#because the week before had been Cramming Time and i was getting actually unable to stop thinking about comps

[incomingalbatross]

Halfway through my comps!!! Think I did okay on day one

[imagines--galore]

hello! i see you write for sherlock! i was thinking maybe serial killer!reader x sherlock...

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: M. Romance. Thriller. Murder. Fair warnings the story is going to deal with a lot of things such as sexual assault, murder, abuse, trauma, blood, death and a ton of other stuff. But don't worry! There is also plenty of pinning, lovey dovey, and all things romance crammed in this request as well. Also reader is more of a vigilante serial killer so…..yeah A/N: .............Holy ****! When I tell you my brain EXPLODED with ideas for this little suggestion! Erm.....also this got a bit long.......oopsies? I'm actually really proud of what I've written here :3 Hope you guys like it!!!!! Please tell me if you did!!!!

You stood over your latest victim, watching as he tried to crawl away from you. You were at your leisure as you were aware that there was no way he would be getting away.

"You're doing the same thing she did Mr. Miles. She told me how she tried to crawl away from you after you beat her senseless."

You walked forward, not even bothered by the blood that smeared the floor as the man tried to get away. You stopped once you stepped on his hand, watching in satisfaction as he whimpered in pain as you attempted to break a few digits.

"Let me go. Please. Please. Let me go." You let out a little laugh as you played with the sharp edge of the knife that you were holding.

"Oh my! Word for word. Just like she said when you raped her." You allowed him to pull his hand back as he turned over to lie on his back, unable to get any further.

Probably due to the blood loss from where he had been castrated by you not more then ten minutes ago.

"Please, I have children." He begged to which you scoffed. "The children you beat. The children who's mother you raped and beat until she was put in the hospital."

You leaned down, grabbing the man under his arms and hauling him up into a nearby chair. The piece of furniture was the only thing in the otherwise bare and darkened room. The man cried out because of the pain, but remained upright.

You stood in front of him, eyes gleaming with a deadly fire as you raised your knife.

"They're better off without you Mr. Miles." He let out a sob as he stared back into your cold eyes, his own full of fear.

"Who are you?" He breathed, unable to look away from your face as you stood to your full height. The knife in your hand gleamed wickedly.

"Your worst nightmare."

When you walked out of the shed, his screams and pleas of mercy were still ringing in your ears.

Despite the fact that he had been dead for nearly half an hour.

                                             ————————–

You sighed as you slumped into your chair, hand massaging the back of your neck as you blinked at the lights above.

"Long day?" Your closest friend at work, Mary, asked as she looked up from where she had been reading over a chart for a patient. "Try long week." You responded, allowing your body to stretch with your arms in the air to pop a muscle in your back.

"Its the flu season so mothers are coming in left right and center with their little ones." You added as a way of explanation, shaking your head at the thought of the many first time mothers you had helped calm down. To you it was a sign of good parenting, seeing them get so worked up about their child who just had a minor cold.

You glanced at your watch. Only a few more minutes before your shift was over. Maybe you could take the time to catch up with Mary. "So! You didn't tell me what happened with that handsome army doctor you've been going out with. Has he proposed yet?" You asked with a teasing smile as you cradled your chin in your hands, elbows resting on your knees.

She gave a little laugh. "Oh we're getting close to the proposal. His friend coming back put a little detour on his plans, but once their reacquainted he'll pop the question." You sighed in envy.

"Thats what I admire so much about you Mary. You're just so confident that he is." The woman grinned and threw you a wink. "Well he can't get any better then this, so of course he will be settling for the best."

Laughing lightly under your breath, you began to gather your things, making sure you didn't leave your phone behind as you had often done in the past.

Just then the small television that Mary had on for background noise burst into Breaking News. The both of you turned your attention to the screen as the anchor announced how yet another body had been discovered, castrated and left after the male died.

"Looks like we have a serial killer on our hand." Mary said in a soft voice, prompting you to purse your lips and nod in agreement. "Whoever this person is, they're really covering their tracks." You said as they showed the picture of the man you had killed a week ago.

Mary glanced at you, taking in the tense expression on your face and the way your eyes were glued to the screen. Reaching out she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry love, the killer is only targeting men. And according to very credible resources that I have." She leaned forward as if she were sharing a secret.

"The men that were killed, they weren't really good men themselves. So far, every single one of them has had a rape allegation against them, which all of them dodged because of crummy evidence, bad lawyers, blackmail and money." You watched as she glanced at the screen once more. "My John and his friend Sherlock, you know the famous detective?" You gave a little nod of acknowledgement.

"Well they're both on the case since the Scotland Yard was having trouble finding the killer." You frowned. "But if they find the killer will they be sent to jail?" You asked to which Mary gave a small shrug. "Honestly, they're doing what the legal system could not, taking monsters out of the streets. But of course, the law won't see it that way."

You glanced at Mary before looking at the screen once again, now filled with the pictures of all the men you had killed.

"Yeah." You echoed. "They won't."

Which is why you did what you did.

                                             ————————–

Sherlock was staring intently at the floor where he had laid out pictures, news-clippings, police reports, hospital reports, anything that could help him connect the victims with one another.

This killer, whoever they were, was not like anyone he had ever encountered before.

For one they were smart, smart enough to not leave a single trace of evidence behind.

Second they killed their victim in a place where the latter would frequent. Most of these locations were out of the way, making it convenient for them to be killed.

The only thing so far, that was connecting the victims, was the fact that they had an allegation of rape filed against them in the past. Sherlock had to dig really deep to get some of the files since they had been wiped from the system. He had a suspicion that it had something to do with corruption in the justice legal system, but he wasn't about to dive into that at the moment.

He could always send what he had deduced to Mycroft but perhaps later.

"Any luck?" John asked, walking into the flat with fresh Chinese take out. Sherlock didn't bother with a reply, his mind racing as he tried to come up with something, anything that would help him solve the case.

"Nothing. Nothing that would link all these men together other then the rape allegations for which none of them served any time." Sherlock was starting to feel just a little frustrated at the seemingly unsolvable puzzle. "Six victims in two months, all of them castrated yet killed off in different ways." He began to list them off. "The first poisoned, the second strangled, the third a knife through the heart, the fourth a bullet to the chest, the fifth a bullet to the head and the latest was left to bleed out slowly." The consulting detective glanced at the pictures of the dead men. “Can’t even trace the weapon back to the owner since they were all purchased in bills and were wiped clean of any prints.

"Obviously these were all killings fueled by revenge or justice, perhaps a mixture of sorts." He mumbled under his breath as John began to polish off the dumplings. "Because they were all castrated?" The former army doctor asked at which Sherlock nodded. "Whoever our killer is they're doing this out of revenge for perhaps what happened to them, or someone they love. And I am beginning to believe that this is the work of a woman."

"What makes you say that?" John asked, eyes going over the pictures of the victims dead bodies. "There is a lot of emotion behind these killings. And only a woman is capable of feeling something so deeply." Sherlock glanced up at the doctor who raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't let Mary hear you say that." He stated seriously, at which Sherlock waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

"It is only for this situation that I am applying such a hypothesis Watson. I am well aware of men over-reacting more then women do." His blue gaze turned back to the mind map in front of him.

“Like you.” The Doctor mumbled under his breath.

Moving to grab a box of stir-fry, John glanced at the hospital reports, that Sherlock had set aside, on the table. They were the ones the rape victims had given to the police when they were first brought in the hospital.

"Huh? Seems this girl went to the hospital Mary works at." He stated in an off-handed manner. "St. Gemma." Almost as if a string had pulled, Sherlock's head snapped in the direction of his friend. "St. Gemma?" All of a sudden, the detective was frantically riffling through the files of each rape victim. And in each file he found the same logo stamped in the right hand corner of the page of the same hospital.

"This is it John! The hospital! That's the link!" He waved the papers in the air as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. "Every single one of these women were taken to this hospital after the rape, meaning our killer is someone at the hospital."

John frowned before shaking his head. "A serial killer working at a hospital? Don't be daft Sherlock, every person working there with a medical degree has taken an oath to never take a life." Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We should have Lestrade screen everyone, from the head of the hospital down to the janitor."

He threw the papers in the air as he rushed to pull on his coat and scarf, nearly vibrating with excitement. John quickly shoved his chopsticks in the take out box of his half-eaten stir-fry and quickly followed after the already retreating figure of the detective.

"And with Mary working there, we have ourselves a man on the inside." Sherlock added as he bounded down the stairs.

"Woman." John quickly corrected him at which Sherlock rolled his eyes before hailing a cab.

"Semantics."

                                             ————————–

If it were physically possible, your eyes would be flashing red with pure and utter anger as you tried to calm the near hysterical girl that had been brought it.

She was so young, younger then you at least. And she had just been a victim of rape. By two teenagers no less, from what she had told the story. You did your best to calm the girl down, getting her water to drink and even administrating some sleep drug into her system so she could calm down somewhat, after the police had taken their statement.

Taking out your phone, you quickly typed in the girl's name as well as he names of the two boys she had given. They were from the same school as she was, and God help them if they got away with the heinous crime they had committed.

You would be paying them a visit if they did.

Your mind was still reeling with the possibility of your next target, but for now you had to keep a calm and cool head. There would be a trial since there was more then enough evidence to implicate the two boys, but you had lost your faith in the justice system a long time ago.

It had failed your mother and then it had failed your sister.

And you were not about to let anyone else get away with ruining another person's life.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Sighing to yourself you leaned against a wall, head in your hand, trying your best to take a calming breath before you were to speak with Mary. The two of you had decided on a little dinner date, and you were looking forward to just having some normal time with your friend.

"Mary! Lets go! I'm starving and if I’m not fed soon I will eat the next thing that comes in front of me." You said as you walked through the door of your shared office space. What you hadn't been expecting was another person just standing at the entrance, causing you to bump straight into them and loose your footing.

You would've fallen, if it weren't for the person, man, reaching out to catch you with an arm around your middle. Your own hands flew out to grasp his shoulders, in an effort to steady yourself.

Your lips were parted in a silent gasp, your eyes wide at being caught off-guard.

Y/C/E met blue and if it weren't for Mary calling out to ask if you were alright, you were sure you would've lost yourself in the varying shades of blue that you were able to pick up with just one look.

"I'm fine." You said, stepping away from the man, neither of you breaking eye-contact as you did. His gaze was rather intense, as if he were scrutinizing your every move, even the way you breathed. You raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"You know, when a person enters a room they are expected to move away from the door to allow other people to walk in." You stated in a dry tone, before turning your attention to the other two occupants in the room.

Despite the fact that you wanted to keep looking at the gorgeous man you had bumped into.

Mary was grinning like an idiot, prompting you to roll your eyes, knowing exactly what ran through her scheming mind. The man next to her stood with an air of authority and the stance of a soldier. "You must be Dr. John Watson. Nice to see Mary didn't just make you up." You said, reaching out to gently bump your shoulder against your friend who gave you an offended look.

He gave you a warm smile, and you instantly liked him as you shook his hand. "And you're Y/N Y/L/N, Mary has told me all about you." You grinned about to reply when the other man cut in.

"Yes, yes we would all love to sit around drink tea and play house guest, but we do not have time Watson." He sounded irritated, probably at being ignored by the woman he had bumped into.

Though he would rather gouge his own eyes out then admit he was effected in such a manner. You glowered at the consulting detective. "Nice to see you keep such polite company Mary." You said, prompting your friend to give a small laugh as she looped her arm through yours.

"Would love to stay and chat boys, but Y/N gets cranky when shes hungry, so I shall see you later." With that she began to lead you out of the room. "It was nice meeting you John!" You called over your shoulder to which he replied, "Likewise."

As for the other man, you gave him a once over that was almost dismissive in nature. "Holmes." Who else could it be other then the famous Sherlock Holmes.

He stood taller, returning your haughty gaze with his own. "Y/L/N."

The exchange was one that would be imprinted in your mind for days to come, as it would be in his.

Though it didn't stop Mary from teasing you about it all through dinner.

                                             ————————–

Your kill streak had died down. For some reason the legal system seemed to be doing what they were supposed to and putting every monster they encountered behind bars.

Perhaps your message had gotten through to them.

Either they take care of justice themselves or you would take it in your own hands.

The Castrator, the media had begun to call you once the details of your kills had been leaked. And it seemed your actions had given victims of rape the strength to come forward and name their attackers, which had led to a surge of people being either shipped off to jail, or being put under investigation.

Whatever had happened, you were feeling more like yourself then ever before. And you were beginning to live a somewhat normal life as well.

All thanks to Mary.

You hadn't expected her to become something of an older sister to you in a span of the few months you knew her. And yet here you were, happily helping her plan her wedding with John and enjoying every moment of it.

The two of you would go shopping, go over the catering, the guest list and everything else in-between. Of course John was always there. He was the groom and his opinion mattered.

Somewhat.

And then there was Sherlock.

At first he had been extremely moody and snappish, a trait he adopted when a case he was working went cold. That case being that of The Catrator. According to him, the killer seemed to have cooled off for now, prompting them to take a step back from killing.

However, that meant he would now turn his undivided attention to helping Mary and John plan the perfect wedding.

Plans over which you and him would butt heads on more then one occasion.

You would both fight both sides of the argument, bouncing facts and opinions off each other as if you had rehearsed it beforehand. Mary and John would stare, amazed to the very core as the two of you would start an argument before settling it yourself by giving logical reasoning. Sometimes Sherlock would win, and sometimes you would win.

Whatever it was, it was fascinating to watch the two of you interact.

Or flirt, as Mary had once put it, prompting you to throw a carefully folded napkin at her head.

                                             ————————–

The day Mary asked you to be her Maid of Honor was truly one of the happiest of your life.

You had embraced the woman within an inch of your life, before entering 221 B to share the news with John and Sherlock. Only to find Sherlock standing there in an almost catatonic like state, holding a cup of tea in his hand and looking at John as if he were a creature from another world.

"Whats with him?" You asked as you removed your coat to reveal the turtle neck dress you had pulled on that morning, paired with knee high boots.

John smacked his lips, barely looking up from where he was reading the news. "I asked him to be my best man while also stating that he's my best friend." Mary, who had stooped to give her fiancée a kiss to the cheek gave a light gasp.

"John! I told you not to break him!" She said, shock and amusement shining in her eyes as she turned her attention to the still Sherlock. Wanting to have your own fun, you peered at him as you stood beside him. "Think we can finally get a day's peace with him like that?" You asked, giggling to yourself as your eyes lightened with mischief.

Without further ado, you quickly raced off to his room, and after a few seconds of rummaging, walked out wearing one of his favorite dressing gowns. "You know I can see why he likes them so much. Gives him a more dramatic flare." You threw out the sides of the gown as if it were a cape, prompting both John and Mary to burst out laughing.

"It is called comfort, Y/N. And put that back." You scowled, pulling the gown off and throwing it in his face. He caught the fabric deftly before it had time to smack him in the face.

"So Sherlock? How does it feel to know you're somebody's best friend?" You asked, wanting to tease him further as you managed to sit atop the table despite the clutter.

"Ecstatic." He stated in a robotic tone, before moving to set down his untouched tea and striding to the living room to begin planning.

Your gaze flitted to the eyeball that was swimming in the liquid.

"Please tell me he drank from that." You said, your eyes gleaming with laughter as you glanced at John. His expression was enough to cause you to burst out into laughter as you followed after Sherlock in the living room.

You certainly didn't miss the way Sherlock blushed from embarrassment.

Though it did surprise you how much more pleasant and sweet you had been to the man. Oh, neither of you had held back on your arguing and bickering and reasoning.

Yet there was a certain softness to both of your tones, almost a tenderness to it that neither of you would admit was there.

                                             ————————–

Bridesmaid dresses.

The one item on your to do list as a maid of honor that was eating you alive. You had narrowed the colors of the dresses down to three, but you were still undecided.

Which was why you, Mary and somehow Sherlock were sitting in a bridal shop as you tried on dress after dress. Mary was giving you her undivided attention, while Sherlock was busy on his phone, most likely solving a case. Every now and then, when you would walk out wearing a new dress, he would make a negative comment about whatever you were wearing, making you try and argue back to which he would simply justify his reasoning.

And though you didn't want to admit it, he was always right.

Tired and a little grumpy, you exited the changing rooms in one more dress.

"What do you think about this one?" You said, giving a little twirl to allow the skirts of the skirt to flow about your legs. Mary gave a nod and smile of approval. Sherlock barely glanced up.

"The color washes you out."

Your temper flared and you practically growled at him as you snatched the phone from his hand. "Thats it! Everything is either too long or too short, or too conservative or not revealing enough, or the color washes me out or it makes my complexion seem dark." You poked a finger to his chest.

"Why don't you pick out something that you think will suit me and we can be done with this entire thing, because I'm getting bloody tired." Sherlock continued to look at you for a good few moments, but you didn't allow your gaze to falter as you stared back in defiance.

Finally he moved away, disappearing in the racks before returning with a dress within minutes.

"Here. Try this." He threw the dress in your direction, which you quickly caught and stomped off to try.

A few minutes later, having adjusted the dress to fit your body, you emerged from the changing room to stand in front of your friends. "Well?" You asked. You hadn't felt nervous when you had been trying on all the other dresses. But this was a dress Sherlock had picked out, and in the deepest parts of your cold heart, you wanted him to say something nice to you about it.

Mary clapped her hands in delight. "Oh! It looks beautiful on you Y/N." She said, smiling from ear to ear. You smiled at her before turning your gaze to Sherlock and looking at him expectantly.

He was staring at you, that much anyone could see. The intensity in his gaze caused you to shiver involuntarily, but you didn't look away. "It looks......acceptable." He finally said.

Mary let out a loud groan before lightly hitting Sherlock's shoulder. "Oh for God's sake Sherlock! Just tell the girl she looks gorgeous!" She exclaimed, noticing how your face fell just a little at the less than stellar compliment you had received.

Sherlock straightened as he frowned at Mary. "Beauty is a social construct. It’s based on society's ideas that have been ingrained into our systems and our psyches over time and have been accepted as the norm. I prefer to see Beauty as something that is in the eyes of the beholder." In the middle of his little speech you had moved to stand in front of him. Your gaze flickered to Mary, who seemed to give an encouraging nod.

You swallowed your nerves before speaking. "And what do your eyes beheld?" You asked, feeling shy and nervous at the same time as you met his cerulean gaze.

He looked back at you, with the same intensity that had been in your eyes when you had first walked out wearing the dress. He slowly stood so he was standing directly in front of you. Of course he had to tower over you given his height. But you found you liked it, as you tilted your head back to look at him.

"That you look ethereal."

The last word was barely out of his mouth before you felt a blush heating your entire face as you stared at him, stunned.

As if he had realized what he just said, and gathering his wits about him, Sherlock strode out of the shop. But not before he stopped at the window display in front of which you had been parading out in dresses.

Your eyes met through the clear glass, with a gentle yet hopeful smile playing about your lips. Sherlock's gaze seemed to soften as well as he looked at you through the glass. The moment only lasted for a few seconds before he walked off, leaving behind an ecstatic you and a stunned Mary.

                                             ————————–

You glared at the man in front of you before aiming a kick to his torso yet again.

"You raped her and then killed her to make sure she stayed quiet." Another kick, followed by a loud groan from the almost prone figure that lay on the carpeted floor. "You don't deserve an early death like the others did."

Another kick to his chest that sent him wheezing. You had definitely felt something move this time and knew you had at least cracked a rib. Still that did not stop you, not as you continued to kick him, your home-made steel tipped shoes allowing you to land one heavy blow after another.

You had already castrated him, now the only job was to finish him.

"You thought you could get away? That you would get off just because she died?!" The young victim had died on your watch. And despite knowing the man would go to jail given the evidence against him, you had snapped. He had stolen away the woman's life by beating her senseless.

Just like the man who had stolen your sister from you.

You stopped only once the man laid still. Reaching down with your gloved hand you pressed your fingers to his neck. Satisfied at the lack of a pulse, you pulled off your boots, and just as you had done with all other kills, you left the murder weapon at the scene.

Glancing down at the now dead male one last time with no sense of remorse in your gaze, you left his apartment.

                                             ————————–

Well the wedding had ended with no one dying.

Well someone had almost died but it had been a win since he hadn't died.

And as you watched Mary and John share a dance after Sherlock had dropped the startling news about Mary being pregnant, you felt as if your heart would truly burst from happiness.

Over the year since you had known the couple, you had begun to love them and see them as something of a family. Someone you were close to and adored with every fiber of your being.

And then there was Sherlock.

Sighing as you pulled on your coat, you wondered just what was it that existed between the two of you. He was perplexing, in the most intriguing of ways, and he challenged you every step of the way. Something that you loved, because you were a sadist when it came to making your life as complicated as possible.

Glancing one final time at the people still dancing at the wedding, you gave a small smile of content before stepping out into the night. It was Spring, but the temperature had dropped a little, prompting you to wrap your coat further around yourself. Thank goodness your heels were comfortable enough for you to walk without your feet hurting.

You had only made it a few paces when you caught sight of a familiar figure standing at the entrance of the gardens.

"Sherlock?" You called out, startling the man enough to cough slightly where he had been smoking a cigarette. "I thought you were going to get rid of that habit." You frowned disapprovingly at him, to which he simply shrugged.

"The situation called for it." He stated, crushing the butt under his shoe and glancing in the direction of the hall where the dancing was still going strong. You glanced in the direction as well.

"Are you referring to the fact that John and Mary are married, or that they are going to have a baby?" You asked, recalling a conversation you had with Mary at how scared Sherlock had been when it came to the change that would come in his life because of John getting married.

He didn't reply, opting to simply stand where he was and keep looking at the hall. Finally, you sighed. Gently taking his hand, you began to lead him away.

Throughout your short walk to the train station neither of you let go of the other's hand. In a way, it was a sad day for you as well. Just like Sherlock had lost his best friend, you had lost Mary. They would both be living a separate life now.

Leaving you and Sherlock behind.

