#*traps him in a crate and chucks it into the sea*

[semeukedotcom]

don't call my name

[muffindaddystyles]

DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

..

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

..

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

..

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

..

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

..

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

..

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

..

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

..

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

..

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

..

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

..

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

..

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Ten: The Echo

Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. It’s marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.

You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?

“Good Morning!” Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel you’ve found yourself on.

The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.

When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Pay. Attention.” The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.“It’s well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. “What did you do?” You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories you’d been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.

In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And what’s even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.

With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

[writingsbychlo]

feels like loneliness (01)

word count; 8420

summary; thomas has a girl in his head, visions every so often, but no idea who she is.

notes; this is the first official part! you may find it a little confusing at first, but just stick with it, you’re supposed to have questions!

warnings; memory loss, reference to injury, reference to death.

“kinda confused, don’t know what to choose”

He felt like his lungs were burning as he woke up, coughing up violently to clear his airways and try desperately to suck in a breath. His lungs were burning, his head spinning as he tried to steady his heart, beating frantically against his ribcage, so hard he swore it may break the bones with its irrational rhythm. 

Now able to breathe, he squinted into the darkness, the lights on the passing walls flickering and barely illuminating anything, the cage floor beneath his body shaking unevenly, rattling and screeching as the metal continued it’s ascent. The loud humming around him picked up to almost deafening levels, the screaming of creatures he couldn’t see filling his ears before red light flooded the shaft, giving him just enough light to see around himself. Boxes and crates surrounded him, and even with this newfound light, the boy still couldn’t see the bottom of the tunnel he was in when he looked down. 

Standing on shaky legs, he reached out, fingers of one hand weaving through the metal grates to hold himself steady as the other lay open, banging on the metal with force. “Hey! Hey, help me!” 

Fear surged through him as the box he was held captive in continued it’s rapid climb with no intentions of stopping, getting closer and closer to the top, a loud horn blaring out as the light flashed from red to green for a split second before he was plunged into darkness once again. The sounds of the warning alarm were still bouncing loudly from the walls and ricocheting off of the boxes, fading down the tube until he was left in silence. A harsh stopping sent him flying onto his back, canisters around him wobbling at the impact and a few smaller items falling towards him.

He was winded, the abrupt halt knocking the wind from his lungs, crisp white light searing his eyes as a crack in the roof formed above him, widening further and further until he was bathed in it, unable to see as his eyes burned. Lifting an arm above his head, the boy squinted out, trying to make sense of the shapes above him, moving and mumbling. 

When his gaze finally cleared, eyes adjusting to the light he was met with many pairs of eyes staring down at him, looming over the box to get a look, chuckles ringing out amongst the boys. A few leaned down, unlocking the tops of the cage and pulling it back, and the boy within almost felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest now that he had a way out, but crippling feat settled in as he realised he was surrounded.

His ears were still ringing as another boy jumped down into the box, the metal rattling ominously as he did so, seeming uncaring about the possible dropping all the way back to the bottom with his movements. “Day one greenie, rise and shine.” He hadn’t even a second to contemplate the words, before the taller boy’s hands were grasping onto his arms, pulling him up roughly and handing him off to the hands reaching down.

His feet left the cage floor momentarily, before he dropped roughly into the dirt, his shoulder aching from the impact but he couldn’t find it in him to care, the relief of being on real and solid ground again all too much for him. The strangers were once again crowding around him, adrenaline coursing through his system and before he could fight it he was on his feet. His legs were wobbling beneath him as he pelted away from the group, screams and cheers sounding in his ears but blurring into background noise as his heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears as he searched for somewhere to go, to run to, anywhere to get away.

When he saw nowhere, his body all but crumpled beneath him, sending him tumbling roughly to the ground below as he rolled through the grass, breathing laboured and he suppressed the urge to cry. His vision was blurring as tears lined his eyes, and he barely managed to make it to his feet, glancing around himself as reality finally made itself apparent. Trapped. Four, stone walls towering over him as he looked around, cracks in the rocks as doors, leading into darkness, wet vines hanging from them before becoming dead ends.

He barely registered the hands on his arms, or being pulled along behind two other boys, completely dazed and confused, the sun burning his eyes as he stared but he couldn’t stop trying to take in every inch of the strange place he’d found himself in. It wasn’t until after he’d been once again locked in a cage, this one a dugout hole with a bamboo door, that he began to piece together the puzzle pieces in his mind. 

Running a hand over his face, the boy lifted his fingers subconsciously to play with the woven band around his wrist, nervously, every effort to keep himself calm as he listened to the chatter of the boys, the occasional creaking of the crate he’d been delivered in as they unpacked the containers that had arrived with him. Standing, he peered out of the door, taking in the fields around him in a calmer perspective. 

A body blocked his view, the boy jumping back as the new person on the other side of the door from him crouched down, head tilted to the side. “Hey there green-bean. You’re not gonna’ run again, okay?” Taking his lack of response for a confirmation, the bamboo door was unlocked. “My name’s Alby. Can you tell me anything about yourself, who you are, where you came from.. anything at all?” Thinking on it, the boy realised his mind was blank, white noise filling his ears where memories should be, static flashing behind his eyes as he tried to remember something, anything. “Can you tell me your name?”

“I-I can’t remember anything. Why can’t I remember anything?” He felt tears flood his eyes once again, somewhat gentle hushing sounding from ‘Alby’.

“Hey, relax, it’s normal. It happens to us all. You get your name back in a day or two, it’s the one thing they let us keep.” The words brought him no comfort, in fact, they only brought him more fear than before.

“What is this place?”

“Let me show you.” Alby’s hand was stretched out, and he took it gratefully, letting the boy pull him out from the pit he was in. With fingers scratching at the dirt, he hauled himself to his feet, Alby already walking away into the open greenery, leaving him to chase to catch up. The space seemed bigger than it had been minutes prior, perhaps his calmness made him feel less like he was being closed in on, or perhaps now he was just seeing clearly. 

Alby was already beginning to ply him with information, about how they survived, where he came from, it wasn’t until the word ‘box’ slipped from the boy’s lips that he realised he’d finally spoken, his question peaking Alby’s interest as a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, They send ‘em once a month with fresh supplies and a new greenie. This month, that’s you. Congratulations.” Despite the fact that the word held no bitterness, nor was it spoken with such, it still sounded spiteful when it reached his ears. 

“Sent up, by who? Who put us here?” Before Alby had a chance to expand on any kind of answer a blonde boy had come over, introducing himself and making a comment about his run from the crowd earlier but he couldn't focus on the small talk, not when the inside of his head was pounding from receiving so much new and confusing information so quickly. The rest of what was supposedly his tour was breezed by in a blur, and he was left to pick through the information he’d been given, the useful parts drowning in a sea of irrelevant names and facts, having to remind himself of the rules he’d been set.

Do your part.

Don’t hurt another glader.

Don’t go past the walls.

He could already feel himself struggling with that last rule, the overwhelming temptation to just peek out, slip in and out only for a second to see what there was past those gaps, and as ‘Chuck’ set him up a hammock, his feet carried him towards the opening before he could stop himself. 

Despite being so lost, regardless of the directions and help he’d gained, he couldn’t suppress the feeling that something was missing. Something that should be here, and he hadn’t seen it yet, but it’s absence was making it hard for him to focus. He wasn’t grounded, he felt like he was drifting, trying to latch on, and yet, he had no idea what it was, his eyes scanning the area for it as he moved rapidly towards the walls.

The heavy and rapid footfalls behind him alerted him to Chuck’s presence before the boy himself did, and his voice soon rang in his ears to follow; “Who are you looking for?” The statement brought him to a complete halt, and finally, it felt as though something today clicked into place. Someone, not something. 

“I don’t know, I feel like someone should be here.” He couldn’t stop the word flow, but honestly, getting the thoughts out in the open made it sound clearer and more concrete than anything else today. 

“Who?”

He’d almost forgotten about Chuck, upon reaching his revelation, and he shrugged his shoulders to brush the younger boy off. “I don’t know. I think I’m just confused.” Once again, his left hand rose to grip at his right, twisting the band nervously as his thoughts spun out of control once again. His original mission, getting to the wall to have a look, that was what he was doing, and he was determined to get there.

The kid fell into step beside him, mumbling about the dangers and how they couldn’t leave, and despite his rambling, he couldn’t help the gesture of a smile that pulled at his lips as this boy worried for his safety, despite knowing him for less than half a day. Two figures emerged from the wall, his eyebrows furrowing as Chuck smiled and waved at the two. The blonde one greeted him, and Thomas couldn’t help but narrow his eyes as the two sailed passed, never acknowledging him, disappearing into the woods, as quickly as they had appeared from the gap in the walls.

“I thought no one was allowed to leave?”

Chuck’s attention was focused back on him, and he shook his head, hands finding his hips as he looked up. “No, we’re not allowed to leave. They’re different, they’re runners. They know more about the maze than anyone.”

“Wait, what?” And just like that, his sole focus was on that one word. Maze. And despite a kaleidoscope of new questions coming into play, he finally felt like he was getting some answers in return.

