the shrieks that echoed across his brain.

‘Do it’

He stepped past the mess he had made, shards of glass and wood splinters crunching under his feet. He cared little for what he left behind, eyes focussed straight ahead.

‘Coward. Fucking do it’

His hand reached out to the brass knob, twisting it in the socket and opening the door out and wide. The abyss stretched out before him; as dark and as foreboding as ever. Unlike the other times he had stared or entered the monster’s maw, now he felt something else deep within him; a heat that blossomed out through his chest that filled him from head to toe. He felt… welcome.

Tendrils, as black as the abyss they came from, licked up the sides of his legs, being gingerly soft and gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing scar on his leg. More of the Subconscious’ form reached out towards him like long, prehensile tongues, soft and wet, yet cold. One licked up the side of his cheek, one across his neck, and an innumerable amount over his arms, hands and shoulders. It offered him a gentle tug.

He accepted it.

He stepped forth, letting the many limbs guide him along towards the threshold of the door. He felt a great weight being removed from his spine and brain. He blinked away the images of Roman’s disgusted face, the sound of Patton’s crying, the frustrated looks Logan shot his way and the angered hisses from Virgil at his mere presence. The walls of the Dark side of the Mindscape crumbled ever so slightly. He breathed in a fresh gulp of air, cold and intrusive. Perfect for him.

His thoughts turned to Janus, and how the other would feel. After everything that happened, it seemed that only the deceitful side was the one to care. Not that he was surprised. It was his own fault for building himself up as the villain everybody needed. But how would he react? Would he appreciate not having to worry about him any longer? Or would he be as heartbroken as he had been when they had found Virgil?

The tugs on his torso and legs pulled tight as Remus pressed his heels into the rug. No. Not yet. He wasn’t going just yet. Those impatient tendrils lashed at him, attempting once more to rip him from his place in the corridor and pull him in, but he stood his ground. There was the sound of someone landing on the floor of the common room, and a familiar hiss from the only Side that cared to see him.

Realising their prey was immovable, those limbs pulled away, gently this time, gently licking his cheek on their return. Remus watched as the door quietly shut of its own accord, a deep rumbling coming from within. It was hungry. But it would wait.

“Remus?!” Janus appeared in the corridor beside him, catching sight of Intrusive Thoughts standing before the door, but looking pleased. Pleased to see him. Remus skipped his way over, picking Janus up in his arms and swinging him around in delight, the Side trying not to let a laugh escape his lips at Remus’ actions. He finally placed him down on his feet, grinning wide at Deceit.

“Sorry for the mess, Scales. Had to let off some steam.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have some news.”

“What?” He questioned, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

“You’ve been accepted.”

There was stunned silence that for a moment Janus held a look of concern that he may have broken Remus. He held up a hand, snapping gloved fingers in his face. Remus shook his head, blinking his wide eyes as he came back to.

“You must be lying.”

“I’m not. You’ve been accepted, and I can’t prove it.” He led Remus by the hand down into the corridor. Remus counted the doors. One door to the Subconscious. One door to the shared bathroom. One door to his room. They were missing one.

“H-How?”

“Thomas spoke to them without a little help from yours truly. The others want you to join the Light side. You can come with me.”

“But I… I am the villain. I have to play my part.”

“No, you don’t. You only have to play yourself, Remus. The eccentric idiot with a love of all things bloody and sexual; you have a place in the Light side.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“You don’t have to. But you trust me, don’t you?”

It was a few minutes of silence whilst Remus processed this and everything else that had led up to this moment. Surely not. He couldn’t have been accepted just like that. No way. But Janus was being so sincere… But he wasn’t lying.

With a great heave, Remus had once more lifted Janus into the air, spinning him around despite the other’s yelp and struggles. Laughter bellowed out from Remus, hugging Janus tight at last, trying not to throw up from the spins. The two of them sunk out together, away from the place that held so many twisted memories, good and bad.

Behind them, the door to the Subconscious groaned and rumbled, like a stomach growling. Starved of its sustenance, the deep beast within the Mindscape waited. It would continue waiting. It could be patient.

And Remus could not say ‘no’ forever.

He knew that.

It knew that.