As soon as you reached the train station, and settled into your seats, you pulled off your shoes and curled up in your seat. You were still wearing your maid of honor dress underneath your coat. The train ride would last a couple of hours, which was what prompted you to settle your head against Sherlock's shoulder, take his hand in yours once more, and slowly begin to drift off to sleep.

Unknown to you, Sherlock had only smiled slightly at your gesture, before resting his own head on top of yours and dozing off as well.

                                             ————————–

The Castrator had struck again, and this time, Sherlock was going to catch her for sure.

While at other times he would be fascinated by the game of cat and mouse him and the killer had been playing, after John leaving, he needed a win.

So he went over every single employee file that had been given to him, going over them again and again to try and find a connection between the rape victims and the killer. His gaze flickered to the end of the document.

And he paused.

He stared long and hard. Unable to believe his eyes and yet it made so much sense.

File after file he opened and there it was again and again.

Sherlock had solved the mystery of the who, now the question was - Why?

                                             ————————–

You stood over the CEO slipping the bottle of poison into your pocket as you moved to climb out of the window from which you had entered. You glanced back, watching in satisfaction as his body twitched and foam frothed his mouth.

In a few moments he would be dead.

And he would deserve it.

He was a pedophile. He deserved death.

Jumping down to the ground which was only a few feet away, you brushed yourself off and made to walk off when a rough hand grasped your wrist.

You gasped, raising your other hand to strike whoever it was when you stopped.

"Sherlock?"

The man stared back at you, and though his face was clear of all emotions, there was storm brewing in his gorgeous blue eyes. A feeling of dread settled in your stomach as you realized that he had figured out who The Castrator was.

And now you had to face him.

"I didn't want to believe it at first. Its why I came here without any police." He admitted as he finally let you go. The two of you stood in front of one another, gazes never wavering.

"How did you figure it out?" You asked, your voice soft.

"You were the attending nurse for every rape victim who's attacker was killed. It had to be you. There was no other connection." The look in his eyes made you want to look away, yet you couldn't. You owed him an explanation.

"I don't understand Y/N. Why?" He finally asked the question to which you glanced around.

"Can we go back to your place?"

You had fully expected him to tell you off for even suggesting it, but he only nodded.

                                             ————————–

About twenty minutes later you were sitting in John's armchair while Sherlock occupied his own. You removed your gloves, setting them aside as you turned you gaze towards the empty hearth.

"My mother was raped when she was twenty years old. They were never able to catch the guy, and she was too scared to actually take any action against him because he was rich and had the ability to buy out any lawyer she could hire. So, she stayed quiet, never talked about it to anyone, and when I was born, claimed that she had adopted me." You felt him shift where he sat prompting you to raise your eyes to look at him and nod. "Yes Sherlock, I was the product of that rape. A constant reminder for my mother that the monster had effected her life forever."

You bit your lower lip as you tried to keep those haunting images of your mother's face away from the forefront of your mind. "She had good days and bad days. I have a feeling the rape caused some long-term psychological disorder, but I learned to survive with them. My life was dark and I didn't have a normal childhood with the way my mother treated me. Though that all went away when she gave birth to my sister, Thea." You smiled softly as your hand reached into your shirt to pull out a small locket with the picture of a sweet looking girl inside.

"I know you're not one for sentiment Sherlock, but from the moment she was born, Thea was my whole world. I had found my reason to live. There were days when my mother couldn't even get out of bed and I would take care of Thea. I was only eight, but I knew what I was doing. I bathed her. Changed her. Fed her. Played with her. I taught her everything. From her first steps, to helping with her homework."

Despite the lump in your throat and a break in your voice, you continued. "She was the light in my life. And there were times when she could even drag mother out of bed and for a few moments we would be a happy family."

You shook your head. "But it was nothing but an illusion." You muttered, sighing with the intensity of someone who carried the very world on their back.

"I came home one day from school, and Thea wasn't back yet. It started to get dark and I went out looking for her." You paused, inhaling deeply as if physically preparing yourself for what you were about to say next. "I came back after hours, only to find the police at the door and my mother sobbing hysterically. Apparently Thea had been snatched on her way to school that morning. Her captor had held her for hours, raping her repeatedly before dumping her body where he had picked her up from."

Despite the raw emotion in your voice and your eyes, there was not a single tear. Since the loss of your sister you hadn't cried. You figured you didn't have any more tears left. Just a gaping empty feeling in your chest that you had carried all these years.

"And just like that she was gone. My sweet baby sister." You whispered, clutching the necklace tighter in your palm as you sighed deeply, running a hand down your face in a wearied manner. "Mother blamed me, said Thea had been my responsibility because I was older. Last time I saw her, she tried to throw a bottle at my head, saying I was the one who deserved to die, not Thea." A shuddering gasp fell from your lips before you continued.

"And I agree with her. I should've been the one who died." A steely resolve stole into your voice as you allowed your eyes to finally met his. "The police managed to track down the man who killed Thea. I sneaked into his house one night, just to see him. And while I was going through one of his drawers I found this." You nodded towards the pendant you were still clutching. Tight enough that the shape was embedded in your skin. "He had kept it as a trophy. I heard the door opening, and hid. He was getting back from somewhere and was drunk."

Pursing your lips, your mind replayed the scene in your head, though this time you could feel Sherlock's comforting presence next to you. "Something inside me just snapped." You whispered, as your mind's eye played the scene out perfectly with a younger you as a participant and your older self watching.

Watching how you grabbed a fire poker and stepped out of the shadows, taking the fire poker from the stand near you.

Watching how he stepped into your line of sight and your eyes met.

For that one brief moment, a horrible realization rose within you.

That this had been the face your sister had seen before she died.

You watched as a scream fell from your lips, the same moment you lashed out with the poker and hit him again.....

....and again....

.....and again.....

.....and again......

                                             ————————–

"Y/N?"

You gasped, panting slightly as you returned from reliving your memory. Your head seemed to be spinning as your eyes found Sherlock.

When did he come to kneel in front of you? He had his hands wrapped around yours, which were still clutching the pendant. You loosened your hold around it slightly, though Sherlock made no move to pull back as he continued to look at you.

You gulped. "I killed him."

Silence followed your words. Sherlock simply stared at you, his blue gaze piercing into the very dark depths of your mind and heart.

"Why did you start killing again?" He finally asked, wanting to hear it from you. You gulped.

"There was this girl who came in. Rape victim. She had slashed her wrists because she couldn't live with the fact that her rapist had gotten away. And seeing her lying there, I was reminded of Thea so much that I just ....." You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

You sighed deeply as you leaned forward, your forehead touching your clasped hands. The silence seemed to stretch on until finally you whispered. "Are you going to have me arrested now?" You asked the question that had been weighing down on you.

Sherlock licked his lips, though you didn't see it, given your face was still bent over both your hands as if in prayer, his face was one of sympathy and......understanding almost.

"A normal person would yes, but then I'm not normal am I?" You glanced up at him, a startled expression on your face as he continued. "As a self-proclaimed sociopath I believe I can ignore what you have done because according to the dictionary I have no conscience."

You couldn't help yourself as you made a disbelieving sound. "That is bollocks and you know it Sherlock, you're a high functioning sociopath, get your facts straight." You teased him, recalling the many many times he had been called a psychopath by others only for Sherlock to correct them.

"I have one question though Y/N." His gaze was........uncertain, when he looked at you, prompting you to frown in confusion.

"Did you become friends with Mary to get close to me, so that I wouldn't suspect you?"

His words caused your entire body to seize up and your eyes widened. Multiple emotions played about your face, too quick for Sherlock to deduce. You frantically shook your head, lifting a hand to rest it against his cheek.

"Sherlock, please believe me when I say that I truly had no intentions of doing anything like that." You took a shuddering breath before continuing in earnest. "Please you have to believe me. After Thea died and my mother disowning me, meeting Mary was the one bright thing in my life. Then I became friends with John and through the both of them I was able to meet you." There was a brief pause in your words, but gaze was unwavering, and your features schooled into a determined expression as you continued.

"I know you will never accept me for who I am and what I have done, but hear me Sherlock Holmes. Our meeting was entirely up to fate and she delivered. I have met you, spent time with you, laughed with you, adored you." You hesitated before finishing. "And I have loved you from the moment I saw you."

He was silent as you stopped speaking, allowing the words to sink in for the both of you. Never before had you bared your soul to anyone like you had to Sherlock. Maybe it was because you had tasted that sweet sweet nectar of friendship, love and acceptance. And you didn't want to loose it.

And Sherlock knew that if you did loose the life you had built for yourself, you would loose yourself as well.

And he wasn't about to let that happen.

Not on his watch.

You began to speak again, words almost tumbling out as you did. "And I know it might seem irrational to you and illogical, but I've - I jus-mmph." Your words were cut off when Sherlock placed a hand at the back of your head, and pulled you down to kiss you. Your breath hitched and your eyes widened comically.

The kiss was over just as soon as it had begun.

The two of you blinked at one another. You could still feel the tingling sensation of having his lips pressed to yours. And Sherlock? He had taken just a taste of a kiss, and he was already craving more.

"I will speak to my brother." He finally said. "And I will make sure none of those murders are traced back to you." You blinked, not having expecting that. His hand was still at the back of your head, holding you in place, though you weren't complaining. Not when your nose was brushing against his and you could feel his warm breath every time he spoke.

"And I will also make sure that the legal system doesn't allow these monsters to slip away. Mycroft is the British government, he can make it happen."

His gaze turned serious as he continued. "But you will not kill again."

A small laugh fell from your lips as you closed your eyes and leaned forward once more, though this time you rested your forehead against his. "I never wanted to kill anyone Sherlock. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want those victims to feel helpless like Thea had felt in her final moments. And it made me feel helpless and....and alone." Your voice broke slightly at the end, causing a physical ache to form in Sherlock's chest, as if he could feel the pain you felt.

He loosened his hold on your hands, instead interlocking your fingers and keeping a firm grip.

"You're not alone anymore, Y/N." He reassured you.

This time, you were the one who initiated the kiss, allowing your lips to brush against his in an almost tender gesture. He reciprocated by returning the kiss with a slight pressure against your own. His tongue made a sudden swipe across your bottom lip, and he found the taste of you just as addicting as he did your scent, your laugh, your smile, your voice, your very presence.

You smiled at his eagerness, falling ever deeper into the embrace.

And as the kiss deepened, you could feel a small part of your shattered heart come together in one piece. It would take time for you to heal, but in time you would heal.

With him.

[reviewdiaries]

Nan-spreading: an exploration of Bro!Nancy

I want to look a little bit closer at Bro!Nancy because it was a really fun and fascinating device from the writers to explore a lot of the emotions that Nancy would normally not allow herself to express. Do not misread this, I’m not saying she behaved appropriately, I think how she treats Ace (and to a lesser extent the others but the brunt of her attitude is levelled at Ace) is awful and quickly unravels from “banter” to verbal and physical abuse. But I do think that allowing Nancy these opportunities to explore her emotions (or lack thereof) was a fun choice by the writers.

Nancy has spent the last weeks by both necessity and choice repressing her feelings and emotions. There have been odd outbursts when she’s felt truly comfortable with the people she’s expressing them to (her dads), but on the whole she’s felt that she cannot safely express herself so it’s safest not to. She is at least acknowledging most of what she’s feeling to herself, which is huge progress from where her character began - baby steps. We’ve seen this from Nancy before though, and her not acknowledging how she’s feeling and pretending she’s fine never ends well. 

She’s been through so much over the course of the show and before - she’s lost parents and lovers and dealt with trauma after trauma. And whilst she has talked about the alternate timeline with her dads, we’re not made aware of how much she actually disclosed to them of what happened (for example does Ryan know that he died too?) and she’s not told any of the others. She’s almost certainly suffering from PTSD and has a PhD in repression at this stage. Grief on top of trauma on top of more grief.

And suddenly she can’t access it. She knows it’s there, but she can’t feel it in the same way, like pushing up against a glass window unable to break through. Having her own emotions removed from her is a violation, and she understandably lashes out over it. But without a big bad directly responsible for her predicament it comes out at Ace for a variety of reasons - he’s the one with her the most throughout the episode, a lot of her emotions have been focussed on him over the preceding weeks, and to a certain degree this is his fault. He is after all the one who knocked the water into her face…

It’s a fascinating window into the idea of what happens when Nancy gets angry. Too often women aren’t allowed to get angry - told they’re overreacting, that they’re being ridiculous - and finally Nancy is given permission to. She gives herself permission to. Anger is one of the only things available to her, but it’s not the only thing. Fury, rage, want and need, all the physical aspects that she has crammed down into a tiny box are let loose at once in a messy and uncontrolled fire that burns everyone it comes into contact with. She allows herself to take up space, to get in people’s faces, to furiously spew whatever she thinks, to aggressively flirt with Ace, to try and needle him to make him feel the same anger she feels. Because she’s so angry about the curse, furious that she had a chance at happiness and Temperance stole it from her, left her alone in this. (She’s not alone, but she’s not allowing herself to see that yet.) Because she’s allowed her hope to be crushed and it makes her furious that Ace hasn’t and he keeps pushing and pushing and pushing her to have hope again. 

She can’t, every time she allows herself to, someone else is taken from her, the other shoe drops and everything just keeps hurting. The water forces her to understand how it feels to have things withheld from you, to keep slamming herself futilely against a wall separating her from what she needs. She finally gets a glimpse of how Ace is feeling being kept from certain key details that she’s chosen he doesn’t need to know. And on the flip side Ace gets a glimpse of (a very heightened and overblown version) how Nancy has felt to continually be pushed and pressured. No Ace has never made her feel like eye candy or a piece of meat, but he has over the last twelve hours (the end of 4x01 and the start of 4x02) pushed over and over and over and not truly  listened to her saying no when pressed for details. They’re neither of them managing to communicate effectively or listen to what the other one is truly saying, and the supernatural hijinks in this episode offer them a small (ridiculously overdramatic) peek at how the other is feeling. 

Nancy hasn’t allowed herself to think about those days with Ace before he died, before she ended up back here torn up by grief and alone. If she thinks about it she unravels - the choke hold she has on herself is the only way she thinks she can get through this. It is a small, guarded piece of her heart that she has protected by any means necessary, and Ace (understandably, how could he know without knowing what he’s asking) has no idea what he’s asking her to divulge. He is consumed by the need to know because it’s a problem he can’t fix without all the facts and he is so done with Nancy lying and withholding information from him. It’s the kind of story that needs quiet and understanding and a slow gentle approach to show Nancy she isn’t alone, that he will protect her and hold these most intimate precious parts of her. Instead he effectively uses a crowbar once he sees there’s something she’s hiding. All Ace can see is Nancy has given up on them, but whenever anyone else comes to her with a problem she reassures them they’ll find a way to fix it because that’s what they do.

By breaking out the supernatural BroJuice (and honestly I am fascinated to see how that unfolds with each individual drinking it because it clearly doesn’t affect everyone the same way) the writers gave Nancy a way to express some of what she was feeling and experiencing and to work through her anger and fear and some of the nastier feelings she was keeping bottled up. Without her suddenly feeling blocked from the emotions she’s been feeling (the ones she’s been allowing herself to feel, the ones that make Nancy Nancy) we wouldn’t have the realisations, the understanding that she cannot hold this information away from Ace, or that last gorgeous scene with her opening up to him finally. Sure I would love it if she could have reached that point in another way, but as supernatural hijinks go this one was a fascinating spin.

[tennessoui]

If you're up up to it, how about obikin and 42?

yes!!! Prompt 42 is Star-Crossed Lovers, but star-crossed lovers are soooooo out now. 'Crossed the stars to be lovers' is IN, baby!!

(2.7k)

Someone has left a letter on his bunk. Obi-Wan as a rule doesn’t get letters. Actually, as a rule, Obi-Wan has never wanted to receive a letter in his entire life. They all have datapads for a reason, and it’s because they’ve evolved past the need for flimsi and ink when there are means at their disposal to deliver messages near instantly.

So no, Obi-Wan has never wanted to see a letter sitting on his bunk. He finds the whole thing rather trying, actually, the Flimsi Friends program the Jedi Order established fifty standard years ago in an attempt to connect their Jedi with others across the branches through letters. Obi-Wan had scorned the idea as an Initiate living comfortably in the Temple on Coruscant, and his opinion hadn’t really changed once he began his tenure at the AgriCorps.

Kabre notices before anyone else. “Oh, hey! Obi-Wan’s got a letter.”

“Finally,” Aldran grins, craning his neck from where he’s collapsed on his bunk. “We only signed you up months ago.”

“Really, you shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan says. “Really.”

“Oh, come now, little Obi,” Kabre pats him on the head. Obi-Wan is twenty-five and of a perfectly average height, but Kabre is close to three heads taller than him and of an indeterminable age. “Think of it as an opportunity to strengthen your connection to the living Force.”

“Through the Flimsi Friends program,” Obi-Wan deadpans, raising an eyebrow up at his peer.

“Getting letters from Susa is the highlight of my week,” Aldran tells the ceiling dreamily.

Obi-Wan shares a commiserating eyeroll with Kabre. “That’s because you’re in love with her.”

“Who wouldn’t be? She’s so sweet and kind and pretty and she has all these stories from her adventures in the ExploraCorps--”

“Alright, who got him talking about Susa?” Lathrum asks from the door, sighing in exasperation as he makes his way over to his own bunk. “It’ll be a standard day before he’s done.”

“Hey!” Aldran gasps, offended and already close to sulking. “Whatever. Fine. Everyone’s just jealous that Susa and I are in love because y’all are never going to find something nearly as good as we have.”

“Obi-Wan finally got a letter from the program,” Kabre announces to Lathrum. “We were just saying that he should at least try to be excited.”

“Yes, perhaps you’ll meet your own Susa,” Lathrum smirks, peeling off his dirt-covered tunic. His next words come out muffled. “Force help us if that happens.”

“No need to worry,” Obi-Wan says dryly, picking up the letter and studying it. “They appear to be a youngling.”

“A youngling wrote you?” Kabre asks, barely restrained glee in his deep baritone.

Aldran guffaws from his bunk. “Well now you have to write back!”

“Knowing your luck, it’s probably a youngling from the Jedi Temple,” Lathrum says. “Dear Obi-Wan, Today someone chose me to be their Padawan and I’m one step closer to being a Jedi Knight. How are your plants doing?”

“Yes, alright,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, smiling slightly. He had met Lathrum when he was fourteen and still bitterly disappointed about his new position at the AgriCorps, and Lathrum has never let him forget it even after all these years.

He sits down on his mattress and pulls out the letter. It’s short at least. The handwriting is atrocious but the spelling is worse.

Dear Obi-Wan,

Hi! My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am nine years old. How are you doing today? My master says I have to write this to practice my spelling. I think not everyone can learn Basic, but he says I have to and that all Jedi masters know how. I didn’t ever know there was all this stuff I have to do to be a Jedi. I’ve been here for weeks now and I still don’t have my lightsaber!

I think the temple is really weird. It’s so big and cold. I miss my friends back home. Me and Kitster would go crazy exploring this place but no one here wants to play with me. Master Jinn says not to worry and I’m not! The temple is just really big and I’m cold all the time and I miss my mom. Master Jinn found me on Tatooine and took me here to make me a Jedi which is great, but everyone here already knows each other and I don’t think they like me much. I know the Jedi Council doesn’t. They didn’t even want to train me but Master Jinn inzi--incis--said he would.

Do you want to be friends?

Would you explore the temple with me?

Write back soon please,

Anakin

“Well?” Kabre asks, when Obi-Wan finishes silently reading the letter.

Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over the jagged penmanship. It’s all too obvious that this Anakin Skywalker is...painfully young, churlish and childish and achingly lonely.

Obi-Wan sighs again, harder, as he looks up at his bunkmates. “Where do we keep the blasted flimsi?”

---

Dear Anakin,

Thank you for your letter, it was very nice to read. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m 25 years old. I hope you are settling in at the Temple better by the time this letter finds you. I have to admit I was very surprised to hear that you are nine years old and have been allowed to train to be a Jedi. That’s unheard of. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Jedi. There must have been a reason your master chose you. The Force wills it and it will be.

It is understandable to miss your mother and your old home. When I became a member of the AgriCorps, I spent the first few months missing the Jedi temple on Coruscant a lot. It was the only home I ever had. But we make others as we go. The Temple is big and I suppose very cold compared to a desert planet--I looked up Tatooine here and there wasn’t much information, but I could never live somewhere with two suns! I’d be burned to a crisp in a matter of hours.

The upside to the Temple being big is that there are a lot of hiding spots and footholds for climbing. Try the pillars in the entrance hall. They connect to each other. My friends and I would run around on top of them for hours, although I think that was mostly because we were too scared to get down. You should ask Knight Eerin about it, or Knight Vos. They’re usually in the Mess Hall if not the Halls of Healing.

I’m sure Master Jinn has you busy with meditation and classes, but I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Best,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

---

Dear Obi-Wan,

I was really excited to get your letter! I didn’t know it would take so long but it’s been ages! So much stuff has happened. I finally finished my remedial classes and Master says we can focus more time of katas now! I can’t wait to learn how to fight! And Master Windu smiled at me the other day when he saw me in the hall because Master told him about my grades!

I asked Knight Eerin about you and she showed me some pictures she had on her datapad of you when you lived at the Temple. You look really pretty cool! I have blond hair and blue eyes if you were wondering. My mom always said she thought I was going to be really tall. What do you look like now? What do you do at the AgriCorps? Why did you leave the Temple? Knight Eerin says you need to give her a comm call soon. She didn’t sound very happy.

I made a friend! Knight Vos’ padawan was there when I talked to him about what you told me, and she came with me to go exploring! She’s so cool. She’s been helping me with my katas too.

Apparently I won’t get my lightsaber for years! That’s so long!

Anyway I have to go and do my reading now but please write back faster this time, Obi-Wan!

--Ani

----

Obi-Wan never reacts quite as happily and dramatically as Aldrin does when he sees a letter from Anakin on his bunk in the evenings, but over the years everyone learns not to disturb Obi-Wan on those nights.