“What?” 

He fought the urge the urge to pull a face at the kid’s poor attempts to play off his muck up. “What? You just said ‘maze’.” With that confirmation, he let his thoughts spiral, intrigue flooding his body and he suppressed all questions of why he was here, who was missing, and why his head had not stopped pounding since he got here, because now all he could think about was where that maze lead to.

He’s spent the rest of the day in a haze, before being rounded up once again by Alby as night fell. Everyone had finished their tasks, the boys each getting their own time, and it seemed a party had been created for him, but he wasn’t in the party mood. How can you throw a party in someone’s name when that person doesn’t even know what their own name is? That fact alone was beginning to bug him.

The cold of the night was beginning to set in, and he collapsed against a log, back to the fire and leaving the noise behind him so he could focus on what the hell was going on. He still had no memories, static still all he got when he tried to remember anything before he woke up in the dark box hours prior, but he didn’t have time to focus on the rage building within him when a body collapsed next to him, the smell of burnt meat washing over him.

He barely offered the boy, Newt, a glance, but nodded in acknowledgement of his arrival. “Hell of a first day, greenie.” He couldn’t deny it had been, he’d tried to run away, been locked up, and gotten himself into a fight, but his silence filled the gap long enough for Newt to decide to fill it once again. He finished chewing the food in his mouth before handing him a jar, an amber liquid shining in the dull light within. “Here, this’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Taking a large swig, Newt watched gleefully as he did so, the foul taste burning his mouth as he swallowed some, and he coughed up whatever was in his mouth, spluttering around his words. “God, what is that?”

“I don’t even know. It’s Gally’s recipe. It’s a trade secret.” The blonde was all but giggling as he took the jar back, and at the mention of the taller boy, he cringed.

“Yeah, well, he’s still an asshole.”

“He saved your life today.” He knew it was true, and he knew that he was out of order to hold it against Gally that he didn’t get to go into the maze, and deep down he was grateful the boy stopped him, even if he could’ve done it a little less violently. “Trust me, the maze is a dangerous place.”

“We’re trapped here, aren’t we?” He let out a sigh and Newt hummed, dropping the now empty stick his meal had been on and turned to look over the log.

“For the moment, but you see those guys, there, by the fire?” Following the Brit’s action, he glanced over, seeing the group sitting there. “Those are the runners. That guy in the middle there? That’s Minho. Now, every day, in the morning when those doors open, they run the maze, mapping it and memorising it, trying to find a way out.”

Hope surged his system at the idea that someone was actually doing something, and that there was a group that were permitted to leave the glade, to go out and do something to get them out of here. “How long have they been looking?”

“Three years.”

“And they haven’t found anything?”

“Lot easier said than done. Listen,” Newt held his hand up in the air, the deep and distant echoing of stone grinding and colliding against stone sounding, even from miles away. “-that’s the maze changing. It changes every night.”

“How is that possible?”

“You can ask the people who put us here if you ever meet the bastards.” He was astounded by Newt’s ability to laugh off the situation, to pretend like it wasn’t quite as dire as it seemed to be. “Look, the truth is, the runners are the only ones who really know what’s out there. They’re the fastest and the strongest of us all, and it’s a good thing too, because if they don’t make it back before those doors close then they’re stuck out there for the rest of the night.” Something about the idea of someone getting trapped out there brought a nauseous feeling in his gut, he practically felt familiar with the concept as desperation and sadness for a situation that hadn’t even happened flooded through him, and he couldn't place why. “No one ever survives a night in the maze.”

“What happens to them?” Surely they could just sit and wait for the doors to open again?

“Well, we call them grievers. Course, nobody ever sees one and lives to tell about it, but they’re out there.” With that, the conversation was changed, Newt clearly having had enough of it, and motioned him to his feet, deciding to give him what he claimed to be important information. He hoped it actually might be, that perhaps it would give him answers to some of the questions he had swirling in his mind, but he doubted it.

Gally was throwing other boys around in some sort of game, and Newt wandered around the circle formed as he pointed out more faces and gave them names, giving them groups and little descriptions of each of them, some rather funny, and he had to admit this was on the more useful side of all the crappy facts that had been thrown his way today. 

All he wanted, however, was to learn how he could become a runner. How he gained permission to leave without being thrown to the ground, to do something and finally get the knowledge he was seeking. His shoulder was barged into roughly by a boy who stumbled, clearly having had a little too much of Gally’s secret recipe and he apologised, slurred words falling from his mouth and he shot him a nod, brushing himself down as all eyes fell on him for what felt like the millionth time today.

Gally offered him the chance to join in, almost like an olive branch, chants filled the air and he gave in, deciding he could at least compete in this. Upon hearing the fairly simple rules, he dove forward, hands finding his arms as Gally flung him backwards into the crowd, who caught him, propping him back up on his feet and he stumbled on his feet in the sand pit in Gally’s direction. With minimal effort, the taller boy hooked a hand around the back of his head and threw him down and into the sand.

The powder filled his mouth, a huff leaving his lips as he spat the dirt away, glancing over his shoulder. “C’mon greenie, we’re not done yet.” It wasn’t Gally’s fault he was being dubbed greenie, he didn’t even know his own name so how should Gally, but somehow just the fact that it was Gally calling him it, the way he said it, was enough to enrage him.

“Stop calling me greenie!” Once back on his feet, he made the first move this time, charging towards Gally and trying to tackle him, but Gally was still quicker, catching him and tossing him to the side once again. Using his own momentum this time, he spun around, arms around Gally’s waist as he tried to push him over, but the builder had more strength than he did, and his feet were sliding through the sand as he was pushed backwards. His foot caught on a rock, and he used the momentary bit of leverage to use Gally’s weight against him, spinning him and dropping him face first to the floor as cheers rose from the crowd that had formed.

He knew he shouldn’t, but the cocky comment was just bubbling in his throat, and he barely had the first words out before his feet were kicked out from under him by Gally, the floor momentarily missing from his life before he was reunited with it all too aggressively as he crashes against it, his head smacking into the dirt roughly, dragging a groan from his lips as his vision spotted, and head pounded.

“Stop it!” Your voice rang in his ears, and for a second he could feel his cheeks hurting from how much he was smiling as he continued to poke at your sides, your body squirming as you tried to ignore him. “I’m working, what could you possibly want, you have everything you need.”

“Not everything.” He mumbled, and your eyes glanced up to meet his oh so briefly as he puckered his lips and you glanced around yourselves nervously, before placing a swift peck to his lips. “Now I have everything.” With that, he pushed his chair away from you, taking up his own work and ignoring the way you looked at him incredulously. 

“You’re crazy. That was risky.”

“You kissed me!” He defended, a cocky smirk on his lips as you rolled your eyes fondly but smiled at him. 

“You’re the worst, Thomas.”

Thomas. 

That was his name. The way you had said it, the way you had looked at him, it all felt so familiar now. The pounding in his head was almost washed away as pure joy and relief filled him. The word slipped from his lips in a whisper, a trial on his tongue, and he jumped to his feet, uttering it for a second time in a yell to the silent crowd. “I remembered my name! It’s Thomas!”

Alby was the first to react, stepping forwards and screaming it loudly, the biggest answer he needed so far finally coming to him as he was greeted, the crowds closing in on him happily and patting him on the back and shoulders, shaking him happily and repeating his name to him. 

The chef, ‘Frypan’, handed him a glass of Gally’s drink, and despite the taste, he chugged as much as he could, wincing and wiping at his mouth as he handed it back. Even Gally had shook his hand and offered congratulations. Despite the loud cheers, a piercing screech that felt unsettlingly close was heard, and Thomas’ head snapped toward the sound. 

“What the hell was that?”

“That, my friend, was a griever.” The information came from the boy he’d only moments ago been fighting, and it was sobering piece of information, quiet falling over each and every boy there. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here with us. Nothing gets through those walls.” The screams continued, some sounding closer and some further, but it brought a very real end to the night. 

Despite the evident horror of it all, that night Thomas fell asleep happy. Because finally, he knew what his name was.

The glee from the previous night had been short lived. The revels of the bonfire had passed by the morning and everyone was back to working in passive sadness and boredom. Newt had fetched him earlier when he was eating and told him he could have his first trial job in the gardens, and frankly, Thomas could not imagine anything more boring. He had been at it for a few hours now, digging in the dirt and collecting crops in the heat, turning over the soil, his mind running every possible idea he had, only for Newt to shoot them all down. 

Just as he had decided to confide in Newt about the girl who had brought his name back to him, in what Thomas had yet to confirm as either a memory or a fantasy he’d imagined, he was handed off with a bucket to collect fertiliser, and that’s how he found himself mumbling angrily to himself as he trekked through the woods.

Glancing up, his eyes focused on a collection of sticks and branches in the ground in an arch, flies buzzing around the area and curiosity got the best of him, once again. Dropping the bucket to the ground, he let it roll through the mud and settle at a small stream of water as he got closer. The smell was stifling the closer he got, his face scrunched up and he rounded the logs, a handmade sign hanging on the front, the name ‘George’ shabbily carved into it. He recognised it, the same as the name he’d seen scratched out on the wall that morning. 

