Hello and welcome to my unoriginally named fanfic hoard, The Library!
Here you'll find short fanfics and oneshots by myself. I hope you enjoy them! Feedback is much appreciated!! ^^
All plots are mine, but all characters belong to their original owners!! Thank you!
Enjoy~!
--UM
Read it?
>>Yes<<
No
(Player) read the note.
"Team Galactic! We will destroy this world and create a new, perfect world! One without war, fighting, or spirit!
"We have at our arsenal Charon, our scientific genius commander, discoverer, namer, and befriender of Rotom, the controller of electricity! We have Jupiter, musical commander and owner of the nauseating, poisonous Skuntank! We have Mars, fight-master commander and owner of the surprisingly zippy Purugly! We have Saturn, artistic commander and owner of the speedy, scary, shiny Toxicroak! And finally, we have Cyrus, our fearless, mesmerizing leader and the heart of Team Galactic! He is a master of the dark type, with a fighting style to match his determined passion!
"Together, we have captured and distributed the spirits of the lakes--Azelf to Saturn, Uxie to Jupiter, and Mesprit to Mars! We have extracted the Red Gems from the Lake Trio and created the Red Chain! Then, with the combined genius of Charon and Cyrus, we have duplicated the Red Chain and taken both chains to Mt. Coronet! Using the Red Chains, Cyrus has harnessed the power of both Dialga, master of time, and Palkia, master of space, and faced Giratina, master of the Distortion World! No one has been able to stop us! Not those three stupid kids, not that old professor dude, not that creepy police officer! Not anybody!
"We have harnessed great power, and we will create a brand new world...er, galaxy...no, er, universe! We are very indecisive! We will then be rulers of said universe, led by the fearless Master Cyrus, and we will make everyone like us and think we're cool and we'll make them do our laundry and stuff like that! We will also abuse exclamation marks!
"Yes! You will bow, kneel, AND weep before us! You're probably not even reading this, but we do not care! We will continue to speak like the King of All Cosmos and you will deal with it! And we are running out of things to say!
"Anyway, we guess we will tell the rest of our evil plan! We started out as a faux company for cosmic energy! But we began stealing Pokemon from people in Eterna, and then stole Pokedexs and stuff in Veilstone! We love stealing things!
"You know what we also love?! Purple Pokemon! Zubats, Stunkies, Croagunks! Kinda Glameow, y'know, lilac?! Murkrow and Bronzor are trend-breakers, but whatever! C-C-C-Combo breaker! We know, we're lame!
"God, we're running out of things to say again! Let's list the planets! Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars (the commander), Jupiter (the other commander), Saturn (the other other commander), Uranus, Neptune, and not Pluto! Aw, Charon and Cyrus got left out! That's sad! Oh well! Charon's the name of Pluto's "moon" and Cyrus means sun in some language we can't be bothered to remember anyway!
"Almost out of space! Must write something! It's not like anyone's gonna read this anyway! And we continue to abuse exclamation marks! Half of these sentences won't even be read! Anyways, we just wanted to say that Team Galactic is awesome! We're so cool, we're chilly! We're also great with bad puns! Hope you have fun serving us in our new galaxy! Oh wait, you'll be dead! We're Team Galactic! WE'LL EAT YOUR SOUL!!!!!!!"
(Player) put the note back on the table.
~~~
A/N: This is what I found written on the bottom of my Team Galactic origami box. Apparently I was a little loopy when I wrote this ^^;
Be forewarned...this is SPAZ.
Just something I deliriously wrote cuz I felt like it. Cassio, Roderigo, and Iago are all from William Shakespeare's play, Othello.
I think I messed up some canonical things...but I'M DELIRIOUS SO YEAH!
Enjoy!! ^^;
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“You’ve got to be kidding me. He did what?”
Iago grinned and drank more of his beer. “You heard me. Right to my face, too.”
The two men sitting across from him looked at him with widened eyes. “Well,” chimed the ginger, clutching his glass anxiously, “what did you do?”
“What do you think I did?” asked Iago, pulling on his scarf with a huff.
“Reported him?” asked the black-haired man.
“Told him off?” asked the ginger.
Iago sighed and shook his head. “The innocence of youth…” he declared dramatically.
“I’M A YEAR YOUNGER THAN YOU.”
“Shut up, Cassio.”
“Um, so what did you do?” the black-haired man interrupted, trying to break up a fight before it started.