The first letter Obi-Wan receives from Anakin after the boy turns eighteen includes his commlink frequency hastily crammed at the bottom of the page. If you want, Anakin has scribbled.

“Finally,” Obi-Wan jokes when the line connects and Anakin answers breathlessly. “No offense to you, dear one, and you have come quite a ways since you were a youngling, but your handwriting is still atrocious. I’d much rather talk to you like this than try to puzzle out what you’ve written.”

Anakin splutters and then stutters out in a voice slower and deeper than Obi-Wan had expected, “I didn’t know you had an accent, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan finds that he likes that voice saying his name in that way.

That’s the first sign of trouble.

----

Anakin sends a photo of his knighting ceremony. Obi-Wan wants to cry with pride. His friends tease him about it relentlessly. “You look like I did the day I married Susa,” Aldrin crows and takes a picture of Obi-Wan’s blushing, laughing face. Later, Obi-Wan reluctantly sends it to Anakin.

“I’m jealous of your friends,” Anakin confesses with an exhale of static. “They get to see you everyday.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, unable to say more. Unable to admit that he’s thought the same thing about Anakin’s master at the Temple. Unable to deny it though.

They move onto safer topics, ones that make Obi-Wan’s chest feel less tight.

----

“Jedi Knights are forbidden to have romantic attachments,” Kabre tells him apropos of nothing one late evening when they’re leaning against the railings of their cabin.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to pretend to not know what his friend is talking about. Anakin is twenty-three now. They call each other as often as possible, whenever they have enough free time. Thinking about Anakin, somewhere out in the galaxy, makes Obi-Wan feel dangerous things. Dangerous, insidious, illogical things.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Everything you’ve ever told me about this boy makes me think he’s in love with you,” Kabre says. “And the way you tell it makes me think you’re in love with him too.”

“Kabre, I…”

“I’m not asking you to deny it to me, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to defend yourself. You know no one cares if you’ve gone and fallen in love with your flimsi friend. It happens. And Force knows there’s no way you could be more insufferable than Aldrin and Susa.”

“He’s a Jedi Knight, Kabre,” Obi-Wan looks away, off over the fields. “I know what that means.”

----

When Anakin is twenty-four, Obi-Wan walks into his room to see a letter on his pillow. He blinks in surprise. He hasn’t gotten a letter since they petered out in favor of comm calls with Anakin.

But he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

He sits down to read it.

Dear Obi-Wan,

I find myself growing weary of Knighthood. I love my Padawan, I love the missions, I love the fighting. But I love something else more. I have for almost as long as I can remember.

I’ve been looking through the old letters from you. I’ve kept them all. I know Jedi should not have material attachments, but I found that I could no more throw them away than give my lightsaber to a Sith. They make up our story.

You were the first friend I ever had at the Temple. I don’t quite think you realized that then, and you may not even realize it now. But you were. I would get a letter from you and feel warm for weeks afterwards.

Actually, everything I love about the Temple and the Jedi you gave to me. My friends now, indirectly. All the hiding spots. Moving meditation.

When I got my kyber crystal, I wanted to tell you before anyone else. When my Padawan braid was cut, I gave it to my master, but wished I had something I could give to you too.

That was the day I really admitted to myself that you already have all of me.

Obi-Wan, I’m in love with you. I love you more every time we talk. Disengaging the comms at the end of the night hurts like losing my hand all over again. I love you, I love you.

And I have been a coward about it for too many years. I was afraid that you would reject me, think me too rash and young and foolish. But I know what I want. You told me in one of your letters that you believed I lived off of a single-minded desire to achieve my goals and that I would let nothing stand in the way.

I do not plan on starting now, if you will have me that is. I dream of nothing more than to feel your hands on my face, to listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest.

I will not disrespect the ways of the Jedi by loving you quietly, when I know you are my deepest, strongest attachment. One that I will not shake, even if I lived to be as old as Master Yoda himself.

If you find that you feel the same way, I will leave the Jedi Order tomorrow and meet you on Bandomeer. If you do not, then I understand and will never speak of this again. I am something of an expert after all these years of loving you silently from afar.

Yours sincerely, yours always, yours completely,

Anakin

Obi-Wan traces the words with a shaking hand. He doesn’t know he’s crying until a tear falls onto the flimsi. Oh, Anakin. Oh, his brave, foolish Anakin.

Will he really be so selfish as to allow Anakin to leave his Knighthood for him? His padawan, his home?

But the knowledge that Anakin loves him is a heady, addictive feeling. Obi-Wan has never truly gotten the things he wants. He loves his life now, of course. But he hadn’t wanted it.

And he loves Anakin.

He loves him terribly.

He reaches for a piece of flimsi and a pen.

----

Anakin will be the first to admit he’s been in a foul mood for a few standard weeks now. He’d sent that letter to Obi-Wan--Force, why had he sent that letter to Obi-Wan, obviously the man will never want to talk to him again now--and then immediately Ahsoka and him had been called in for a mission.

It had been awful and disgusting. Anakin is covered in mud from head to toe, and his padawan doesn’t look any better. And worst of all, he had had no time at all to comm Obi-Wan. No time at all to see how the man had taken his confession. It feels like he’s been holding his breath for days.

But he’s at the Temple now. He can clean himself off and call Obi-Wan incessantly until the man answers. Anakin can’t keep living like this.

“Letter for you, Master,” Ahsoka says as he enters their quarters. She’d been sent ahead while Anakin had finished docking the ship, and now she’s sitting at the table perfectly clean.

Anakin thinks his heart stops at these words and then it starts beating as fast as it ever has before. “Where?”

“I put it on your bed,” Ahsoka peers up at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay, Skyguy? You look a bit--”

But Anakin’s gone, already tearing into his room. There on the bedspread is a letter. Obi-Wan’s written him a letter.

Anakin has to try opening it three times before he finally gets his fingers to cooperate. It’s very short.

Dearest One, Obi-Wan has written.

I’ll meet you here tomorrow on Bandomeer. I will be waiting.

Forever yours,

Obi-Wan

Anakin smiles and feels like he could cry or sing or dance or scream from all the joy that’s welled up in his chest at this small handful of words Obi-Wan has given him. They’re everything and more.

Mindful of the mud on his person, he puts the letter gently on his bed and walks back out to the common area. Ahsoka is right where he left her.

“Okay, now you just look scary,” she says, pointing a fork at him. “Stop smiling like that.”

Anakin lets his grin die. He won’t relish this next part, but it’s for Obi-Wan. It’s so he can be with Obi-Wan. It's necessary. “Snips,” he says, sitting down opposite her. “We need to talk.”

[skellebonez]

With the prompt list, how about someone seeing MK with Monkie King with number 15?

Picking prompts back up with a nice dose of Dad Wukong! I needed some fluff! This is set in *shrug* post-season 2 because despite us only having 2 episodes so far I’m going to pretend season 2 wraps up just enough to give us a hook for a possible 3rd season but everyone is doing ok. For now. I just want everyone in the show to be safe and happy dang it!

Oh god, you’re just like your dad.

"Where to next?" MK asked, looking around the shopping district in excitement. It had taken him so long to convince Sun Wukong to actually join him on a day of just hanging out, outside of a couple short trips to the Anti-Gravity Arcade, and he wanted to cram as much into the day as humanly possible. "Video game store? Cheese tea stall? The new bakery, th-!?"

"Whoa, Bud, slow down!" Wukong eased with a smile. "We have all day. We can go wherever."

"And you’re sure you’re doing good?" Despite the Monkey King's soft tone, MK couldn't help but practically vibrate in equal parts excitement and worry. "There aren't too many people or anything?"

His concerns weren't unwarranted. Sun Wukong had been nearly completely isolated for centuries, company kept only with the monkeys of his mountain home and the odd outing into the world outside. And, of course, online correspondence with his lawyer after a time. Typically he was transformed in some way, a butterfly or bird or cat or something easy to blend in, and though he had made a couple short stops in a human disguise in the past. A quick drink here, a bun or fruit cup there. Nothing that required more than a quick transaction, however.

Now he was in the city, Wàn Qiān Chéng, in that human disguise and staying around. In jeans and a t-shirt and jacket (that MK was genuinely shocked to know he owned, until he realized that they were all branded Monkey King merchandise... including his jeans). Surrounded by people and cars and all manner of things the Monkey King would typically avoid. Despite the gradual introduction to being out and about MK was trying to ease him into, he couldn't help but worry that it would be overwhelming.

"Like I told you before, I'm doing fine!" Wukong put a hand in MK's hair, ruffling it gently with a soft smile.The sudden contact was... well, not that unusual actually. Nor was it unwelcome. The Monkey King always seemed to be a tactile person after all. "But, uh, now that I think about it I am getting kind of hungry. There was a little food stall pretty close by that I’ve been to a few times..."

“Oh, yeah!” MK exclaimed in glee, any place that his mentor frequented (however rarely) must be somewhere nice and he absolutely wanted to experience that! “Lead the way!”

Wukong laughed at MK’s exuberant response, smile softening as he indeed lead the way. “It’s, uh... actually the only place I’ve gone to for food when I’m checking in on you. So don’t be surprised, they’re going to recognize me.”

Ah, that made sense in MK’s mind. Had this been a few weeks ago MK might have been surprised to know that he was being checked in on, Heck, if this was before the Lunar New Year festival he would called anyone who told him a liar. Sun Wukong was not protective of him and he always left MK on his own because he trusted him!

And that last statement was very correct. Wukong did trust MK, more than enough. He knew he could handle just about anything that he would have gotten thrown at him. But not protective was a lie. Maybe it was Macaque, or maybe it was the Spider Queen, but after a while something in his mentor changed. He went from being aloof but helpful to being nearly non-existent (and when MK learned exactly what he had actually been doing he was not happy) and then “I’m just checking in, Bud, my dude, my student who I am not at all protective of what are you talking about” upon his return from his “vacation”.

Wukong trusted his student to handle himself. But that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about him now that the full extent of the danger he had put him in was known. And while some parts of it had been frustrating at times (he had been way too eager to stay at the Noodle Shop at first for Pigsy’s liking) it was kind of nice to have him around in just a casual way. Like when they watched the fireworks.

But beside that point, they finally arrived at the food stall. It was a street vendor, the booth decked out in bright colors and rows of food on offer, mostly...

“Baozi, should have known,” MK chuckled. The Monkey King didn’t make a lot of food at his home, but he made more than enough. Baozi was one of his favorites. “Well, they have got to be good if you keep coming back!”

“They’re not the only reason!” Wukong replied as they stepped up, the lady vendor doing a double take before smiling wide at him. “Hey!”

“Mr. Cheung!” She smiled wide, turning her full attention to the customers. “Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise, you’re a day early! Would you like your usual vegetarian order again?”

“Yes, please!” Wukong’s smile was wide, and if his tail had not been wrapped around his waist MK was certain it would have been swishing wildly. He’d clearly gained some kind of rapport with the vendor of this stall if they were on a “human disguise name” basis. “And, uh, something for my bud here too. Doesn’t have to be vegetarian for him though.”

“I’ll take whatever you think is tasty!” MK stated excitedly, nearly bouncing on his heels in the spot.

"Oh god, you’re just like your dad," the vendor laughed out with a smile as she turned away from them, and Wukong froze beside MK in response.

MK froze in response.

The Monkie Kid was almost certain he had never seen his mentor go this still. Ever.

" Oh no, he's n-"

"He is, huh!? Peach doesn't fall far from the tree!" Wukong laughed almost giddily and almost excessively loud, suddenly wrapping an arm around MK's shoulder and reaching around with his other arm to ruffle his hair once again. “He’s kind of embarrassed anytime someone points that out.”

MK could hear the vendor chuckling and responding with something else, but he couldn’t really understand it as he mulled over what Sun Wukong had just said.

“He is, huh!?”

He didn’t deny the vendor’s assumption at all. He just... went with it. Sun Wukong... just went with someone assuming MK was his son...

He barely paid attention when they were handed their food, the vendor insisting that since he was such a loyal customer that it was free of charge for finally introducing his son to her. Wukong did not deny it again, making pleasant conversation for a short while before they headed off. Wukong’s free hand was firm on his back as he led him away.

“Bud?” Wukong said once they were out of earshot, his tone oddly soft and uncertain for someone of his status. “That uh... I mean... you see... I wasn’t expecting her to just...”

“Have you been bragging about me like I’m your kid to a street vendor every time to check up on me?” MK asked softly, unable to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

“... maybe?”

“... you adopted me and you didn’t tell me?” MK asked with half joking offense in his tone, pointing his baozi at his mentor. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he said it.

And it seemed that somehow the combination of the way he said that and his exuberant expression drove the Monkey King into a fit of laughter that drew the attention of many passersby.

(The baozi were, as expected of a place that Sun Wukong would frequent, some of the best that MK had ever tasted in his life. Though, perhaps, they were made all the tastier knowing that he was eating them with someone who he had long secretly considered a father figure to him who had seemingly adopted him without meaning to.)

[anthrofreshtodeath]

65 pyrite & 22 nnf? (it's so hard to pick ahhh)

@sharknatho no need to choose when I'll do them all 😂 Here you go, friend! The second (NNF) is below the cut.

Pyrite - “I’ll help you study”

Waves crashed outside the open slider of Jane and Maura’s Cape Cod vacation rental, beckoning them either for a clothes-optional swim, or a seaside sexcapade in the very bed they now inhabited.

The only problem?

Jane had three binders spread out over the duvet, and she chewed on a highlighter as she read the last sentence on her current page for the third time. Unfortunately, Maura had suggested the getaway so that Jane could study apart from the chaos of their house, with Elena still on the tail end of summer vacation and the Rizzoli family using it as a home base for literally any occasion. Not for a true vacation.

“If I have to read the word geo-fencing one more fuckin’ time…” Jane grumbled to herself, gripping the open covers of her binder until her knuckles ran white.

“Hey, hey, hey, relax,” Maura coaxed, watching frustration and confusion compound one another in real time. She sighed, but crawled on her hands and knees over to Jane anyway and rubbed tense shoulders. “It’s late. Take a break with me and pick it back up in the morning.”

“I gotta get this done,” Jane argued. “We spent the whole first day in bed and now I’m payin’ for it by havin’ to cram. Kinda defeats the purpose of us comin’ here.”

“You regret it?” Maura dared Jane to say yes.

Jane looked up at Maura in her flowy white swimwear cover and her bikini under that, unable to take that dare. “No. I don’t ever regret… that. I just… you know how hard this whole thing is for me. I mean, the learning isn’t hard, but the playing school part?”

“You learn things very quickly,” Maura stated, continuing to rub. She relished when Jane leaned back. “You get bored of schooling. But this is all information you have to memorize for your certification.”

“Yeah,” Jane answered. “Remind me to kill Frankie for convincing me I needed a certificate in digital policing.”

“He was right to suggest it. More and more, smartphones are becoming a part of most, if not all, crimes,” said Maura. “You love him. You’re just tired and frustrated because you’re not being challenged by the material.”

“I guess,” said Jane.

“You know what? This whole week, you’ve been trying to do this all by yourself. I’m here. I’ll help you study. I can read the rest of things in that other binder and then summarize it for you.”

Jane leaned her head back until it landed on Maura’s chest. “You would do that for me?”

“Promise me you’ll put that away for a few hours and I’ll do anything you ask,” Maura teased. When Jane pursed her lips, Maura pouted. “Please? You haven’t touched me since Wednesday.”

Jane made a show of shutting her work and exhaling. “Yeah yeah, Einstein. Bring it over here.”

Maura yipped, clapping with excitement, and then they both cleared the bed together.

No New Friends - “It’s Not that Heavy; I’m stronger than I look”

Jane despises the wound in her shoulder, though it actually looks pretty good considering the gaping hole it had been before Maura sewed it up. It’s just… she can’t do anything. She stares down the box of books at her feet, the one she told Maura she’d move out of the office the night before she’d been shot. And now, just the thought of the weight, the intellectual exercise of mapping out the route she would take from here to the basement, exhausts her.

That’s when Cicciu enters. “Hey Ma,” he says. “Mom sent me up here to tell you… you’re uh, you’re not gonna try to pick that up, are you?” He stops, and points at the offending box.

Jane blushes. “Well kid, define pick up,” she replies sheepishly. She kicks at it with her boot, dressed for work though Maura won’t let her out of the house for so much as a store run.

“Uh uh, I got it,” he says, and before she can protest, he bends and has it over his shoulder. “Basement?” he grunts.

“Hey oh, careful, Cicciu,” Jane darts towards him.

He just moves away. “It’s not that heavy,” he says, though his forehead starts to sweat, “I’m stronger than I look. Basement?” He repeats.

“Y-yeah,” stutters Jane. “Basement.” She wants to kiss him, all over his teenaged face, but settles for following him down the stairs and to the basement, telling herself that she’ll catch him, or the box, if it goes toppling over.

[qitwrites]

growing pains 

Fandom: Boku no hero academia 

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

OR

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?’

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.  

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.  

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

[buryyourfavouritestrope]

Five years sure do fly - Shiro Fujimoto

Author Note: Just going to leave this one here.

How many times had she visited this place in the past three weeks? Not once had she managed to make it through the iron clad gates. Perhaps it was the weather that prevented her entrance. Each day had been a painfully sunny one, the direct opposite to the current heartbreak that was dancing through her chest. Or perhaps if she were being honest with herself, it was her cowardice that stopped her. It would certainly explain a lot, she hadn’t spoken to the man for over five years and yet she had made her way back as though she had never left.

What could she say? ‘Hey Fujimoto, wow how five years flies. I didn’t mean to stay away for so long, but you know the Vatican and other Exorcist business. Could not get the time off. Oh no, I…it had nothing to do with your adopted demon sons starting to call me their mom or pushing both of us to confess feelings that I tried to bury to each other’

Her brow furrowed; in a few minutes the confidence within her would dissipate. She would find her eyes darting to the pavement before her body pulled her further from the area. With a mutter about returning the next day she would scurry away back to the hole she had come from.

It was her own fear that had pushed her away from Fujimoto, the panic paired itself perfectly with self-doubt and within those final few months she had ruined everything. She had stopped visiting the twins, the monastery. She had rejected every call and text from Shiro, every time he would visit, she would pretend to be out, or she would ask for a certain demonic benefactor to draw his attention away.

The day she left; she had made no objection to Mephisto telling Fujimoto. In truth it had been a selfish idea that the man would turn up with his two tearaways in toe and confess like some bad rom com rerun. A selfish picture that she had no right to.

“It helps if you walk inside, the gates a fine material but the grounds inside are much more appealing. I can assure you there are no demons beyond this point,” Mephisto cooed. His sudden presence had caused her to jump, a hand flying to her heart as she glanced at him. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would turn up here. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d been watching her ever since her return. The demon knew everyone’s habits. “Well, none from Gehenna at least”

“I don’t belong here. I’m not even sure why I even came” She mumbled. There would be no use clearing the air now, the unspoken words had no right to be said – not anymore. Instead, she gathered herself, expelling what little courage she had left and smiled at Mephisto. “I should probably get going, my flight leaves later this afternoon and check in at the airport is a pain these days.”

“My dear, I think this is exactly the place you belong. I’ve watched you stand here for three weeks, each time you stumble at the last hurdle, and though it’s a pleasure of mine to watch you humans and your strange cycles, I really think you should break this one. If you run again, I can’t promise you that it’ll make you feel better.” He chided. The smirk that danced along his features did little to soothe her. “Consider your vacation to the Vatican cancelled, I’ve asked for your help here at this Exorcist Branch. There seems to be some troublesome students at the Cram School that could really use the guidance of someone like you. No protests I’ve already spoken to the higher ups.”

She nodded; there would be no point in arguing with Mephisto. The man always had the last laugh, even when she was younger and he would tease her, much to the protest of Shiro. They always seemed to come to blows when she was involved. Mephisto had a habit of placing her in danger with his ridiculous antics and Shiro would always be there to protect her.

“So step in, say your peace and come to True Cross Academy with me.” He announced, his hands pushed her towards the gates with little resistance. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re ready”

She left him leaning against the iron gates as she dawdled through the grounds. She ran her eyes over each syllable attached to the stones until she found his. It hurt her to know she missed the funeral; it made her sick to her stomach to know that she could’ve done something had she not cancelled her flights every month.

The fresh flowers adorning the stone made her smile. Perhaps Yukio had been this morning, the boy had always been a softie, a strong one but a big softie. She remembered the time they all sat on the grass outside the monastery. She would teach him to make flower crowns and read him books on different flowers whilst Rin ran amuck covering himself in mud. Shiro would stand there a cigarette in his lips as he watched the older twin run around with his arms in the air.

“it’s been a while.” She began, “I don’t know what to say, I guess…You always started conversations, you knew I was hopeless so you always started them because if I did, I would put my foot in something. Like the time on a mission when we visited an elderly couple and they asked how long we’d been together, and I started rambling. I think I called her an old hag; said you were handsome and called her husband a saint for dealing with her.” She smiled. She hadn’t noticed that her legs were trembling or that water had begun to fall down her cheeks. Part of her wanted to call for Mephisto, just to have someone there. She wanted someone to tell her this wasn’t real, Shiro had been planning this prank for years.

‘You called me handsome, I think the actual term was as handsome as sin, I also think I heard you said that no matter how old I get I could still get some” He laughed. His laugh surrounded her like a hug as she pictured that memory. She remembered shouting at him, her face bright red as blood pooled in her cheeks. She hadn’t said that she remembered screaming that at him, that he would be lucky if she even gave that a second thought. ‘uh uh, no take backs. I don’t think my journal could handle the heartbreak. I’d have to go home and scribble out all the hearts with our initials in them.’