Skeletons, almost entirely exposed as the body rotted lay before him, his eyes watering from the smell as flies buzzed noisily around the carcass. Twigs snapped behind him, and Thomas jumped violently, the silence of the moment being invaded and it shocked him, prompting him to spin on his heel and face whoever was behind him. 

Ben, staring at him, face slightly pale and eyes red. Thomas was certain he was supposed to be in the maze, he’d never even seen the boy come back, and he’d been focused on that maze all day. “Um.. Ben, right? I don’t know if we-”

A snarl left his lips, cutting Thomas off as the boy lunged forwards, tackling him to the ground and gripping at his arms, pinning him defenceless into the soil. “It’s all your fault. I saw you two together, you did this. You did this to us!” The words were spat at him, venom lacing his tone as Thomas’ mind reeled in confusion, pain radiating along his body from the grip Ben had on his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh and nails beginning to cut at him. “I saw you!”

The hands on his arms slid to his throat, pressing down and cutting off his air, Thomas’ eyes bulging as he fought to push the taller boy off of him. He swung his hands at his face, pushing tiredly but he didn’t move, almost possessed as his strength won every time. In desperation, he reached for a weapon, anything, fingers finding an animal skull and using it to hit Ben across the head. 

The boy fell from him, and Thomas gasped for breath, Ben’s fingers already tearing at his ankles and trying to get a grip as Thomas tried to fight his way to his feet. With success, he took off up the hill, making his way back towards the open fields. A shout, a plea for help had barely left his lips as Ben tackled him, the two of them rolling and bouncing down the other side of the hill, and he screamed out once again, hoping his yells were heard through the thick trees.

His throat was raw, body still hazy from the lack of oxygen as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling and falling as light finally began to seep through, tree cover getting lighter as he reached the edge of the woods, and he dashed for the sunlight. He could sense Ben behind him, and Thomas used the last of his breath to call out for help, boys running towards them as the runner caught up to him, lunging and taking him to the ground once again. 

Thomas was exhausted, and terrified, and his mind was blanking once again as Ben crawled up onto him, hands pushing against his throat as his vision faded, skin heating up and crawling as it begged for breath. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill her, too! I will kill you both!”

The loud sound of metal on bone rang out, the body torn from him as he fell to the side and Thomas took raspy breaths, hand on his chest as he crawled backwards and away from the boy dead set on killing him. The other gladers rushed in, pinning him to the ground and creating a blockade between himself and the runner, and Thomas let himself fall back into the warm grass and catch his breath, relief flooding his system. Getting to his feet, Ben was still struggling in their grasps, and Frypan turned to him, eyes wide. 

“What the hell happened?”

“He just attacked me!” His throat stung when he spoke, and he swallowed thickly, Chuck’s clammy hand landing on his arm as Thomas bent and rested his hands on his knees.

“You okay?” He merely shot the kid a thankful nod, ruffling his hair affectionately as he stood back up to his full height to peer down at Ben. Alby arrived, a forlorn look on his face as he demanded Ben’s shirt be lifted, and the boy squirmed, suddenly calmer and begging, denying something and pleading with them not to. As the material was lifted, a nasty wound was exposed, a deep hole in his side, purple and blue veins crawling from the injury and along his pale flesh, the torn skin around the wound turning a sickly green and yellow colour and Thomas felt bile rising in his throat as he looked at it. 

“He’s been stung. In the middle of the day?” More questions arose from Gally’s words, only adding to the never ending list of answers he wanted, or needed, and the shirt was placed back over the wound, mumbles sounding among the boys at the revelation, yet none of them gave him any consolation about Ben’s case. Blood poured from the wound on his head, the pleas fading from earshot in pleading screams as the boys carried him away, Thomas’ eyes wide and frantic as they watched, and Alby’s hand landed on his shoulder, guiding him away from the group to talk.

“It’s called the changing, it’s what happens when someone gets stung. We haven’t been able to get a clear word out of Ben since it happened. He’s not making any sense, and it’s only going to get worse.” Thomas already knew that, he could tell from everyone’s reactions, and the sinister coldness that had settled over every person here, even if Ben had now gone silent. “The infection is spreading, he’s dangerous. What did he say to you?”

“Um.. h-he said he saw me. Saw us, that this is all our fault. Mine and.. hers.” 

“Her? Who?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what he was talking about. How could this be my fault?” He knew it was illogical, that it was the ramblings of an infected man, someone out of his mind, but his stomach was sinking as guilt swirled in his veins, and he wasn’t sure why. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Chuck glanced between Alby and Thomas, clearly having been urging to ask the same question but keeping his mouth shut, and the leader merely shook his head, stalking off without a word and leaving the pair confused. Their answer came, however, as night began to creep in. Grey clouds were starting to gather overhead, giving them some form of relief from the rain, but matching the mood perfectly. All the boys were making their way towards one of the sets of doors, and upon getting closer, Thomas noticed a collection of different lengths wooden poles leaning against the stone, being handed out to boys as they gathered. 

Most, were sharpened on the end, whittled into savage points, and a few held taller sticks, thicker with another taped across the end in the shape of a ‘T’. Chuck was practically shaking beside Thomas, and the older boy placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly as he tried to make sense of the situation. Not a word was shared, nobody even looked another in the eyes, and he had a feeling of what was about to happen, the eerie mood beginning to settle in. 

The only voice came from behind them, Minho marching Ben across the fields, his hands tied behind his back as he led him passed the boys, Ben begging with everyone he passed to stop this and to help him, just wanting someone to listen to him. He dropped to his knees, Minho cutting his arms free from behind his back, sobs falling from his lips as he glanced up at his friend. The keeper of the runners threw a cloth bag deep into the maze, and the walls jolted, beginning to click shut slowly as the air between them rushed out, bringing dust and leaves up with it.

“Poles!” Alby gave the order and all the sticks were lowered, and suddenly, it made sense. He was being forced into the maze, pushed from a distance by the sticks with the barricades on the end, and kept in place by the sharpened ones. Chuck turned, fleeing from the sight and making his way from the horrifying scene.

Thomas made the mistake of looking up, meeting Ben’s eye as the boy stood and he begging to Minho cease, taking up pleading with him instead. As the walls began to close, they pushed him further towards them, and he fought at the sticks uselessly, trying to get away. “Listen to me! Thomas, if only she could see you now! Listen to me!”

Thomas’ eyes widened, for a second the boy seemed to make sense, sentient words falling from his lips and Thomas took a step forward, halting himself. Ben was standing within the maze now, the doors closing as he screamed out, words slurring and he turned on his heel, dashing between the rapidly closing rock. He stumbled backwards, his cries ringing out before being forever silenced as the rock slammed shut, his body hidden from view. 

A sick feeling crawled up his spine at the thought, and his eyes were lined with tears. It felt far too close, far too familiar a feeling, something about it not sitting right as he watched the boy be condemned to death, and while it wasn’t Thomas’ fault, he still felt guilty. The boys dispersed in silence, going back to finishing up their work before darkness truly closed in, and Thomas let his feet carry him numbly back to his hammock, Chuck already sitting in his own and chipping at a piece of wood in his hands in silence.

Upwards of an hour passed, and Thomas still couldn’t find peace with what had happened. His skin was crawling, and he was still staring at the walls where Ben had been banished to. The fire’s around them had been lit a while ago, and his attention only left it when dark figures began making their way towards the wall. Squinting, he made out Minho, Newt, Gally and Alby, and the sadness of realising where they were headed set in. The name wall. 

He watched, the sharp sound of chipping stone finding his ears moments later, the orange lights of the fires flicking in his vision. His eyes tingled, and he squeezed them shut, the tingling becoming a throbbing as his head pounded, body becoming light as dizziness set in and he leaned back in his hammock, raising an arm to rest over his eyes, to darken the environment further, but it didn’t help. 

His nose felt blocked, his throat closing up as he gasped, mind clearing slightly and pain subsiding just barely as images began to leak in behind his eyes.

“All employees and subjects must proceed to the buses with caution and speed.” The droning voice sounded over the blaring alarms once again, orange lights flickering in dark corridors as screams overpowered them all. 

Feet were thrashing against the floor as groups of teens and adults alike raced through the corridors. He was pushing in the opposite direction, fighting and shouldering through the crowds, standing on his tiptoes and whipping his head from side to side, his gaze trying to survey every face that was passing by. 

Guards were now storming through, shouts about sealing off areas and retrieving work was exchanged and Thomas couldn’t focus on it. A gloved hand found his shoulder, pushing him roughly and guiding him from the halls as he fought in their grip. Suddenly, a loud squealing caught his attention, a body sliding across the floor and squeaking against the tiles, it’s dirty and bloody bare feet skidding. That one, was followed by another and another, gunshots ringing out to take them down as the hoards poured from the corridor he’d been trying to get to, knowing that was the way you were coming from. 

Dread filled his body, ice setting into his veins as he stood frozen, heart stopping as he watched the monsters continue to flood in. Hands settled on his cheeks, a muffled voice calling out to him as his gaze was redirected from the battle scene to warm and concerned eyes, your voice finally coming into focus. “Damn it, Tommy, what are you doing?”

