#//Who UNDERSTANDS and won’t pull their punches when it comes to acknowledging the reality of things

[dutybcrne]

Listening to my current favorite song on loop and bruhh I just love how that is prolly the Perfect dynamic to work with Kae in terms of relationships

[miekasa]

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn​​ for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex. 

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.  

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.  

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team. 

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”  

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”  

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.” 

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

idk if requests are open, or if this even counts as a request or more of a prompt for u to ramble, but how do you think mozart and theodorus would react to an mc who used to be friendly towards them pulling away, and finding out somehow that it's because they were too hostile and mc gave up (in the context of them secretly liking mc and being tsundere jerks). tysm in advance!!

Requests are open! I talk about just about anything ikevamp related on this blog, so nws in regards to that~

I guess I took this as a prompt to ramble so hopefully you enjoy this meme energy 💛💛💛💛

And well, I'm a little conflicted about this one--largely because I see two possible (most likely) outcomes. I think it depends on their feelings for the MC in question, as I get the vibe that they are willing to make the effort if they deem it worthwhile in the long run (perhaps a bit callous, but hey, what can I say). If they feel they can't see eye to eye with the MC long term, then I doubt they would pursue the matter much further.

If there is enough grounding for them to want to salvage the relationship, I think they would both make some effort to make amends tbh. They may have trouble saying it directly, but I guess I see them as men of action--they'll adjust their behavior, and that speaks volumes. Maybe they hesitate before something harsher slips, changing the course of what they were going to say. Maybe they smooth over a mistake she makes before anyone can notice, saving her that social discomfort. Maybe they don't nitpick what she does anymore, just note adjustments neutrally (the tonal difference of "you clod, you're going to ruin it if you hold it that way" versus "try holding it like this, it's easier to carry and poses less risk of damage if you drop it"). I guess my impression is that they tend to be subtle when it comes to their emotional landscape; if you don't pay close attention, you could miss it.

But. BUT. If you point out any difference in their behavior. They will look away and scowl/blush which is frankly, beyond hilarious (but don't do it too much or they'll get mad, you gotta go for the spicy moments to expose them italian hand thing). I imagine that, whether they admit it or not, they do notice if you see past the surface and appreciate that you care they're trying. It helps them move from very acerbic to a more lowkey kind of pragmatism that's less biting. Tbh I'm just a shithead and would probably tease them to near death because I'm very familiar with that sort of behavior, but I also understand not everyone is comfortable with that ;;;

I think it’s less that they refuse to make amends for troublesome behavior, and more that they have a lot of paralyzing shame associated with honesty (and they don’t much like being vulnerable ;;;;). For Theodorus, I think he’s deeply traumatized by how hard his brother tries to be a good and fair person, only to remain ridiculed and ignored by the people around him at large. There’s a sense of a male culture dominated by the concept that gentleness is only an extension of weakness, and as such he feels the need to overcompensate to defend Vincent. The rough exterior serves both as an insistence that he is a grown man (parental infantilization) but also to demand people’s respect, ripping them to verbal shreds when he sees fit for survival.

Mozart’s is more obviously a defense mechanism; he rejects people and sees the worst in them before they can do that to him. I don’t think he’s as malicious by nature as he seems. I think it’s more that he’s accustomed to and self-imposes impossible standards of self-control. The emotional repression, terrible (also unpredictable) experiences at the hands of his father as a boy genius, and relentless inability to see his own value separated from his work ethic results in a man who is inevitably dissociated from his reality. He has no concept of worth beyond functionality, and no concept of worth beyond giving to a self-emptying extent. So much of his life is a kind of hyperanxious denial and paranoid shame, and it’s a pity considering his immense potential for warmth and love.

I suppose I get the inclination that they both really just need to be slapped upside the head a little ahlskfjdhsgsfdkhj. I'm not typically one that likes that method of getting through to people, but it's an unfortunate result of some forms of abuse. Sometimes people need very direct and very intense rearranging of their face holes to see the limited nature of their perspectives. Though I will say context matters: some people need very gentle, some people need more persistent measures.

(Please note: sometimes people do not want to change, and if they don’t want to, they won’t--that’s just a waste of time imo. No amount of arguing or altruism will get through in that scenario ;;;;;; but since this is an otome it’s easier to give the benefit of the doubt. Honestly I find myself torn a lot because I don't? Like giving up on people who struggle with things like that. But at the same time, I don't necessarily think it's worthwhile to beg for someone to be kinder/more aware when they have zero desire to.)