Iago blinked for a second, having almost forgotten what they were talking about. “Right, right, sorry, Roderigo,” he said with a laugh. “What I did is what any self-respecting guy would have done.” The other two sat and stared at him in anxious silence. He waited a moment more, then threw his hands in the air with a loud, exasperated sigh. “I punched him in the face! Numbskulls…” he muttered as a side-note.
Cassio, the ginger, lightly whacked Iago with the beer bottle. “I heard that,” he growled.
“Yeah, yeah,” Iago half-responded with a dismissive wave. “Give me that bottle before you hurt someone.”
“Never,” said Cassio with a glare.
Roderigo, obviously the only remaining man, rolled his eyes. “How about you give me the bottle? Both of you are pretty scary when drunk…”
“AM NOT,” was the simultaneous response from both men in question.
“Do you remember the last time we had a little get-together?” asked Roderigo with a sigh.
Iago put a hand under his chin and thought for a minute. “…Not really,” he said at last.
“Well that in itself says something.”
“Shut up, Cassio, you were drunk, too!” Iago retorted immediately.
“I recall you—” Roderigo pointed accusingly at Cassio. “—almost taking my head off with a beer bottle, and you—” This time to Iago. “—running around thinking you were being chased by a giant octopus dragon thing that wanted to eat your soul.”
“Cthulhu is real, dammit!” Iago crossed his arms indignantly.
“I still think we need to limit you two to maybe two glasses a night,” Roderigo said, with a sense of finality to it.
Cassio whacked Roderigo with the bottle now. “Nope,” he said.
“Watch it!” With one swift movement, Roderigo snagged the bottle, whacked Cassio with it, and sat it on the opposite side of him.
“Aww…” Cassio tried his best not to cry.
“How many glasses have you had tonight, kid?” asked Iago, grinning.
Cassio glared at him. “Don’t call me kid!” he shouted. “And…four…maybe five…”
“Right, no more for you.” Iago turned to Roderigo. “This, however,” he said, extending his glass, “is only my second glass. Roderigo?” He gave a most convincing grin.
“No.”
“Screw you.”
“Love you too, man.” Roderigo poured himself another glass.
Cassio, seeming to have gotten over the lack of beer, put his hands behind his head. “Speaking of love, how go things with Emilia, Iago?”
Iago slammed his glass on the table. “God, I hate her.”
“Why’d you marry her, then?” Roderigo asked, taking a sip.
“Parents wanted me to,” he said with a sigh. “Last time I ever listen to them.”
Cassio’s eyes widened a bit. “I didn’t know your marriage was arranged.”
“Come on, Cassio, shouldn’t you know me by now?” Iago said, his grin still there but very faded. “I’m not one for commitments, you know. If I had my way, it’d be a long time before I ever married.”
“And then you could be like Othello!” Roderigo choked back a laugh.
“No. Where’s that beer bottle? I need to whack you with it.”
Cassio turned to Roderigo then. “I heard Othello’s been courting Desdemona. Are you…alright with that?”
Roderigo’s face went red a bit, and he glanced away. “Not…really…” he said quietly. “But there’s not much I can do, right?”
“She’s half his age! Not even! Has she even reached twenty yet?” Iago butted in angrily. “I think that’s just kinda wrong.”
“Maybe her father will stop it,” said Cassio with a retired sigh. “Whatever happens, we have to support it, right, Iago?”
Iago mumbled something about how stupid his stupid job was.
Roderigo coughed quietly. “So…” he began. “…How about you, Cassio? Anyone special in your life?”
“No.”
“He just likes frequenting the whorehouse, Roderigo. Geez,” Iago laughed.
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
What happened next was hard to describe. It started with Cassio tackling Iago to the ground, then Iago fought back and somehow Cassio ended up colliding with Roderigo, and the open beer bottle spilled all over the floor, and someone (probably Cassio) shouted something about saving the beer, so the fight was postponed to do just that.
After about ten minutes of mopping, the three finally sat back down. “Well, that was fun,” said Iago, the silliest grin you could imagine plastered on his face.
“You’re sure you haven’t reached drunk stage yet?” asked Roderigo, concerned.
“TOTALLY SOBER!” He grinned wider.
“You’re just insane, then…”
“I think I’ve reached drunk stage,” mumbled Cassio, who was all but collapsed on the lounge.
“Aww, poor baby!”
“Iago, I swear to God, I’m going to stab you one of these days.”
“I’d like to see you try!” Iago snickered to himself.