His own hands came up to clutch at your face hurriedly, thumbs smoothing over your skin as he took you in, with a sigh leaving him as he placed a trembling kiss to your forehead. You let one of your own hands wander up to find his, weaving your fingers together as you dragged him behind you, following the crowds out in a sprint.

Helicopters shone lights above, rockets firing from them and illuminating the darkness with loud explosions, enough light leaving them in those split seconds to show the hoards of rotting bodies that were running towards the fallen base. Buses were starting up, engines sounding loudly as armoured vehicles escorted each one away into the darkness. Wind whipped at your hair, screams of the infected and cries of the immune mixing in a horrendous melody that sailed on the breeze, and you stumbled forwards towards a bus.

Your neck was gripped, hair swiped out of the way as a scanner was lifted, beeping green and speaking your identification before the guards allowed you on, Thomas following closely behind, his hand slipping into yours once again. 

It was quiet on the bus, as you made your way through the rows to find a seat, tears on most faces, silence enveloping you all. The last few were boarded, and Thomas followed your gaze, glancing down to see you playing with the initial charm on your wrist, a matching one sitting on his own, the letter ‘T’ glistening on the clean silver charm. 

He leant forwards, uncaring of anyone seeing you both in this moment and placed a soft kiss to your cheek, letting his forehead rest against your temple when he pulled away, before curling you into his body. The doors soon hissed closed as the engine started, and he took one last look at the building, door open as it was flooded with the vile creatures, guards being taken down, employees and those who hadn’t been fast enough to leave were now left behind, your cries muffled as your face pressed into his shoulder. 

Thomas wasn’t sure what had happened, but the pain had receded, his eyes snapping open and his vision no longer blurry, but his breathing was laboured and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Sniffling, he wiped at his face, focusing on the letter hanging on his wrist. 

He’d been playing with it subconsciously since he’d gotten here, it brought him comfort. At first, he thought it had been the first letter of his own name, so when it wasn’t, he was deeply confused. Now, he knew it belonged to you, and he could practically taste your name on his tongue but he couldn't say it, he wanted to, he tried, but he couldn’t.

He still wasn’t sure if you were even real, let alone who you were, where you were or what your name was, but he could almost feel your presence missing, and he knew now that you were the someone he’d been looking for when he first arrived. He felt cold and alone, and he needed to get his thoughts out in the open. 

Swinging himself out of his hammock, he mumbled vaguely to Chuck that he’d be back in a minute, making his way slowly toward the blonde boy limping behind the rest of the group away from the wall. Falling into step beside him, the Brit glanced up, eyebrows raised and Thomas stared at the ground, fiddling with the bracelet once again. 

“I think I remembered something.” The words were mumbled, so quietly Thomas could barely even hear himself, but Newt had heard him just fine, stopping in his tracks with a hand clamped on Thomas’ forearm to stop him too. “Well, I think I remembered someone, anyway. The girl who owned this.” He held up his wrist to show the tag, the adorning metal glinting in the light of dying torch fires. 

“Girl? What did you remember?” His tone was hushed, the others gaining space as they continued to walk away from the two, still standing idly in the field.

“When I hit my head at the bonfire. I saw this girl, saying my name. That’s how I remembered it. Then earlier, my head started pounding but I remembered running from a building. It was full of these... creatures that-”

“Tommy, mate, you sound insane. You know that, right?” The blonde cut him off and Thomas’ jaw snapped shut. He knew exactly how he sounded, but something in him was telling him this was real, that he wasn’t making her up, he wasn’t imagining this. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?” He simply shook his head in response, lips sealed tightly as Newt thought it over, practically staring through him as his thoughts took over. “Alright, well, for now it’s not really much use to us anyway. No closer to getting us out of here, is it? So keep it to yourself. I believe you, I’ve seen crazier things, but keep it quiet. And get some sleep, you look exhausted.” 

With that, he left Thomas with a pat on the shoulder and hobbled away across the fields, his own shoulders slumping under the weight of the day, undoubtedly just wanting to sleep it off himself. With that, he held himself back from asking the second in command anymore questions for today, opting to amble his way back to his own hammock and try to sleep away the swirling thoughts. 

The walk back took him longer than it had before, taking time to himself to think in the quiet. The sky was clouded over and dull, the stars not shining through like they had before, and he missed them, something about the way they humbled him, allowed him to get lost for a while. With that, he rubbed a hand over his face, letting his eyes slide shut as the feeling of someone banging on the inside of his head began to slowly creep up once again.

Your voice echoed in his ears, his body feeling like it was falling and floating at the same time as everything began to ebb away, his consciousness slipping as your face once again faded into view.

“This is wrong.” Thomas’ heart dropped at your words, his eyebrows furrowing more than they already were as you stumbled over your words, breathing frantic and laboured as you panicked. “It’s wrong, and I couldn’t be a part of it anymore, I had to do something an-” 

Another girl, one who’s face wasn’t clear, her voice muffled and all he could focus on was you, the way you were pulling away from him, sweating and panicking, tears in your eyes. 

He was in a corridor, following behind a trolley with a pile of clothes in his hands and a sinking in his gut, the older woman beside him ensuring him he was doing the right thing. “WCKD is good, Thomas. She’ll see that one day, but you have to choose.”

He could still picture you, before you’d been dragged from him kicking and screaming, your words firing back and forth on this inside of his skull, dizzying array of choices when hours prior everything had been so simple.

“This isn’t right.”

 “WCKD is good.”

“This isn’t right.”

“WCKD is good.”

The words were sending him tumbling, the tearing at his heart was distracting him as his back collapsed against the wall, flashing between good times with you and watching you now, being prepared to be sent away from him, forget him, have no idea who he is. 

He watched as you faded from yourself right before his eyes, as the door closed and you were taken from view, his fists pounding on the closed door as he changed his mind but you were gone, gone from yourself and gone from him. 

Jerking awake, he looked over, a hand gripping his shoulder as Chuck stared at him in the dark, the fire of the torch beside them long gone out, the light of dawn barely seeping in yet. “Dude, are you okay? You were yelling in your sleep, had to wake you up before you woke everyone else up.”

Thomas didn’t even remember falling asleep, but he wiped at his nose, a thin trail of blood on the back of his hand when he pulled away, Chuck watching him for a second before rolling over in his hammock and going back to sleep, tiredly. 

Thomas, however, couldn’t go back to sleep. Before, he’d brushed off your face as a figment of his imagination, someone he had invented, but the chilling reality of the dream he’d just had, he knew it had to be a memory. He’d never seen that place before, or those creatures, but they were eerily similar to the way Ben had been.

He opted instead of sleeping to stay awake and watch the light of dawn come in, as people around him began to stir, began to get up and go about their day. He watched as Alby and Minho left early in the morning, waiting at the walls before they had even opened, Newt joining them just before they did, and the moment they opened, the two left. 

He waited. Waited to ask Newt about it, waited until Newt had come to get him, today’s task merely being the removal of a dead tree. He had tried to ask about it, but he was shut down every time, being spun a story about coming up alone, and how things were different now.

He knew they were different. He could feel it in the air, crackling like electricity between each and every person here. When the downpour from the clouds finally broke, it almost felt suitable, and needed, washing away the tension of the previous day and tragedy it had brought, as everyone huddled for shelter, eventually starting up conversations and letting the thick weight hanging on their shoulders dissolve away with the waters. “They should be back by now. What happens if they don’t make it?”

He couldn’t help but let the thoughts spill over, turning to look at Newt, who only continued to stare off towards the walls. “They’re going to make it.”

That wasn’t enough of a response, and Thomas left the post he was leaning against to approach the blonde. “Yeah, but what happens if they don’t?”

Finally, Newt spared him a look, though it was more like a harsh stare as he was cast the fleeting glance. “They’re going to make it.” There was a finality to his tone, that told Thomas not to push any further on the matter, but a slight waver in his voice that gave it away, that he wasn’t so sure he believed his own words.

It was when the sky finally began to darken, coolness setting in and the glade stilling again that Newt finally allowed himself to panic as chatter began around him, too much to control as passing concerns spread into wild speculation like wildfire. 

All Alby and Minho had gone out to do was retrace Ben’s steps, he surely couldn’t have gotten that far anyway, so it shouldn’t be taking this long? That was the chatter around him, anyway, Thomas’ ears picking up as he pushed his way through the boys to the front, almost everyone gathered around the doors to look for them, to wait to see them return.

“C’mon, guys, can’t we send someone in after them?” Thomas was getting desperate now, along with everyone else, anxiety radiating off of the group as time ticked by, and the tunnel still lay void of the boys they were looking for, the only movement the slight swinging of the vines in the breeze.

“That’s against the rules.” Though Gally’s voice was monotone, he could sense the emotions laying underneath, the wish to do something but unable to do so. “Either they make it back or they don’t.”

He looked to Newt for support, but he received a subtle shake of the head in response. “Can’t risk losing anyone else.”

