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somestorythoughts · 10 months

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Radioactive Eldritch Jedi

Okay so when I say radioactive. The Force is primordial and eldritch and the jedi (and any other force users of a comparable level) resonate with the echoes of this primoridal of-the-world-and-yet-not-the-world energy like your body when you’re so close to a marching bacd you can feel the drums in your bones and they’re not the music or the instruments, they’re only the echo thereof, but the echo of something from the depths that bore the universe is still A Lot.

And when you look at them. There’s teeth that aren’t there the next minute, you could count them again and again for half an hour and never get the same number twice in a row. And that’s not mentioning when their teeth don’t fit in their mouth, don’t match each other, when there aren’t teeth in their mouths but claws...

That’s just one element of their face which is one element of their body.

You can smell them, even the species that don’t have particularly good senses of smell though it is far more distracting for them. Something fresh with light or rotting with dark, herby or sea salty or citrusy or floral and threaded with sweat or blood or sex to suit whatever they’ve been doing and it wouldn’t be remarkable except they smell simultaneously like their species and like something else entirely in a way that is clearly but indescribably not caused by soap or perfume or oil.

There’s a resonance in their voices. Something like there’s a drumbeat in their throat, like they’re speaking with the vibrations of a song you’ve always heard without knowing it, but always perfectly understandable. The sound of jedi singing in harmony with feeling has reduced cities to tears of joy or tears of pain, blood dripping from their ears in mirror of their tears.

Don’t get me started on their shadows, on the way they move in the dark

And they’d be leaking this strangeness 24/7 except they keep themselves so tightly shielded, not only hiding themselves so that they appear uncanny and not terrifyingly Other (they’ve been there time and time again and it is a problem. There are Consequences) but also keeping any of this force-energy-resonance leaking out into the world. Places where force sensitives have lived a long time thrum like a pulse, are touches with the energy of generations of force users relaxing enough to let their shields lower and their selves to leak and brush the walls and tables, etching their presences into the place like fire into wood, and when this touches people it changes them.

Not immediately. Not quickly. It can take months for anything to change and this is why jedi keep their shields maintained, because if you’re fully shielded nothing will happen, and this is part of why attachments are risky, because the emotion can affect the shields can change the one you love, because to say you love a jedi is not the same as accepting all that they are and being willing to change along with them because you can’t dodge that forever, and saying you’re willing to do this isn’t the same as being willing.

The changes aren’t quick, and not as Eldritch as the jedi, but they are permanent and definitely Other.

When shields crack or break, when a jedi lashes out with the force, it brushes an imprint on everything around them (those with any kind of vision skills can find this difficult or comforting to deal with, like a too-large gulp of hot tea) and a few times on the same thing doesn’t matter. Genuinely. Repeition is an entirely different matter.

War is hell.

War is hell, and the jedi are holding on to each other for support, clinging interlocking arms, but they’re scattered around the galaxy and it’s so hard to actually reach each other.

Sometimes to know you’re supported isn’t enough. Not when you can’t reach their shoulder to lean on, for just a moment.

And the clones are going through hell with them, are dying around them, and they reach out to support the jedi who are doing their best not only to help them survive but to help them live in a war that wants them dead for a senate that doesn’t care and the jedi recognizes them as people so they reach out and the jedi can’t help but reach back.

The clones catch them when they fall, love them in different ways each as sure as the tides, and the jedi relax into it without realizing. Their shields crack over and over again because war is hell, but they also find them relaxing them, instinctively and unconsciously, because so little is certain but the clones’ willingness to go to hell and back for them is one of them and they feel safe.

And the echoes of the force that resonate in the heartbeats-nervepulses-bloodflows of the jedi leaves imprints on the clones that rises like paint added layer by layer and it changes them.

The clones don’t have a childhood of familiarity to fall back on, much less the shielding techniques to keep them looking “normal.” What they have is legions of brothers willing to support each other come hell or high water or unending clankers and jedi who at first beg their forgiveness for changing them (because it wasn’t supposed to happen and because they like how they are but everyone already sees them as strange and to beg forgiveness for making them like them is many jedi’s first instinct) then teach them how to hide it when they need to and the comfort of singing together, their voices ringing through their ships in tune with the thrumming in their blood, bone-deep.