So hungry…

As long as it needed to…

It would wait…

(AUTHOR’S FOOTNOTE: I hope you enjoyed this story, or it made you feel some things.

Sincerely,

Harcourt Holmes II.)

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years

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“Not a shot. Not a single chance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Taylor Swift — who, at 30, has reached a Zen state of cheerful realism — laughs as she leans into a pillow she’s placed over her crossed legs inside her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, leaning further still into her infinitesimal odds of winning a Golden Globe, which will zero out when she heads down to the televised ball in a few hours.

Never mind whether or not the tune she co-wrote, “Beautiful Ghosts,” might actually have been worthy of a trophy for best original song (or shortlisted for an Oscar, which it was not). Since the Globe nominations were revealed, voters could hardly have been immune to how quickly the film it’s a part of, “Cats,” in which she also co-stars, became a whipping boy for jokes about costly Hollywood miscalculations and creative disasters. Not that you’ll hear Swift utter a discouraging word about it all. “I’m happy to be here, happy to be nominated, and I had a really great time working on that weird-ass movie,” she declares. “I’m not gonna retroactively decide that it wasn’t the best experience. I never would have met Andrew Lloyd Webber or gotten to see how he works, and now he’s my buddy. I got to work with the sickest dancers and performers. No complaints.”

If this leads you to believe that the pop superstar is in the business of sugarcoating things, consider her other new movie — a vastly more significant documentary that presents Swift not just sans digital fur but without a whole lot of the varnish of the celebrity-industrial complex. The Netflix-produced “Taylor Swift: Miss Americana” has a prestige slot as the Jan. 23 opening night gala premiere of the Sundance Film Festival before it reaches the world as a day-and-date theatrical release and potential streaming monster on Jan. 31.

The doc spends much of its opening act juxtaposing the joys of creation with the aggravations of global stardom — the grist of many a pop doc, if rendered in especially intimate detail — before taking a more provocative turn in its last reel to focus more tightly on how and why Swift became a political animal. It’s the story of an earnest young woman with a self-described “good girl” fixation working through her last remaining fears of being shamed as she comes to embrace her claws, and her causes.

Given that the film portrays how gradually, and sometimes reluctantly, Swift came to place herself into service as a social commentator, “Miss Americana” is a portrait of the birth of an activist. Director Lana Wilson sets the movie up so that it pivots on a couple of big letdowns for its subject. The first comes early in the film, and early in the morning, when Swift’s publicist calls to update her on how many of the top three Grammy categories her 2017 album “Reputation” is nominated for: zilch. She’s clearly bummed about the record’s brushoff by the awards’ nominating committee, as just about anyone who’d previously won album of the year twice would be, and determinedly tells her rep that she’s just going to make a better record.

But she suffers what feels like a more meaningful blow toward the end of the film. In the fall of 2018, Swift finally comes out of the closet politically to intervene on behalf of Democrats in a midterm election in her home state of Tennessee. As the Washington Post put it, this announcement “fell like a hammer across the Trump-worshipping subforums of the far-right Internet, where people had convinced themselves… that the world-famous pop star was a secret MAGA fan.” Donald Trump goes on camera to smirk that he now likes Swift’s music a little less. The singer is successful in enlisting tens of thousands of young people to register to vote, but her senatorial candidate of choice, Democrat Phil Bredesen, loses to Republican Marsha Blackburn, whom she’d called out as a flagrant enemy of feminism and gay rights.

“Definitely, that was a bigger disappointment for me,” Swift says, pitting the midterm snub against the Grammy snub. “I think what’s going on out in the world is bigger than who gets a prize at the party.”

It was not always thus for Swift — as the detractors who dragged her for staying quiet during the last presidential election eagerly pointed out. If you had to pick the most embarrassing or regrettable moment in “Miss Americana,” it might be the TV clip from “The Late Show With David Letterman” in which the host brings up politics and gets Swift to essentially advocate the “Shut up and sing” mantra. As the studio audience roars approval of her vow to stay apolitical, Letterman gives her what now looks like history’s most dated fist bump.

Thinking back on it, Swift is incredulous. “Every time I didn’t speak up about politics as a young person, I was applauded for it,” she says. “It was wild. I said, ‘I’m a 22-year-old girl — people don’t want to hear what I have to say about politics.’ And people would just be like, ‘Yeahhhhh!’”