I can't really speak to Theodorus as much but I think somebody who is with him would have to be somebody who is less put off by his jagged edges ;;;;;;;; I don't think it's wrong to be sensitive to it, but the reality is that he has a hard time toning it down sometimes because of his habits. It's a part of being with him, though I think he softens considerably over time in a relationship. I see it is as a kind of balancing act. His s/o would have to be firm about the times he's well and truly unfair, goes too far with what he says/does. And his s/o would likely need to let go or just tease him about the more harmless nonsense, taking it in stride. It's about knowing when to throw a punch and when to breeze by (float like a butterfly, sting like a bee).

Mozart I'm ngl is just Pride and Prejudice material, Mr.Darcy ass. He literally just needs somebody who will read him for utter filth in the classiest way possible, until he has no choice but to strut on his walk of shame saying "you dropped this, queen 👑". I find it a little funny because as long as you roast him in a true way, half the time he isn’t even mad, just sheepish. I find him to be a unique case between the two of them because he's more guarded than reactive. As soon as he knows his s/o is willing to hear him out and talk to him if they have some kind of misunderstanding, he doesn't really go for the throat anymore. Just gets kind of 👉👈, needs some time to figure out how to broach the topic (or Jeanne slides in to mediate a little bit). His development is more of a slow upward track to more normal and very affectionate interaction.

Of the two, I think Mozart might be the best bet for the type of person you mentioned. He has a lot of capacity for responding with penitence when it's due, and acknowledging when he messes up. Theo needs a lot of control, and I think it's fair if some people can't handle the overbearing nature of it at points.

[hopelesshawks]

Hawks would go FERAL if he saw his girlfriend in his clothes. He would go absolutely wild that man has a claiming/marking kink for SURE

Oh absolutely. You technically didn’t request I write this but you also knew what you were doing dropping this in my ask box so HERE WE GO. I wrote this instead of finishing the next part of Official Accounts oops

It’s an 18+ one y’all, minors dni

Contains mention of reader having a vagina, fingering, mutual masturbation, light dom/sub tones, minor cumplay

Maintaining a relationship as a pro hero is hard. Maintaining a secret relationship as a pro hero is even harder. You understand that being a top hero comes with a certain level of fame but if one more fanboy or creepy reporter hits on you, you are going to scream. Not to mention the legion of fan girls constantly screaming after your boyfriend. You get it. Hawks is hot. It’s part of why you date him, but did they really need to mob him every time he was in the vicinity? Needless to say jealousy was not uncommon in your relationship but the two of you had learned to deal with it over the past couple years. Deal with it frequently meaning putting on the best poker face you could muster until you got home and were able to take out your frustrations in a way that was fun for both of you.

You could already tell today was going to be a long day. You had just gotten back from an early morning patrol and just when you wanted to pass out for a much deserved nap you’d instead been told you had to give an interview on the opposite side of town. So instead of napping you had caught a cab to the other side of town and dragged yourself to the studio, only to discover your least favorite reporter would be giving the interview. The interviewer was an attractive man in his late 20s who clearly was unaccustomed to being told no. It didn’t matter how many times you explained you weren’t interested, the man always flirted with you at every opportunity. In a version of reality where pro heroes could punch out interviewers without reproach, you would have taught him a lesson by now, but your temper had got you in enough trouble with the HPSC already this year.

You sit down for the interview and immediately you can tell the interviewer won’t be keeping things professional. It’s live so you can’t do anything in the moment but grin and bear it. By the time the interview is over he’s managed to put his hand on your thigh twice, make an inappropriate comment about your hero costume three times, and imply the two of you should date at least five times. You hate him. The minute the cameras stop rolling, without dropping the polite smile from your face you remove his hand from your thigh and tell him “If you want to avoid a sexual harassment lawsuit I’d reign it in,” before storming off the set.

Finally, finally you get to go home. You immediately take a hot shower to wash off the sweat from patrol and the gross feeling from the interview. What you really want right now is your boyfriend, but Hawks is still working and probably will be for a while so you settle for throwing on one of his shirts with nothing underneath but a pair of underwear. You flop onto his side of the bed, burying your nose in his pillow to catch his lingering scent, and immediately fall asleep.

Hawks is irritated. He’s irritated because it feels like work has kept him from having quality time with you lately. He’s irritated because he saw your interview today. He’s irritated because he couldn’t even explain fully to Mirko why the interview had pissed him off so much. He’s irritated because he never should have come up with the idea to keep your relationship a secret and he’s irritated because you never should have agreed. None of these things are truly your fault though so when he finally gets home Hawks fully intends to just cuddle you to sleep and let you complain about how shitty your day was. Honest! He had not accounted for finding you curled up on his side of the bed wearing little other than his shirt.