#i am back on my bullshit #too many good ao3 fics made me obessed #the thing about their smells is inspired by a fic by @bitter-chocolate-stars #so for clarity #i wouldn't say for certain that this doesn't happen to padme #but it happens a hell of a lot slower because the war keeps them apart often and because #she's not around anakin as often when he's overwhelmed enough to leak force energy on a regular basis #so there isn't the time and less of the situation #though there are probably some small changes by the end of the war #also about the coruscant guard #palpatine would have to be VERY certain the jedi were ignoring them to do anything sithy in their prescence bbecause it'd leave an inprint #he might still be a bastard but he'd be cautious #about that at least #incidentally if they ended up with quinlan vos or other shadows and the same thing happened to them as to the frontliners #palpatine would probably catch on and be like oh shit #and put whatever he was making them do on the down low #because if jedi are around the guard enough to change them that's an issue for him cause they're now watching #star wars #clone wars #eldritch #eldritch jedi #the force is eldritch #eldritch clone troopers #kinda at least

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stars-and-rose · 5 years

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|Heart Point| Chapter One

Is Emily staring another story when she already has like eight others planned?

You fucking bet!

This AU is a collab between me and @planetkookie ! Kai is an absolute Queen! She's the one behind all the amazing art in this AU (you can see the character designs if scroll through my account, or search the tag #heart point au!) She'll also be writing one-shots when she feels inspired too!

Meanwhile, I'm writing the main fic!

Notice: I own none of the characters in this! Vance and Cassidy belong to Aphmau, and the boys all belong to Thomas Sanders!

The general plot and some dialogue belong to Aphmau as well

Without further ado....

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Logince, (Eventual) Prinxiety, (Eventual) Logicality and (Eventual) Remceit

Summary: In which Roman suffers through a break-up and proceeds to accept a gift- which probably wasn't a good idea.

Word Count: 2892

Trigger Warnings: Break-up, Fainting, Cursing because I cannot contain my potty mouth, not anything really severe this fic is very fluffy

next>>

Chapter One: When momma said "Don't accept gifts from strangers," she might of been on to something

"You're breaking up with me?"

Roman could not believe this was happening. He loosened his grip on the hot chocolate he'd been drinking; the hot liquid had turned bitter on his tongue. He stared at his boyfriend, who wasn't making eye contact with him.

"That's, um, a way to put it. Definitely." Roman's boyfriend, Vance, still wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Definitely a way to put it or definitely breaking up with me?" Roman's voice still had the tiniest bit of hope in it. Maybe he'd heard Vance wrong. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, a skill he was fantastic at.

"Both?" Vance finally raised his eyes and they met with Roman's. Vance's blue eyes were filled with apprehension, sadness, and something that looked suspiciously like pity.

Meanwhile, Roman was trying not to cry, his green eyes scrunched with his effort. "Oh."

"Ro?" Vance's voice was soft. "You okay?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

Vance shook his head violently. "Do something? Are you kidding? No, no way! You've been an awesome boyfriend-"

"But you're breaking up with me?" Roman blinked a few times, desperate not to cry.

Vance let out a sigh. "Yes."

"For Cassidy. On the track time." Roman's voice gained a bit of an edge as he spoke.

"Heh… I see word travels fast." Vance grumbled, looking away again. Roman covered his head in his hands. Little tears were starting to fall down his face and he'd be damned if he let Vance see them.

"You're dumping me for Cassidy on the track team?" Roman's voice was muffled, and Vance sighed.

"Oh no… Roman…I'm sorry… please don't cry…. Ro come on, we're in public."

"Crying? Who's crying?" Roman lifted his head from his hands, eyes a bit red.

"Roman…."

Roman let out a laugh that held no humor to it. "Why would I be crying, I'm an adult, thank you."

"Don't call yourself an adult when you have stickers all over your face."

It was true, Roman did have stickers on his face: two gold stars, one on his left cheek and the other near his right eyes. It was one of many ways Roman showcased himself to the world, and he was proud of it.

"I can have stickers all over my face and handle my boyfriend breaking up with me three weeks before prom because that’s what adults do!" Roman's voice grew louder as he spoke, drawing attention from the people around them. Neither boy cared. Roman loved attention and Vance was used to it, due to Roman's dramatic flair.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Vance's voice had become soft again.

"Absolutely."

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Currently, the same boy who'd said he was 'absolutely' okay was sobbing on his bed with his best friends arms around him. Patton always smelled like cookies and vanilla and the smell was a comfort to Roman.

"Oh, Kiddo, breathe, just breathe it's going to be okay." Patton soothed, rubbing the taller boy's back as he continued to sob. He looked around at the other boy in the room. "Remy, we're going to need more tissues."

"How did I end upon tissue duty?" Said boy huffed, walking across the room with the tissues in his hands and his signature sunglasses pushed back.

"You were compelled by the ancient right of friendship!" Patton told him, before turning his attention back to Roman. "Here you go! Just take one-"

Roman proceeded to bury his face into the box.

"Or do that whatever works for you!" Patton looked back up. "Remy, we're going to need ice cream! Double-chocolate chunk, stat!"

"Now I'm on ice cream duty?" Remy sighed, crossing his arms.

"The power of friendship. It compels you!" That, or the fact Patton was starting to get into extreme dad mode, and that was a sight no one truly wanted to see.