Cassio grabbed a nearby quill and threw it at Iago. It bounced harmlessly off Iago’s forehead. “Asshole,” he mumbled. Cassio just gave him a smug, almost sinister grin.
“That look is kinda creepy, Cassio,” said Roderigo, sighing to himself and wondering why he was friends with these two.
“THIS IS HOW AXE MURDERERS START OUT, YOU KNOW.”
“Chill, Iago, I’m not going to stab you,” Cassio said as he leaned his head back against the lounge. “Though,” he mumbled, “keep making those snarky comments and you might just get a black eye.”
“I’ll sic Cthulhu on you!” Iago shouted.
Roderigo facepalmed. “You’re positive you’re not drunk?”
“I am high off life, my friend!” said Iago with a smile. “It’s the best thing to be!”
“I think those two beers helped a bit…”
Cassio buried his head into a nearby pillow. “What time is it?” he said.
“I dunno, late?” Iago shrugged.
The ginger stuffed his head deeper into the pillow. “Cmh I cmmphm hmph tmmmpht?”
“Come again, Mr. Eloquent?”
He pulled his head out of the pillow. “Can I crash here tonight?”
Iago thought a moment. “…Emilia would throw a fit,” he said. “…So sure!” His grin grew tenfold. “You need to stay, too, Roderigo? Though that means one of us is on the floor…”
“I don’t want to make someone sleep on the floor…”
“You should stay,” mumbled Cassio. “It’d be fun.”
“WE COULD STAY UP ALL NIGHT!”
“Like teenage girls?”
“YEAH, EXACTLY!”
Roderigo rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll stay…”
“YEAH!” Iago leapt up. “I’ll get blankets and stuff from the closet! This is gonna be awesome! Woo!” And off he went.
“Sometimes I think he enjoys our company too much,” Roderigo chuckled.
“He’s a good guy,” said Cassio. “He just doesn’t get out much.”
“The married life must suck.”
“Agreed.”
Iago came back with his arms full of blankets and pillows and such, then tossed them all on the floor. “I figured we’d want to sleep in the same room or whatever, so two of us have to sleep on the floor…”
“I call couch.” Cassio stretched out and basically kicked Roderigo onto the ground.
“You’re polite,” muttered Roderigo, rubbing his back. Cassio just grinned. “Could I have a pillow?” Roderigo asked Iago.
“Sure,” Iago said, and he tossed one over.
Roderigo tossed it at Cassio’s face.
“Hey!” It was immediately flung back, but Roderigo deflected it with his arm, and it whacked Iago in the face instead.
“How dare you?” he asked incredulously, grinning and tossing it back at Roderigo. Roderigo caught it, then grabbed another and threw them both at Iago at the same time, only to get pelted in the back of the head with one from Cassio. Soon pillows were flying everywhere, feathers drifting through the air and making a fine mess of things. Cassio was the first to fall.
“Uncle, uncle!” he cried, collapsing back into the lounge. “I give!” Roderigo wasn’t that far behind him, falling backwards onto a blanket and unable to get up due to laughter.
“HA! I WIN!” Iago stood up triumphantly, only to be knocked down by a pillow from Cassio. “Ouch! You ass!”
“We really do act like a bunch of teenage girls,” Roderigo sighed.
Iago grinned again. “Then we’re AWESOME teenage girls, right guys?”
“Shut up, Iago.”
“You shut up, Cassio.”
“Both of you shut up!”
“YOU SHUT UP!”
And so it continued. The “shut up”ing eventually died down when Cassio passed out, and then Roderigo and Iago talked for a little bit before Roderigo crashed too. And Iago wasn’t too far behind. The last thing he remembered thinking before drifting off was that this was the way things should stay, the three of them. He was fine with that.
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Sorry this is lame ^^; I wrapped it up quick cuz I was getting a headache ^^; Anyways, hope you liked the spaz!!
--UM
Crappy title is crappy? It's "Family" in French...
Something short I wrote a while back, kinda Maple Tea-ish, I guess, but not really...It's actually one of the better things I've written, I think. Hope you enjoy!
All characters (c) NOT ME
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Matthew breathed in heavily, then winced at the sharp pain from the inhale. Blood dripped down from his forehead, trailing onto his eyelashes and down his nose. He limped a little, supporting a leg that looked like it had been stabbed multiple times with a bayonet. A large bloodstain on his chest and a ripped and singed uniform gave away that he’d been shot as well. His entire body ached. His men had suggested he get medical attention immediately, but he had refused. He would survive. But he needed to see Arthur.