“This is so messed up; you shouldn’t be here. You should be with the boys stopping Rin from doing something dumb and watching Yukio study. Anything but here. When Mephisto…when they told me, you died. I screamed and screamed until my lungs hurt too much to continue. It was too late to come to the funeral; he’d come too late and I hated it. I hated him because if he’d been a day earlier, I would’ve been there for Rin and Yukio. I had the tickets months ago, but I missed the flight. I should have been here, and I would give everything to go back and get on that plane. I would give anything to rewind time to five years ago.” She cried. Her knees bucking beneath her as she stumbled to the ground. “I never…I never told you how much you all meant to me, all those messages you sent asking me if I hated you, if you’d done something but it was me. I couldn’t deal with the idea that my feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. I left it too long and you died.”

Her hysterics flooded the quiet of the graveyard. She was certain Mephisto could hear her cries from outside the graveyard. Even more so when she heard his footsteps falling against the pathway. She felt his arms surround her as she sobbed. Shiro was gone; her world had almost entirely shattered. The words left unspoken were now rotting in her mind.

“I miss him, I miss him so much” She wailed.

“We all do, none more than the two Okumura boys. Father Fujimoto. Shiro informed me shortly before he died, that should he ever be unable to care for the boys that they be placed under your care, if you were to remain abroad, I would look after them. But you’re back now and I think it would be beneficial to them if you saw them. Yukio has grown into a fine teacher since you’ve been gone, and Rin has given himself a bold goal for the future. One I’m sure he’ll need your help with. But first we need to get you all cleaned up.” Mephisto whispered.

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, three

rowaelin high school bff au  masterlist

Based on the prompts : 

Subtle glances at each other but they don’t notice Everyone else knows how they feel Where one of them subconsciously copies the others movements.... For Rowaelin HS au (of course)

Person A sneaking things into the cart when Person B isn’t looking. I thought of Aelin sneaking some chocolate sweets 😂

“Ace, control yourself.”

Rowan removed the family-sized bag of assorted chocolates from their grocery cart and replaced it with a smaller one. Aelin pouted and widened her eyes, hoping that her puppy dog eyes would distract her best friend, but he remained resolute. He walked a little further down the aisle and placed a bag of trail mix into the cart. Aelin picked it up and frowned.

“Ro, there’s not even chocolate in this!” she whined, and Rowan rolled his eyes. “Who eats trail mix without chocolate? That’s a crime against humanity.”

“Some of us have lacrosse nationals to prep for and might want nutritious snacks.”

“You can have all the carrots and humus you want,” Aelin laughed, grabbing two bags of potato chips and a can of queso.

“You’re never going to make it through this all-nighter if you eat that crap,” Rowan chastised, but Aelin merely flicked him off in return.

“Please. My body runs on grease and sugar and caffeine,” she bragged. “I’ll be fine.”

Rowan’s eyes slowly perused her body, and Aelin resisted tugging at the hem of her cropped hoodie, studiously ignoring Rowan’s pointed gaze.

“It is kind of insane how true that is,” Rowan said, eyes still affixed to the few inches of exposed skin between her jeans and top. “You’re a medical marvel. Doctors should study you.”

“I exercise,” Aelin huffed in response, and Rowan barked out a loud laugh. As a varsity athlete, Rowan’s exercise regiment bordered on extreme – a five mile run every morning, lacrosse practice every afternoon, followed by weight lifting.

“Says the girl who uses cramps to get out of gym every other week, and then the week you actually have your period.”

Aelin snorted loudly. “It’s not my fault that Coach Hammel doesn’t know anything about the female reproductive system.” Aelin frowned. “And by the way, it’s weird that you track my period.”

She watched as Rowan’s ears turned pink, but he rolled his eyes regardless. “It’s for my own protection. I need to know when to steer clear, otherwise you might mistake me for a piece of chocolate and bite my head off,” he said, poking her in the ribs.

Aelin could feel herself heating up, imagining how delicious Rowan might taste with some chocolate on him.

Since Aelin’s birthday, it was as if her hormones were constantly going haywire. Some sort of teenage hormonal glitch, for sure. Her lust for Rowan had blossomed, and she was no longer in control of her thoughts or her body’s flustered reactions to his presence.

Since their weird, too-close slow dance just a few weeks ago, Aelin had kept track of every time Rowan had touched her. Her body was just… hyper aware of him.

It wasn’t as if Rowan hadn’t touched her before – no, the pair of best friends had always been comfortable with each other in their casual physical intimacy. But suddenly, it was driving Aelin insane. To the point of distraction. She’d written down every pinch and tickle and arm slung over her shoulder with a time code into her diary, just to organize how frequently he touched her.

It wasn’t even that the touching was inappropriate. No, it was completely innocent, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if it meant something. Like, maybe Rowan wanted to kiss her too?

She mentally clocked another one to add to her diary – Tuesday at 5:12pm: Rowan poked her side in the grocery aisle.

To combat her rising flush, she diverted her attention to their full cart, overflowing with every kind of junk food from frozen pizza to cookies to tubs of icing to energy drinks and every snack food in between. Rowan’s healthy food section was a paltry sampling of baby carrots, hummus and now his gross, chocolate-free trail mix. They had exactly what they needed for a late night of cramming for their world history exam.

As they made their way to the front to pay, Aelin took a quick moment to replace the bag of chocolates with the family sized one. Rowan didn’t notice until she placed it on the conveyer belt to pay, which he noted with a loud sigh.

“You’re a menace to society,” Rowan he said, squeezing her side.

As Aelin paid, Rowan brushed by her again, his fingertips ever so slightly caressing the bare skin of her back, flustering Aelin completely. Her cheeks heated as she fumbled with the credit card in her hand. Gods, she could not get her lust under control today. How many times had she blushed in this shopping trip alone? But also…

Was that necessary?! She wanted to scream at him as he took his place at the end of the belt to help bag groceries. She looked up at the cashier, who was looking at her with a knowing smile on her face.

“Huh?” Aelin asked, not having quite heard the cashier.

“$83.78,” the cashier repeated, glancing quickly at Rowan and then back at Aelin.

“Right,” Aelin mumbled, ignoring the cashier’s pointed look and swiping her dad’s card quickly.

Rowan hoisted the bags onto his broad shoulders and led the way back to his car, completely oblivious to Aelin’s most recent spike of arousal. Luckily, Rowan was unable to touch her over the large center console of his jeep, and Aelin propped her feet up on the dash, giving herself some space to cool down.

But as he put on his driving playlist, her eyes unwittingly slid to him. She couldn’t help herself.  Somewhere over the last six months, he’d grown about four inches and had started filling out his lanky body with actual muscles. She glanced at her best friend’s face, noticing his long blonde lashes and sloped nose and his silver-blonde hair, in desperate need of a haircut, falling ever so slightly into his dark green eyes.

“Why are you staring at me?” Rowan asked, never taking his eyes off the road. He was nothing if not an overly cautious driver.

Aelin leaned forward and poked her thumb against his cheek. She briefly wondered if Rowan was cataloguing every time she touched him, too. She doubted it. Instead of saying anything incriminating, she went with something ridiculous.

“Do you think you’ll ever need to shave, or are you too blonde to grow facial hair?” she asked, causing Rowan to scowl. He leaned his head down and lifted his shoulder, trapping Aelin’s fingers. She laughed loudly, wriggling her fingers, but she didn’t try hard to remove them. Why would she?

“Why, you think I’d look good with a beard?” Rowan asked, and Aelin crinkled her eyes trying to imagine him, even more grown with a full face of stubble. She just couldn’t.

She must have been making quite the disgruntled expression, because Rowan looked immediately offended as he released her hand from its hold and snapped at her free fingers with his bared teeth. Aelin squealed and pulled her hand back into her lap. “Rude,” he said, pulling into Aelin’s driveway.

“Your dad just left,” Elide announced, barely waiting until the jeep was in park to pull the door open. “He said not to burn the house down.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. That was her dad’s sign off every time he left to go to work. Aelin had started one tiny fire while attempting to cook dinner alone one time, and her father had shown up with the entire Orynth Fire Department in full gear, ready to rescue his daughter from certain death. He’d never let her live it down. She was OFD legend.

“What’d you get?” Lysandra asked, rifling through one of the grocery bags. “Oh! Stuffed crust,” she said with a grin. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

Lysandra batted her long lashes at Aelin, slipping her arm around her friend’s waist as Aelin led them all into the house. Another arm tugged at Lysandra, pulling her away, and Aelin laughed at Lysandra’s annoyed squeal with her boyfriend.

“Wes, go help Elide set up our work stations,” Lysandra ordered, and Wesley immediately pouted, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist even tighter, nibbling at her neck.

“But I’m so hungry,” he complained.

Lysandra pushed his face off her as she narrowed her eyes with warning.

“You get that snack after you help me ace this exam,” Lysandra smirked, and Wesley nuzzled his chin against her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“This is a PDA free night,” Rowan groaned, unloading his healthy snacks. “You promised.” He wagged his finger at the amorous couple, who, since losing their virginities to each other over spring break had been completely inseparable. At the mouth and the groin.

Wesley kissed Lysandra one last time before taking a large step back.

“Just because you’re not getting any,” he grumbled, “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Rowan’s mouth dropped as he continued to plate his carrots. “I could get some… if I wanted…” he mumbled under his breath, causing both Aelin and Lysandra to burst into laughter.

“Sure you could, Buzzard,” Aelin said with an overzealous wink. She grabbed her bags of chips and queso and left a flustered Rowan in the kitchen.

Aelin plopped down onto the couch and groaned at the extensive schedule Elide had written up for them.

“I’ve broken up our schedule into twelve, forty-minute long increments,” Elide explained, tying her dark hair up into a bun. “If we stick to the schedule, we should be fully crammed in… eight hours.”

Aelin pouted as she opened her chips. She knew she was in for a long night, putting Elide in charge of the study schedule. But… eight hours? That meant they’d be studying until two in the morning.

Elide clapped loudly as she started handing out flashcards. “Let’s go, team.”

Six hours later, Aelin was ready to collapse. It was approaching midnight, and they’d made it through nine of the twelve study sections. Only three more to go until freedom. She knew she was supposed to have thoughts of Elirea history swirling through her head, but since Rowan took his place on the floor next to her, she was having a hard time concentrating.

“You know what we need?” Wesley said, twirling one of Lysandra’s chestnut curls around his fingers. Aelin shrugged. “A bowl,” he said. “I always study better when I’m buzzed.”

“You think my dad wouldn’t be able to smell weed as soon as he walked into the house? The man is like a bloodhound for smoke,” Aelin replied, trying to ignore the way Rowan leaned back into her in agreement.

“Gods, I can’t wait to smoke a giant bowl after lacrosse season is over,” Rowan said, resting his chin on top of Aelin’s head.

“Pack it for two, Buzzard,” Aelin said with a laugh, and she could feel Rowan nod against her scalp.

“What about ice cream instead?” Elide suggested. “I think we could all use a sugar bump.”

Lysandra jumped to her feet, moaning loudly as she stretched her arms above her head, her back popping with each subtle movement. Aelin watched as Wesley practically salivated, getting a glimpse of her lacy bra strap. He grabbed at Lysandra’s thigh, and Aelin laughed as she kicked him off gently with a wink.

“Soon, babe.”

Aelin’s filter must have disappeared with her exhaustion because upon looking at her two friends she shouted out, “You two cannot fuck in my house.”

“Please, I’m classier than that.”

“Are you?” Aelin asked, causing Rowan to snort into her hair.

Lysandra blushed but ignored Aelin as she swayed her hips all the way into the kitchen. She reappeared with three pints of ice cream and five spoons.

Aelin immediately grabbed her favorite flavor, Half Baked, and stuck her spoon into it. Her lips wrapped around the cold metal and she couldn’t help but moan loudly at the fudge brownie bite.

She nearly protested as someone else stuck their spoon into her pint, but she stopped herself when she saw it was Rowan.

“Sugar? Really?” she asked. “You must be really tired.”

She watched as Rowan smirked in response, taking a large bite for himself. Aelin’s throat dried as she watched his lips wrap around his spoon, his tongue peeking out and licking the remainder of the ice cream. How was it possible that he made ice cream look pornographic?

“Yum,” he said softly, and took another bite for himself.

There was something weirdly intimate about sharing a pint of ice cream. One pint, two spoons. Aelin completely missed the tenth section of Elide’s schedule because she was too focused on the way Rowan was eating next to her, occasionally knocking his spoon into hers.

When they got to the second to last section, Aelin realized she’d forgotten her notes upstairs. Grateful to have an excuse for some space to cool down, she made her way up to her bedroom to search for her notebook. Even though it was exactly where she’d left it – on her desk, Aelin couldn’t resist the fluffy allure of her bed. She looked at the clock, almost one am. She was so, so tired.

Knowing her friends would absolutely send someone to find her if she didn’t come back downstairs in a few minutes, Aelin risked getting into bed, huddling under the covers for a very quick power nap. Sleep found her quickly, and before she knew it, she was being woken up by soft whispers and laughter.

“Should we wake them?” she could hear Elide ask, and Lysandra’s chuckled reply came quickly after.

“No, don’t wake them.” A long pause. “They’re so cute.”

“And stupid,” Wesley drawled.

Aelin went to roll out of bed, but she found herself pinned down by something heavy. She cracked her eye open and was shocked to realize that Rowan was on top of her comforter, arm flung around her shoulders, deep asleep next to her. His light snores made Aelin smile.

Aelin moved her head over her shoulder, only to see her three friends standing in her doorway, staring at the sleeping friends, wide grins plastered to their faces.

“We sent him to bring you back an hour ago,” Lysandra explained.

Aelin glanced at the clock. Officially 2am. They must have finished Elide’s study schedule. Shit. Well, hopefully Aelin could remember enough of the other topics to do well on this exam. Despite her movement, Rowan didn’t stir once.

“Just leave a note for my dad downstairs that Rowan is here?” Aelin asked, not feeling particularly inclined to move out of his grasp at all.

“Done.” Elide nodded. “Already texted Aunt Maeve, too.”

“Love you,” Aelin mumbled out to her friends, already letting sleep overtake her vision again.

“Love you, too,” Rowan mumbled in his sleep, sticking his nose into Aelin’s hair.

Aelin ignored her friends’ snickering and closed her eyes and burrowed into Rowan’s soft shirt. Inhaling deeply, she was asleep before she even heard the front door close.

~*~*~*~

AN: I’m starting a ToG tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to it HERE (replies in notes tend to get lost, so if you’ve asked to be tagged already and you’re not, please don’t hesitate to ask again!)

tag list:

@df3ndyr

@hizqueen4life

@maastrash

@justgiu12

@aknymph

@bamchickawowow

@thewayshedreamed

@strangeenemy

@studyliketate

@iammissstark

@heirofthenightcourt

@acourtofmarauders

@cmoff1

@stardelia

@b00kworm

@wordsafterhours

@m-like-magic

@the-third-me

@cursebreaker29

@annejulianneh111

@queen-of-glass

@aesthetics-11

@x3hopelessdreamer

@illyrian-velaris

@galyxsy

@cool-ish-nerd

@althelkingshorses

@rockgirl321

@westofmoon

@sanakapoor

@louiseleblancdiggory

@superspiritfestival​

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week - Day 1 - Childhood | The Trial and Tribulations of Fitzherbert and Schnitz

The Trial and Tribulations of Fitzherbert and Schnitz

Current word count: 3178

Current Rating: T for upcoming chapters

This is my version of that now-infamous RTA lost episode, "The Trial of Fitzherbert and Schnitz". Most of you are aware how I took issue with Disney having used both adoption AND Eugene's having adopted his lifelong persona as Flynn as a 20-minute throwaway plot. I'm gonna try to beef up that premise.

I suppose this is ALSO my way of refuting some of the (very limited) spoilery stuff I've read that's included in the upcoming traditionally published Flynn Rider novel.

My own plot line will be significantly darker than your average Disney plot, though.

------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: Sister Eunice

Several years into the past....

Arnie was skipping down the corridor just past the chapel, minding his own business, when suddenly a loud CRASH!!! sounded from just behind him. He whipped around to see an enormous new hole in a large ornate stained-glass window behind him that was intact just seconds ago.

Thinking one of the rowdier orphans to be at fault, Arnie ran to have a looksee outside. He was shocked to discover nobody except Sister Eunice opposite him next to the stone wall. Surely she couldn’t have been the one to shatter the window??

The young nun noticed him from outside the chapel though and hissed, “Arnie!! Arnie, don’t tell anybody you saw me here! Please. I’m trying to save Eugene!! I’m trying to save you all!! If anybody asks, especially Father Francis, tell them you saw Eugene throw a rock at the window. I can’t explain why, but it’ll help out. A LOT. Can you do that for me, please, Arnie? Would you do this to save your best friend, Eugene?” She was looking at him with frightened eyes, taking surreptitious furtive glances behind her.

Ten-year-old Arnie had stared back, wide-eyed, and had only barely begun to nod when Sis Eunice turned back, ran around the corner of the chapel toward Arnie’s right, and disappeared. Young Arnie was left standing there, mouth agape, wondering why on earth a nun - a nun!!! - would throw a heavy rock through a church-owned stained glass window. And especially a window that the children were told was hundreds of years old!

Not long after that, to his left, Arnie saw someone else outside out of the corner of his eye. The young boy instinctively hid behind the full partition of the wall where the stained glass window ended. It was Fr Francis, the priest for the local parish, walking at a brisk pace. And Arnie could’ve sworn the scary priest might be tracking Sis Eunice. Arnie and Eugene hadn’t ever been particularly fond of Francis. In fact, they went out of their way to avoid the older dour-faced man.

Although Fr. Francis was currently looking at the hole in the window from a ways off, he couldn’t see where Arnie was from his vantage point. Arnie slinked away to go find Eugene.

Turned out he bumped into Eugene almost immediately since Eugene had been in the chapel, waiting to meet up with Lord and Lady Boskin. Arnie stopped in his tracks at the sight of his friend, all freshly bathed, his hair combed, and so unexpectedly dressed in a new blue velvet skeleton suit, white stockings, silk shirt, and leather shoes. It was the latest modern fashion that all the rich boys were wearing in Vardaros. He knew that because Eugene told him every time they were fortunate enough to go to town with one of the sisters. Arnie would have to pry Eugene away from the shop window where Eugene’s face would sometimes get so close to the display that his nose print would remain on the glass. Arnie didn’t understand why Eugene cared about stuff like that. Fashion and velvet and lace. Orphans weren’t supposed to care. Food was more important anyway.

“I heard a terrible crash and came to investigate!” Eugene said breathlessly.

All thought of the broken window had flown from Arnie’s mind at the sight of his transformed best friend and he demanded, “What’re you wearing alla that for??”

Suddenly self-conscious, Eugene crammed his hands in his new pockets, stared at the floor, scuffed the sole of his new shoe against the mosaic tile and mumbled, “Fr Francis took me aside after breakfast to the rectory and said that Lord and Lady Boskin have chosen to adopt…..me.” He said it with the same amount of awe he felt when he first saw the suit in its parcel.

“....and….and you didn’t think to tell me any sooner? You were just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” accused Arnie, his eyes filling with tears. Eugene could see his pouting lips tremble from several yards away. “But...but I didn’t know either…!” protested Eugene, now fighting tears himself, before he was abruptly cut off.

As Arnie stood there simultaneously hating and envying Eugene, a whole crowd of people had arrived from both sides of the corridor, to all of the ensuing hullabaloo of the shattered window. Unfortunately, it was just in time to see these two boys standing by themselves right near the new gaping hole in the priceless stained glass window.

Fr Francis had reappeared inside followed by the Mthr Superior, Sis Eunice, several dozen children, and a few other nuns. Everyone was chattering and buzzing and arguing about which of the two boys had broken the window -- Arnie or Eugene. Perhaps both? Immediately they both protested their innocence and the bored aggressive older boys used the moment as an excuse to break out into a fight…

Two brawny red-headed boys quickly left the mob only to have one boy each bowl right into Eugene and Arnie. All four boys toppled over to the floor.

All of the other children started shouting, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” and just before the redheads could land their first actual punches, Fr Francis easily intervened by grabbing both of their pulled-back fists, squeezing them, and ordering the boys to get up off their intended victims and up off the floor. They reluctantly complied. Then Francis ordered Arnie and Eugene off the floor and to follow him to his office.

As Eugene looked down in dismay at the visible dirt on his beautiful new suit, Sis Eunice surreptitiously put a comforting hand on his shoulder and said, in a voice so softly only he could hear, “Don’t worry -- these are play clothes. More than capable of taking a few layers of dirt from rambunctious young boys.” She always had a way to help him feel better….but this time, since he was effectively being frog-marched to the priest’s office over something he didn’t do, the good feeling didn’t last nearly long enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~((0))((0))((0))~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Hours Earlier…..

Eugene had been called to the rectory by Fr. Francis immediately following breakfast. Without any prior notice whatsoever, he informed Eugene that Lord and Lady Boskin had actually chosen to adopt him!!!

Young Eugene couldn’t believe his luck! He wondered why he’d been chosen. What had the wealthy young couple seen in him? Even though he’d only been formally introduced once or twice, and had spoken only a few sentences to them, they chose him. And he supposed they seemed nice enough.

Eugene and most of the orphans had already seen the younger couple several times. He learned from the nuns over the past couple of years that the pair were evidently unable to have children of their own and as such, had been growing their own family a different way. Twice per year for the past two years, they had chosen a new child from amongst the orphans at this orphanage. Prior to their more formal choosing-times for each child, they would come to the orphanage for several trips and take turns meeting and chatting with the children. Yet this time, they had actually chosen Eugene.

Sis. Eunice had entered the rectory right behind Fr Francis and his announcement; the latter then vacated the building. Sis Eunice had taken Eugene by the hand and led him to the home’s water closet. And already waiting for him was a fresh bath -- mid-week, even! He was accustomed to every Saturday at most. For the first time in his life, Eugene was treated to his very own bath where the water was actually extra warm and didn’t contain the sloughed-off post-bathing scoodge from a zillion other children lurking in the bottom.