"Gurl, I have track practice in fifteen minutes and if I don't get a coffee between now and then I am going to lose it."

"Vance..is on the track team! And so is Cassidy!" Roman instantly went back to sobbing at an even higher pitch than before. Patton winced.

"Oh my goodness, can we not bring up Track for now? Vance just dumped Ro-"

"-for Cassidy Stevenson?" Remy interrupted. " From the relay team? Yeah, I know. Cassidy hooked up with Vance at the post-meet and greet last week and then proceeded to spill everything to Alexandria Waters who is such a big mouth and told me- why are you looking at me like that?"

"You knew about this?" Patton growled.

"Um, yes darling I pride myself in knowing all this school's gossip-"

"You knew about this and didn't tell Roman?" Patton yelled, reaching over-protective dad mode, his eyes blazing as Remy took a step back.

"Hey, I didn't want to trigger that!" Remy waved his arms at Roman, who was still managing to cry even though he had been doing so for almost a half-hour now.

Patton sighed, backing down. "Fair. Ro, kiddo, how we doing?"

"They're probably warming up together wearing those stupid short- shorts! Vance looks good in stupid short-shorts! Why is running even a sport anyway? It's just walking a little faster!" After his stunning contribution, Roman went back to the tissue box.

"Okay, that's my limit, I'm going to get myself coffee and go to track." Remy flipped down his sunglasses. "But, Roman? Forget about him. You're perfect just the way you are."

Roman wasn't feeling that perfect- his eyes were red from crying and his throat burned. "Even with stickers on my face?"

“Especially with the stickers. Okay, hon? Okay."

"Okay." Roman agreed softly.

"I'm going to go. AND IM GOING TO SMOKE DOWN THAT UNGRATEFUL STICKERLESS ASSHOLE FOR YOUR HONOR!" Remy cried out, exiting the dorm with a whoop!

"Yeah, Remy! Be our Prince's knight! Roast him! With butter! And organic peanut butter!" Patton cheered.

"Thanks, Remy," Roman whispered as he watched his friend leave.

"See, Ro? Everything will turn out a-o-kay!"

Then, the door swung open. "My apologies, I got here as soon as I could, by which I mean as soon as the scholastic decathlon mixer wrapped up-" Despite his breathing making it sound like he had run to the dorms, Logan still managed to look as professional and orderly as ever. Patton gave him a quick smile.

"Took ya long enough! Ah, don't look so guilty Lo, I'm joking."

"Is he okay?" Logan asked, scanning the room for their usually over-the-top friend. "Where is he?"

Patton simply pointed to Roman's bed, where the boy had wrapped his arms around his legs and curled into a ball. He had finished sobbing, but a few stray tears slipped down his cheeks. Logan walked over to him and bent down.

"Hey Roman," Logan whispered softly, knowing by now how to deal with Roman after the brunet had a meltdown. None of his usual big words- that would only make Roman feel stupid and in turn make him feel worse "I had planned to save these for your birthday, but I got you some stickers…"

Roman looked up, his green eyes brightening the slightest of bits. "Stickers?"

"Yes, Ro. They have little crowns on them."

"Crown stickers?" Roman mumbled, his voice rough from his sobbing.

"And they're glittery too."

"Glittery crown stickers?"

"Mmhmm. All yours." Logan gently put the stickers down on the boy's knee. Roman instantly snatched them and turned around.

"Hey now, staying in your dorm and putting stickers on your face isn't the best thing for your mental health-"

"Huh?" Roman turned back around, one of the glittery stickers placed above Roman's nose.

"Oh Newton, ah, let's go for a walk. Fresh air and sunlight are proven to help increase mood." Logan helped Roman up and flashed Patton a nervous smile. "I'll take care of him, don't worry Pat."

Patton flashed him another smile, and Logan saw how Patton was exhausted. Dealing with Roman's meltdowns happened to have that effect on people. Logan knew in a single glance that Patton needed a break from his roommate.

Soon enough, Logan managed to drag Roman outside. "See, Roman? Don't you feel a little better with the sunshine?"

In response, Roman let out what sounded like a hiss."The vitamin D is infecting me."

Logan gave the other boy a small grin, happy that Roman had a least remembered one thing from science. "Then it's doing its job."

"Why am I outside?" Roman whined. "I could be covering my notebooks with pretty crown stickers and crying until the sunsets."

"Hey, hey, no thinking like that. It will only decrease your already unhappy mood. How about we head down to the café, get some smoothies? The fruit in them will make you feel better."

Roman crossed his arms. "Vance dumped me at the café."

Logan paled but immediately responded. "Okay, so I'm going to get us smoothies from somewhere that is most definitely not the café, okay? You stay here and take a moment to relax, okay?

Roman nodded, "Thanks, Lo. You're the best."