You wake up from your nap to find your boyfriend lurking in the doorway to your room staring at you. You sit up and drowsily rub the sleep from your eyes. “What’re you doing just standing there Kei? Hurry up and come to bed,” you whine. You were not expecting him to groan “fuck,” before all but lunging towards you. Adrenaline surges through you immediately, the notion of sleep banished completely from your thoughts as suddenly Hawks is pinning you to the bed. You can feel his erection pressing against you but before you can ask what has triggered such a reaction he’s already got a hand in your panties, his thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. “Shit, Keigo, slow down,” you gasp as you grip the bedsheets tightly but he pays you no mind as his middle finger slides inside you. “God you’re so fucking wet for me. Look so fucking beautiful like this, you know that?” he groans.

You can’t even form a coherent response as he slides another finger inside you, dragging them along your inner walls in exactly the way he knows you like. Your hands move from the bed to his back and it’s only then you realize how much clothing he’s still wearing. “Clothes. Off. Now,” you manage to pant out and Keigo nods in acknowledgment. When he withdraws his fingers it’s all you can do to not whine at the loss of stimulation. He quickly sheds his coat and shirt, and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the wild look he has in his eyes and the haste with which he strips off the layers of his hero costume. As he’s finally moving to undo his pants you move to take off the shirt you’re wearing but immediately he’s back on you and pinning your hands above your head. “Don’t. Shirt stays on,” he practically growls and it sends shivers straight down your back and into your groin. “Ok,” is all you manage to say as he moves to press a bruising kiss to your neck. He doesn’t stop until he’s left at least a couple hickeys there, then he moves his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I want you to do something for me (y/n),” he whispers as he releases your hands and instead moves to slide your panties off. “I want you to touch yourself for me. Can you do that baby? I wanna watch you play with yourself in my shirt,” he continues and you’re already nodding before you’ve even fully processed the request.

He leans back to watch as you obediently bring one hand down to your aching sex. Your legs instinctively fall open to allow you better access as you slowly begin to rub along your folds before pressing small circles into your clit. You can hear Hawks curse under his breath as he quickly removes his pants and boxer briefs but that only spurs you on more. You truly are a sight to behold as you deftly insert two fingers inside of yourself, your nipples so hard they’re visible through Keigo’s shirt. He drinks in every lewd inch of you, wanting to commit the image to memory as he finally wraps a hand around his thick shaft. He’s not going to last long. He can tell by the way his dick is already weeping precum and he hasn’t even started moving his hand yet. He doesn’t mind at all though as he watches you squirm underneath him. He forces himself to wait until he can tell you’re getting close to climax. Only then does he allow his hand to start moving.

“Fuck Keigo I’m so close,” you moan, and it takes everything in him not to shoot his load right then. “Me too baby, me too. Let’s cum together, ok?” he moans back. “Ok.” “Ok. Fuck! God you look so hot so fucking beautiful right now,” he groans as the two of you continue to push towards climax, each egged on by the other’s performance. It seems to last both a lifetime and only a moment before finally you’re both rushing headlong into orgasm. Keigo quickly shoves his shirt further up your body to reveal your torso so he can paint it white with his release. As the high finally fades he collapses down next to you and you both just sit there for awhile to catch your breath.

“Kei can you get me a towel? I’m too lazy to move,” you finally ask once the two of you have recovered somewhat. You get silence back. “Kei?” you try again. “Can you leave it for a little bit? I promise I’ll give you the best bath ever afterwards,” he asks sheepishly. You can’t help but fondly roll your eyes. “So territorial,” you tease, “but fine. It better be one hell of a bath though.” “Thanks baby,” he smiles as he pulls you close and brings the covers up around the both of you. “The hickeys are gonna be a bitch to try and cover up in the morning though,” you sigh. “Then don’t cover them. It’s about time the world knew you were mine anyway,” Keigo says. “You sure about that?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.”

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 9

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

There are a million excuses I could give as to why its taken me so long to update. So I will simply say- writer’s block. Here we are though! 

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist

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He did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he should do. But when those two options were at odds, that left him in the quandary of what to actually do. 

 Either way, Anna was in trouble and did not even know it yet. 

 "Fuck." He muttered to himself. 

 "Something to add, Sergeant Collier?"

 Don looked over to meet the stern, blue eyes of Captain Winters. "No, sir."

 The redheaded captain stared at the tank commander for a moment before continuing speaking to the other officers in HQ. "This town here is a key point for supplies for the Germans. There is a railroad next to the town that intelligence says is crucial to them. Once we get control of the town, we'll secure it until 1st Battalion can relieve us." Winters said, pointing at a spot on the map laid across the table. 