At that point, Swift was already starting to record isolated pop tracks, taking baby steps that would soon turn into full strides away from her initial genre. But whether she had designs on switching lanes or not, the lesson of the Dixie Chicks’ forced exile after Natalie Maines’ comment against then-President George W. Bush had branded itself onto her brain at an earlier age, when she’d just planted her young-teen flag in Nashville and overheard a lot of the lamentations of older Music Row songwriters about how the Chicks had thrown it all away.

“I saw how one comment ended such a powerful reign, and it terrified me,” says Swift. “These days, with social media, people can be so mad about something one day and then forget what they were mad about a couple weeks later. That’s fake outrage. But what happened to the Dixie Chicks was real outrage. I registered it — that you’re always one comment away from being done being able to make music.”

Maybe the most transfixing scene in “Miss Americana” is one where Swift argues with her father and other members of her team about the statement she’s about to release coming out against Blackburn and — it’s clear from her references to White House opposition to the Equality Act — Donald Trump too. The comments were so spontaneous that Wilson wasn’t there to film the moment, but the director had asked people to turn on the camera if anything interesting transpired, and here it most certainly did.

“For 12 years, we’ve not got involved in politics or religion,” an unnamed associate says to Swift, suggesting that going down the road of standing against a president as well as Republican gubernatorial and Senate candidates could have the effect of halving her audience on tour. Her father chimes in: “I’ve read the entire [statement] and … right now, I’m terrified. I’m the guy that went out and bought armored cars.”

“I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bullshit rather than just smiling my way through it.” TAYLOR SWIFT

But Swift is adamant about pressing the button to send a nearly internet-breaking Instagram post, saying that Blackburn has voted against reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act as well as LGBTQ-friendly bills: “I can’t see another commercial [with] her disguising these policies behind the words ‘Tennessee Christian values.’ I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Pushing back tears, she laments not having come out against Trump two years earlier, “but I can’t change that. … I need to be on the right side of history. … Dad, I need you to forgive me for doing it, because I’m doing it.”

Says Swift now, “This was a situation where, from a humanity perspective, and from what my moral compass was telling me I needed to do, I knew I was right, and I really didn’t care about repercussions.” She understands why she faced such heated opposition in the room: “My dad is terrified of threats against my safety and my life, and he has to see how many stalkers we deal with on a daily basis, and know that this is his kid. It’s where he comes from.”

Swift was recently announced as the recipient of a Vanguard Award from GLAAD, and she name-checked the org in her basher-bashing single “You Need to Calm Down,” which was released as one of the teaser tracks for last fall’s more outwardly directed and socially conscious “Lover” album. Part of her politicization, she says, is feeling it would be hypocritical to hang out with her gay friends while leaving them to their own devices politically. In the film, she says, “I think it is so frilly and spineless of me to stand onstage and go ‘Happy Pride Month, you guys,’ and then not say this, when someone’s literally coming for their neck.”

A year and a half later, she elaborates: “To celebrate but not advocate felt wrong for me. Using my voice to try to advocate was the only choice to make. Because I’ve talked about equality and sung about it in songs like ‘Welcome to New York,’ but we are at a point where human rights are being violated. When you’re saying that certain people can be kicked out of a restaurant because of who they love or how they identify, and these are actual policies that certain politicians vocally stand behind, and they disguise them as family values, that is sinister. So, so dark.”

Her increasing alignment with the LGBTQ community wasn’t the only thing raising her consciousness to a breaking — i.e., speaking — point. So did the sexual assault trial in which judgment was rendered that she had been groped by a DJ in a backstage photo op (for financial restitution, Swift had asked for $1).

Her experience with the trial was crucial, she says, in finding herself “needing to speak up about beliefs I’d always had, because it felt like an opportunity to shed light on what those trials are like. I experienced it as a person with extreme privilege, so I can only imagine what it’s like when you don’t have that. And I think one theme that ended up emerging in the film is what happens when you are not just a people pleaser but someone who’s always been respectful of authority figures, doing what you were supposed to do, being polite at all costs. I still think it’s important to be polite, but not at all costs,” she says. “Not when you’re being pushed beyond your limits, and not when people are walking all over you. I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bulls— rather than just smiling my way through it.”