Logan nodded and turned away, hoping he had succeeded in hiding his growing blush from the other male. "It's okay, Ro. It's not a problem- it never is, not for you, you being a very good platonic friend." Smooth. Logan quickly walked away before he could embarrass himself.

"I appreciate it," Roman called out after him, a small smile forming on his lips.

"He likes you." Roman jumped and spun on his heels. A boy was standing on the fountain behind him, his heterochromic eyes meeting Roman's

"Holy goth boy batman- where did you come from?"

"The fiery pits of hell." The way the boy said it, so deadpan, Roman wasn't exactly sure if he was kidding.

"Really?"

"No, I just got out of band practice." The boy said, rolling his eyes. Roman huffed.

"Oh, cool." Roman knew his boy, he just couldn't be a finger on the name… aha! "You're Damien, right? I think we have home ec together?"

"Yup, you're the boy with the stickers."

Roman nodded. "My reputation proceeds me. I'm Roman."

"Roman… I've heard a lot about Roman recently." Damien looked him in the eyes again. "You just got dumped."

Roman winced. "If I did, it was for reasons completely unrelated to stickers."

Damien laughed. "I'm sure. How are you holding up? A broken heart is no small matter."

If he was honest, Roman was surprised that Damien, a boy he'd had about three conversations with, was concerned for his well being. "Me? I'm totally fine! Some people just can't handle me!"

Damien looked unimpressed. "Your eyes are red and your voice keeps cracking."

"Hmpft."

The other boy sighed from his position on the fountain. "You don't think Vance was in love with you?"

Roman huffed. "I never know! People are so annoying! They all lack the ability to communicate properly and show affection- I wouldn't know if someone liked me if they came up right behind me!"

"Roman!" Roman turned on his heels and saw Logan peeking out a doorway. "I'm aware that your favorite smoothie is-" Logan proceeded to spell out Roman's overly complicated order. "-but is there anything else you need? They have red velvet cupcakes? With rainbow sprinkles? I know that's your favorite."

"Oh, that sounds amazing! Here, I think I have a few dollars-" Roman started to rummage around in his pockets.

"Not necessary, Ro. It's on me."

"Oh, really? Are you sure?"

"Affirmative." Logan ducked back into the café, and Roman turned back to Damien, who had jumped off the fountain and came closer to the brown haired boy.

"Can't show affection?" Damien grumbled.

"Mmhmm! As I was saying, Humans? Brick walls. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. They wouldn't know how to show lo-"

Damien stared at Roman like he was having a hard time processing what Roman was saying. "Riiiight. I think I might have something for you that will help your current…predicament."

"Huh?"

Damien pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, pulled something off it and stuck it to Roman's cheek. It was another sticker, this one a rather large red heart.

"Damien? Did you just give me a stic-"

The other boy gave him a smile. "Abracadabra."

Then, Roman proceeded to faint.

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Roman's thoughts were murky as he started to wake up. What had happened? He had been talking too that senior- Damien!- and Logan had gone out to get smoothies and cupcakes- so why did it feel like Roman was laying against his bed?

Patton's voice woke him up faster. His best friend sounded really worried? Had Remy gotten hurt at Track? Had he found out that Logan still was staying up late studying? Roman opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. So he was in his dorm.

"Should we take him to the nurse?' Patton fretted, and from what Roman could hear, was pacing.

"For what, a broken heart?" That was Remy.

Roman sat up and groaned, directing both boys’ attention to him. "Kiddo! You're okay!" Patton ran over to his bed and helped Roman up. "You gave us quite the scare, fainting like that! Logan had to carry you all the way to our dorm."

"Yeah, babe, he was really freaked. Totes unusual for him." Remy took a sip of his drink.

Roman squinted at his friends. There was something off here… oh, wait… that was new…

"Why are there stars above your heads? And that's a heart?" There were indeed stars and hearts above his friends' heads: four gold stars floating over Patton's, and three gold stars and one red heart over Remy's. Roman blinked a few times, but the images were still there. In the corners of his vision, he noticed something else. In the bottom left corner, there was a red and gold circle with the words: Roman, Level One cutting through it. In the top right, was a similar circle with the words: Dorms and Evening cutting through it.

What was happening?

Remy looked up but apparently could not see that floating images above his head. Patton looked two, and at the same time both boys muttered, "Oh, Roman.."

"And what's with this border thing? I'm on level one? What?" Roman shook his head a few times, trying to shake it off. "It's all around my vision- I can't get rid of it!"

"Ro, calm down! You probably hit your head when you fainted, It's okay." Patton, on his tippy-toes, placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Breathe, okay?"

Roman nodded and took a few, long breaths. The stars, heart and the weird border were still there.

"Roman, hun, we good now?" Remy asked. Roman simply nodded, even though he was most definitely not good.