 Don glanced back out the window, watching Captain Evans walk away from the HQ building. It had been three days since they arrived in Haguenau, and Captain Evans planned on leaving in two more. 

 The dark-haired intelligence officer began speaking next. "Our sources say it's only infantry there. It seems most of the tanks have been recalled back to Germany. Either way, we expect resistance but as to how much, we aren't sure."

 "That's why we are sending the Armored Division with you. Sergeant Collier will lead the four tanks in assistance." Winters said. "They will follow behind. At this point we've been asked to minimize damage to property but I will not trade it for lives. Understand?"

 A chorus of "yes, sir" answered him. 

 "Excellent. Fox Company will lead the assault with some of Dog Company in reserve. Have your men ready, you leave at oh-six hundred tomorrow. Any questions?"

 Don tried to focus on the rest of the discussion. He was leading his platoon for fuck's sake into another fight, but his thoughts kept drifting to Captain Evans leaving and what that meant. 

 Anna would be leaving too. 

 She had been sent to stay with Captain Evans, to be a medic and translator. She was never supposed to come to Haguenau. Don was never supposed to give a fuck about her. Their brief encounters back at that field hospital were supposed to be the extent of their interactions. Yet here he was. Worried for her safety. He and his crew were leaving tomorrow for the next fight. Captain Evans would leave the next day to start pushing into Germany. 

 His mind whirled with questions. Who would protect Anna? Who would make sure she ate and slept? Who would make sure she was looking out for herself just as much as her patients? 

 Don barely heard the dismissal from Captain Winters. The shuffling of feet and low cadence of voices heading towards the door thrust him back into reality from his dark thoughts. Without a word or acknowledging the paratroopers he would be working with, he headed out of the Battalion HQ and walked towards his lodgings. His mind raced with more questions than answers.  

 He knew what he wanted to do. 

 He knew what he should do. 

 Both options made him clench his jaw and want to punch a hole in a wall. 

 He trudged back to the house, throwing open the door, uncaring of the way it slammed into the wall. Stepping towards the common room, he saw Davis, Binkowski, Grady and a few others playing cards on a short table. A few others lounged around in the sunny room. 

 "What's the news, Wardaddy?" Binkowski asked, keeping his eyes on the cards in his hand. 

 "Leaving tomorrow. Oh-six hundred. Make sure your men got their shit together."

 "You alright, Don?" 

 He had not even heard Boyd come around the corner from the kitchen. His sharp gaze landed on his gunner, who was watching him warily. "Yeah, fucking fine." He snapped; his frustration was a writhing mess of snakes in his gut. 

 Christ, he needed some peace and quiet and a cigarette. Don stormed through the common room to head up the stairs, uncaring of the confused looks around him. In his haste to leave, he accidently bumped a flimsy chair someone must have left out. It just caught him at the right angle and dug into his side, nothing painful but just enough to infuriate him even more. He had not even realized how angry he was until the chair caught him, but it was the catalyst that released the pent-up frustration. 

 With a snarl, he grabbed the back of the chair and threw it against the wall. The sounds of wood snapping and breaking filled the now silent room. Without a word, without stopping, because if one person said something to him, he would beat the fucking shit out of them, he stalked up the stairs to his shared room. 

 After throwing the door open, he kicked it shut. The solid boom of the door slammed back only made him want to do it again and again. Instead he moved to drop onto the bed, sitting on the edge and quickly lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, the smoke immediately bringing some relief to him. 

 He was surprised Norman was not in the bedroom. When he left for the meeting, Norman had been curled up in the bed sleeping still. At first, he thought Norman slept so much because he was sick. Now he was beginning to wonder if the kid absorbed sleep like a desert soaking up a rainstorm; the rarity of it making it harder to ignore and easier to overindulge. 

 It could not have been even two minutes later when the bedroom door slowly opened. Don dropped his head in one of his hands, the other still holding the cigarette. 

 "Wanna explain what that was?"

 "Not now, Boyd." Don hissed, not looking up. 

 The gunner rocked back on his heels, the floorboards creaking under the motion. "A'right. Well, I'm just gonna be right here when you ready to talk."

 He chuckled darkly. Five minutes. He could not even get five fucking minutes alone. He tried to ignore Boyd as he stared out the window. 

 "Where's Norman?" He finally asked after taking another hit of his cigarette. 

 "Gordo took 'im to the aid station to see Anna."

 "She's not coming here?"

 "Dunno."