That came into play when Kanye West stepped into her life and publicly shamed her a second time. In the video Kim Kardashian released in 2016, you can hear the people-pleasing Swift on the other end of the line sheepishly thanking him for letting her know about the “Me and Taylor might still have sex” line he plans to include about her in a song — only to regret it later when the eventual track also includes the claim “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The boast, of course, referred back to the moment when he interrupted her and stole her spotlight at the MTV VMAs six years earlier as she was in the middle of an acceptance speech. West’s is not a name that ever publicly escapes Swift’s lips, so it might be surprising to fans that these events are recapped in “Miss Americana,” although Swift says the filmic decisions were all up to the director, who explains that Swift’s reaction to the episode was important to include.

“With the 2009 VMAs, it surprised me that when she talked about how the whole crowd was booing, she thought that they were booing her, and how devastating that was,” says Wilson. “That was something I hadn’t thought about or heard before, and made it much more relatable and understandable to anyone.”

“I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart.” LANA WILSON, DIRECTOR OF “TAYLOR SWIFT: MISS AMERICANA”

Swift acknowledges how formative both incidents have been in her life, for ill and good. “As a teenager who had only been in country music, attending my very first pop awards show,” she says now, “somebody stood up and sent me the message: ‘You are not respected here. You shouldn’t be here on this stage.’ That message was received, and it burrowed into my psyche more than anyone knew. … That can push you one of two ways: I could have just curled up and decided I’m never going to one of those events ever again, or it could make me work harder than anyone expects me to, and try things no one expected, and crave that respect — and hopefully one day get it.

“But then when that person who sparked all of those feelings comes back into your life, as he did in 2015, and I felt like I finally got that respect (from West), but then soon realized that for him it was about him creating some revisionist history where he was right all along, and it was correct, right and decent for him to get up and do that to a teenage girl…” She sighs. “I understand why Lana put it in.”

Adds the woman who started her recent “Lover” album with a West-allusive romp that’s pointedly called “I Forgot That You Existed”: “I don’t think too hard about this stuff now.”

What’s not in the film is any mention of her other most famous nemeses — Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, with whom she’s scrapped publicly for several months. “The Big Machine stuff happened pretty late in our process,” says Wilson. “We weren’t that far from picture lock. But there’s also not much to say that isn’t publicly known. I feel like Taylor’s put the story out there in her own words already, and it’s been widely covered. I was interested in telling the story that hadn’t been told before, that would be surprising and emotionally powerful to audiences whether they were music industry people or not.”

Still, the way Swift has been willing to stand up politically for others parallels the manner in which she stood up for herself in regard to Braun, et al., at the recent Billboard Women in Music Awards, where she gave an altogether blistering speech, naming names and taking no prisoners, going after the men who now control her six-album Big Machine back catalog. Certainly Swift was aware that, along with supporters, there were many friends and business associates of Braun among the VIPs in the Hollywood Palladium who would not be pleased with what this very reformed people-pleaser had to say.

One thing everyone who was in the room agrees on is that you could hear a pin drop as Swift used the speech to get even bolder about the meat of these disputes. Some would say it’s because they were riveted by her boldness in speaking truth to power, others because they just felt uncomfortable. Says one fellow honoree who works in a high position in the industry (and who’s worked with some high-profile Braun clients): “People were excited for her at the beginning of the speech. But once she started going in a negative direction at an event that is supposed to be celebrating accomplishments and rah-rah for women, I felt it fell flat with a good portion of the room, because it wasn’t the appropriate place to be saying it.”

Wasn’t it intimidating for Swift, knowing she might be polarizing an auditorium full of the most powerful people in the business? “Well, I do sleep well at night knowing that I’m right,” she responds, “and knowing that in 10 years it will have been a good thing that I spoke about artists’ rights to their art, and that we bring up conversations like: Should record deals maybe be for a shorter term, or how are we really helping artists if we’re not giving them the first right of refusal to purchase their work if they want to?”

“Obviously, anytime you’re standing up against or for anything, you’re never going to receive unanimous praise. But that’s what forces you to be brave. And that’s what’s different about the way I live my life now.” (Braun’s camp did not respond to a request for comment.)