There was a knocking on the door, and Patton removed his hands and went to answer it. "That's probably Lo! He went to get you some ibuprofen!"

Sure enough, it was Logan, carrying a little bottle in his hand. "Roman, I see you've woken up. You had me nervous for a bit there."

"Nervous isn't the word I'd use," Remy mumbled into his drink.

Roman sucked in a breath. "Logan?"

"Yes, that is my name." Logan turned to Patton. "Is he okay?"

Patton sighed. "It's been a long day, we're going to cut Ro some slac-"

"That's a lot of hearts." Roman blurted, because, in fact, floating over Logan's head were three gold stars and four red hearts.

"Hearts? Roman, do you require-" Logan continued to talk, but Roman subconsciously blocked him out. He raised his head to his cheek, and it rested on the sticker Damien had given him: the red heart.

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frangipanidownunder · 7 years

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Wherever You Take Me

FrangipaniMuse has let me down recently. So I made myself dig this story out. It was a 60 minute word vomit inspired by a chat on @lepus-arcticus blog about what music Mulder and Scully might have listened to when they were younger.

This is set in Glastonbury in 1984. It’s total AU nonsense. But it took me back to my youth and to my country of birth. Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober

She sunk down behind the tee-pee and scraped the crust off the bottom of her sandals. Joan Baez was singing Diamonds and Rust and she knew Missy would be swaying along.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m waiting for Billy Bragg.”

She turned towards him. “I saw two shooting stars last night, I wished on them but they were only satellites.”

He sat in front of her, long feet sticking out from under his ripped denim hems. He chewed on a blade of grass. “I don’t want to change the world, I’m not looking for a new England.”

The first drops of rain fell from the brooding sky. “What are you looking for?” She felt the breath hitch in her chest, a symptom of her startling boldness. Missy would be grinning so hard if she could see her little sister exchanging song lyrics and bad pick-up lines with a dark and moody fellow American.

“Someone to wash the mud out of my clothes and work out what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to come to a field in the middle of Somerset to camp and eat out of cans. They don’t even do S’mores. It’s practically prehistoric here.”

“I’ve got Graham crackers in my tent and there’s plenty of chocolate,” she said. “If you can find some marshmallows, perhaps we can have a real American campfire.”

“Don’t you have plans…I don’t know your name.”

She lifted her arm towards the stage behind her. “My sister’s fallen in love for the third time in two days. She won’t remember that she promised to cook dinner tonight. I’m Dana.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “Mulder.” Energy fizzed through her veins. His smile was a memory-maker. His fringe flopped into his eyes and dark stubble defined his strong jaw. Those lips, the unreadable eyes, she felt herself blushing as he held her gaze. “My on-again, off-again girlfriend is off-again, on-again with her other boyfriend. So, I would be honoured to share my tin of Heinz baked beans with you. I even have cheese – real West Country cheddar to melt on the top. If you like that kind of thing.”

She thought she might.

“Do you like the Smiths, Dana?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard anything they’ve sung.”

“If you want something to do after baked beans, they’re on. We can go wherever we please and everything depends on how near you stand to me.” His voice was golden-gravel.

“Sorry?” she whispered.

“And if the people stare, then the people stare, Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care. Lyrics from hand in glove. Johnny Marr and Morrissey are poets. Their words really resonate with me, you know?” He bumped his fist against his heart and looked away to the rolling clouds. “England is a paradox, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Polite and clever, proud but humble, clever but contained, pretty in a way like no other, she’s the ideal woman; but she’s surrounded by a bitter sea and constantly battling the demons of tradition. She is both a queen and a princess. She’s history and charm and hope and hell.”

“Are you talking about your girlfriend or this country?”

He twisted the blade of grass in his fingers and laughed. “Sometimes, I’m not sure but I am certain that you’ll love the Smiths so I’d be honoured if you’d join me. Your sister might fall out of love and be in need of some poetic metaphor to mourn to tonight.”

She put her sandals back on and stood up, feeling small in his presence. “My sister won’t spend too much time mourning. She bounces back pretty quickly.”

“Resilience is a great quality.” He put a hand on the small of her back. “What do you do, Dana?”

“I’m at medical school, what about you?”

“I’m at Oxford, psychology.”

“And yet you don’t know why you’re here?”

His face softened. “I think I’m escaping.”

A couple wandered past, entwined and giggling. They stumbled into a tent a few spots down. The canvas shuddered. Then they scrambled out, laughing even louder. “I think that’s what most people here are doing. The aroma is always…somewhat…escapist.”

He laughed again. “I think there is a natural tendency for dreaming and fantasising about a way of life that is totally different to our own, don’t you think? I mean, when I look at the stars I wonder what’s out there. Who’s out there.”

“I think about energy requirements and asteroids and black holes.”