“How could you side with him?”
Matthew felt another pain in his chest, but not from breathing this time. The image of his twin, as bloody and beaten as he was, flashed across his mind.
“I’m your brother, Matthew! Why won’t you join me?!” The American shivered behind his rifle, dyed crimson from the blood and the reflections of the buildings burning around them. “England has done nothing to help either of us!” Tears came to his eyes. “Come on, Mattie! You don’t need him! Fight with me!”
“I’m not leaving Arthur, Alfred!” Matthew had no weapon, rifle flung a good four feet away from him. His back was to the fiery walls. It took everything he had to not break down right there in the crosshairs of his twin’s loaded gun. “You’re my brother, but he’s my family, too!” he said, voice straining. “I can’t fight anymore!”
The harbor came into view, and with it the large, proud ship that Matthew knew well. The HMS Titania. Matthew let out a sigh of relief, but then cursed himself for it from the pain it gave him to exhale. He stopped and coughed a couple times, ignoring the blood that dripped from his mouth. Just a little further and he’d be there…
“Family? He’s your family?!” Alfred’s voice cracked just a little bit. “He’s an oppressive tyrant, Matthew! Who cares if he raised us? We shouldn’t be under the care of such a neglectful, stubborn, drunken lime-sucking mother—”
“Stop!” The tears raced down Matthew’s face. “Just stop, Alfred! Don’t you think I’m going through enough?!” His legs gave out, and he fell to the ground. “D-do you think I want to choose between you two?! I love both of you!” He choked on the words a couple times. “Wh-why did you have to go and s-screw everything up, Alfred? Why?!”
That last bit had come out a bit more accusingly than he had intended. Alfred stopped for a moment, speechless, rifle drooping a little. His cerulean eyes met Matthew’s violet-blue, and Matthew saw a trace of despair there. Then they hardened, and his twin raised his gun.
Matthew finally reached the gangplank, surprised at his own success. He glanced up to the sentry, who looked at him in absolute shock. “I-I need to see the captain,” he said quietly. The sentry gave him an open-mouthed nod, then regained his senses and motioned for Matthew to follow him.
“Do you need help, sir?” he asked. Matthew glanced over the boy, who looked like he was about sixteen and had never seen blood before in his life. He shook his head.
“Just get me to Captain Kirkland as soon as possible.”
The sentry nodded, happy not to have to come in contact with Matthew’s bloody arm…leg…everything… He dashed ahead, stopping in front of the door to the dining hall to wait for Matthew to limp after him. Once he had made his way to the sentry’s side, he gave the nod for him to open the door. He could hear loud shouts from inside. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
The door opened to reveal a large group of noisy, rambunctious, and obviously drunken sailors, with one Arthur Kirkland sitting at the head of the table, rum bottle in hand and wearing the giant feathered pirate hat he got out whenever he got himself extremely intoxicated. He waved the bottle around a bit unstably. “Yeah, yeah, and then we’ll blow that bloody Yankee straight to hell, right, boys?” He was met with a roar of approval, and his drunken grin spread wider across his face. From somewhere came a shout of “God save the King!” Arthur raised his bottle and shouted it louder, until the whole table was singing George’s praises to the tune of some British drinking song. The sentry looked to Matthew, who was now leaning against the door to keep himself standing. He glanced back to the rowdy sailors and coughed.
“Captain?” he said quietly.
The entire room turned to look at them. Like everyone else at the table, Arthur looked extremely annoyed to have his drunken sing-a-long interrupted by such a lowly member of the crew. Then he saw Matthew.
He stood up, suddenly shaking a little. “Mattie?” he said, barely a whisper.
“Hey, Arthur,” said Matthew, attempting to pull his mouth into a small grin. Instantly the Englishman was up and at Matthew’s side.
“What are you wankers staring at?!” he shouted at his men, who all quickly turned back to their drinks as if nothing had happened. “Come on, Matthew,” he said, voice dropping back to a whisper, “let’s get you fixed up. Come with me.” He draped one of Matthew’s arms over his shoulder and began to lead him downstairs towards the captain’s quarters. Matthew was surprised at how quickly Arthur had sobered up…er, somewhat sobered up, as the Englishman still stumbled a little on their way. He opened the door, giving one of the nearby cabin boys a nasty look, then shuffled Matthew inside and shut it behind them. Carefully, Arthur helped Matthew sit on his bed. He took a step back and glanced Matthew over.