 "Fuck." Don whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. He suddenly felt like he should be in his sixties or seventies, not just recently turned thirty. His mind played over the past three days since they arrived in Haguenau. Besides that first day of their arrival, Anna had been over every day. He knew it was mostly to check in on Norman and make sure his cold did not worsen but she usually ended up staying for some time or if someone could convince or threaten her enough, she would also catch up on some sleep. During that time he had become so used to seeing her around, it felt strange to question if she was coming back or not. In his mind, she was a part of his crew, and he was positive he was not the only one to feel that way. 

 He needed her safe. 

 That was what everything seemed to come back to for him. He cared about her safety, like he would any of his crew. Except he knew, he wanted to be the one to keep her safe. To keep her gentle smile on him. To be the one she turned to. He felt like a moth drawn to her flame. 

 He knew what he needed to do. He doubted she was going to like it. Hell, if they got caught he wondered if he would lose his rank by going behind the backs of his superiors. He had to do something though. He had to keep her safe. Well, as safe as anyone could be while at war. 

 He knew the truth though- he wanted her close….to him. 

 With a groan, he stuck the cigarette between his lips then pushed against his knees to stand up. 

 "Where you goin'?"

 "Stay here."

 Boyd stood up, blocking the door. "What's goin' on, Don?"

 He debated just pushing Boyd out of the way before shaking his head. "Captain Evans leaves in two days."

 "Uh huh. Anna mentioned somethin' about the wounded finally being moved to a field hospital today. Probably why she ain't here."

 "We leave tomorrow." Don flatly stated. 

 Boyd's eyebrows drew together. "I feel like I'm missin' somethin'."

 "Anna is supposed to go with Evans. That was why she was sent."

 He could see the light bulb go off in Boyd's mind when what Don said finally clicked. His eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flickered across his face ranging from horror to frustration and what could be despair.

 "What…." Boyd stopped, looking off to the side and taking a deep breath before turning back to his commander. "What we gonna do?"

 "I'll take care of it."

 "Don…."

 "Stay here, Boyd. Start gettin' ready to leave tomorrow. I won't be gone long." This time he did gently push Boyd out of the way and with a long look, he stalked out of the room, down the stairs and outside. 

 He made his way to the aid station, only having to jump behind a building once to avoid a mortar. This was his first time coming to the aid station in Haguenau, having had no reason prior to come. He was pleased it was in better shape than most of the other buildings and further back from the river and Nazis. 

 Soon as he stepped through, he was hit with the smell of sanitation, coffee, and dried blood. 

 "Where's the nurse?" He growled at a pair of medics who stared at him like he was the grim reaper come to take their souls. One pointed towards the back. Don stormed in that direction, boots pounding on the wood floor. 

 He arrived at what most likely had been someone's study or library prior to the war but had been converted to the aid station. His gaze zeroed in on her folding up some blankets while she chatted with a medic. He stalked towards her. She only turned her head to look up at him as he was within five feet of her. 

 "Don?" The sweet smile on her face immediately faded away as she took in the serious expression he wore. 

 "We need to talk." He stated, moving to stand beside her. 

 "Of course, let me…"

 "No. Now." He grabbed her upper arm and started to pull her from the room. The other medic started to say something but snapped his mouth shut at the icy glare Don sent him. 

 "What's going on?"

 He ignored her question, looking down at her once they were in the hallway. "Where can we speak in private?" 

 "Upstairs." 

 Once she seemed to sense his urgency, he allowed her to lead him up the stairs and into a room that seemed to be used by the medics to store their personal effects. Two cots were pushed against opposite walls, both empty thankfully. Soon as he shut the door behind them, he rounded on her. 

 "You need to hide."

 "Ex....excuse me?" She stuttered, sapphire eyes peering up at him, wide and unblinking.  

 "Captain Evans plans on leaving the day after tomorrow."

 "We heard. One of the lieutenants stopped by after the wounded were taken to inform us. Why does…"

 He cut her off. "My crew and I are being sent out. We leave tomorrow. I don't know how soon we'll be back. So, you need to hide until Captain Evans leaves."

 "I don't.… I don't understand, Don."

 "Fuck!" He moved closer to her, grabbing both of her upper arms, his hands wrapping completely around them. "Listen. I can't protect you if you are in some other goddamn country. You can't leave with the Captain, alright? You stay here. You stay low and you'll get left behind. When we come back, I'll take care of you."

 "But…. I mean, I'll be fine. The men are….um…. It’ll work out. I'm more worried about you and the others. You are going into a fight!"

 "Fuck them and fuck the fight!" He shouted, moving away before he shook her, trying to make her understand. How could she not see what he was trying to do? "I don't trust those bastards to keep their hands off you! And you shouldn't either! Who's going to look out for you? Huh? Who's going to make sure they don't lay a fucking finger on you?! Cause I can promise you, it won't fucking be them!"