His mouth curved. “You don’t believe?”

“In what?”

“Life outside of earth?”

She shook her head. “Life on this planet is hard enough to cope with, don’t you think?”

Turning, he crawled into his tent and from the darkened inside, beckoned to her. “I’d like to show you something.”

Missy would have cackled at that one, but his face seemed so genuine, his eyes held such intelligence, that she got up and walked after him. He was rifling through a bag and she looked around the tent, luggage spilling out clothes, books piled high. He turned around and showed her a photo. In it, a boy and girl were smiling to the camera.

“Me and my sister. She was taken, when she was eight and I was twelve.”

“Taken?” Her heart pounded and she ran a finger over the image. A grainy shot of a girl who was no longer in his life. A child, disappeared. But here, in this photo, always smiling. Always reminding him of her existence. Kept in perfect innocence by a chain-reaction of chemicals on paper.

“You asked me earlier why I was here, why I’m escaping? She’s why.”

He offered her a beer and she took it. They listened to the muffled music as he cooked her beans with West Country cheddar. He chatted about his sister, the fateful night, the emotional fall-out, his parents’ relationship. She talked about her sister and brothers, wanting to make her father proud, her hopes and dreams.

The beer was warm but making her ears tingle and her skin buzz. He lit up a joint and they shared it. “Marriage and babies and a white picket fences? That surprises me, Dana.”

“Why?”

“You seem cut out of a different cloth. I don’t know,” he rubbed his face and inhaled. “This is going to sound all wrong, but I think you are here to do something extraordinary in the world.”

She let out a surprised giggle. “Like what?”

He leant in and she could smell his cologne, the weed, his maleness. Turning, their lips caught and he tasted the same, of musk and possibilities. When he pulled back he had a strange smile on his face. “Like you’re going to mean something to someone, like you’re going to be the one soul that will help this person to truly live, like you’re going to be powerful in an unexpected way.”

Their lips joined again and he pulled her hard towards him. The music was lifting outside and voices rumbled by, singing, laughing, shouting. He pulled her to the sleeping mat, covered in a blue sleeping bag.

She bit her lip. “What about your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“What about the Smiths?”

“I predict that 1984 is just the start of their journey. We’ll see more of them.”

His hands were already tugging at her top and she sighed out, giving in to the pure joy of her heightened state.

“Where are you going, Mulder? On your journey?”

His hands grazed her nipples and his teeth brushed her neck. She didn’t really want to hear his answer. She wanted to experience it. After a while, he pulled back and grinned.

“Wherever you take me, Dana.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #todayinfic #fictober #the eighties #glastonbury

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gguktastic · 7 years

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Never let go.

I wrote this fic inspired by Nazi Germany and The Holocaust (I actually did research, people) and did research on what actions were actually crimes back then. Obviously, a German marrying a Jew and having some Sexy Times (ahem) with one is illegal, because it makes the child a, well, a Mudblood, if you will. It was also illegal for a German to support and give refuge to Jewish people in Nazi Germany. I hope @danhowellficsandimagines likes this fic that I wrote, and I’m hoping to be picked as their new admin! – Genre- Fluff. Pairing- Dan Howell x Reader. Narrator- Phil Lester. Setting- Nazi Germany. Warnings- Death.

–

The snow sprinkles down from the sky and onto the cold, hard ground. It looks hypnotising, and it is- I’ve been sat here, staring out at the snow for almost half an hour now. I am captured by its beauty, the pure, white snow falling to the gravel streets.

I nestle back even more into the crease I have formed on the backrest of my armchair, which was formed by the countless hours I sat in it, back pressed up against the rest, so that a spine-shaped crease had been formed into it. The gentle flames in the fireplace warm my cold feet, it’s steady crackling a lullaby. Breaking out of my hypnotised reverie, my attention is caught by a familiar laugh.

I sit up straight. Was it her?

'No, it couldn’t be,’ my mind whispers. 'She’s already gone, she’s never coming back.’

Being a 70-year-old, I had long ago learnt never to pay heed to what the tiny voice inside my mind said. Again, not caring what the little portion of my mind that was realistic said, I slowly rose out of my armchair, and set off in the direction of which the merry, twinkling sound of laughter came from.

Her laughter could brighten up the darkest room. The merry, tinkling and pleasant sound of her laughter put the wind chimes to shame. Her eyes, one could get lost in them. The way they would dance and twinkle in the light, they easily rivalled the beauty of the stars. Her hair made silk seem like the most coarse object on Earth.

It was such a hard job being her brother, having to protect her from the hormonal teenage boys that always tried to take her into their bed for one night, which they would then boast about to their friends.

I open the door to the her room, faded photographs tacked to the walls. It smells like her, her vanilla shampoo, which I would often use after running out of mine. I remember her always teasing me when I did borrow her shampoo for smelling like a 'woman’. I smile, remembering her mischievous grin as I groaned, exasperated.