The doors groaned under their own pressure, beginning to click shut as they slowly crawled into motion once again, wailing loudly. Gusts of air blew swiftly through them and Thomas squinted, raising a hand to his face to hold back dust from his eyes, but as his fingers rose, he saw their figures rounding the corner, slowly and unevenly, his hand extending as he pointed them out.

“There!” The figures were stumbling towards them, unbalanced and swinging from side to side, Minho groaning loudly under the exertion. 

“Wait, no! Something’s wrong!” Alby was unconscious, Minho dragging the weight of him but his knees were buckling, his legs barely moving anymore and the gap was narrowing rapidly. Loud shouts, screaming and pleading sounded around him, the noise overwhelming as he watched Minho drop his friend to the ground, trying to drag him with the shreds of energy he had left towards the doors, but there was no way he was going to make it. 

The stone getting closer and closer to meeting, the frantic hollering of all the boys surrounding him fading into nonexistence as Thomas watched the doors close again. He’d watched Ben be lost to the maze, he wasn’t letting it happen again only a day later.

Without considering it, he leapt forwards, the walls closing around him as he pushed between the freezing slabs of stone, multiple hands reaching out to him, calls of his name as he went. Thomas’ heart was racing, mind completely blank as he focused on the boys in front of him and not the ones behind, not the girl in his head or the words burned into his mind, but only on the wish to save, to help, to do something. 

And then, he made it, the rock squeezing him in, closing around his body as he pushed his way through, nails scraping at the rock as he dragged his body the last few inches as the rocks threatened to crush him, until it was quiet, and cold, but he was through.

The residual heat of the glade didn’t expand to the maze, coolness washing over him and he shivered, already feeling the chill set in. It was so silent he could hear his heart racing in his chest, the boys on the other side completely blocked out.

Minho glanced up at him from where he had collapsed to his knees, eyebrows furrowed and lips twisted down into a frown as he shook his head at Thomas. 

“Good job, you just killed yourself.”​​

[somniumoflight]

Crossover Idea #9 – My Hero Academia/Bendy and the Ink Machine

Izuku ends up sharing a body with the Ink Demon and slowly changes his mind about wanting to be a hero – he ends up being a villain instead

Still haven’t read/watched My Hero Academia, but I’ve read a lot of fics in that fandom and recently I’ve been browsing the Vigilante/Villain!Izuku fics, and then suddenly my brain went “hey man, do a BATIM crossover of this.”  And, well, here we are.

So, the basic idea of this story is as follows – the Studio (and all the monsters/people in it) where actually a product of both Joey Drew’s Quirk and some occult stuff he dug into in an attempt to make his creations last for longer on their own instead of relying on him.  In the process he accidentally made sentient self-sustaining Ink, which in turn became the Ink Demon when it grew strong enough, and then the whole downward spiral of BATIM canon backstory basically happened with one major twist – Drew managed to deal with the Studio’s occupants on his own without Henry ever needing to be involved, and decided that he was going to just chuck all the evidence of what he’d done into the ocean – including what was left of the sentient Ink that made up everyone in the Studio, in the hopes that it would just dissolve into the sea thus officially be “dead.”

What actually happens is that the crate with the Ink in it eventually washes up on the shore at Mufastu (think that’s the town?), and the Ink breaks free and, since a lot of it did get washed away by water leaking in, starts trying to gain enough ink to reform by basically sneaking into stores and stealing from people. Eventually, though, people catch on to this ink black blob, and since it’s been hurting people in the process of trying to reform (by sort of possessing them/absorbing their minds??), the local Heroes start chasing after it, and after several months, the Heroes finally get a lucky break and manage to both figure out its weaknesses and isolate it in an empty warehouse to keep it from getting away.

Except the warehouse isn’t quite empty, because guess who got shoved into that same warehouse and locked inside of it by his bullies earlier that day?  Who else but a 11-year-old Izuku, who, when the Ink tries to possess him in a last-ditch attempt to escape the Heroes, somehow accidentally traps the Ink in his own body with a passive quirk he never knew he had, and then flees in panic.

At first, Izuku is not happy about having what’s essentially a villain sharing a body with him.  Especially since he starts having nightmares of the Studio and everything in it from the Ink Demon’s pov, and the Ink keeps basically using him to steal ink to eat so it can get stronger.  When he wanted a quirk, he didn’t want this! Except… then a series of unfortunate circumstances leads to him never getting into UA.  And the Ink, though sinister and deadly, has been reluctantly helping this kid, because now that they’re stuck together the Ink really doesn’t wanna test what will happen if the kid dies.  And Izuku’s been seeing memories of some of the worst things that people do to each other, through the memories of everyone trapped in the Ink.  And how villains are treated by Heroes. Suddenly, the notion of being a normal Pro-Hero doesn’t quite appeal to him as much any more… and when All Might tells him he can’t be a Hero because he’s quirkless, well, that’s the last straw.

So instead of going to UA, Izuku decides he’s going to become the vigilante/villain that shows people just how wrong the current system is about treating their “villains” and everyone who eventually becomes them… with the Ink, and eventually the Ink Demon once the Ink fully recovers, acting as his Quirk to help him.

Details of this crossover I’ve figured out:

Joey’s quirk is called “Animation.”  Anything he draws on paper can come to life, but only for a very limited period of time, and it only really works with ink, not pencil or anything else. Problem is that Joey’s creations can only really last for so long before they fall apart.

So when Joey decided he wanted to bring his creations to life permanently, he started diving into some old occult stuff from the pre-Quirk era to find something that could make his creations self-sustaining.  He finds something that works a little too well, and ends up accidentally creating the Ink.

According to the Dreams Come to Life book, the Ink in the studio is actually alive and manipulating things.  Here that’s not exactly the case – Joey literally just accidentally created a sentient liquid being with initially no sinister intentions unless you count trying to, you know, survive.  It’s not controlling anyone, even if all the ink critters are made of it.

The Ink starts off as shapeless, but slowly begins shaping itself into the form of the Ink Demon.  So, basically, the Ink Demon and the Ink are mentally one and the same here, it’s just that the Demon is the Ink’s properly solid form.

Joey is of course irritated, because in his mind this thing has no right to exist, and tries to get rid of the Ink Demon.  This is a big mistake.  The Ink Machine, though not directly bringing the demon to life or anything, has been pumping ink into the Demon p much ever since he existed, without Joey realizing it, so the Ink Demon is almost literally unstoppable.

Joey does end up eventually destroying the Ink Machine, thus cutting the demon off from their supply of ink, and then uses acetone on it until it’s an inky blob again, then shoves it in a leaky container and chucks it into the ocean, in the hopes that when water started leaking in it would dissolve the Ink and ultimately kill it, and thus erasing the evidence of his crimes.

What actually happens is that the container ends up washing up on the shores of Degobah(?) beach (what’s one piece of trash amongst others?) and manages to break out.  The Ink then begins searching for normal ink to “eat” so it can become strong again – it doesn’t like being weak.  

However its abilities as nothing but liquid are limited and so it starts trying to manipulate people into stealing ink for it and accidentally discovers it can possess people a-la the sludge villain from MHA canon, only the people’s minds are trapped in its ink when it leaves instead of dying, putting those possessed people into a coma regardless of how long the ink is in them.  Still, if they have a useful quirk the Ink can use it, and that’s good enough reason to keep doing it.

The Heroes eventually catch on to these possession tactics and start hunting this creature down in earnest, since its obviously dangerous.  Negotiations don’t work – it just attacks, seemingly mindlessly to them.  They then try fighting it – that doesn’t work out because so long as it’s got a mouth or nostril or even breathing tubes to get through it can possess literally anyone regardless of their quirk, and while freezing it does sort of work it’s only really frozen on the surface and the rest of the ink is warm enough to start thawing the rest of it.

Eventually though a certain flaming garbage can finds out that the “liquid” they’ve been chasing is strangely flammable (as some pen inks are).  Then suddenly things start getting worse for the Ink FAST.

The Ink eventually gets cornered in an old warehouse on the shore that nobody uses, and Endeavor ends up getting permission to burn the thing down since this “villain” will clearly not come peacefully and literally nothing else seems to permanently effect it other than fire.  He has people block off the warehouse entrances and burns the place to the ground with great glee, and it seems to the Heroes that the Ink is now dead.

Not quite, as it turns out. Because earlier that day, Izuku got locked into that same warehouse by his bullies, and the Ink desperately tries to possess him in the hopes of being able to use his mystery quirk to escape.  Except of course he has no such quirk.  Instead, he has an unregistered passive quirk that somehow fuses the two beings together into one body while leaving them with their individual minds.  This allows Izuku immunity to most of the Ink’s more harmful tricks, though possession is definitely still on the table (for limited periods of time).  

With flames rising around them, the Ink, sensing an opportunity, intimidates Izuku into keeping his silence as they try to escape, because nobody’s ever survived the Ink possessing them before so the Heroes will probably try to hurt Izuku thinking he IS the Ink, and if he’s quirkless he can’t defend himself, can he?