“…Dammit, Mattie, what the bloody hell happened?” he asked quietly.
Matthew’s hand went to the bullet wound in his chest. “…He came to Montreal,” he said.
Arthur’s face went white. He turned quickly, immersing himself in the task of searching for medical supplies. There was a silence, save for the sound of Arthur going through the clutter in his drawers. Finally, he turned back, holding bandages and some herbal ointment that looked creamy, almost like something edible. “You should probably take your uniform off,” he said, voice sounding less spirited than normal, especially considering how much he’d been drinking. He placed the medicine on the bed and helped Matthew pull off his jacket. Matthew unbuttoned his shirt and prepared for the worst, peeling it off. It hurt like hell, but he refrained from crying out. He almost did when he saw the bloody mess that was his chest. It looked like the bullet had missed his heart by mere inches.
The Englishman looked at the wound for a while, unperturbed. He’d seen this before, too many times, Matthew knew. “Did the bullet go all the way through?” he asked, looking up to meet the Canadian’s eyes. Matthew nodded. “Good,” said Arthur as he pulled off his gloves and jacket. “That’ll make things easier.” The feather from his hat fell into his face, and he jumped. Sheepishly, he removed his hat and put it on a bedpost. “Dammit, I shouldn’t be doing this now,” he muttered, “but tonight had to be the night the doctor went into town…I’m sorry, Mattie. This is only a quick patch-up job.”
“I’d rather that than bleeding out.” He gave Arthur a reassuring smile that didn’t seem to do its job.
Letting out a sigh, Arthur grabbed a towel from atop his dresser and wiped some of the blood from around the wound. Matthew cringed, but tried not to make it too noticeable. In about a minute, most of the excess blood was cleaned up, though the wound itself was still bleeding. Arthur went for the herbal stuff then, something he probably concocted himself. Oh well, his medicines were better than his cooking, at least. He had once told Matthew that he learned how to make them from the faeries. Matthew didn’t believe him, but the stuff did work wonders. “This is going to sting a little,” said Arthur as he scooped some of it onto his fingers. He rubbed it first on the area extremely close to the wound, then on the wound itself. Matthew felt a sharp blow of pain, and he gripped the sheets tightly.
“A-A little?”
“I’m sorry, Mattie.” Arthur reached out with the hand that wasn’t covered in ointment and squeezed one of Matthew’s hands. “I’d rather you not get infected, okay? And you’ll heal faster now,” he said, putting the last touches on the bullet wound and grabbing the bandages. “This was quite a clean wound,” he said as he wrapped the bandages around Matthew’s chest. “How close to the shooter were you?”
Matthew thought back on Alfred’s bloodstained face, his hardened eyes. “Close enough,” he murmured sadly.
Arthur tilted his head, a little concerned, then finished tying the bandages and backed away. “Alright,” he said, “what next?” He didn’t wait for Matthew to answer, instead bandaging up his head quickly and then moving on to his leg. They didn’t really talk after that. Matthew felt his eyelids start to droop, but a wave of pain from the ointment on one of his wounds would keep him from falling asleep each time he got close. After a good ten minutes of this comfortable silence, Arthur finally finished. He placed the medical stuff on his dresser, not bothering to try to figure out its proper place. “How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
“Like I got run over by a moose.”
“You should get some rest,” said Arthur. He pulled out a shirt that probably would have been extremely baggy on his small figure but looked like it’d fit Mattie perfectly. Handing the shirt to Matthew, he dropped his voice even lower than before. “H-how bad was it, Mattie?”
Matthew slipped his arms through the sleeves, wincing as he brushed a few of the wounds. “…Bad,” he answered at last. “Buildings burning, rebels raiding homes and stores…We were able to push them back, but…” He cringed again. Arthur sat next to him on the bed and placed a hand on his again. Matthew glanced to him, and his other hand wandered to his bullet wound. “It’s just…It’s just hard…” Neither needed to clarify any further.
“You’re staying here tonight. And getting to bed,” said Arthur finally. “Come on.” He stood up, then offered Matthew a hand. Reluctantly, Matthew accepted it, and the Englishman helped pull him up, letting him lean on his shoulder for support. Arthur pulled back the sheets on the bed and rearranged the pillows a bit, then turned so that it would be easier for Matthew to lie back down.