 He stood in front of her, chest heaving from the anger rolling through him like a tsunami wave. Only now, after his words spewed out like vitriol did he witness the effect. The tears that welled in her eyes, how one of her hands covered her mouth, the other wrapped around her torso almost in a self-hug. 

 "Anna…" Resentment towards himself flooded through his veins. Slowly he tried to reach out to her, to place a hand on her shoulder with an apology dancing on the tip of his tongue, but froze when she flinched.

 And that hurt worse than being pierced with a bullet. 

 He made no further move towards her, afraid of her reaction. Frustrated at everything but mostly himself in the moment, he ran his hands through his hair. 

 Her gaze had dropped to the floorboards, hunched into herself. Finally after several seconds, she whispered. "What do you want from me, Don?"

 What did he want from her? Hell, if he was still trying to come to terms with that answer himself. In the moment, he chose to honestly answer. 

 "I want you safe."

 His equally soft reply made her head jerk up, eyes meeting his. "Why?"

 "You're a part of my crew...and I swore to make sure they survive this war. I can't do that if you're in another company."

 "Is that the only reason?"

 Did she know how loaded that question was? How this growing tension between the two of them grated on him? Not because he disliked it. No. Because he wanted her closer. But this was war, and no one was guaranteed tomorrow. So he answered with something that tasted like a half-truth. "The only one that matters right now."

 She sniffled, wiping away the moisture from her eyes with her dainty fingers. 

 As if approaching an injured animal, he carefully shifted closer to her. Seeing the tears in her eyes broke what resolve he meagerly held. He hated that he made her cry, made her flinch. It tore at his soul. Something his mind demanded he fix, for both of them.

 Hesitantly, he reached forward and clasped her hands in his. She inhaled sharply, but only tightened her grip on his hands. The air between them felt charged with something unnamed but powerful. The way their gazes locked, hands holding each other, as if they had been put under a spell neither wished to escape. 

 "I need you safe, darling…." He murmured, the words flowing out of him without his conscious approval. Only after did they hang in the air, waiting to stoke the fire between them or shatter everything like glass. 

 "Darling?" The corners of her lips turned up in a barely-there smile. 

 He huffed a short laugh. "That alright?"

 "Yes." She answered with a blush growing on her cheeks. 

 And damn if that sight didn't stir something within him. Following his instincts, he gently tugged her closer, pulling her into a warm embrace, beyond pleased when she practically melted against him. His arms went around her back while her arms wrapped around his waist. Her cheek laid against the middle of his chest and he wondered if she could hear it pounding within him. Not for the first time was he reminded how small and vulnerable she seemed, tucked against his body now. He knew and witnessed how strong she truly was though. Faced with blood and death and distraught, she still persevered. 

 She sighed after some time, neither attempting to end the embrace. "I'll try to hide but I don't know where I could. All the medics know I'm here. Arthur and the others will be expecting me to join them especially after losing…" Her voice trailed off. 

 He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll figure it out. I promise." 

 "I trust you." They continued to stand there, finding solace in one another but also a silent understanding between them. Of affections that were too dangerous to say aloud but still lingered in the air. A few seconds later, her whisper disturbed the peace. "I'm so tired of this war."

 "Me too."

 A knock on the door broke their moment but when Anna tried to step away from Don, he only held her tighter, unwilling to give her up but also wanting to protect her. He watched the door open to reveal a medic, who although his face seemed calm, there was an undercurrent of tension in the way he clenched his jaw and the shifting of his eyes as he immediately took in the scene before him. 

 "Chérie? Everythin' alright? Spina said he 'eard yellin'."

 Only when she turned to face the medic did Don let her go. "Yes. I'm sorry, Gene. It's nothing.... just a misunderstanding."

 "Mmm." The medic glanced back down the hallway then stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. "Someone wanna tell me what's goin' on?"

 Don immediately recognized the name Gene. She had referenced him multiple times when she had been over taking care of Norman. By the way she spoke about him, Don picked up that she trusted him and they were friendly. Perhaps he had an ally here after all. 

 "Are you able to hide her?" He asked bluntly, knowing his time was running short to figure out a plan. 

 Gene's eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"

 "Don, no... it’s fine," she answered at the same time, placing a hand on his arm, "I'll figure out something."

 "Nah, chérie." Gene looked back over to Don, expression reserved but determined. "What do ya mean?"

 Don quickly explained the situation, impressed by the medic with the thick accent and how he absorbed the information thrown at him without too many questions. 