Izuku ends up escaping with the Ink in tow by sheer luck – one of the nicer Heroes sees a scared, burned, scorched kid escaping from the blaze, and after asking him a few questions (the Ink never talked to anybody before, just acted “mindlessly,” so the Heroes mistakenly believe it’s mindless and thus cannot talk) he lets the kid go, telling him to run home.

After that, things are difficult for a while – the Ink has basically threatened Izuku into silence considering its existence, and sometimes forces him into letting it puppet his body to grab ink to eat and heal itself with.  It doesn’t help that the Ink’s on edge, fully expecting to eventually end up getting caught again, and its nervousness is rubbing off on Izuku, who gets even more skittish than normal (not that anyone except Inko and Bakugou really notice, and Izuku can lie to his mother p well when under pressure as it turns out, and Bakugou could care less about “Deku” at this point.)

Eventually, though, the Ink calms down when it becomes clear that the Heroes have written it off as dead.  It still uses Izuku’s body to steal ink to heal itself, but other than that its… calmer. Less threatening-feeling to Izuku.  And having it around is actually helpful to the poor kid too, because having the Ink fused with him means he’s gotten its abilities as well, including healing from drinking ink, which helps avoid awkward questions about bruises and stuff wonderfully.

On top of that, realizing that it was a bunch of Pro Heroes that burned down the warehouse he was stuck in sort of shook Izuku’s faith in Heroes.  Like, a lot.  All Might wasn’t one of those Heroes, though, so he still admires him and wants to be like him, complete with being a Hero himself.

This is the prime reason why they stay on edge around each other for a couple of years, because the Ink hates Heroes (they tried to kill it, and Joey once admitted he had aspirations to be a Hero when he was younger until he found his true calling in life – that’s enough for a grudge in the Ink’s mind) and Izuku’s a little scared of it because of the previously mentioned threats and the fact that he’s technically sharing his body with a villain.

Then comes the day when Izuku’s told by All Might that he can’t be a Hero because he’s quirkless. Izuku is heartbroken, and thanks to the trauma and the Ink’s influence over the last couple of years, he ends up just… giving up on being a Hero.  What’s the point of trying, when his idol says he could never succeed, and all other Heroes might hurt him?

This is when the Ink, wanting to get revenge on the Heroes that nearly killed it, and possibly Joey as well, gets an idea which it presents to Izuku – become a villain. Rob a bank or something.  Izuku’s against this at first, trying to scout out actual legal jobs, but as it turns out, hardly anyone wants to hire a quirkless teenager no matter how good his grades are if there are people with quirks they can hire instead.

So Izuku’s slowly worn down to the Ink’s idea, and after some very careful planning, lots of training with the Ink in how to use its abilities, and finagling a promise out of the Ink that if Izuku doesn’t want to keep doing the villain thing that they will stop after this, they end up robbing a major bank.

Izuku wasn’t intending to keep doing the villain thing after that – robbing a bank of that much money is bad enough – but then he sees how everyone and their mother is talking about his villain persona, and how the news is painting him, the quirkless loser, as a threat. And suddenly, he’s feeling a vicious kind of satisfaction at his actions.  That’d show everyone – his bullies, Kaachan, they were all wrong, he’s not useless!

So Izuku starts tentatively committing more crimes.  At first he keeps to robbing places to get money.  Then some local criminals try to corner him when he’s out and about as a villain (to get his money that everyone now knows he probably has) and Izuku ends up killing his first person in self-defense.

He freaks out about this big-time at first, especially since due to basically drowning them in the Ink, their minds are trapped inside of his own body along with the Ink itself, and god but does it give him nightmares to hear them screaming.  But as more and more criminals start coming out of the woodwork to try to get rid of him, and he starts slowly getting used to killing, and the Ink outright encourages the whole killing-people thing, he slowly starts to take a vindictive satisfaction in killing people too.

Eventually, around the same time that the Ink recovers enough to become the Ink Demon again (when it can convince Izuku to use enough ink at once for their body to form, they’re still connected) Izuku’s convinced to plot a proper villain debut in the underworld.  No more just robbing banks and killing people in self-defense – time to act like a proper supervillain.

So, after some more careful planning, practicing summoning the Ink Demon and other super-Ink abilities that the Demon was holding back on until then, and planning their “costume,” Izuku and the Demon make their debut as a duo of villains.

Izuku’s villain name is “Inkstone,” and by this point he’s sort of learned to associate being a villain as his safety blanket – nobody knows who he is, nobody thinks he’s a quirkless loser, HE’S the dangerous one like this – so he’s a lot more confident as Inkstone than as Izuku, and has even decided to put on a bit of an act to make it harder to identify him – “Inkstone” outright worships their villain partner, and will willingly claim that the Demon “saved him from being worthless.”

His starting costume is basically just black clothes, shoes, gloves, etc, with a bunch of ink leaking out of his hair turning it black and dripping down his forehead.  He also orders some black contacts to put in to disguise his eyes and complete the spooky-ink look, and he’s naturally a little pale, and his freckles are hidden pretty well by the dripping ink.

Their initial debut involves killing a small-time hero – more specifically, the same Hero that let Izuku out of that burning warehouse, in order to keep him from identifying Inkstone as the same kid he saved from a burning building.  The two of them team up on said Hero and kill him as a warning to the rest of the criminal underworld to not mess with them. (They also use the Ink to absorb his mind like other people in the past – having his knowledge could definitely help in the future.)

After this initial debut, Inkstone and the Ink Demon quickly take over the criminal underground.  Nobody wants to mess with the duo that mercilessly slaughtered a Hero and left his corpse hanging up by the police station.  

Nobody wants to mess with a giant hulking demon made of black shiz, either, especially since the underworld catches on faster than the Heroes and figures out that hey, these two have something to do with that string of comas that was happening a couple years ago.  Soon Izuku has a healthy trade going, and ends up cornering the market when it comes to information gathering – all he and the Demon have to do is grab the right person and absorb their mind into the Ink, and bingo, they’ve got info.

At some point these two end up going up against Dabi and Toga (who have joined the League at this point) and end up absorbed by the Ink as well after a grueling fight – however, instead of their minds eventually being broken down by the Ink like all the others, the Ink Demon finds something very interesting in their minds – the existence of the League of Villains, their apparent goals and of course, Dabi’s history as one of Endeavor's sons. (They don’t pay much attention to UA stuff except to keep an eye on future heroes – they know that class 1A was attacked by villains and that’s about it at this point.)

And also the fact that neither of them are nearly as scared as most people that got absorbed have been. Toga’s mostly whining about not being able to make people bleed anymore, and Dabi’s furious that he didn’t manage to get revenge on Endeavor.

Neither Izuku nor the Ink Demon are thrilled about this – Izuku because while he is indeed a villain at this point, he still has some morals, and he still admires All Might and doesn’t appreciate the League trying to kill the man.  The Ink Demon’s more pissed off about the info on Endeavor over anything else, because this man is reminding it a lot of Joey.

In the end, the two of them end up using Dabi’s information to kill Endeavor for him (with Dabi’s blessing – yeah, he’s dead, but he’s also cheering his killers on because fuck Endeavor), and exposing his dirty secrets to the world to discredit him after death (also with Dabi’s blessing).  This is when Inkstone and the Ink Demon are officially designated as super-villains rather than normal ones – they took out the number 2 hero.

Dabi may or may not end up being basically revived as an ink creature by Izuku, since the guy wants to hang around and keep an eye on his siblings.  Also, he’s NOT going back to the League, thanks – he was more a vigilante in mindset than anything when he first got recruited.

Toga may also be kept around because the Ink Demon finds her bloodthirst and her excitement about killing folks amusing.  Also, they need some trustworthy minions and if these two are made of ink now, Izuku and the Demon can control them if need be.

Of course, now being considered one of the top villains in the country has a downside – in that everyone knows about them now thanks to news coverage.  This includes All Might, who Izuku still admires and never wants to go up against if he can help it, and Joey Drew, who basically spittakes when he sees the international news and realizes oh shit that’s his creation being a supervillain in Japan how.

All Might eventually tracks down Inkstone, and Izuku doesn’t bother trying to hide that he’s an admirer of All Might (which makes All Might uncomfortable because oh god this better not be like Stain all over again.)  Izuku’s also willing to give him some info on the League that he got from Dabi, such as info on their next moves as Dabi knew them – and All for One’s location, since they managed to get that thanks to Dabi snooping plus absorbing some of the rest of the league.

When All Might wants to know why, Izuku tells him that All Might simultaneously saved him (true) and ruined his life (also true), but that he doesn’t hold any grudges against him for the latter – I mean, look, Izuku actually has a life now instead of being a loser like before, and its all because All Might shattered his hopes and dreams!  (All Might is of course horrified by this.)

Joey crosses over to Japan at some point and attempt to get rid of the Demon for good this time. This doesn’t exactly work out because the Ink Demon is publicly enraged by his presence and makes this known in spades – and exactly WHY.  Joey gets arrested pretty fast after that, but not before Izuku and the Ink Demon basically pummel him into a coma.  The only reason they don’t kill him is because the Heroes catch up before they can.

Izuku may or may not have spilled some of his life story on camera while being driven into a rage, though, so that causes problems.