One thing Taylor Swift can’t bend to her determined will is her family’s health. She revealed a few years ago that her mother, Andrea, a beloved figure among the thousands of fans who’ve met her at road shows, is battling breast cancer. Swift addressed the uncertainty of that struggle in an anguished song on her latest album, “Soon You’ll Get Better.” Many who view “Miss Americana” will look for signs of how her mom is doing. The subject comes up in a section of the film that includes a relatively light-hearted scene in in which it’s shown that one of Andrea Swift’s ways of saying “eff you” to cancer recently was to break the mold and bring a canine — her “cancer dog” — into a famously feline-friendly family.

The real answer may come in Swift’s touring activity for “Lover.” Whereas typically she’d spend nine months in the year after an album release on the road, she plans to limit herself to four stadium dates in America this summer and a trip around the festival circuit in Europe. This may not be 100% for personal reasons: “I wanted to be able to perform in places that I hadn’t performed in as much, and to do things I hadn’t done before, like Glastonbury,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t done festivals, really, since early in my career — they’re fun and bring people together in a really cool way. But I also wanted to be able to work as much as I can handle right now, with everything that’s going on at home. And I wanted to figure out a way that I could do both those things.”

Is being able to be there for her mother the main concern? “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason,” she says. “I mean, we don’t know what is going to happen. We don’t know what treatment we’re going to choose. It just was the decision to make at the time, for right now, for what’s going on.”

In her case, it’s as if her manager had taken seriously ill as well as the person she’s always been closest to, all at once. “Everyone loves their mom; everyone’s got an important mom,” she allows. “But for me, she’s really the guiding force. Almost every decision I make, I talk to her about it first. So obviously it was a really big deal to ever speak about her illness.” During filming, when Andrea’s breast cancer had returned for a second time, “she was going through chemo, and that’s a hard enough thing for a person to go through.” Then it got harder. Speaking about this latest development publicly for the first time, Swift quietly reveals: “While she was going through treatment, they found a brain tumor. And the symptoms of what a person goes through when they have a brain tumor is nothing like what we’ve ever been through with her cancer before. So it’s just been a really hard time for us as a family.”

Compared with that, nearly any other topic the movie might address would pale. But it finds weightiness in addressing other kinds of unhealthiness, like the physical expectations that are placed on women in general and celebrity women specifically, Swift being no exception. In this department, she has her own heroines. “I love people like Jameela Jamil, because he way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. Women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty, and we’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have unhealthy thoughts. I swear the way Jameela speaks is like lyrics — it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down.”

Swift’s collaborator in this messaging, Wilson, was on a list of potential directors Netflix gave her when she expressed interest in possibly doing a documentary to follow the concert special that premiered on the service just over a year ago. You could discern a feminist message, if you chose to, in the fact that Swift chose a director most well known for a documentary about abortion providers, “After Tiller.” Swift says she was most impressed, though, that Wilson’s docs look for nuance and subtlety in addressing subjects that do lend themselves to soapboxes, and their first conversation was about their mutual desire to avoid “propaganda” in any form.

If there’s a feminist agenda in “Miss Americana,” Wilson and Swift wanted it to emerge naturally, although the director admits it was pretty blatant from the outset, given that she set up the film (which is co-produced by Morgan Neville, the director’s “sounding board”) with an all-female crew. Or nearly all-female, says Wilson, laughing, “I will say that we did always have male production assistants, because I like trying to show people that men can fetch coffee for women.”

Adds Wilson, “When I started filming, it was before she’d come out politically. She knew that she was coming out of a very dark period, and wanted collaborate on something that captured what she was going through and that was really raw and honest and emotionally intimate.” The political awakening, the director says, “was a profound decision for her to make. In that, I saw this feminist coming of age story that I personally connected with, and that I really think women and girls around the world will see themselves in.”

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks.” TAYLOR SWIFT

The film borrows its title from a song on the “Lover” album, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” that’s maybe the one fully allegorical song Swift has ever released — and, in its fashion, is a great protest song. The entire lyric is a metaphor for how Swift grew up as an unblinking patriot and has had to reluctantly leave behind her naiveté in the age of Trump. Her partner on that track, as well as other message songs like “You Need to Calm Down” and “The Man,” was a co-writer and co-producer new to her stable of collaborators this time around, Joel Little.