 Gene nodded once at the end, gaze downward as he ran his tongue over his teeth. Finally, he looked up at the two. "I know somewhere. They got some extra room. Lemme talk to their Sergeant first."

 Anna's gaze bounced between the two men, clearly unable to believe what she was hearing. "We can't do this. We'll get…. I don't want to cause more problems or get people in trouble. What happens when your Captain finds out?"

 Gene shrugged. "Winters is a good man. He might not like it but he'll understand." He paused, tapping a finger on his crossed arms. "I'll go now. Anna, stay here, get ya things gathered. We'll bring ya over tonight."

 She stared at both of them again before Don could visibly see her acceptance when her shoulders sagged. With a roll of her eyes, she gave the medic a cheeky salute. "Yes, sir."

 "Fille effrontée." He grinned. 

 She blew him an air kiss that made him shake his head, a small grin on his lips. The two men nodded at each other once more before the medic slipped back out. 

 Once alone again, she turned back around, placing her hands on his chest, peering up at him earnestly. "Be safe, please...tell the others for me too."

 "I will." 

 This time he leaned down as she rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his jawline. His hands tightened on her waist, where they had landed. Instead of immediately pulling back after she fell back onto her flat feet, he lingered. Hovering over her, he cupped her cheek, guiding her head. She was completely pliant under his touch, allowing him to tilt her face until their noses almost touched. He was spellbound, staring down at her. Her gentle breaths sliding across his mouth tantalizingly. It was the soft adoration and trust in her sapphire eyes that pulled in his chest and stole the breath from his lungs. She was too good, too pure for someone like him. Yet he could not draw away from her, captured in her tender affections, left breathless by her kindness. Turning his face just slightly, he could feel the corner of her mouth against his, her warm breath hitting his cheek. 

 "I should go." He whispered, without moving away. 

 Her hands slid up to the nape of his neck, causing him to suppress a low groan as her chest pressed against his. "Don, please come back." Her words pierced his heart. 

 "I will, I promise." This time he brushed his lips over hers. It was just a moment, the faintest of touches but the spark it ignited in him felt like an inferno awakening. 

 Abruptly he pulled back, turned on his heels and walked out. If he stayed any longer, she would be in his arms, his mouth devouring hers, her back pressed against the nearest wall. He had half a mind to turn back and do that just now. But he kept walking. Why she held any affections for him left him boggled. She deserved better than him. He wanted her though. Christ above, he wanted her. It was becoming a truth he could not ignore. 

 And that barely-there kiss only proved it. 

 *****

 Anna followed behind Gene as they headed to a different building, supposedly where she would stay hidden. She worried all of this would blow up in their faces eventually, that the men would get in trouble because of her, that she would be sent away to a company she did not know. Would the army count this as desertion? Fears and concerns tormented her mind, but it was too late now. Her feet were already planted firmly on the path. Physically and metaphorically. 

 Gene had told her that she would stay with the paratrooper platoon until after Captains Evans and his company left. The Cajun medic had already started a rumor along with Spina, who seemed to be enjoying all this espionage a little too much, that she had been sent to assist a family living just outside of Haguenau where the wife was in labor with her first child. It would explain why she was only gone for a short time and as to why her sudden disappearance. Plus, Gene reasoned it sounded like something she would do. She could not blame him there. It would be. 

 So now, they walked in the late hours of the night, moonlight highlighting the ground beneath their feet. The ill-fitting ODs, the coat from a dead soldier and her medic satchel were the only things she owned. All of her other possessions and clothing had blown up when the medic truck was hit during the surprise attack. She desperately tried not to think about that fact. She was alive and with no injuries. Twenty-two men lost their lives that day. Her few belongings were minimal compared to that. 

 She still missed her book though. 

 Gene did not even knock when they reached the damaged house. Quietly, he opened the door and shifted so she could walk in first. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet, making her freeze for a moment. Only after a word of encouragement from Gene did she continue. As she stepped in, she could hear the murmuring of voices suddenly fall silent. Knowing Gene was at her side and he trusted these men, she took a deep breath before taking another step forward. 

 She rounded the corner from the entryway and towards what must have been a common room before the war. There were three men, two sitting on beat-up looking couches and one standing. The moonlight shining through the window cast everything in deep shadows. Somehow it felt appropriate for all that these men had been through. How they were still waiting for the sun to shine on them again, to beat back the shadows and nightmares and remind them to hope and dream of the future without war hovering over them like a furie.