Eventually Izuku gets found out to be Inkstone, and may or may not end up being confronted by 1A after they’ve graduated and become proper heroes.  Including Bakugou, who is the guy who manages to figure out who he is under the ink.  Cue angst and Bakugou finally getting some consequences for his shitty actions as a middle schooler!  Yay!

Also there will be at least one or two glorious “oh shit” reveals about Izuku and the Ink Demon technically being the same person.  They’re not going to happen for a while though.

Holy wall of text, Batman!  Sorry about the length of this one, okay, but I’m a sucker for good Villain!Izuku stories – because quirk discrimination is NOT fine and Izuku getting to lash out at the world for it treating him so badly and getting away with it because he’s scary smart or strong now is like my favorite thing in all MHA fanfiction.  Green bean deserves to beat up some people.  (And so does Bendy, because its not his fault he came out misshapen!  Sure, he’s not exactly Bendy here, but… who cares!  Not me!)

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera IV

 A harpoon nailed Pax’s assailant in the chest.

Someone skidded past Pax, right into the Roman’s knees, as if the harpoon wouldn’t be enough.

“Ajax!” Axel snarled, tossing the Roman, “Chi’naj!”

Pax took a moment to register the Mayan word for “door.”[1] He scrambled past the scuffle. Fortunately, the hinges were still intact, though he doubted they would last long. Other footfalls rapidly approached. This time, he managed to slam it shut. He barred it and went to push a crate—

A body smashed into his selected crate.

Pax almost elbowed the person in the head. Then, he smelled the overwhelming swirl of sandalwood and saw antlers sticking out from the figure.  

“Incantara:glacies fulmen iniectum,:” Alabaster hissed, his voice tight with pain. Bolts of ice gleamed at his fingertips. Alabaster flicked his wrist and three blue-white streaks exploded outward. One shattered against some blurry, massive blob, maybe a yard away. Another lodged into something a few feet below the first. The last one blasted off into the fog.

The glow of the lodged ice sickle came closer until the massive blob solidified into the expansive red rectangle of a Roman shield.

Pax grabbed Alabaster’s arm. He dragged the Witch Boy off the crate—a spear slammed into their previous location. As if Pax didn’t already feel trapped, someone banged on the barred door behind them as the shield and spear wielder approached from the front.  

Maybe now wasn’t the time, but Pax really wanted to gloat, “Oh, and I thought it was just me that screwed up.” Somehow, knowing the door that Alabaster should have protected had also been breached—that didn’t make him feel any better.

The Roman struggled to withdraw his spear from the crate. “Leader of Hecate located!” Something fizzed and made the silhouette of the Roman shield glow.

Pax released Alabaster to fumble for a weapon. Pax never knew if Alabaster collapsed to the floor because he needed Pax’s support, or if he’d strategically wanted a better line of sight on his target. Either way, at the next, “Incantara: glacies fulmen iniectum,” the ice bolts blasted under the Roman shield.

The soldier screamed. The metal shield thunked to the floor.

That glowing object lobbed over the shield.

Before Pax could bat it away, the thing stuck to Alabaster’s leg. It continuously sputtered with red sparks. Alabaster grunted.

“Lion located!” someone shouted in the fog.  

Another fizz. Another spitting glow, maybe ten feet away. Pax’s heart thudded in his chest. Flares. They were using flares to mark their locations.

But the Romans didn’t know where he was yet.

“Are you sure I haven’t found you, little Roman?” came Axel’s stage voice with sadistic glee. Pax heard stories about Axel’s stage persona. He really didn’t want to see it. From the thinning of the fog, he could discern three things: Alabaster was so low on magic that he couldn’t keep the fog thick, Axel’s stage persona was terrifying, and people should not drive in fog. Far too dangerous.

Alabaster tor at the flare on his leg and snarled in fury, “It’s covered in something sticky. I can’t get it off—don’t touch it!”

Pax withdrew his hand. A deep tremble ran through him at the words, “Spy assist located!”

Another fizz.

When this flare lobbed over, Pax fumbled for anything. His fingers wrapped around something cylindrical—the PVC pipe. He must have dropped it when he was knocked prone.

Pax swung the PVC pipe like a baseball bat, hitting the flare. It didn’t bounce off, but stuck. Pax grinned.

Using the last of the fog for cover, he skidded around the shield. There was the Roman, struggling to redirect that spear and balance on one foot (there was a tiny icicle problem in one boot.) Pax nailed the Roman with his PVC pipe in the back. The flare, as he hoped, stuck.

Pax liked to think that the Roman’s jaw dropped.

“Professional Asshole located!” Pax said, mimicking the Roman’s bravado.

“Ajax, drop into a ball!” Axel snarled.

Instinctively, Pax listened. Something bumped into his back before toppling. Two bodies—likely a soldier Axel had thrown into another one—tumbled over him, smashing into the shield user as the Professional Asshole shouted, “Wait—compromised flare!”

“Incantara: excandescunt!”

Flames erupted beside Pax, so close the heat wicked sweat off his skin. This was getting too close. The Romans were closing in.

As though on cue for a heart attack, the door exploded behind him. Fragments chucked into his shins. Pax’s door was breached again.

“Romans!” Centurion Ari’s voice boomed from inside the building, probably from the front entrance. “Una acies. Contendite vestra sponte!”

Pax’s mind scrambled through Latin to remember what Mercedes said that meant: single-line. Your own effort? Wasn’t that the massacre order?! What happened to taking the cute spy assistant alive?!

Instinct should have taken over. He should have ran or fought.

Instead, Pax froze.

With no magic or dry ice to replenish the fog, it dissipated out the three open entrances, leaving the murky shapes of the advancing Romans. Their dark blurs moved inward, one organized line approaching from the front entrance, two disorganized, smaller bunches along either side entrance. As they drifted, they absorbed their injured, dragging them behind the protective line. The Roman war machine. Pax had heard of it, but hadn’t seen it in use.

He, Axel, and Alabaster still had crates to hide behind for cover. They had some supplies left. They could fall back. But, the Romans knew where they were. Alabaster had just smashed the tip off his flare, exploding smoke around his weird horns, but Axel’s fizzed ominously on his right shoulder. Pax might be able to make it to the back barricade, but he would need Axel’s help to move the crates out of the way. Alabaster seemed injured and they weren’t going to leave him. There must have been way more than fifteen Romans. Judging from the lack of Alabaster’s magical reserves (he wouldn’t resort to fire in close quarters otherwise), he must have taken out half a dozen. Pax knew he got three. Axel had wiped the floor with those that got past them. Why were there so many left?

A sob choked Pax’s throat, thinking about the three of them trapped against the back wall, easy practice for the Romans to spear as subjects in an anatomy lesson.

That sob released when he heard a beautiful song fill the room, echoing off the walls and clutching at Pax’s soul. “Drowning in my sea of loathing. Broken, your servant, I kneel.”

Armor shifted. Someone collapsed.

A laugh, more manic than Pax had ever heard it, erupted from the front. “Oh, stupid Romans. Can’t you see? You forgot about little ol’ me. I can see inside you, the sickness is rising. Don’t try to deny what you feel—”

“Jak-Jak!” Pax cried.

It must not have only been Jack.

Screams erupted from Pax’s breached door, the southern door.

“Wait—what?!”

“Stop!”

“Why—”

Pax tore his eyes from the front to see bodies falling in a cluster. Two Romans had turned on their comrades, literally stabbing them in the back. As the betrayed collapsed, a girl became visible behind them, one with stilettos in her dark hair and a mutilated face. Flynn’s mouth was set in an annoyed line and her arms were folded. “Thanks,” her melodious voice hummed with charm speak. “Now, hold still.”

“Anything for—”

The comment cut short. Flynn wrenched the backup knives from the soldiers’ belts and jammed them into their temples.

Pax flinched and looked away before he could see any blood spurts or brain matter. This was a riveting, exciting rescue, but he’d rather focus on the being rescued portion than the murder portion. At least she didn’t make the last two kill each other. That was courteous, right?

Pax could hear the grin in Flynn’s words as she whispered, “Now, panic, you fuckers. I’m going to kill all of you if you don’t kill each other first.”

The break in the Roman’s Southern line was all Centurion Ari needed to make the call. “Fall back. Northern wall. Redirect!”

Chaos ensued.

Pax couldn’t keep track of everything. He crouched to grab Alabaster. Flynn flew over, the Roman knives glinting in her hand. “No need for weapons. Come here—” her voice sounded as sweet as her gaze looked frenzied.

Jack’s song from the front crescendoed. “Down with the sickness!”[2] Another Roman dropped to their knees, vomiting. One discarded his weapons to walk, open-handed, towards Flynn. His comrades couldn’t grab him in time. Some threw spears at Jack and Flynn. Flynn laughed, using her charmed soldier as a shield, the spears lodging into his back. Jack—Pax was relief to see—must have acquired one of the actual shields. There was a massive rectangle of metal in the front door with a tuft of red hair poking overtop.

The screams kept going after the majority of the Romans had left. Pax tried not to remember any of it. Maybe it was because Pax knew he would be safe or maybe it was because he wanted to tune out the severe amount of trauma, but his mind wandered.