“But where are you going to sleep?” he asked as a weak complaint, lying down anyway. He shifted around, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable.
Arthur waited until Matthew had stopped moving to gently pull the covers back over him. “I’ll figure that out later,” he said, laying a hand on Matthew’s head like he was checking his temperature. Matthew suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia rush over him.
“A-Arthur?” he asked. The Englishman tilted his head. “W-will you read me a story?”
Matthew wasn’t sure he could really tell what the look on Arthur’s face was. It seemed like a weird mix of shock and skepticism. “…Mattie, I’m so drunk right now,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m surprised I’m functioning this well.”
“Please?” Matthew made eye contact with Arthur and gave him that sad, puppy dog look that always worked. “Pretty please?” He added in a lip quiver for effect.
It didn’t take long for Arthur to cave. “F-fine!” he said, dropping to the ground and reaching under his bed. “You’re lucky I keep this here,” he muttered as he dragged out a large book of faerie tales. Letting out a sigh, he sat down on the bed and began to flip through the pages. He finally stopped on a page with a beautiful drawing of a castle in the middle of a forest, one that Matthew recognized immediately. “You owe me one, Matthew,” Arthur sighed.
“You’re the best, Artie.”
A small blush dashed across Arthur’s face, and he coughed. “Ahem, once upon a time,” he began, “in the center of a dense green forest, there was a magnificent palace where a beautiful princess lived…” The words seemed to flow gracefully, enveloping Matthew in a sense of safety and familiarity. He closed his eyes and listened to Arthur’s soft voice. In his mind, he transported himself to that small clearing by the brook so many years ago, to that quiet night when he first sat in Arthur’s arms, when he first felt like he might actually belong somewhere. With Arthur, and with Alfred…Or was it just with Arthur now? The vision around him slowly faded. Things weren’t the same…They’d never be the same, would they?
It was then that Matthew noticed Arthur’s voice faltering. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. “I-It was then…” Arthur struggled to speak. “Then t-that the he…” He stopped mid-sentence, tried to regain his composure. “That the her…the h-her…the…the…” he stuttered. Matthew sat up, ignoring the pain in his chest, and wrapped an arm around Arthur.
“It was then,” he said, voice quiet but powerful, “that the hero appeared in the princess’s room. ‘Don’t worry!’ he said happily. ‘I’m here to save you!’ The princess was shocked.
“‘Why would you brave so many dangers…just to save me?’ she asked in disbelief.” Matthew felt Arthur shaking, and he pulled the Englishman closer into a hug.
“He grinned. ‘Because that’s what heroes do! And that’s what I am!’” Suddenly, something dripped on his hand. He glanced down to see tears streaming from Arthur’s bright green eyes.
“A hero…” he murmured quietly. He dropped his head, hot tears falling onto the book’s pages. Matthew reached over and gently closed the book’s cover, then wrapped his other arm around Arthur and squeezed him tightly.
“…I miss him, too, Arthur,” he whispered.
That seemed to be the breaking point. Arthur all but collapsed in his arms. He turned and buried his face in Matthew’s chest, by some miracle missing the bullet wound. The shaking was uncontrollable now. “W-why?!” he cried. “H-how could he j-just leave?! What did I do wrong?!” There were more words in there, but they were so separated and muffled by the tears that it was impossible to make out what he was saying. Matthew couldn’t do much but rub Arthur’s back comfortingly and rock back and forth. Eventually the words stopped, and the only sounds were the constantly softening sobs.
Matthew ruffled Arthur’s hair. “We’ll get him back. Okay?” he said, not very confident but trying to sound it. He felt Arthur shift a little. The Englishman moved his arms around Matthew’s waist, trying carefully not to touch the bandages. His crying had died down, but he was still shaking madly. Matthew closed his eyes. His twin’s voice echoed through the darkness.
Because I’m fighting for my freedom. For what’s important to me. Maybe you should start thinking about what’s important to you.
He opened his eyes again. Important? He looked to Arthur, still shaking and holding on to him for dear life. He pictured Alfred, rifle in hand, readying his trigger finger. Important? What was important to him? He felt his eyes begin to tear up as well. Gently, he rested his head on top of Arthur’s.
The people I love, he thought. And protecting them. That’s what’s important to me.
He closed his eyes and gave Arthur one last squeeze before drifting off into the dark.
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Hope you liked it ^^ Not sure about that spacing issue...I'll try fixing it again later...
--UM