Eugene had seen the nuns sniffle and get misty-eyed plenty of times when other children had been adopted. But their crying was always rather delicate and they always tried to smile through it. However, as Sis Eunice helped him to properly wash his fingers, toes, and ears during what Eugene thought of as his luxurious bath, Sis Eunice also kept repeatedly bursting into tears. And apologizing for it. She seemed genuinely….worried.

The nuns weren’t supposed to have favorites but Eugene knew Sis Eunice was easily the most fond of him. She had arrived at the orphanage during the height of a disease outbreak which had very nearly claimed little Eugene’s life. And it would have done so too, if it weren’t for Sis Eunice’s dogged persistence. They had originally bonded over their funny-sounding first names. She’d turned her own name into a joke to try and give him a reason to smile….and it worked. Most if not all of the other nuns were quite hands-off but Sis Eunice believed in healing touch. As Eugene’s stricken body fought the virulent infection, the Sister held him, rocked him, and sang to him. After that, she promised to come back to the room that housed the most ill children and read aloud a story once she finished her rounds. She had sat closest to little Eugene as she read aloud “Flynnigan Rider and the Pirates of Penzance” for the very first time. It was the first time Eugene had become familiar with the novels.

And though Eugene hadn’t really noticed before (nun’s habits often made it difficult to tell who was older than whom) right now, after he learned he would soon be leaving the orphanage forever that day, it was almost as if Eugene were seeing Sis Eunice for the first time. And for the first time, he noticed how young she truly was. She had a spray of freckles across her face and a little space between her front teeth. A halo of strawberry blonde curls framed her face and perpetually worked their way out of her wimpole. It’s possible Sis Eunice was even younger than Lady Boskin.

He couldn’t help but notice as she had him put on a clean slick-feeling shirt -- a brand-new one, just for him!! -- yet that was only the beginning. Apparently with each chosen child, the adoptive couple provided a freshly purchased outfit from the shops in town. Even Sis Eunice couldn’t help but smile this time as she presented Eugene’s new clothes to him. She asked him to tug open the string holding the paper parcel together. He stared at the parcel, eyes darting between the string and the Sister’s face. “Another present?” he whispered in awe. “For me?” Inside lay a brand new velvet suit. “It’s my favorite color!” he squeaked in delight. “Cornflower blue!” And Sis. Eunice nodded with the same huge smile on her face as him. “Shall I?” she asked softly, reaching into the parcel so he could see the whole suit. Eugene was utterly thunderstruck now. He stared wide-eyed at this beautiful boughten suit which was already quite familiar to him.

“But this is the same…..” he trailed off as Sis Eunice finished for him, “It’s the same suit you’ve had your eye on all year in that shop window?” Mouth agape, Eugene nodded slowly, clearly still in shock.

Eugene recalled how Sis Eunice had begun reading the Flynnigan Rider story with a splash, quite literally, and encompassed the first three chapters. The very first words of the book started with Flynnigan Rider on the mains’l full on the mast of a tall ship, shouting, “As long as I possess air in my lungs, I shall never surrender!!” And right before an enemy bullet could pierce him, Rider had sprinted and dove off the end of the mains’l to plunge down into the sea below. Sis Eunice had taken a fresh mildly damp cloth and spun it above her head, so everyone could feel the ‘splash’. That’s all it took for her to hook every single one of her charges. Sis Eunice had read aloud in every voice. Acted out each scene. She had as many props as feasible. And at the end of chapter 3 that first night, she closed the book amidst many “awwws”, protests, and left the children clamoring for more and some even wanting to help star in the show. Six-year-old Eugene had finally found the strength to speak for the first time in days and tugged Sis Eunice’s robes. “Tomorrow? Please?” he whispered breathlessly. The Sister knelt down close by his ear and pushed his hair away from his fevered brow. “I’ll tell you what,” she said softly. “If you think you can stick around for me by this time tomorrow morning, I promise to come back and read for you. Deal?”

And she turned to the rest of the room, “Tonight’s life lesson from Flynnigan is to hold air in those lungs -- by breathing deeply -- so that you can keep fighting.” Eager to prove to Sis Eunice that he could be brave like Flynnigan Rider, he concentrated on breathing as deeply as he could. Though it was by far the most difficult and painful thing he’d ever done in his young life, he followed through with it nonetheless. And Sis Eunice had returned each morning and night, as promised, to divulge more of Flynnigan’s adventures and life lessons. By the time he was well enough about a week later, she’d ask for Eugene to actually promise to wait for her the next night and bit by bit, little Eugene had found the strength to come back from the brink. And it was all because of one (or was it two?) very special people -- Sis Eunice and Flynnigan Rider.

“Shall we dress you smartly then? It’s not proper for a young man of your new status to be prancing around, half-dressed, you know,” Sis Eunice teased, bringing Eugene back to the present. Usually he’d act silly in return but right now….as soon as he had the new trousers on….Eugene was overcome and couldn’t help but throw his arms around the Sister’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, “so much.” It was the nicest clothing -- the nicest anything -- that anyone had ever given him. And Sis Eunice thought he was misinterpreting who’d provided for him this suit but he wasn’t. “I know it wasn’t your money,” as Eugene was well aware that the nuns scarcely had more than the orphans due in large part to their vows of charity and poverty. And yet he replied, still embracing her, “But I just know that you had something to do with it somehow, Sis Eunice.”

She briefly taught him the tricks with helping Eugene learn how to dress himself up in the fancy new suit. It had a lot of buttons. Big shiny brass ones. She was insistent that none of her charges was going to be reliant on servants to dress them, even after they left the orphanage. Once Eugene was fully dressed in his new comfortably-tailored playsuit, Sis Eunice also presented to him new stockings and new mahogany leather shoes.

Sis Eunice looked adoringly...and then somberly at Eugene as the thunderstruck little boy could not stop studying his own reflection in a full-length mirror.

Though most boys hated baths, he actually liked them (especially when they were warm with fresh water) almost as much as he liked playing in the dirt. He wondered if he’d have his own bed at his new home. He wondered if he’d get to have a mattress, bedclothes, and a pillow every night.

“Well, I suppose it’s time,” said Sis Eunice with a watery smile. The pair of them began to head over to the parish chapel just off the orphanage and across the compound from the rectory. Halfway through the walk, Sis Eunice asked him to continue onto the chapel and said that she’d meet up with him again in a very short few moments. And that was apparently where he was supposed to meet up with Lord and Lady Boskin to sign the final papers and officially become their latest son for real. His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

After his arrival in the chapel, and within 3 minutes, he heard a very loud crash outside in the corridor to the right of his vantage point near the front of the chapel. He thought maybe he should stay put just in case, but his curiosity got the best of him and he went to investigate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~((0))~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Office of the Clergy….

Arnie had been called into the clergy office with Fr Francis, Mthr Superior, and Sis Eunice. Eugene had been left outside to stew and fret by himself.

“So you witnessed Eugene Fitzherbert throw a rock at the stained glass?” said Fr Francis imperiously. Arnie’s wide frightened eyes kept darting back and forth between Fr Francis’s unpleasant features and Sis Eunice’s equally terrified eyes. She nodded imperceptibly to encourage Arnie to say yes. Arnie didn’t want to lie but he didn’t want to be the one who got in trouble either. Not to mention….it utterly broke his heart that Eugene was getting adopted and that he wasn’t even gonna say goodbye to Arnie. Thus Arnie looked to the floor and nodded downward at it half-heartedly.

Eugene was brought into the office and not even given a chance to defend nor explain himself.

“Naughty misbehaving boys who destroy priceless works of church art don’t deserve to get adopted,” Fr Francis began imperiously. “Remove that clothing at once. It’s no longer yours and you are no longer fit to wear it.” Poor Eugene recoiled in shock and horror and Sis Eunice stepped in to try and intervene. She shared scared looks with Arnie, even more frightened than before. “There’s no need for that, he hasn’t physically harmed anybody,” Sis Eunice reasoned, “there’s no reason to treat him like he’s a criminal. He just had an accident, that's all.”

Eugene kept backing further and further away, “Not adopted??” was all he could manage to say. “That’s precisely it,” Fr Francis replied coldly. “I’ll tell Lord and Lady Boskin not to follow through with the paperwork because misbehaving children are evil children, and they shan’t have evil brought into their perfect home. Now give back that clothing or I shall turn you in for theft of property.” Sis Eunice’s hands flew to her mouth in open dismay. Arnie had correctly deduced that this was definitely not a development she had anticipated. Now the Mthr Superior and other church lackeys outside the door had begun to put their hands on Eugene in effort to take back his new boughten clothes.

Clearly, not knowing what else to do, Sis Eunice pressed her advantage, knelt down by Eugene's ear, and said, “You must run, Eugene!! Stay as far away from here as you can! Make certain they can’t ever catch you. I’ll take care of the rest.” His eyes bugged out and still he hesitated before Sis Eunice hissed, “GO! NOW!”

Eugene spun on the heel of his new shoe, managed to just barely pull away from the sea of grabbing hands, and sprinted out into the great beyond. P.S. Yes, I have every intention of continuing this. And hopefully even seeing it to completion, like a real "episode", even though the timelapse will be more like a full hour as opposed to 22 minutes? In fact, I've already written a bit more beyond it. I just have to write other things for the time being.....

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

[mihidecet]

Sbi&co: D&D AU: It begins

I’m back from hiatus yall!!! Ever so sorry for the wait, and thank you all so very much for your patience and kindness <3 Updates should go back to the regular schedule now! Hope you’ll enjoy!!

Also! This is an early birthday present for the lovely Lando @whatimevendoinhere​ ! Without them this AU wouldn’t exist, so make sure to check out their STUNNING art and go wish them a happy birthday tomorrow!!

There's a rhythmic tapping coming from Scott's right as he looks through his spellbook for one last time. 

His right hand man, the head of his guards - of the stationed ones, at least the only guards existing formally - huffs out fondly, rolling his eyes as Scott's hand gently shuts the tome closed. He sticks his tongue out at the shorter man, prompting a chuckle out of him; after all they both know he doesn't need to freshen up his memory regarding this spell, it is simply tradition. 

Almost a century has passed since the first event, he's not going to stop now.

The opening ceremony has always been a big deal: it sets up the mood for the first few weeks of the tournament, and it involves him having to talk in front of a whole stadium of people, which is as fun as it is anxiety inducing. 

It also involves introducing and showing off each participant, which is always entertaining; many crowd-favourites get chosen during these short moments, so it will be interesting to see what will come about. A handful of names jump to his mind, especially knowing what he’s discovered thanks to a cautious bit of espionage, but he’s still unsure of how much each contestant will try to focus on pleasing the people or on actually winning the games. 

Scott doesn't mind crowds that much, but he is still glad that Jordan will be next to him; the seasoned human has always been a friend, and he knows he can rely on him no matter what - it wouldn't be the first time somebody tried something during the opening ceremony, but it would certainly be for the best if nothing were to happen. 

According to his hidden right hand man, nothing out of the ordinary should be taking place, which is why Scott takes one last deep breath before exiting the soundless bubble they were standing in, stepping out on the balcony overlooking the main stadium and into the chaos of the roaring crowd beneath him.

Wilbur will never have enough of the cacophony of a crammed full stadium. 

There is nothing quite like it, and ever since he got a taste the day before, during the opening ceremony for the tournament, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to live without it. As they walk into the sunlight, moving away from the shadows of the tunnel that they had to traverse in order to get to the main combat area, the cheers rise, louder and louder, edged on by the unnaturally loud voices of the mages that will present the participants. 

A shadow shifts in his peripheral - Techno, advancing towards a good hiding spot behind one of the tall rocks that are scattered around the stadium - and he lets out a small chuckle, fixing his grip on his guitar as a bodiless voice calls out the fake names they had submitted in order to attract less attention. 

Wil reaches the center of the stage in a series of quick determined steps, then stops and turns around with a flourish, strumming the chords of his instruments to cast a quick spell:

“Good evening, everyone! -” he calls out, tail swishing behind him as his voice booms, resounding magically in the whole stadium “- Are you ready for a show?” 

The crowd erupts in cheers, adrenaline flowing through his blood like fire, and his lips stretch in an impossibly wide grin; a second later Tommy appears, shrouded in flames as he slides across the field towards him, looking almost as if he were flying.

“I didn’t quite hear you! I said… -” he repeats coily, his view of the world around him temporarily hidden as Tommy twirls around him, sending sparks in the air as the ground sizzles around them. The boy comes to an abrupt stop next to him, unleashing arcane flames higher and brighter for a split second that leave a burnt circle on the soil. 

“Are you ready for a fucking show?!” 

If he’d thought that the crowd had been at its loudest before, he would have definitely been proven wrong now, as the stadium seems to shake with the enthusiasm they’ve pumped into them - it is an arduous task, keeping the crowd energetic when they’re the last to perform for that day, after hours of fighting that must have left the people watching as exhausted as the people fighting, but somebody has to do it. When Wilbur turns towards Tommy the kid is glowing, and it’s not only due to the flames still surrounding his body. He pumps his fist up, towards the air, and lets out a gleeful whoop as the sound of Phil’s laughter reaches them.

The druid is twirling his own staff and, as the two of them start loudly cheering him on, he cackles and puts a bit more effort into it, letting it fly up in the air before smashing it down on the ground, where a spark of arcane energy bursts outwardly with bright green light. Iridescent glyphs appear on the staff, water bleeding out from the wood itself almost like sap and freezing instantly, while ice crackles and shifts as it forms a spiked clump around its top: Wilbur whoops even louder, letting go of his guitar to clap his hands together, resisting the urge to chant his friend’s name - they’re saving that for the future, no need to reveal their identities so soon. 

Wilbur is in the process of reaching for his instrument again, possibly to start playing something while they wait for the gates to be lifted and their mysterious opponent to show up, when a long, drawn out lament fills the air around them. The tiefling feels his spine straighten on instinct, the chilling sound causing a sudden shift in the overall mood they had created as a wave of fear swoops over the whole stadium - Wilbur would be angry about it if it wasn’t for the fact that his knees feel a bit weak, hands tightening around his guitar as if it could help stop them from shaking. 

Despite being frozen in place, in a mix of fear and surprise, he’s able to shake himself out of his stupor, looking up to the rest of his team with a tentative grin. But Phil isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s reaching out with a worried expression towards- 

A body collides with his own as Tommy, shaking like a leaf, eyes clouded and wide open, stumbles backwards, clutching at Wil’s shirt like a lifeline. It’s the unnatural murkiness of Tommy’s usually bright blue eyes that clues him in on the fact that this is a spell, not a natural reaction to a definitely frightening sound, so Wilbur steps between Tommy and whatever has taken hold of his mind, praying to Tymora that wherever Techno is he isn’t going through the same, and presses both of his hands over his friend’s shoulders. The kid clutches at his shirt, still muttering curses under his breath, and Wilbur struggles for a moment to catch his eyesight. 

“Tommy- Tommy, calm.” 

The human gasps in a breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head and lets go of Wilbur to cling to himself.

“Fucking- go on, don’t- don’t mind me …” He hisses, muttering to himself about “definitely not acting like a little bitch”, and Wilbur turns, still shielding Tommy with his own body, and hopes that whatever his dear cousin is telling him, it’ll help shake him out of that enchantment. 

Despite the fact that Wilbur has been able to overcome his initial magic-induced fear, it’s still a bit of a shock, seeing the aberration floating menacingly towards them: it looks like a dark blue cloak, larger than a chariot, with a long boney tail, light pink, almost white eyes and a lipless mouth filled with an impressive amount of teeth - it resembles vaguely one of the sea creatures they’d encountered during their travels by the sea, but it definitely isn’t the beautifully elegant animal they’d seen doing somersaults near their ship. 

Phil steps up next to him with a dark look in his eyes, and Wilbur would chuckle at the protectiveness of the older elf if that wouldn’t make him feel terribly hypocritical. 

“Let’s bring that thing down, see if it acts all high and mighty then.” He mutters, raising a hand towards the beast and then pushing down. It appears that the creature is not used to that particular feeling, because it lets out a high pitched trill and starts gliding towards the ground, decisively less able to resist Phil’s spell than the elf had initially expected. Not that he’s complaining. 

But as the beast is descending, it lets out another whimpering groan, its form shifting and blurring, shadows solidifying into two other copies of the original; whether it was a momentary distraction or a voluntary effect, Phil curses under his breath as he’s unable to distinguish which one is the original. 

He is able to clearly see, instead, the gleam of a dark dagger as it sails through the air and embeds itself straight into the back of that beast's head, carving through its flesh like butter and embedding itself into the ground a handful of feet to its left. 

Then, it what would have otherwise been an extremely comical display, both the dagger and the beast disappear in a gust of smoke and darkness. 

A loud and indignated "Eeh?!" comes from what Phil assumes to be Techno's hiding place - a moment later the rogue himself pokes his head out from behind the stone column, waving that very same dagger towards the two remaining aberrations. 

"You're welcome, I guess?" He calls out, before disappearing into the shadows again, prompting Wilbur to burst out laughing. 

It's at that point that the tiefling realises, his shoulders relaxing instantly, that Tommy is also chuckling lightly behind his back - he figures he either snapped out of it or the beast's spell has a short duration - so he steps forward, moving a bit closer to the two huge figures now squirming on the ground with a renewed spring in his step.

“Not that scary now, eh, you big sheet?!”

The two aberrations on the floor flinch back, writhing from the effects of his words as if insulted - although the tiefling isn’t sure that it’s actually able to comprehend them - just a split second before two beams of fire sail past him. One strikes true, hitting one of the two beasts right into the center of its forehead; but the figure only shifts, blurring for a moment before it melts into nothingness. The second sphere burns a scorching mark on the ground right where the apparently true aberration was just a moment before, having moved due to the bard’s spell. 

“Ah, Wilby!” Protests Tommy; when he turns with a grin he can see - as expected - the young warlock staring angrily at him, hands still smouldering as he throws them into the air exasperatedly. 

That is also the last thing he sees before the beast behind him lets out a shrill whimper and lurches forward, its wings wrapping around his body and completely obscuring his vision. 

[savoies]

Missing You - Andrei Svechnikov.

Andrei Svechnikov x Reader.

Word Count: 1,882

Requested: Yes! “svech surprising you where you live for college after Carolina got eliminated from the playoffs.”

Warning: None I believe.

A/N: This is my friend's first blurb/fic request so I hope you guys like it. Feedback is always appreciated and we are very excited for her to be writing and for you guys to be reading her works.

Dating a hockey player wasn’t always perfect or dreamy. It had its ups and downs just like every relationship. To you, it only made you and Andrei stronger as a couple. But one thing that had gotten you down more than once was the distance. Sometimes you were too caught in how your boyfriend wasn’t there, that you felt as if your relationship wouldn’t last. But everytime, once you heard the soothing sound of his voice, or the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile, all your anxieties and worries washed away. Just like that. Because you were completely and positively in love with Andrei. 

You giggled, the laugh sliding off your tongue easily as you laughed at Andrei’s bad attempt at a joke. You grinned at your boyfriend through the screen, briefly wishing he wasn’t just a cluster of pixels shimmering on the screen- but you weren’t going to complain. You’d take as much as you could get. Andrei’s laugh filled the space of your dorm room. You missed the sound desperately, but knew he was following his dream and playing. So you sucked it up and kept the smile on your face, trying to hide your struggles with his absence. 

“Baby, you good?” Andrei asked, brows furrowed as you totally missed his question.

You blinked. “Oh, yeah! Sorry I spaced out.” You gave him a smile. 

Your boyfriend studied you for a second before deciding to let it slide. Andrei started talking again and you listened in earnest. You couldn’t help but notice that he was acting weird as he sped through his words. Almost as if he couldn’t wait for something. You internally wondered what could possibly make Andrei so excited, but you figured it just because you hadn’t had much time to facetime between studying and going out with friends in the past week. And Andrei was just as, if not more, desperate for a glimpse of your face or voice before going to bed. You smiled, leaning back in your chair as you stretched, yawing as you did. It was getting late, and your roommate would be back soon after her night out. Though you felt the exhaustion from close to no sleep and cramming for the History test tomorrow, you wanted to stay on the phone with Andrei. However, noticing your yawn the boy stopped mid-sentence. 

“You tired?”

“No,” You replied, perhaps too fast for his liking because the boy arched a brow. You relented. “Fine, yes. But I want to stay on the line. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Don’t you have that history test tomorrow? The one you’ve been studying for for like two weeks?” 

“One.” You corrected him, before you noticed his pointed look. “Yes, I do have that test, but I don't wanna leave!” You pouted, hoping he’d catch the hint of desperation in your voice and stay with you for longer. 

Normally you’d be curled in your bed, trying to get as much sleep as you could, but you knew sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight. You woke up with the familiar ache in your heart that only came when you missed Andrei. The feeling hadn’t left you, and as night crept closer, it worsened until you were practically begging your boyfriend to stay on the call just so you could escape sleep and the tears for a minute longer. 

“Y/N, go to bed. You need it, for the test.” 

“Andrei, no, I’m fine. Seriously. I miss your voice, please?” You begged, giving him your best puppy eyes. Eyes that usually made you get your way and hide the seriousness of your plea. 

“You miss me?” The corners of his mouth lifted up as he teased you softly. 

“Of course I do, dummy.” You huffed, unable to stop the smile that matched his. You looked down, trying to hide the sudden burn of tears at the back of your eyes. You played with the edge of your sweatshirt- the one you’d stolen from him not too long ago. 

Just then, your door opened, swinging open to reveal your roommate dressed in her party outfit coming back. You smiled up at her, Andrei falling silent on the other end. 

“Hey, Marissa.” You greeted her before turning back to Andrei. 

“Hey Y/N. Andrei.” She gave your boyfriend a little wave before grabbing her shower things and leaving the room. 

You bit your lip as the door clicked shut, a signal Andrei was going to leave you alone in a cold bed, alone with your thoughts. You knew he would be here if he could, and you didn’t want to take him away from his teammates and the game. Though he couldn’t play, with his injury and all, you knew he still loved watching the game though it hurt a little that he couldn’t actually be on the ice. You held your breath, waiting for his goodbye. 