With the song “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” although the lyrics are cloaked in metaphor, “We like to think it was a very clear statement,” Little says. “There are lots of little hidden messages within that song that are all pointing toward the way that she thinks and feels about politics and the United States. I love that it uses a lot of classic Taylor Swift imagery, in terms of the songwriting topics of high school and cheerleaders, as a clever nod to what she’s done in the past, but tied in with a heavy political message.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” doesn’t actually appear in the documentary, but the director says the film’s title is understood by fans as an obvious reference to political themes in the number. “Even if you don’t know the song,” Wilson says, “I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart, so I like how the title evokes that too.”

The doc doesn’t lack for its own protest songs though. In the wake of her midterm disappointment, Swift is seen writing an anthem for millennials who might have come away disillusioned with the political process. That previously unheard song, “Only the Young,” is seen being demo-ed before it plays in full over the end credits; it’ll be released as a digital single in conjunction with the doc. Key lyric: ““You did all that you could do / The game was rigged, the ref got tricked/ The wrong ones think they’re right / We were outnumbered — this time.”

“One thing I think is amazing about her,” says Wilson, “is that she goes to the studio and to songwriting as a place to process what she’s going through. I loved how, when she got the Grammy news (about “Reputation”), this isn’t someone who’s going to feel sorry for herself or say ‘That wasn’t right.’ She’s like, ‘Okay, I’m going to work even harder.’ You see her strength of character in that moment when she gets that news. And then with the election results, I loved how she channeled so many of her thoughts and feelings into ‘Only the Young.’ It was a great way to kind of show how stuff that happens in her life goes directly into the songs; you get to witness that in both cases.

So is the film aimed at satisfying the fan base or teasing the unconvinced hordes who might dial it up as a free stream? “I think it’s a little bit of both,” Swift says. “I chose Netflix because it’s a very vast, accessible medium to people who are just like, ‘Hey, what’s this? I’m bored.’ I love that, because I do so many things that cater specifically to fans that like my music, I think it’s important to put yourself out there to people who don’t care at all about you.”

In the wake of the last round of Kanye-gate, stung by the backlash of those who took his side, Swift took a three-year break from interviews. The mantra of her 2017 album “Reputation” and subsequent tour was “No explanations.” But her Beyoncé-style press blackout was a passing phase. With “Lover” and now, especially, the documentary, she could hardly be more about the explanations. Although this interview is the only one she currently plans to do about the documentary, it’s clear that she’s come back into a season of openness, and that she considers it her natural habitat.

“I really like the whole discussion around music. And during ‘Reputation,’ it never felt like it was ever going to be about music, no matter what I said or did,” she says. “I approach albums differently, in how I want to show them to the world or what I feel comfortable with at that time in my life.” Being more transparent “feels great with this album. I really feel like I could just keep making stuff — it’s that vibe right now. I don’t think I’ve ever written this much. That’s exhibited in ‘Lover’ having the most songs that I’ve ever had on an album” (18, to be exact). “But even after I made the album, I kept writing and going in the studio. That’s a new thing I’ve experienced this time around. That openness kind of feels like you finally got the lid off a jar you’ve been working at for years.”

Cipher-dom never could have stood for long for someone who’s established herself as one of the most accomplished confessional singer-songwriters in pop history. “I don’t really operate very well as an enigma,” she says. “It’s not fulfilling to me. It works really well in a lot of pop careers, but I think that it makes me feel completely unable to do what I had gotten in this to do, which is to communicate to people. I live for the feeling of standing on a stage and saying, ‘I feel this way,’ and the crowd responding with ‘We do too!’ And me being like, ‘Really?’ And they’re like, ‘Yes!’”

Swift believes talking things up again isn’t a form of giving in to narcissism — it’s a way of warding off commodification.

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks,” she muses. “They’ve been inundated with your name in the media, and you become a brand. That’s inevitable for me, but I do think that it’s really necessary to feel like I can still communicate with people. And as a songwriter, it’s really important to still feel human and process things in a human way. The through line of all that is humanity, and reaching out and talking to people and having them see things that aren’t cute.

#swift finally comes out of the closet politically.... yes they REALLY wrote that

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