I look around the room almost thrice, not trusting my eyesight to see her on the first go.

She wasn’t there.

Not even in the fourth time, she still wasn’t there.

But I heard her laugh come from here, didn’t I?

'You’re going crazy,’ said the little voice inside my head. 'You’re a loony old man. She’s gone, and she’s NEVER COMING BACK.’

I have had it. I sit down, heavily, on her made bed, and, as the first few tears fall down to the dusty, wooden floor, I don’t try and staunch their flow.

I start to sob.

I lay down on her bed, holding the fleece blanket close to my chest. I looked around, thousands of photographs flying past my gaze, when a particular photograph made me reach closer and pluck it off of the walls.

I felt like an intruder, disturbing the dust settled on it, and for ruining the shrine that I now treated her room as. I wiped the photograph on the leg of my trousers.

It was her, with Dan. She was grinning at the camera, her braid having come partially undone. Her left hand rested on her swollen belly, her right hand entangled with Dan’s who, for once, looked genuinely happy. I was going to be an uncle in just two months, [Y/N] and Dan parents.

Suddenly, I fall into a reverie as the dam restraining my memories breaks open, those moments swirling around in my head, begging to be remembered once again; to be cherished once more.

I oblige. // “Phil, go get the door,” [Y/N] mumbles, immersed into the plot of a new book that I had just bought her the other day, teeth slowly chewing on a honey-roasted cashew nut. It had been raining heavily, I wondered who could have knocked at this time.

“No, it’s your turn. I opened the door this morning when the postman came with a delivery for you, so it’s only fair you get the door now,” I say, immersed into the story of the newest sports scandal.

“Please, Phil,” She says, making me look up at her. She was pulling her 'please-do-what-I’m-asking-you-to-because-I-am-so-adorable’ face, under which my will crumbled. I sighed and got up from my armchair, the back rest beginning to mould itself into the shape of my spine because of the countless hours I spent sat in it.

I was, to say the least, immensely surprised to see a bloodied, 20-something man standing outside, shoulders hunched, his arm bent at a seemingly impossible angle.

“C- could you please grant me shelter? J-just for tonight, kind sir,” he says, his chocolate-brown eyes boring into my eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours, begging me to say yes.

“I- sure, come inside,” I say, opening the door wider for him to enter. His eyes turn from pleading me to being graciously grateful for my kindness. As he limps inside, the old floorboards creak, distracting [Y/N].

“Who was it, Ph- oh, oh my God!” She cries out, seeing the bloodied and injured man. She springs up to her feet, briskly walking towards him.

“Oh, dear, what has happened to you? Oh, you poor thing, come, have a seat,” she says, gently pushing him towards the armchair she had been seated at, him stretching out his feet onto the ottoman.

“Phil, please go and make some chicken soup for him, I’ll be right back,” she says, voice laced with concern, and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. There is a moment of silence, in which all we could hear was the opening and closing of drawers upstairs, when the young man breaks the monotony.

“Your w-wife?” He asks, voice husky. I grin at him.

“She’s my sister, dummkopf,” I say, and he chuckles.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that she’s very beautiful, and immediately thought that she was taken, because that’s what happens every time, doesn’t it?” He says, glancing towards the staircase. My gaze hardens, and my fists curl into a ball.

“Now hear me,” I say, my tone colder, grabbing his attention. “Whatever your name is-”

“I go by Daniel, but you are welcome to call me Dan.”

“Okay, so listen here, Daniel, we have granted you our hospitality, but that doesn’t mean that you try and take advantage of it by trying to get my sister into bed with you and then to boast about it to your friends like a typical German fellow. My sister is a respectable-” He interrupted me for the second time.

“I’m a Jew.”

Three words. Three words were all it took for my mouth to drop open. Without saying another word to him, I dashed up the stairs. My sister was kneeled down by the chest of drawers in my room, probably looking for some aid supplies for Dan.

Breathless, I said to her- “He’s a Jew.”

She froze. Then, without even looking at me, she said- “I don’t care whether he’s a German, a Jew, or even Adolf Hitler in disguise, we are going to protect him.”

Saying so, she walked down the stairs, various aiding supplies in her hands, soon disappearing out of my sight.

I could’ve never won that argument. I shouldn’t have even started it. // It’s been three years since Daniel James Adar Howell knocked on our door, that stormy night in the July of 1939, begging for shelter. In these three years, everything has changed.

For one thing, [Y/N] and Dan are married, meaning my beautiful sister is no more [Y/N] Adalicia Lester, she is [Y/N] Adalicia Howell. Her husband, Dan who, for the neighbours, was Daniel James Adalard Howell, was undoubtedly a bit scared of me, meaning he stayed well behind his boundaries when around me.