He was the information broker, a spy master’s assistant. He was supposed to gather intel and leave notes like, Our camp’s name is cooler than yours. He wasn’t supposed to hang people with power cords or be on a battlefield, even a small one like this, hearing his surrogate father’s beautiful voice make people upchuck blood, watching his surrogate mother slaughter the charmed soldiers that Romans couldn’t stop from walking towards her, feeling the air pressure pop from his crush’s and his brother’s magic as they picked off those retreating.

He wanted to remember how the people from Camp Half-Blood had caused Jas to get vaporized and had melted the skin of Lucille’s back when they blew up Monster Donuts. He tried to think about the names of the people who died in skirmishes against the Romans.

Not for the first time, Pax wondered if those born into violence and baptized in blood could ever surround themselves with another kind of love, with laughter that was not contingent on the suffering of others.

He thought of the way Axel made Alabaster cover his eyes to break that first soldier’s neck, at the beginning of all of this. Pax burst into hysterical giggles.  

Alabaster swatted Pax’s hands away, bringing him back to this reality.

When Pax tuned in, he got the blurry view of Centurion Ari, covered in feverish sweat, wrestling one charmed Roman into an arm bar and carrying two others across her shoulders, both likely succumbed to fever. She scowled at Axel as she exited the building. Unlike proper hero protocol, there was no “Until next time.” Wise. Most likely, she would have tried, choked on blood or vomit, and ended up with, “Anthills flex dimes.”

With her and the last few soldiers retreating through the Northern door, the building seemed to heave a sigh of relief. Or, maybe that was a dozen Roman eagles flying off into the distance. Highly possible.

Jack’s song cut off abruptly with, “My boys!” He skidded out from behind his shield. Pax couldn’t decide if it was more or less disturbing that Jack’s bubbly grin remained as he tripped over corpses. “Oh, my boys! You’re alive!”

Axel’s shoulder slumped. “Don—” Before he could finish, Jack slung an arm around Axel’s back to drag him to Pax’s level. Jack tried, unsuccessfully considering Axel was now bigger than him, to drag the brothers into his lap for a joint hug. Pax happily complied, wanting nothing more than to curl up in someone’s lap with a mug of hot chocolate, half-filled with marshmallows, and hear stories about magical ponies. Axel grunted in pain.

Alabaster sighed. The annoyance in his tone was shaky. “Jack, his arm is dislocated.”

Sure enough, Axel’s arm was rebellious in its placement. There was more. Jack was horrified to see where Axel had been stabbed twice and covered the wounds with duct tape.

Jack started the typical procedure: snipping off clothing that clogged the wounds, clearing out debris. They would get to Axel’s dislocated arm after Jack assured “there will be no bleeding out on my watch!” Jack gently moved Pax, so Pax could still lean on one of his bowed knees while he twisted to tend to his older brother. Pax stared at the bruises forming along Axel’s chest, especially around his right arm socket. Like usual, Pax hadn’t received any injuries while his brother seemed to receive double. Pax really hoped Axel hadn’t made an arrangement with Satan about that. Satanic deals for short-sighted noble reasons? Totally Axel’s style.

“Torrington!” Jack cried. “I am so disappointed. Does this look like acceptable babysitting to you? What if one of them had been seriously injured?!” Axel choked in pain as Jack set his shoulder back into place. “How am I ever supposed to trust you with my sons again! Alabaster, they’re fragi—”

Alabaster was still half-leaned against a crate, where Pax had left him. Each breath rattled painfully. “Flash… I have a broken… ribcage… and am… out of magic… What do you… want from me… right now?”

“Definitely better childcare!” Jack said. “It’s bad enough that the Androphagoi Darecare program bombed—”

“They’re… cannibals…”

“But now I can’t trust my friends!”

“We’re… not—”

“I want you to know that I won’t heal you until you promise that they’ll never get hurt on your watch again!”

         Now was not the time for Pax to point out how often Alabaster used them—well, mostly him. Axel had too much self-preservation and too little respect for the awesome risks involved in scientific and magical discovery—as test subjects for various potions, some of which had definitely poisoned Pax. Plus, all this madness considered, Alabaster had been against the Pax brother’s plan to distract the Romans and taunt them into an assault.

         Alabaster closed his eyes. “That’s… literally impossible… for me… to assure.”

         Flynn trudged over the bodies, dragging one in particular behind her. Once beside them, she dropped it with a clatter of metal. “We need Alabaster for the war effort. You have to heal him.” The comment was absent. Her gaze scanned the wreckage until her black irises landed on Jack. His healing hum paused as she gently touched his shoulder. “Jack…”

         Pax twisted to see her better. Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. “You were able to distinguish between people you wanted to heal and people you wanted to kill.”

         This was one of the main reasons Luke never wanted Jack on the battlefield. In theory, Jack could bring plague to the whole Roman army. But, he could also bring plague to the Camp Othrys army, and this was one situation were “sharing is caring” wasn’t the answer.

         Jack beamed. He puffed up his chest. “I did! I only killed the right people! My maternal instinct kicked in.”

         Axel opened and closed his fist on the arm that had been dislocated. “I think you mean paternal.”

         Alabaster smiled weakly. “He knows… what he said…”

         “Speaking of which. I want to know how they knew to hurt my boys.” Jack shifted Pax onto Axel’s lap. As Pax had many a time, he thanked the gods that Jack seemed to think Pax was five years younger than he really was. If he was older, they might expect him not to be curled in fetal position. All Pax wanted was to keep close to someone he knew could kick some serious ass. This building felt too exposed. Sure, the Romans had retreated, but what if their reinforcements showed?

         Flynn dragged the Roman in front of Jack. Pax pointedly examined the Roman’s knees, not wanting to recognize a face. What if it was the girl he couldn’t hang? Vomit smeared the soldier’s blue jeans and greaves like someone’s craft night involved one-to-many milk challenges. The person’s breath was so slow and rattled, Pax would have mistaken them for dead on a walk-by.

         “Oh, no! No you don’t—you’re not dying yet. I’ll make sure you live. You—you little—little—you bad person! You—you—” Jack struggled to find a word he found harsh enough. “You jerk!”

         “Let’s get the… boys home.” Flynn never liked to refer to the Pax brothers as her sons, more like her impossible-to-get-rid-of parasites. Her tone was too sweet. “Then we can focus on interrogation.”

         “I want to be home.” Pax meant that he wanted to be back in Belize, in their one-room shack, play-wrestling with his little brother and older sister. Axel ruffled his hair—something Uncle Frasco used to do. This new home was nice. Right? Their real dad wasn’t here. But, Pax didn’t want to consider why Jack would need to be present for an interrogation. Flynn or Lucille could command people to tell them the truth. Why would you need a healer?

         Fingers hovered in Pax’s face. He glanced up. Flynn had set the body down to offer him a hand up. “Let’s get you there.” She almost smiled. The look was painful and Pax wondered if he and his surrogate mother needed to practice facial drills to increase those smile muscles. “I saw what you did to the windows. That was good work.”

         Compliments were like albino tigers from her: so rare that you want to jump in excitement about seeing the fluffy cutie, then remember you should probably run away because it can still eat you.   The melodiousness of her words warmed his bones and relaxed his tensed muscles. Pax felt his eyelids flicker. That had been good work, an echo cooed, forming the shape of her lips in the blackness behind his lids. Papa would be proud.

         He’d be proud of you hanging someone.

         Pax seized, clutching Axel’s knee. Charm speak. Why was she using charm speak? She’d used it on him before, to get him to move faster or stop talking. But, why was she using it now? Nausea battled back the lulling effects.

         When he opened his eyes, her gaze was gentler than normal.

         Pax wanted to laugh, to give Flynn a charming smile, and say, “Thanks, I work out and think of ways to be devious and evil in my spare time.” Instead, he threw up all over his brother’s lap.

         Axel sighed. It wasn’t like this was the first time one of his little siblings had thrown up all over him. As he gathered up Pax, as Jack jabbered about doing something celebratory for Alabaster, Axel, and Pax’s “victory,” as Alabaster bitched about his ruined lab, and as Flynn packed up the near-dead Roman, Pax shuddered. He told himself it was because Jack must have accidentally made him sick.

  ***

Thanks for reading! I hope you… enjoyed? Things are about to get pretty dark at Camp Othrys in the character department and scene department and… okay, they’re going to have a bit of a power outage on the happy-go-lucky aspects for this crew. However, when we come back, you get one of the purely fluff pieces in the series. Alabaster’s The Delicate Dance of Chance.

 Thank you to “Psychadelic limbo,” “Thank God It’s Friday” by Ice Nine Kills, and “Dangerous” by Son Lux and a slew of music from Bring me the Horizon and Famous Last words for inspiring this scene.

 Footnotes:

[1] Technically, this specifically means “door of house.” My Mopan Maya dictionary has a word for that, “door man,” and “door brace.”

[2] “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed. You know, before COVID-19, it was hard to find songs about disease and viruses. Jack was born (and died twice) in the wrong decade.