“I don’t have to hang up if you don’t want me to,” Andrei offered, sensing the shift in your energy. 

Guilt flashes through your chest. He was probably tired too. The time difference was only two hours, but two hours was two hours. You never wanted to be the clingy, needy girlfriend, but here you were, silently wishing he’d just stay without asking. Because if you told him to stay, you became that girl, and you felt guilty for it. 

“No, no.” You protest, giving him a strained smile. “I’m good. You’re right- I should go to bed. I’ll see you-” You paused, frowning. You didn’t actually know when you were going to see him again, in person. If he won this game, which was going on right now, Andrei only able to call during the second intermission, they’d continue in the playoffs. For a fleeting, selfish second, you wished he’d lose so he’d come back to you sooner. Chiding yourself for the thought you licked your lips and prepared for a night alone. Again. 

Andrei sighed on the other end. “I know baby. I miss you too.” A grin flashed quickly across his face before it disappeared, leaving you to wonder why he was so giddy. “But I’ll see you soon.” 

You gave another smile. If only that statement were true and he’d be home tomorrow. “Alright. Good luck with the rest of your game! I love you, Andrei.” 

“Thank you. I love you too, babygirl.” He smiled, and before you could take another big sigh, the call disconnected. 

You swallowed and closed your laptop. You hadn’t been watching the game at all, unaware of the score or how it was going because you were in your room with your nose buried in textbooks. You had no idea the Canes were losing and Andrei was trying to keep his excitement in check about the plane he was about to catch to fly to you. 

So, as you curled into your sheets, Marissa came back into the room, accidentally crashing into the foot of her bed before bidding you a good night, preparing yourself for another lonely night without Andrei’s arm wrapped around you, he was ending his call and driving to the airport. 

The chilled mid-morning air nipped at your skin as you made your way across the quad. You’d decided to get some fresh air- and much needed coffee- before heading back to school for your second, and last class of the day. Coffee in hand, you made your way back to the building housing the classroom you’d spend the next hour in. 

You heaved a sigh, feeling like you’d need two more grande coffee’s to get through this class. Last night, after Marissa’s breathing evened out, you over thought, your mind leading down hideous paths as the ache in your chest got worse. You prayed being away from Andrei would get better. 

Looking down at your phone, you checked the time (11:02) and the chain of texts you’d sent your boyfriend before heading into class. Noticing he hadn’t responded, you frowned, trying to brush it off as you waited for class to end. You tried not to overthink it, but you feared Andrei got hurt again or another scenario your overthinking brain came up with. Once the teacher released you, you exited and found a quiet spot in the hallway, quickly calling your boyfriend. 

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, baby.” 

“Andrei, are you okay?” You rushed, huddling closer to the wall as some students milled around you. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled at your response. “All good, baby.” He paused. “You good? How was your test?” 

“It was okay, I think I did well.” You relaxed, knowing he was okay. You bit your lip, deciding whether or not to say what you wanted to. “How was your game?” You asked instead. 

“We lost.” 

“Lost? So..” You frowned. “Wait, does that mean your out?” 

“Yep. Now I get to come see you, baby.” 

Your heart jumped and you grinned as you held the phone. The ache of missing him eased a little, knowing you’d see him soon. “I’m sorry about your game though, Andrei.” 

“It’s alright. I’m ok, now that I get to see my girl.” 

You were confused by his words. “What? When do you think you can visit?” 

Andrei laughed on the other end, the sound only confusing you further. “Baby, why don’t you turn around?”

Furrowing your brows, you turned, and there he was. Andrei was standing ten feet away, tall and big amongst the college students as he grinned at you. He was dressed in a hoodie (the one you usually steal) and was holding his hands, ready for you to crash into them. And crash you did. You let out a squeal of joy upon seeing your boyfriend, in flesh, standing before you. Running, you gripped him tightly as he hugged you. You missed him embrace more than you’d like to admit, savoring his scent as you buried your face into his chest. The boy leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

“Hi, baby.” he laughed, stroking your hair as you pulled back. You grinned and leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. His hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you closer as he kept his lips on you. Showing you just how much he missed you. He pulled back, a little breathless as he leaned his forehead against yours. “God I missed you.” 

You giggled, knowing his words all too well. You carded your fingers through his hair, earning a hum from him in response. “I missed you so much, Andrei.” 

You met his eyes and couldn’t help but giggle at the adoration staring back to you. He grinned, lifting you in the air until your legs were wrapped around his waist as he peppered your face with kisses, coaxing laughs out of you with each brush of his lips against your skin. 

As he pulled back again, your stomach grumbled, reminding you of your missed lunch. Andrei put you back down, but his hands never strayed from your waist as you picked up your bag and suggested to go get lunch. 

“Sounds perfect.” He grinned and pressed a kiss to your temple.

taglist: @hartsyhart​ @boesxr​ @ana-maa​ 

i do have a taglist which you could be added here.

[iffeelscouldkill]

this is the place that they pull you to

A/N: I would say “my hand slipped” but this actually took me like a week to write xD

This is a post-season 2 episode 1 fic, so, here be spoilers! Basically I was talking to @dragonsthough101 about how I was expecting more emotional fallout on McCabe’s end from all of the conflict and tensions in episode 1 and the putdowns from Arkady, and while I’m sure we will get that in the podcast, it also occurred to me that I could... write that :D and thus *flourishes hands*

Title is taken from Wires by Savlonic, because I was listening to it and I realised it’s actually a very good song for RJ, both under the Regime and after. And now I earworm myself whenever I work on this fic xD

---

Once the door to RJ’s room on the Iris II has slid shut behind them and the red ‘lock’ light has engaged, they let out a shaky breath.

Then, only then, do they allow their lower lip to tremble.

RJ shuffles over to the bed – more like a cot really, but that’s long-haul space travel for you – and drops down onto it. Park’s words from earlier are looping inside their head. “I hope you’re right. But honestly, in this moment, McCabe? I’m glad we don’t have to find out.”

RJ lets out another shaky breath that’s closer to a sob, and blinks back the tears that are forming in their eyes. It doesn’t completely work, and a couple escape and track down their cheeks. RJ smears them away with the palm of their hand. “Get a grip, McCabe,” they mutter angrily to themself. Sure, they might be alone in their room right now, but they know better than to feel like it’s safe to relax or let go. Someone could be by any minute to check on them, or there might be a situation that requires all crew members to come to the mess hall, or the cockpit, and then how will RJ explain their red eyes and wrung-out demeanour?

It’s not safe to let their guard down. It hasn’t been for weeks. Even around Park, the one person on this vessel RJ knows they can trust, RJ feels – off-kilter, like they’re lagging a step behind everything. RJ is still trying to get used to not addressing him as “Agent”, to figure out what they can and can’t say now, to navigate their new relationship. As friends – but are they friends? Does Park even like RJ, outside of the context of them working together under the Republic?

It seems uncharitable to think, and RJ and Park had always had a good relationship as colleagues – they hadn’t been close, and Park had seemed pretty inscrutable to RJ at first, but then they’d got used to his way of working and communicating. Figured out how to make him crack a smile. Drawn some praise from him, even, and realised that underneath everything he was a caring person, and a good boss.

But RJ had also thought – been sure – that Park was loyal to the Republic, so how well did they really know him? Know this Park? And Park has been treating them… warily, especially these past few days. Not coldly or poorly, but a little bit at arm’s length. Like he isn’t sure what they might do. Like he doesn’t trust them, even though RJ trusts Park totally – to the point where they were willing to throw over their whole career, everything they’d worked so hard for, and follow him onto the Iris II.

Granted, they also hadn’t had a lot of other options at that time, but RJ still isn’t sure they would have made the same decision if Park hadn’t been there.

And yet here they both are, and Park is already a fixture in the cockpit, watching the controls when Tripat- when Sana or Krejjh needs a break, having apparently built up some experience as a co-pilot for long-haul transports after serving in the military (yet another thing that RJ didn’t know about him). And he’s comfortable enough with the crew to be on bantering terms with them, to suggest plans involving decommissioned government satellites. Whereas RJ…

“Cram it, McCabe!”

RJ’s lip trembles again, this time in earnest. And RJ would like to pretend that these are angry tears, or frustrated or indignant tears, but they’re really not. RJ wants to be angry, to stand their ground and fire back and give as good as they get and somehow manage to verbally earn the others’ respect; to be seen as a person instead of a suspect or a liability. But they’ve struck the wrong chord every time. RJ is sick of the awkward tension every time they’re in the room; sick of Arkady’s prickly snappishness and Sana’s increasingly weary peacemaking; sick of the unspoken communication between the crew that they can’t parse.

It doesn’t help to realise that the crew must have got practiced at that during the weeks they spent evading the IGR’s scrutiny before they made landing on New Jupiter. At least Park could say he hadn’t been there by that point. But McCabe had, headphones on, straining to parse something from every off-handed comment, every loaded silence.

Park wasn’t there because he was being tortured in Zone Z, McCabe thinks, and abruptly feels sick. Sick at the thought, and sick of themself for – not thinking, for even considering for a split second that Park might be somehow better off. After being imprisoned, cut off from his friends and family, tortured and maimed by a government he’d spent years of his life serving.

The same government that he believes RJ was thinking of selling them out to.

This realisation steals the breath from RJ’s lungs with a whoosh, and all of a sudden they don’t feel sick, or indignant, or hurt – they just feel cold.

RJ hadn’t been able to explain to Park in the moment exactly what they’d been thinking by withholding the information about the Fowleys being bugged and monitored (because of course they were). When the ‘offer’ from Jay Fowley had first come through, the crew hadn’t been desperate enough to seriously consider it, and by the time they were… well, they’d been on the verge of figuring things out anyway. And RJ had been feeling angry, and vindictive, and not in the mood to volunteer anything that would aid the crew; not when doing that had got them into this mess in the first place.

And maybe in the back of their mind, a voice had been whispering that they should keep their options open. It’s a voice that gets louder in the dark, when RJ is lying awake on their bunk, unable to sleep for replaying those moments in the corridor, the way that it felt like the ground was falling out from under them as Goodman denounced them and Park as defectors. It gets louder whenever RJ clashes with Arkady, whenever they catch uncertain glances from the other crew members, whenever RJ wanders the corridors of this godforsaken claustrophobic ship and realises that this is it now. This is their whole life.

But they never thought about how that might look to Park. It’s like in RJ’s head there are somehow two Republics: the one that would be capable of doing such horrible things to Park – to any person, much less one who hadn’t been demonstrably proven guilty – and the one that RJ had dedicated their career to serving, that they had believed was just and good and right.

RJ wants to find him and apologise, to try and explain, to share some of the fears and secret thoughts that have been curdling on the back of their tongue these past weeks.

But Park told them to get some rest, and RJ has enough awareness to realise that there’s a much higher chance of the conversation turning out well if they sleep a while first. So, reluctantly, RJ toes off their shoes and shrugs off their vest, and wriggles underneath the taut blanket attached to the bunk.

Either they’ve reached some kind of peace with themself or they’re more exhausted than they realised, because sleep overtakes them in minutes.

---

RJ is woken by a knocking at the door: light and tentative at first, and then firmer and louder. As always, it takes a moment for their brain to catch up with their surroundings: the hard bunk beneath them, followed by the bare walls of their room, still unadorned (RJ wasn’t exactly carrying any personal belongings when they fled CUI Headquarters, and the ship hadn’t made any stops since. Not that RJ knows what they would put in their room anyway. There hadn’t been much to leave behind on New Jupiter). RJ sits up and rubs an arm across their eyes, then goes to answer the door.

It’s Violet. RJ clamps down on the reflexive urge to say something like, ‘Did you draw the short straw?’, or maybe, ‘Did they send you to manage me?’ Violet doesn’t look like she’s here under duress, and to RJ’s memory, she’s not a particularly good actor.

“Hi,” they say instead.

“Hi,” Violet replies with a little smile. There’s always a weird dissonance – though RJ would never, ever bring this up – that comes from hearing the voices of the Rumor crew come out of the mouths of actual people instead of a recording. “How did you sleep?”

“Uh…” RJ thinks back, and is surprised to find that the answer is ‘well’. They actually feel… slightly refreshed. “Fine.” Belatedly, they tack on, “Thank you.”

“That’s good to hear.” Violet smiles again. She’s never been unfriendly to RJ, but these past several days, she’s seemed more on edge, more prone to sarcastic retorts, less willing to make peace between them and Patel- Arkady. RJ had believed that her patience was slowly fraying, that like the rest of the crew, she was only willing to put up with the new additions to the ship for a certain amount of time and that she’d stop pretending before long. But now, taking in Violet’s looser posture, the way some of the lines around her eyes and mouth have eased, RJ realises it had never had anything to do with them. Violet had been worried about the supplies. About her… medical emergency.

Speaking of supplies… “Did Park tell you what we wanted to add to the list?” RJ asks, figuring they’d better add a bit of verisimilitude to the excuse that Park had used to speak to RJ alone.

Violet’s smile widens. “He did. I definitely agree about replenishing our coffee supplies – though, I don’t know what kind of quality you’re used to, because I should warn you that the black market kind – the affordable black market kind, anyway – is pretty bad. We get non-freeze-dried coffee whenever we can, but out here…” Violet shrugs as if to say, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’.

RJ manages to suppress a wince at the term “black market”. This is your life, now, RJ, they remind themself for the thousandth time. “That’s okay. The stuff in the IGR breakrooms was basically dreck. I can drink pretty much anything.” RJ is no coffee lover, but they drink it for the caffeine. Pretty much everyone in the Republic has a caffeine addiction or develops one at some point – no way to get through eighteen-hour shifts without it.

Violet chuckles a little. “It was always the same at my lab internships. I guess bad breakroom coffee is pretty universal.”

RJ recognises that she’s trying to bond with them by referencing shared experiences of working for the Republic. It’s not the first time she’s done it. But RJ still has trouble seeing their circumstances as equivalent.

Violet is – had been – a scientist, not an Agent; not one of the IGR’s most loyal, tasked with the defence of the Republic. She’d never had access to classified briefings; hadn’t dedicated her life to tracking down and apprehending insurgent forces. And given that the Rumor crew had deceived her into entering the cryo chamber, she could argue that she’d been duped – and had only co-operated in order to save her own life. Well, the argument would hold water up until Elion, anyway.

It wasn’t the same.

The silence hangs for a few moments, before RJ prompts her, “Did you want to… ask me something?”

“Sorry, yes – I came to tell you that dinner’s ready and uh, we’re about to eat in the mess hall if you’d like to join us.” Violet smiles again, with a touch of nervousness this time. No doubt she’s expecting a caustic brush-off.

“Is it veggie stew?” RJ can’t help asking, with a slight nose wrinkle. They’re expecting a rebuke from Violet, some kind of warning about being grateful for what they have, but instead she laughs.

“Unfortunately. On the bright side, though, it’s only for a couple more days and then we’ll be able to have actual flavourings again.”

RJ almost smiles, and is surprised when they catch themself. And – they were going to decline, make an excuse about continuing their nap, because they’re still feeling off-kilter and they doubt that Arkady will be thrilled to be spending time in close quarters with them so soon, but – they think about Park’s talk with them in the hallway. About how they’ve spent the past few weeks dodging any kind of connection with the rest of the crew, anything that will put them past, in RJ’s mind, the point of no return – and where exactly that’s got them.

“Sure,” says RJ. “Just let me, uh…”

They put a hand up to their hair, realising that it must be sticking up in all directions after their nap. Short hair is gratifyingly easy to take care of, but it sure does have interesting ideas about gravity.

“I have a comb you can borrow, if you need it?” Violet offers.

“It’s fine,” RJ declines automatically. “Park-”

They catch themself, wondering why it feels like such a concession to accept even this tiny piece of help from someone other than Park. They think about their bare room, empty of any personal possessions.

“I’m okay right now,” they say slowly. “But… is it too late to add something to the shopping list?”

Violet blinks, clearly surprised, and then smiles brightly. “Not at all.”

---

Five minutes later, hair tamed and clothes straightened, RJ makes their way towards the mess hall, which adjoins the kitchen. They haven’t spent much time in here so far – there’d been a couple of communal dinners at first, which quickly gave way to the reality of shifts ending at disparate times and the need to simply grab food however and whenever people could, something RJ had been grateful for.

Once, on their way to the kitchen, they’d walked in on Violet and Arkady having what looked like a picnic at the table in the centre of the room, just the two of them. That had been awkward for everyone. Since then, RJ has taken to finding their food and snacks at times when they know most of the crew are otherwise occupied.

Everyone else is already there and making more noise than you would think a group of six people could generate. Brian is in the kitchen, ladling bland servings of stew into the uniform polypropylene bowls that they’d found stacked inside the cupboards. Krejjh stands next to him, loudly enthusing about the virtues of the stew to anyone within earshot. Violet and Sana are waiting to be served, while Arkady – who has just been handed a full bowl by Brian – rolls her eyes and makes sarcastic comments as she carries it through to the mess hall. There, Park is sitting in one of the bolted-down chairs, watching the whole scene with a slightly raised eyebrow and waiting, if RJ had to guess, for the general hubbub to die down before he goes to get his food.

RJ pads over and slides into the chair on the same side as Park’s good eye. Park turns his head slightly, giving them a quick once-over, almost too brief to catch. “Hi,” he says quietly. “How was your nap?”

RJ hesitates over what to say. “It helped,” they reply. “Park, can we… talk? After dinner?”

The tiniest of frowns creases Park’s forehead. “Sure,” he says. “Everything all right?”

RJ nods, drumming their fingers on the tabletop and meeting Violet’s gaze as she comes over to sit next to Arkady, giving RJ a friendly smile. They don’t quite return it, but… it’s not as unwelcome as it would have been, before.

“Yeah,” they say to Park. “It’s fine.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Labelling Love | Part 2 (Collab)

Summary: Meeting you changed the way Eunwoo viewed romance and love entirely.

Pairing: Cha Eunwoo x female reader

Genre: university au / romance / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: Welcome to the second series in the monthly Love In Fours Ways collab with @jackiejacks923​ @noona-clock​ & @this-song-thats-only-for-you​ . In the final week of each month during this collab, we’ll be each sharing a mini-series using 4 of the pictures/concepts illustrated in the book that inspired our series that I’ve credited below.

Credit to: Puuung - Love Is In The Small Things // #76 , #60 , #4 , #33

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 // Collab Masterlist

Part 2 -  The Moment Just Before The Actual Kiss, Which Is Sometimes Even Sweeter Than The Kiss Itself

Blinking at his admission, your eyes then grew unfocused. “You… you what?”

“I know it’s ridiculous. Believe me, I don’t understand it either,” he continued hastily, letting go of your arm and running a hand through his hair. “But ever since I first saw you, I’ve been distracted like this.”

A small smile ghosted over your lips. “I see.”

“I’m normally rather efficient, not at all a bumbling mess like this.”

“And I make that harder?”

“You’re enjoying this now,” he lamented and you giggled before biting at your bottom lip. Eunwoo couldn’t help but groan at your elated expression. “Meanwhile I think I’m going insane.”

“I think you’re just being really romantic.”

Eunwoo laughed, shaking his head. “Oh no, that’s not me.”

“It’s not?” you echoed, pursing your lips together.

Oh god, why had he noticed them right at that moment?

Blinking rapidly, he sat back in his chair quickly. You watched him before grinning. “What’s not romantic about a guy telling you the reason he can’t think straight is because of you? Most girls dream of being told this, you know.”

“Really? But it’s so…”

“Romantic,” you repeated, your smile splitting your lips further. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Eunwoo.”

He sighed, glancing at you cautiously. “What do we do now about it?”

“Well, if sitting next to me is a bother, we could try moving apart so long as you don’t use this confession as something to avoid me entirely with.” Eunwoo didn’t mention out loud that it had been a thought he possessed, but you seemed to notice and hissed at him. “You can’t!”

“I dislike being this hopeless,” he told you with a pout which only made you further unable to remove your amusement. “Stop having so much fun at my expense!”

“You haven’t asked me what my thoughts are around this situation, Eunwoo.”

“Do I have to? It’s a ridiculous problem to have and I’m already struggling to navigate it myself.”

“We could do it together,” you offered airily, not quite meeting his gaze. “You know, like a team.”

“A team?”

“Yeah, we could work on extending your comfort zone whilst in my company. I’m sure the more time we spend together, you’ll find your footing again. Attraction only bothers people with a crush temporarily.”

Eunwoo glanced around the café before shooting you an exasperated look. “A crush?! Y/N, come-”

“I could take away the crush aspect of your problem, if you want, Eunwoo. Who’s to say I don’t have one too?”

Eunwoo stared at you dumbfounded until he started to grow dizzy. Yearning for fresh air, he barely breathed out an excuse me before dashing for the exit, walking briskly down the sidewalk whilst breathing in deeply.

You caught up to him a moment later. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Not usually,” he replied with a side glance in your direction. He couldn’t help but scrunch up his face when he realised the itch in his palm to reach out for yours.

He pocketed his hands deeply into his jeans.

“So you like me. And perhaps I like you.”

Eunwoo stopped walking and stared at you imploringly. “Did you like me before or after I admitted to being bothered by you?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re just stunned because a guy said some nice things.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you corrected and stepped closer. “I haven’t met someone who I can easily talk to right away like you. Normally I’m really reserved. Plus, I can’t deny that you’re rather handsome, either.”

Eunwoo couldn’t help but laugh then. “So normally we’re both different from how we’re representing to one another now.”

“It means something.”

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” he warned and you shrugged.

“Did I say I was in love? I just suggested we explore this. I’ll help you get over this issue you’re dealing with and see if what I feel is something worth acting upon. What do you say?”

Eunwoo sighed and after a moment’s thought, he nodded. “That sounds like the best option we have.”