I had somewhat started to detest Dan after I saw him kiss my sister as she carried on her regular check of how his wounds were healing. She had just been about the bandage a small cut on his left cheek when he swiftly moved his face, cupping her cheeks with his abnormally large hands, and placed his lips upon hers. To my bitter surprise, [Y/N] kissed back. Later, as I sat reading the newspaper, they both walked up to me, hand in hand, and told me of their relationship. A year later, they got married. Another year, and [Y/N] was eight months pregnant, her and Dan preparing to be parents, while I was determined to be the best uncle a child could ask for. // “Phil, you’re finally here! Come, I want to have a whole family photo with you, Dan, and little Baby Boo here,” she said, patting her swollen belly with one hand, while she tugged me along to where the photo would be taken with the other. As soon as we took our places, a blinding flash went off and, when it subsided, all we could see were men in uniforms of the Nazi Party. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling someone push me, praying that this was all a hallucination, but when I next opened my eyes, I was sitting in the back seat of a black car, my wrists cuffed behind my back. I looked out of the tinted windows, and saw a sight that broke my heart.

My beautiful sister was pushed to the ground, but was held up by Dan before she could fall. It was Dan’s turn to take a blow, and he fell to the ground, a large bruise probably forming on his jaw from where an officer had punched him. [Y/N]’s carefully applied eyeliner smeared onto her cheeks as her face quickly turned red and blotchy from sobbing. She was being harshly pushed into a similar car, one like I was in, but the officers were stopped by some women taking a stroll on the near path, who appeared very upset after witnessing the harsh way the Nazis treated a heavily pregnant lady. The women talked to an officer and then, probably understanding the situation, gently helped [Y/N] into the car, and gave her what appeared to be a sad smile from what I could see. Dan was pushed into the same car soon after. // Three hours of waiting later, I was finally told that I had been sentenced to 15 years in prison for assisting and providing refuge to a Jew. I was almost ecstatic at the news - I wouldn’t be sentenced to death! Perhaps, after a good argument we could prove Dan to be German. [Y/N] too would escape with 15, or, if the court was very severe, about 20 years of prison time if we failed to convince them of Dan’s nationality. If we did fail, Baby Boo would just have to grow up without knowing his true, biological father. I would never let them take my [Y/N] away from me. Never.

But that night, when I was served dinner in my cell, I heard a piece of news that split my soul into a million pieces.

“Did you know, that [Y/N] girl, who used to help cook food for prisoners when she was a little one, is being sentenced to death for marrying a Jew and being pregnant with his child?”

“When is the execution?” Someone asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” a third voice replied. “ The Jew was going to be sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp, but when he heard that his wife was being executed, he pleaded the court to let him die with his wife.”

“It’s a shame that the baby has to die, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it sure is. Poor thing didn’t get to pick its parents, did it? It isn’t it’s fault.” The voices slowly faded away as the guards walked further down the hall, but my the sound of my heartbeat grew louder, its pace quicker. I stopped the judge as he slowly walked past my cell, probably looking at the new faces he had pushed behind bars.

“Sir, am I allowed to attend the execution tomorrow?” I ask. Realisation dawned in his eyes and he nodded.

“You are her brother, no? The girl who married a Jew?” He asked, and I nodded in response.

“Ah, it is so unfair, even my daughter was executed for having an affair with a Jew, so I understand how the heart aches. Normally other prisoners aren’t allowed to watch their fellow prisoners’ execution, but for you, I’ll make a special exception. I’ll send a guard to wake you up at 3 in the morning, that’s when they will be led to the guillotines. Remember to look away when the guns are fired, it helps,” he said, kindly smiling at me, and walking away. I slumped back against the wall; there was no way I could stop this now. // My tears froze on my face as the cold air whipped my face mercilessly while [Y/N], along with Dan and Baby Boo, was marched to the elevated podium on which they were to stand.

They talked in hushed voices all the while the shooters marched into the compounds, and I read their lips form words I’ll never forget.

“[Y/N], I love you and Baby Boo. You know that, don’t you?” Dan had said.

“Dan, darling, I want you to hold my hand. Now, when the guns fire, when we die, every time, I want you to be there with me and Baby Boo, holding my hand.” [Y/N] had replied, as the shooters nervously got ready to shoot on the count of five.

“Never let go,” he said, as he tightened his grip on her hand, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“Never will,” she said, as I looked down at my shoes.

The deafening sound of a hundred bullets followed and, along with Dan and [Y/N], the remains of my soul, too, crumpled, collapsed, and died. // They say that letting go of a person’s memories, the moments you shared with them, after they die, makes it easier for one. But I, oh, I will never let go.

–

I worked damn hard on this. Also I am so proud of myself for the title YAAASSS.

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