Much to Eunwoo’s surprise, your idea worked well. It took enduring through another two weeks of less than stellar performances from him in class before he found the rhythm needed to be productive at your side. And because this was achieved by spending all his time in between classes with you, you were now efficient study buddies. You bounced ideas off one another, even with your other subjects that you didn’t take together. Eunwoo was also able to spend hours just reading across from you and whilst he still had moments where he stopped and stared or felt his heart racing, he was no longer incapable.

The physical reactions hadn’t stopped though. If anything, they had intensified. He would often find himself itching to reach out for you and sometimes he did that, relishing in the moment of connection. Holding your hand or letting you lean against him when you grew tired at the end of a cramming session made Eunwoo feel more in control of the reactions. He was empowered every time he gave into them.

And that made him realise that things had progressed in his mind further than just a crush.

“What are you doing over the weekend?” you asked during lunch and Eunwoo glanced up at you and shrugged.

“Probably nothing aside from a bit of study.”

“Nothing?” you asked and then shook your head. “That won’t do!”

“Being lazy and not attending school sounds like it’ll do just fine,” he admitted with a smirk and you rolled your eyes impatiently.

“But you could do more than that.”

“I could?” he wondered, looking at you curiously. “Like what?”

“We could go to the arcade or see a movie or-”

“Like a date?” he interrupted and you clamped your mouth shut, giving a small shy nod. He grinned. “Did you just try to ask me out on a date, Y/N?”

“Well you’re taking forever to do so and I just thought that it would be nice to spend time together outside of the university campus and explore more of what this feeling is between us.”

It was his turn to be delighted at your expense, chuckling when you started to grumble incoherently. Eunwoo leaned towards you with another smirk. “When will you pick me up?”

“You’ll go out with me?” you breathed and then a smile grew on your lips. “Really?”

“You’ll have to be prepared for me though. I’ve barely been holding back these last few days from you. If we’re going on a date, who knows what will happen.”

Actually, it wasn’t much different from daily life at your side. So far, you had enjoyed the arcade together and even saw a comedy that made his sides hurt from too much laughter. Now he was holding your hand and swinging it lightly as you ate ice-creams walking alongside the river. Conversation had flowed freely as had the smiles. Eunwoo was pretty sure the corners of his mouth were going to ache tomorrow after how much he’d curled his lips up in pleasure today with you.

Still, there was something that was different.

All day long, he had wanted to kiss you. At little moments, like when you grinned up at him after winning a game you’d tried several rounds on at the arcade. Or when you offered him a piece of popcorn and he had stared at you instead. You had even let him try your ice-cream flavour and for a second, Eunwoo had contemplated the age-old technique of kissing you to taste it instead.

Yet he held back each time, searching for a better moment.

“I guess I should take you home,” you mentioned once your ice-creams were finished, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. You then smiled when he laughed.

“I can’t believe you held to your end of the deal.”

“Well, I did ask you out on this date. Gender roles mean nothing in the modern age. A woman can pick a guy up and drop him off at his front door after an enjoyable time together.”

“You going to kiss me goodnight too then?” he wondered cheekily, only realising what he said a moment after.

Before he could apologise for the impromptu response, you were already slyly grinning up at him. “Maybe I should. Then one of us would have acted upon it.”

“You noticed?”

“How could I not?!” you exclaimed, shifting in closer. “You basically stared at my lips more than any other guy has before.”

Eunwoo rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Hah, I guess so.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been doing the same too. Wondering when I’d get to feel them against my own mouth.”

Eunwoo reached out to cup the side of your face, searching your eyes momentarily before leaning down towards you. He hesitated but not because he was nervous.

Watching as you fluttered your eyes shut when he was mere inches away from your face, Eunwoo’s heart started to thump noisily in his chest. He felt a surge of emotions wash over him as if he had already kissed you and had fallen trap to your enchanting ways. He witnessed the pursing of your lips, waiting for his own.

This moment.

This was more than he had ever experienced before in his life. He had dated girls when he was younger and even held a relationship for over a year during high school. But all of that paled to the way you willingly wanted him now.

It urged him to take your lips with his own, overwhelming all his senses. The kiss was soft, caressing right down to his soul. As he pulled you closer and deepened the embrace, Eunwoo knew he wouldn’t kiss anyone quite as well as he were you. Much as he tried to label the first moment, he searched through his mind for the reason why you made him feel like this now.

He couldn’t come up with any ideas that fitted perfectly, but your mouth sure felt as if it were made to be against his.

Finally, you stepped back, breath staggered and a hand upon your heaving chest. He watched you recover, his mind swirling with thoughts of you and his body was tingling from the experience.

“You’re beautiful,” he confessed and you eyed him again, a giddy smile crossing your swollen lips.

“And you’re mine now, right?”

Mine. Maybe that was the term Eunwoo was searching for. He nodded. “I’m yours.”

_________________

Part 3

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[lord-explosion-baku]

Socks (For Lack of a Better Title)

Mirio x F!Reader

Warnings: yellow sour fruit, swearing (??)

A/N: I do not write for Mirio basically because he’s the epitome of sunshine and I don’t think I’d be able to grasp that well enough (he’s too good for me!!!), but I had a small smut idea for him and it’s a very special guy’s birthday. I love them and they deserve the world, but I can’t give them the world so they can take my smut.

“A sub??”

You ignore your other slack-jawed peers sitting around in the same circle you’re in and take a sip out of your bottle, keeping stern eye contact with Mirio Togata, who’s staring at you incredulously because you’ve just deemed him a submissive. You let the frothy liquid slip down your throat and smack your lips, as if to point out that you haven’t said anything too out of this world. You repeat yourself with even more nonchalant confidence with a shrug. “Sub.”

“I think I can kinda see it,” says Kirishima who sits perpendicular to you, but it seems that he’s only trying to back you up because nobody else will. Mirio looks to him, mouth agape, but he keeps his smile present. Pink dusts his cheeks, either from the beer or your accusation. It’s cute and you stand by your point.

“I don’t think so,” Mirio finally chides, taking a swig of his beverage. He looks to his socks, then to you, and you lift a brow.

“Care to dispute my claim?” you say, taking a business-like approach, as if you’re in civil court and your friends around you are the judge and jury.

“Sure,” he says, “I think I’m pretty dominant.”

“Do you have witnesses?” You slap back without thinking, and your friends around you snicker. You don’t actually want to know if Mirio has slept with anyone in the room. In fact, you hope he hasn’t. You and the ex-permeation user have been growing closer if the past couple weeks, and you haven’t been too sure what that closeness entails besides sporadic boba runs and last minute studious cramming. Since the incident that’s left him quirkless, you’ve made it a point to let him know how important he is to you, and you’ve feared that maybe, while trying to be there for him, you’ve made it seem like your relationship is nothing more than platonic. Still, he’s never talked about girls and you’ve never asked, but you’ve mostly hoped that maybe you could be the girl he talks to other people about.

“I’m innocent until proven guilty!”

“That’s exactly my point! You’re innocent. You seem like the kind of guy that would ask permission before doing anything.”

“Is it so bad to be a gentleman?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think you’d have an easier time if someone else held the reigns and guided you.” You pause, trying to think of the perfect thing to equate Mirio to, and your face lights up when you come up with, “a puppy! You’re like a Labrador retriever. Ready to please and receive commands and such…”

“Okay, I can definitely see that,” Kirishima, who’s quickly becoming one of your favorite friends, chimes in.

“A puppy.” Mirio considers this, mouth pushed to the side in that cute way it goes whenever he’s thinking hard about something. He decides not to battle that, instead turning back to you, and asks, “then what do you think you are? A dom?”

Another wave of snickers bounce around the room and you can’t understand them. Is the idea that wild? You don’t think you come off as someone more passive, but until that moment, you hardly considered yourself a dominant either. Now you can, if only to spite your doubtful friends.

“Sure! I would say that I am!”

“What makes you a dom, and me a sub? I’m not doubting you,” Mirio says, though the tone of his voice suggests otherwise, “but I am curious!”

“For one thing, it would mean that the two of you are compatible.” Yaoyorozu, who mostly stays silent during these kinds of discussions, nods to you. You could either kiss her or kill her. She’s dealt with you mooning over Mirio plenty of times in the past, so her adding that in might’ve done a good service for you, planting the idea of you and Mirio together in his head, but you’re now the physical embodiment of the monkey-covering-his-eyes emoji.

“A dom that’s been nursing a beer for the last hour and a half…” you hear someone who’s having a different conversation say. As if your drinking habits have anything to do with you in bed.

“I wanna hear what Ms. Lightweight has to say about this issue.” Mirio grins at you and you can tell that he finds your flushed face amusing. You’re so embarrassed that you can’t even remember your real reason for calling Mirio a sub to begin with!

Throwing any hope of sounding intelligent out the window, you point at Mirio’s feet. “Mr. Togata is wearing socks, your honor.”

The room goes silent. You hear a silent, “socks?” from some faceless individual outside your vision.

You continue, scrambling, “a true dom would make a decision: keep their shoes on or take everything else off. It’s the indecision that says Mirio would’ve done much better if he had someone else instructing him.”

Mirio looks to his socks and you can almost see an exclamation point above his head. You might’ve made a valid point by the looks of it, and he doesn’t say anything more when he sees you wearing your shoes, thank goodness.

Someone says they’re through talking about socks and shoes and the conversation moves to a topic more interesting to the masses. You can’t help but still feel a bit flushed. Two out of five times you look Mirio’s way, you catch him staring at you. Of the remaining three times, he catches you staring at him, and the sixth time both of your eyes meet seemingly at the same time, he smiles. It’s not the same smile he shares with the group for when Denki Kaminari says something stupid. This smile is warm and genuine, with a hint of curiosity.

You make a decision to get up and excuse yourself, explaining the the one beer you nursed throughout the night has made you sleepy. You brush off friendly objections and make your way to the stairs. You don’t go up before looking back at Mirio who holds the same curious expression he did before. You part your lips and climb the stairs. You hope he doesn’t know how embarrassed you are.

Once you’re in your room, you make no rush to get ready for bed. You’re not actually all that sleepy; you just spent too much time around everyone else when you really would rather have just been with Mirio. You think about texting him— maybe he’ll wanna see a movie tomorrow, but as soon as you decide against it, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Mirio, a sockless Mirio, leaning against your doorframe. You furrow your brows, but before you can speak, he says, “I’m here to dispute your claim.”

Your cheeks grow hot. He can’t mean… he can’t really mean… anything by that. Could he? You’re so struck with bewilderment that you don’t even realize you step to the side to let him in until he’s gliding past you. You close the door and hear a surprising click! You did that, but you don't remember making the decision to lock your door.

Your room has never really seemed too small to you, not until you see Mirio standing in the middle of it, talking in all that is you: your thoughtless tchotchkes, your messy bedspread, your various posters, until finally his eyes land on your bookcase.

You don’t know why you’re suddenly so embarrassed about the collection you’ve got going on. You’ve got Paula Fox and Khaled Housseini— books that you could speak endlessly about, though at the bottom shelf, you have books that you read in middle school that you choose to ignore, but haven’t wanted to part with.

You step in front of him with intention, but Mirio is so much bigger than you, and he still manages to read out loud, “Broadway Musicals of the 1980’s?”

Your blood boils. “You wanted to… dispute your claim?” you urge, trying to draw his attention away from anything other than your books, but Mirio isn’t having it, probably sensing your embarrassment. He has to get you back somehow.

“You’ve got… quite a few books about musicals…”

you clear your throat. “Your claim?”

“In a moment— what’s this?” Mirio reaches around you, his arm just barely brushing against your stomach. You swallow harshly, bringing yourself into full defensive mode, because you know what he sees: a bottom shelf book about vampires that you failed to put back on the bottom shelf!

“I love musicals!” You admit, turning to face your bookshelf. You seat his hand back and you’re too aware of how close he is behind you. Your heart flutters, very unlike a dom, but he isn’t allowed to see the look on your face.

“Do you?” He asks with genuine curiosity. It could have easily been something to tease you about, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks you to talk about your favorites, particularly the ones from that damned book, your lifeline.

You speak. He listens, only asking a few questions about things he’s genuinely curious about. You wonder if he actually came to your room to do anything, or if he just wanted to check in on you... because he’s your friend and a good one at that.

Your breath catches when he snakes his arms around your waist. You feel a chill while he moves his face through your hair to find your neck, and suddenly you’re jelly as lips press against your skin. He kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, large hands squeezing your sides and you think you’ve lost your sense of sight, the second thing to go after you find yourself unable to speak.

Mirio grins against you, lips brushing farther up your neck. You allow your eyes to close and lean your head to the side, granting him more room for his lips to roam. You try to steady your breathing, but it’s heavy; you’re too obvious and Mirio knows you’re trying not to sigh.

“Keep talking,” he purrs, fanning your ear with warm breath, but it’s not him. At least, it’s not the Mirio you know. This Mirio’s voice is deeper, aggravatingly alluring, dark and husky— a fantasy you didn’t know you had come to life.  “I wanna know more about 42nd Street.”

You’re certain he’s teasing you now and you want to be mad about it, but you can’t. It’s sweet that he’s paying more attention to your words than you are. You could keep talking after you’ve gained some ounce of composure. Hell, you could babble his ear off until the two of you lose the mood and decide to do something else to pass the time. You have board games— you could easily beat him at a game of battleship, but will you truly be winning if things escalated to battleship? Figuratively speaking, you could keep speaking until Mirio eventually trails his hands down past the hem of your pants, but, figuratively speaking, that would mean he’d win. He’d be the dom making a mess of you while you held no power, and you aren’t going to let that happen.

Screw battleship. You had a boat right behind you and you’re going to steer it.

You turn abruptly to face him. This catches him off guard for a split second and you use that to your advantage. You reach up to the back of his head, grab a fist full of his surprisingly soft, not-so-gelled hair, push yourself up against him, and your lips collide with his like stormy waves crashing against unsuspecting beaches. Mirio’s quick to grip onto you from behind, pulling your body flush against his hardened chest. He’s warm and you feel good pressed against him. It’s not fair. It’s not fair because it’s not enough.

You run your tongue along his— he doesn't taste like beer like you expect him to. He tastes faintly like Colgate washed out a couple times, and a more prominent minty flavor. You grin against his lips. He must’ve stopped by his dorm to brush his teeth before he came to you. He wants to taste good for you and he does, but he doesn’t want you to know that he wants you to think he tastes good.

You eye your bed, the goal. Your hands slide down to his shoulders and you add a bit of pressure onto him, trying to push him back all the while you struggle to deepen your kiss is far too apparent. Trying to move Mirio is similar to trying to move a mountain. He pulls away, eyebrows raised, with a complacent grin that tells you he enjoys watching your struggle. You huff.

In a higher, more loving voice, Mirio asks, “what is it, girl?” while cupping your cheek with his large hands, and you vaguely recall comparing him to a Labrador retriever while you tried to explain yourself earlier. You scowl back at the motionless mountain and his grin widens. He brushes his thumb against your pursed lips. “What do you need? You may speak”

Even though you know Mirio is only taking on this contemptuous persona to prove a point, it infuriates you. Frustrated, you leap up at him, wrapping your legs around his torso, and striking. him with another deep, impassioned kiss. He stumbles back a bit, and you think that maybe you could win, but the sturdy Mirio catches himself with one leg, pushes back, and slams you into the book case.

You gasp at the short pain pinching your back, but it’s nothing compared to the sensuous feeling of Mirio’s desperate lips grazing your neck. You moan, one hand holding onto Mirio’s muscular shoulders, while the other grips the second highest level of your bookshelf. Paula Fox falls to the floor, followed by Khaled Housseini, and you couldn’t care less.

You find yourself craving more of his touch, more of his warmth, more of his skin, so you grip onto his jacket and usher it off of him. Mirio holds you up one handedly while his free hand rips through your blouse, the buttons of your shirt scattering to the floor to dance around Fox and Housseini. You knot your fingers into the back of his shirt and whine. In the position you’re in, you won’t be able to get his damn shirt off, and he doesn’t hold that same predicament. He’s able to unclasp your bra with singular, nimble fingers and that joins your buttons, your tattered shirt, and your books on the floor.

“Mirio,” you hiss through your teeth as his own teeth graze one of your puckered buds. He doesn’t stop, but he looks up at you tentatively. He slides his pink tongue out to lav over your sensitive nipple, and your body melts into him.

“Bed,” you say with less ferocity and Mirio complies, bucking you up so that you’re even higher and easier to carry towards your mattress.

Mirio’s knees reach the edge of your bed and you try to use the weight of your body to make the both of you topple over. He laughs in response, seeing through your obvious advances, and swings you around to the bed, but you kick your legs just enough that you land on your feet on your sheets, towering over him.

You feel a little ridiculous standing on your bed when it should be used for much more than that, but you’re finally able to get his shirt over his head. If you weren’t flushed enough before, you certainly are now. Everyone has seen Mirio naked, there is positively no avoiding that, but there’s something different about being right in front of him, feeling the heat of his ripped body so close to yours that make your stomach turn to knots. He chuckles at you because you don’t realize you’re gawking.

“Yeah?” He says, both as a question and an affirmation. Mirio isn’t one to say something as preposterous as, ‘this is the real deal,’ but he says so much more with a simple, ‘yeah.’

Instead of replying with a ‘yeah’ yourself, the easy route, you grab his hand and lead it to your side. His eyes mellow as he runs the back on his pointer finger up and down your body, over to wear the waistline of your jeans. He kisses you right above your naval, then right below it, and your body shivers in response.

“So soft,” he muses so quietly that you can assume it’s not meant for you, rather he’s voicing his thoughts aloud. His fingers go to the button of your jeans, but he pauses, purses his lips, and narrows his eyes.

You begin to fret over the thought that maybe he’s finished. Maybe he’s come to prove a point and just by getting you flustered and topless on your bed, that point has been proven— game over, goodnight, see you never, bye. Then his eyes meet yours, and his brows furrow gently.

“Can I?” He asks, pulling slightly on your jeans.

Mirio Togata is a glorious mountain, a cute Labrador puppy, and a polite gentleman. You find victory in the fact that you were half-right about something, and despite being absolutely charmed by the man who you’re going to let fuck you senseless, you must gloat a little bit.

You bring your thumb and forefinger to his chin, tilt his head up, and say, “I don’t know. Can you?”

Mirio’s eyes flash and you can see the heat of desire in his longing stare. The pools of his eyes grow heavy as he unbuttons your pants, kissing you right above the hem of your underwear, and says, “let me.”

And you do. You let him. You let him ease you down, you let him push your body onto the mattress, and you let him relieve you of your jeans, your bottoms, your doubts, your inhibitions. And it’s fine, and it’s good, because his cheeks feel fantastic brushing against your skin, and his tongue is extraordinary teasing you between your thighs.

Mirio is a gentleman and the way his tongue paints maps against your quivering heat would be charitable, if not for the fact that he’s enjoying himself as much as you are. He hums when you sigh, tentative to every twitch of your body, every sudden gasp you elicit, every surprising tug your tangled fingers give to his beautiful, golden hair. Mirio draws coils deep within your belly, building a tension that’s dark and deep, until he has you arching your back, squeezing your eyes tight, and seizing as pleasure bursts and breaks and floods the entirety of you.

When you’re no longer grasping at the sheets and you’ve gained some sense of composure, you look down to see Mirio practically wagging his tail, ready to receive affirmation— praise for a job well done. You smile and pet his head, probably a little too smug with the picture he portrays even though you’re wordlessly thankful for all that he’s done, and say, “good boy.”

The eager look on his face is replaced by something more mischievous. He brings his lips to your fluttering bliss and gives it a long lick, calling back your senseless shaking.

“M-mirio,” you mewl, shaken and overly-sensitive to his treacherous tongue. “What are you—? I’ve already—!“

His fingers edge the center of your desire while he pushes the rest of his body closer to you. He levels his head with yours, fingers running circles between your thighs, causing you to squirm and pant underneath him.

“Have you?” He asks, even though he knows too damn well that you have. He captures a wistful moan with his lips, tasting your pained pleasure as if it were only an appetizer for a grand feast.

“Yes!” You say breathlessly just as his fingers curl into you. Your mouth hangs open and he watches you lose your mind with delight.

“but you’ve been such a good girl,” he whispers huskily, slowly pumping his fingers, setting you up to blow you away, “and I might not be so innocent.”

He bites into your neck and you claw at his back. It’s only then that you realize he’s lost his pants. You don’t think he realizes he’s slowly grooving against you, erect and throbbing, and your eyes roll back imagining him inside of you.

“I want you…” you whisper as his tongue glides against the shell of your ear.

“Mmm?” His low thrum tickles you in a way that’s both sweet and enticing. That’s what he is… sweet… you want him to know that you think he’s sweet. You want to make him feel good, too, maybe even while demonstrating that you still have some fight in you, despite your shaky hands and uneven breath.

You reach down and gently pull his hands away from your center. You roll on top of him so his back is to your headboard and you look down on his cute, surprised face. You lean down to give him a sweet peck. He sighs against your lips, “you’re beautiful,” so you kiss him again, deeper, memorizing the curve of his lips and relishing the soft groan he gives when you reach around to grab the base of his cock. You pump it, edging yourself closer to him until the two of you are aligned.

The tides of his eyes are heavy with need while his palms smooth over your thighs. You bite your lip and look towards his abs, clenching and unclenching from anticipation.

“Let me?” You say, posing it as a question, when really you know he wants it just as badly as you do. His answer comes when his hands grip tightly onto your hips and he pushes you onto him.

You roll your hips, wielding a steady rhythm, only allowing Mirio to keep shallow and slow thrusts as you get used to both his length and his girth. He’s breathy while the head of his cock accepts most of the attention; he’s sensitive and you can tell by how he shudders every time you sink a few centimeters lower on him.

“Please,” he rasps, and you don’t realize it until you see his brows furrowed above desperate azure eyes scanning over you that you’re torturing him and he’s letting you. Your hands cover his and guide them up and down, picking up your pace until you’re finally hitting his hilt.

You moan, loud enough for anyone in the next room over to hear, though you’re relieved by the fact that most of your friends are probably still downstairs, playing the same game that’s lead you and Mirio here.

Your name teases his lips, lost to a mixture of swears and grunts. The yes, god, please, fuck, you feel incredible, god’s fill the room just as much he fills you. You groove against him, skillfully trying to keep hold of the reigns, but Mirio’s strong body has more control over you even while he’s the one against the sheets.

Mirio’s large enough that you feel a stretch and the thought sends jubilant waves cascading throughout your body. He thrusts into you, making you cry out in glee and pleasure while bouncing on his shaft. Sweat wedges between your motor bodies and you don’t care, because  it’s wonderful; you feel him. You coil around him, nails imprinting tiny crescents into his muscular back while his lips roam your collar bone, your chest, your breasts, until they find yours, and he kisses you like it’s his god-given right.

You’re in ruins when he tangles his hands in your hair and pulls your face away, still close, but not close enough that you can kiss him once more, just enough that you feel his panting fanning your face. He eyes hold you steady— you don’t think you could look away even if you wanted to— and tears prick your eyes when you’re swarmed with the realization of what those beautiful, round eyes hold: adoration.  

Mirio loves you, and he’s displayed that not only with your ambiguous friendship, but with the way he’s handled you on this singular night. Even while trying to prove a point (he’s the dom), he’s shown restraint. Even when he slammed you against the bookcase, he could very much have hurt you more than that simple pinch, but his arms guarded you and kept you safe and still.

Hell, he could have ripped your pants off at any second of the night, but he wanted to make sure that you wanted the same.

Mirio loves you and he’s displaying that now through his touches, through his whispers, through his liquid eyes that show much more than fiery lust and circumstantial desire. They show care, and devotion, and reverence. You want to tell him you feel the same, but you feel a tugging pulse from your belly.

“Mirio,” you choke out and just as you feel a jolt, he stutters inside of you.

He grasps your sides and flips you onto your back. He says your name likes it’s a hymn as he hammers into you, praising you with loving kisses and nips. You squeeze around him, feeling the surge build up and spill out. You can’t let go of him while your body sings pleasure and gratification in energetic waves flowing up from your toes to your shoulders— overwhelming ecstasy taking you over.

He spills onto your sweat covered stomach, bowing his head against your shoulder. Your fingers tickle his sweat covered back and you coo at him, happy. He lets his body hit the mattress next to you and he stares at your body like he can’t believe what’s happened.

“You-” he breathes, but shakes his head, deciding that whatever he was going to say can’t amount to what he’s feeling.

“You,” you agree, sinking into your pillow. You’re not sure that you can believe what happened either, only the evidence lays out clearly through the tingles in your fingers and the mess on your stomach.

He tries again. “That was—“ but he’s at a loss for words. You brush his hair back and kiss him. He wraps his arm around your torso and brings you into a warm, already-too-familiar embrace. “Should I get like a towel or something?”

“No,” you say, “not yet. I’m happy here. I’ll probably just shower anyway.”

“Can I join you in that shower?”

You snicker. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Hey.” You feel him grinning against your shoulder. Then, he laughs. “Don’t forget to take your socks off before the shower.”

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter@unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix@smbody-stole-mycar-radio@zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @captain-sin-allmight-queen@psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

[bnhayyy]

The Call (1)

Chapter Title: Slayer

Wordcount: 4.1k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: Written for day one of @aot-au-week , since a Buffy AU very technically counts as a College AU, and because it's the least I owe @cookietonwrites for convincing them to take on another fic. As you can see, the idea quickly spiraled into a multi-chap, for which I am not even remotely apologetic.

Summary: There is only ever one slayer at a time; the chosen one, a girl strong enough to fight against the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness.

 Mikasa has accepted that for her, being the slayer means living a reclusive life, haunted by the image of the first person she failed to save and unable to ever truly let anyone in. However, everything is called into question with the arrival of Annie, a girl who claims to also be a slayer. Mikasa's life becomes much less solitary seemingly overnight, but friendship is followed by a deadly conspiracy, and with it, the threat of loss and heartache.

Mikasa's world consisted of a haze of blurred vision and the gentle buzzing in her ears. She blinked, and the figures on the paper before her solidified into numbers for a heartbeat before fading out once again. Trying it a few more times didn't yield any better results. It only made her aware of how much her eyes burned and how heavy her eyelids were. How heavy her entire head was. How easy it would be to just slip forward and… 

The buzzing reached a crescendo. A hand reached out to grab her shoulder. She jerked back upright to find Armin sitting across the table from her, one hand still extended and a worried expression on his face. 

Mikasa faltered. Words played at her lips, semi-contradictory things like 'it's fine' and 'what's wrong', but none of them felt right enough to actually be voiced. Instead, Armin was the one to break the silence. 

"When's the last time you slept?" he asked. 

Mikasa sighed. He must be really worried if he was cutting straight to the point like that. 

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though she knew it wouldn't work. 

Armin's frown deepened as a hint of disapproval trickled onto his features. He pitched his voice into a whisper to say, "you don't need to go out every night. You can't- you shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I do," Mikasa countered. "I'm the only one who can. You know that, Armin."

There was one girl in the whole world charged with keeping the forces of darkness at bay. She couldn't cast that duty aside just because she was tired.

It was with that thought that she realized that her gaze had begun to drift back toward the table. She snapped it back up as Armin asked, "does Erwin know how thin you're wearing yourself?" 

Mikasa pursed her lips. "Erwin's only been here for a few weeks. He'll get used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Armin insisted, the softness of his voice warring with the rapidly mounting undercurrent of anxiety. He was still talking, too, about how Erwin wouldn't approve and she would be more productive if she wasn't dead on her feet. She didn't absorb any of the actual words, his voice fading back out into that gentle, incoherent buzzing.

Then there was a flicker of movement as something faded into sight in the corner of her vision, and everything Armin said became utterly doomed to sail right over her head.

Mikasa very determinedly did not look at the figure. She didn't turn her head and didn't allow her eyes to move in his direction beyond that first involuntary twitch. It didn't matter. He leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse of the green eyes peering out from what she knew would be a placid-yet-piercing expression.

"He's right, Mikasa," he said. "You need to take better care of yourself."

She allowed her eyes to flicker shut even though it did nothing to block out the man's voice. The voice of her own imagination.

"You've always been like this," he sighed. His voice had a whisper of warmth in it today, a touch of fondness tucked within what sounded like age-old resignation. "But you shouldn't. You're at your best when you have our friends with you."

Something flickered within her at the comment, although she was pleased to note that she managed to keep it within. There was no need to remind the hallucination that she didn't have any friends. Not even Armin, truly. Because for all that they were fond of each other, no amount of fondness could ever make up for-

"-kasa?"

It was the hint of iron intertwining itself with the worry in Armin's voice that got her to open her eyes. Mikasa forced herself to look at Armin and only Armin, who was leaning halfway across the table at this point.

"You really need to get some rest," he said. She moved to open her mouth, but he cut her off by asking, "you don't have trigonometry for five more hours, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

Armin gave one short, decisive nod, which appeared to be more for himself than anything. "You should take a nap, then."

The shift in her expression was subtle, just a faint downward turn to her lips, but apparently still enough for him to catch, because he quickly added, "you're going on patrolling again tonight, aren't you? Even a couple of hours would be better than nothing. I promised to meet up with Annie in a little while, but. I could walk you home?"

Mikasa didn't bother asking who Annie was, but she didn't protest either. She could see the logic in his argument, even if it felt painfully like a waste of time. "No, it's alright," she said. "I can walk myself."

Armin frowned. "Okay, but you will-"

"Go home and take a nap. Yes." She was already standing up as she finished agreeing. If she was going to keep her word, then it would be better to get it done sooner than later. The earlier she left, the sooner she could return. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

With that, she turned around and left without taking another look at the boy who maybe, in another world, could have been her friend.

Or the distorted memory of Eren Jaeger.

*

Mikasa laid in her bed and closed her eyes.

*

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Cl-"

Coughing. Choking, sputtering, straining, a strain in her chest that turned into an ache resonating throughout her entire body. A pain worse than anything she had ever felt in her fourteen years.

Shouting. Rushing. Urgent voices talking rapidly. Not to her, with her aching body and spinning vision, but to each other. White coats and flashing lights. They were talking, talking, and there was something she had to say, something more important than the flashing lights or the unreal pain or the whisper of strength that shouldn't be there. There was something, someone, she had to ask about-

Her voice cut off in a hoarse croak when she tried to speak. Her throat stung, like it had been worn ragged by- by-

Salt.

Memories flashed by her in a dreadful kaleidoscope. The parents. The men. The boy. The other man, the one they'd thought would help. The sea - he'd thrown them in the sea, her and-

A jolt of energy. Mikasa forced herself upright and grabbed the wrist of the first person she saw. Surprise was on his face. Surprise and discomfort; her grip was stronger than it should have been. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was-

"Eren," she croaked.

"Eren." The white-coated man's voice was softer than she needed it to be. Focused on her. He needed to be focused on not her. "Is that your name? Eren?"

Through parched lips and a throat like sandpaper, she croaked out, "where's Eren?"

The man gave her a long, sad look. No. No. He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

"He saved me," Mikasa pressed. "Then he- the-" monster “- we went in the water together."

One faltering moment that lasted for an eternity.

The man redirected with talk about her. What's her name, can she describe what she's feeling, she's okay, it'll all be okay - it didn't matter. It didn't matter and it wouldn't be okay. It didn't matter, because in that moment, he didn't need to answer.

His expression spoke only of death.

*

She woke up feeling more awake, but just as tired as she had been before.

*

Mikasa didn't even try to pay attention during trigonometry. The nap may have refreshed her to some degree, but not enough for that. Besides, she still had a solid C. Spending class zoned out was... admittedly detrimental, considering that she had been in a similar state for her last two classes, but not so devastating that she wouldn't be able to recover from it. She would just have to cram as hard as she could once she had the opportunity to spend a few nights on her classwork. It wasn't a pleasant routine, but it had gotten her through her first two semesters of college. She could make it work for this one as well.

Besides, she had more important things to spend her brainpower on.

A girl had been marked absent during roll call. Mina Carolina. A single absence was not unusual in and of itself, but although Mikasa couldn't claim to know Mina well, she had not seen the girl take a day off before. That didn't mean that she couldn't - she could be well and truly sick, or an emergency could have popped up. People took days off all the time, even those who normally didn't.

The trouble was that there had been a marked increase in people turning up absent lately. Most of them never returned. There were no bodies found or hints as to their whereabouts. They were simply never seen again.

Mikasa didn't want to feel a sense of distant mourning. She wanted to hope that Mina would show up at their next class with some excuse for the teacher about how she can sick or had to deal with an unignorable situation. However, that same part of her had also wanted to hold out hope for Franz and Hannah when they disappeared from her American Literature class, and now they were nothing but faces on missing posters.

The semester had only been in swing for a month and a half. Mina would be the third victim person she had shared a class with. Not third overall - just that she had shared a class with specifically. When she scaled the radius up to encompass the entire campus, she would be the fifth disappearance.

According to Erwin, Paradis' level of supernatural activity was on the low side of average. She suspected that that was the reason he had been hinting that they should relocate. He felt that she was wasted here, and as her Watcher, he wasn't comfortable doing nothing about it, no matter how new to his position or unwelcome he was. And truthfully, five people disappearing off of a college campus during the first semester and a half wasn't unusual. College was stressful. She didn't know the details regarding two of the disappearances, and even with the couple who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the like, a human culprit was just as likely as a demonic one, if not moreso.

So why was she so certain that Mina Carolina had met her death at some point since she had last seen her?

Why did she feel like she had failed to stop it?

Once the feelings of dread and guilt grew strong enough for her to be actively aware of them, Mikasa decided to redirect her attention to the students who were there. 

Armin probably would have been one of her classmates if she hadn't insisted that he not take any classes that run past sunset and directed him to the morning trigonometry course instead. However, it wouldn't have been a large class even with him and Mina. 

Four of the students scattered across the room were unknown to Mikasa. However, her seat near the back of the room allowed her to keep an eye on them with relative ease. That, in turn, allowed her to be fairly comfortable in her assessment that they were normal human students. 

She could say the same of her four other classmates as well. They, however, were a little higher on her radar. 

Closest to her, his desk seated directly in the last few rays of evening sunlight, was a muscular blond man. Mikasa thought that his name began with an 'R', but didn't know much else about him. He'd caught her attention with a loud, outgoing personality and general demeanor that made him seem like an odd fit for the class. At the moment, it looked like he wasn't paying much more attention than Mikasa herself, fiddling with the ring on his left hand and only occasionally glancing up at the teacher. 

The blonde next to him was as much of a stranger, but she at least looked like she was focusing. She had gained Mikasa's attention by joining a week after classes had started. Since then, however, she had proven quiet and distant, only interacting with her classmates when she glared at the man next to her for trying to talk to her while she was working.    

Jean Kirstein, meanwhile, clearly didn't want to be a stranger. Over the past year, he had made a few attempts to reach out that she could admit were enduring. If she didn't have her duty, he might be someone she could consider a friend. As it was, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but brush him off, for his own sake. He didn't pay her much attention in class though. That wasn’t to say that he was completely focused, even though he had claimed a seat at the front of the class. She often glimpsed him speaking to the student next to him. There’d also been enough instances when she’d heard a frustrated comment from him regarding the course for her to get the sense that trigonometry wasn't particularly easy for him. However, she also suspected that he was hardworking and dedicated enough to make up for it.

The student next to him was Marco Bott. Cheerful and painfully earnest, he was honestly mostly notable to Mikasa because he was Jean's friend. He seemed like a good person though. That meant he was a reminder of why Mikasa couldn't let Jean become her friend no matter how hard he tried or let herself rest no matter how much Armin tried to insist. If she faltered, if she slowed, there would be consequences.

Mina used to sit behind Jean and Marco.

The sound of chairs being pushed back and writing implements being put away drew Mikasa out of her stupor. Rather than look at the clock, she glanced out the window.

The sun had already begun to set.

She quickly stuffed her textbook, pencil case, and notebook in her bag, feeling only a brief pang of guilt for the blank sheet of paper that stared back at her. The items landed haphazardly, and she knew that if she looked, they would likely only partly obscure the stake, crossbow, and knife that laid carefully arranged at the bottom. She zipped it shut before anyone could get curious and try to sneak a peek; a reflex even though she knew that no one would be bold enough to try that with her.

Despite being the last one to start getting packed, she was the first one out of class. Just like she always was. From there, it didn’t take long to get off the campus.

The first two blocks of Mikasa's walk went like she was heading home. It was as she reached the third - the one that would have lead back to her apartment - that she took a sharp right. From there it was four blocks straight on, then one block to the left. A simple route, but one that had come to haunt her nightmares.

Dusk had descended on the cemetery by the time she reached it.

Logically, she knew that she wasn't likely to run into anything for several more hours.

Instinctively, she knew that Mina Carolina wasn't likely to return to class.

This wasn't a night to take risks.

Mikasa wandered deeper into the graveyard, where she was less likely to be spotted by any passerby, and pulled out her stake. There, she began to wander.

It wasn't a small cemetery by any means. That was what made it the ideal hive for demonic activity. Not only were cemeteries where the majority of newly turned vampires rose, but large ones were also rife with additional dead bodies and crypts. This one was even separated into several different sections, which made it easy to get lost.

Getting lost made it easy to watch the time slip by.

A couple of hours into her patrol, a familiar figure flickered into existence at the edges of her vision. She didn't say anything to him, and he followed her silently, gaze occasionally flickering to one side or another as he took in the graveyard. As if he might notice anything before she did. Technically speaking, she supposed that he might. He had "caught" things a few times in the past, when she was subconsciously aware of something but hadn't been fast enough to process it with her conscious mind. It was the only thing that made sense, for all that she desperately wished that it wasn't.

A slayer whose hallucination needed to point things out for her couldn't mean anything good for the world.

She forced herself to look away from the figment and focus on her surroundings.

Not five minutes later, the sound of shifting earth caught her attention. Mikasa turned and strode toward it, her grip on her stake tightening and her gaze fixed straight ahead. Within seconds, she had spotted it; a grave with the earth beneath it stirring. As she watched, a hand punched up and out of it, grasping desperately at the ground. The head came next - an unfamiliar man, his face distorted by lumps across his forehead and nose, slitted yellow eyes, and fangs. The visage of a vampire prepared for predation. It glared at her as it struggled and snarled, eventually freeing its other arm. Once that was done, it had a much easier time dragging itself to the surface.

It never got the chance to free itself fully. The second its chest was completely exposed, Mikasa sprang into action. She grabbed the thing by the lapels of its dirt-stained tuxedo and dragged it upward. Fear flicked across its face, causing the predatory features to fall away and leaving a normal face behind. A face that could have been human if she didn't know better. She didn't allow herself to look closely.

In a blink, she had rammed her stake through the vampire's chest and into its heart. It dissolved into dust a few seconds later. Mikasa stood and watched the flecks flutter back down to earth.

She was drawn out of her reverie by a firm, "you shouldn't be patrolling tonight."

Mikasa grit her jaw. "I already rested," she pointed out.

"It isn't enough. You've been exhausting yourself, one little nap isn't going to make up for that."

"You just saw me kill a vampire."

"Yeah, and it took way more out of you than it normally would."

Mikasa whirled around to face the figment. Something in her chest threatened to hitch as she allowed herself to look directly at him, just as it so often did, even years after he first manifested.

The thing before her almost could have been a ghost. It wasn't though; god knew she had done enough research on the subject. Ghosts, when they visibly manifested at all, took the appearance they wore at their time of death or at another point in their life.

Eren Jaeger had been fourteen when he died. Even if he responded to the same name, this grown man with distant, unreadable eyes couldn't be him.

He wasn't anything. She'd run all of the tests as she learned more about the Supernatural. She wasn't haunted, there weren't hints of a demonic presence lingering around her - there was nowhere he could have come from other than her own mind.

He was nothing but a manifestation of her guilty conscience. She had come to terms with that years ago, yet she was still wasting time arguing with him.

At that instant, it was suddenly very tempting to look away. However, she forced her gaze to remain steady as she coldly said, "leave."

The figment blinked. "Mikasa-"

"No," she interrupted.

Something flickered in the illusion's eyes. It was difficult to identify, caught behind that distorting wall that so often covered his emotions, and she didn't even bother to try. He opened his mouth again, but she didn't let him get another word in.

"I'm not willing to put up with you tonight," she said. "Get out."

His expression finally came together into something real and visible. Alarm. "Mikasa, move!"

Mikasa lunged to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by the shoulder.

She spun around to find a burly vampire standing over the ashes of the one she'd just killed. He was musclebound and bulky enough that he might be somewhat difficult to face in hand-to-hand combat - but not so much as to stand a real chance against her. "Slayer," he snarled. "I am going to grind you into dust."

Mikasa didn't bother responding. He lunged forward and she spun to the side, ducking beneath his flailing fist to get behind him. As she moved, she noticed that Eren had disappeared. Good. She sprang forward, stake in hand, only for the vampire to swing back around at the last moment and grab her wrist. He squeezed, a horrible grin on his face, and she had to fight to keep from automatically releasing her grip on her stake.

As the vampire leaned forward, she twisted to punch him in the sternum with her free hand. It only made him falter for a moment, but it was enough for her to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. It was also enough for her to come to a terrible realization.

Her blows weren't as hard as they usually were and she was moving slowly.

Eren was right.

There wasn't any time to ruminate on that. The vampire lunged forward, and Mikasa dove to the side again. She leaned into the momentum and swung her leg out to land a kick to the vampire’s side. He stumbled, a curse on his lips.

It didn't bring her any sense of victory, for as she brought her foot down, it landed on uneven ground. Not observant enough.

Pain shot up her ankle and the world began to tilt.

Eren still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Funny. If her mind was going to conjure up even a distorted version of Eren Jaeger, she would have expected it to happen when she died. She had thought that he would watch.

Mikasa hit the ground, the side of her head slamming hard against a flat gravestone. The world continued to spin around the sound of the vampire chuckling. She clenched the hand holding her stake, only to find that it must have fallen out of her grasp during the fall.

She forced herself to sit up, hands pushing hard against the ground to make up for the way the world was spinning around her. When she looked up, the vampire was glaring down at her. She tried to stand up, to scurry back, but her ankle gave out when she tried to bear weight on it. A sprain - just a sprain - nothing that wouldn't heal in a couple of days with her abilities, but even a sprain couldn't bear weight immediately. The vampire was saying something now, but she couldn't make out the words, couldn't hear anything past the buzzing in her head, couldn't feel anything but the sensation of warm blood oozing from the cut in her head.

The vampire was reaching for her.

She hadn't wanted to take a risk, and because of that, she was going to die tonight. And Eren wasn't even there to see it.

Maybe that was fitting. She hadn't witnessed his final moments either. Maybe he wanted her to die alone as well.

The vampire's hand closed around her neck. She forced herself to look up, to at least look her death in the eyes-

- and the vampire exploded into dust. In his wake stood the blonde girl from her trigonometry class, stake in hand and gaze locked on Mikasa.

The girl said something. Mikasa blinked, hearing her words, but unable to process them. The girl frowned, and Mikasa grit her teeth, just to give herself another sensation to focus on.

"Repeat that," Mikasa ordered.

The girl extended a hand. "I asked how badly injured you are," she said.

Mikasa ignored the hand and moved to force herself to her feet. Her injured ankle protested once again, but she bore the majority of her weight on her other leg and managed to get upright. "I can handle it," she said. "Who are you?"

The girl didn't seem at all off-put by Mikasa's blunt question. If anything, she seemed like she expected it. "Annie Leonhart," she said.

She paused for a moment. It did nothing to prepare Mikasa for her next, impossible words.

"I'm the slayer."

*

Weeks later, armed with only an axe, her memories, and the desperate research of a lonely girl scared she was losing her mind, Mikasa went hunting.

She found the one who had snatched them from the bodies of the original monsters and tossed them into the ocean.

She took his head, and he turned to ash at her feet.