 It was as she met the gaze of the one standing, staring at her, that she could feel tears well up in her eyes. He looked so world-weary, as if he had not slept in years and all peace had abandoned him. His eyes once so bright with laughter and life were now dull. His once expressive face was now weathered and closed-off. Only his red hair looked the same. It broke her heart. 

 "Donnie…." She softly said. 

 The corners of his lips lifted up at the nickname she bestowed upon him so long ago. "Hi, Anna."

 Without warning or a care for his reaction, she flew across the room. She threw her arms around him, the top of her head just at his chin. A few tears spilled as he seemed to hesitate at her action, as if he had forgotten what a hug was, as if he no longer understood how to be comforted. Then slowly his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer to his chest. 

 "I'm so sorry, Donnie." She mumbled against him, fighting a losing battle against the tears flooding her eyes. "Muck and Penkala…. they were the best of men. I'm so sorry. And for the others too." 

 He stiffened at the names of his deceased best friends. She could feel the shudder that ran through him, the soft sob he forced back. "Not…. not your fault." He finally whispered, a faint quiver in his voice. 

 She pulled back to meet his eyes, uncaring of the tear tracks staining her cheeks. Carefully she moved her hands to cup his face between them, forcing his gaze to stay on hers. "If you need to talk, I'll listen. Or just cry. Or hold your hand. I'll do it, without any questions."

 "Sure."

 "I'm serious."

 "I know. You sound like you've been hanging out with Doc Roe too much." He teased, forcing back the pain in his voice. A slight squeeze of her hand let her know he appreciated her words. 

 She giggled, sliding out of his embrace to glance at Gene, who had moved to sit next to another redhead on one of the couches. "He does start to rub off on you, can't decide if he's a good influence or a bad one."

 Gene scowled at her, making her giggle more. 

 "Who's the dame? Easy taking female paratroopers now?" The other redhead asked, his Philly accent unmistakable. 

 "Nah, this is Anna Cooper, a nurse. She's gonna stay with ya fellas for a couple days." Gene said casually. 

 The redhead's eyebrows were furrowed as his gaze darted from Gene to Anna and back. "Why?"

 "I just missed Donnie here so much." She smiled up at the man, who just gave her an awkward smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

 "Uh huh. So, what's the real fucking reason?" The third man asked, twirling a cigarette between his fingers. 

 "Joe, nothing you need to worry about right now." Malarkey answered. 

 Anna wondered if Gene expected the whole platoon to know of her existence there and why or only Donnie and himself. That was probably something she should have asked before their arrival but her mind was too caught up in its tornado of fears. 

 "How do you two know each other?" The other redhead asked, now eyeing her like she was a rare specimen. 

 Roe sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. "She was in Albourne with us medics when we were training before the jump into Normandy."

 "Donnie here also took me on a date." Anna blurted out, a smile on her lips. 

 "What?" The one Malarkey had called 'Joe' stared with his jaw dropped. "A'ight, now I gotta hear this." 

 Malarkey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he looked down at her. "Not sure I'd call that a date, Anna."

 "Mmm...it's a date when you kiss the girl after, right?"

 For a beat there was shocked silence before the two on the couches started laughing, Roe just shook his head and muttered something to himself. 

 "Holy shit, Anna…" Malarkey rubbed a hand over his face. If there had been more light, his face most likely would have matched the color of his hair. "I thought we agreed never to mention it ever again?"

 "It wasn't that bad, Donnie."

 "Yes, it was. That damn shovel almost broke my nose. You had to walk me to the aid station instead of me walking you home."

 "I mean.... when you say it like that." Anna teased. 

 "Shit, I really need to hear this now." 

 "Babe, no." Malarkey pointed his finger at the other redhead then moved it to the other man. "Joe, not a word."

 The one, Joe, shrugged, a smirk on his face. "How come I don't remember this?"

 "Cause you was in London chasin' skirts and gettin' in fights that weekend." Gene stated evenly. "It's late, I need to head back to the aid station. Malarkey, where is Anna stayin'?"

 "Right. This way." Malarkey led the way with Anna and Gene following up a set of stairs and down the hallway to a bedroom. "Supposed to be for officers I guess but since we don't have any…. the door locks too."

 "Thank you, Donnie." She smiled up at the man, someone she had thought she would never see again. It was funny how fate had brought Easy Company back into her life. Moving further into the room, she was pleased to find a single bed pressed against the wall and a desk across from it. Otherwise the room was completely bare of any other furniture or decorations. 

 "Ya ok here, chérie?" Gene leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. 

 "Yes."

 "Good, good. One question then." Gene paused, an intensity in his eyes that startled her. "What's ya relationship with that Sergeant?"

 In the middle of slipping the coat off, she froze, having not been expecting that question. Her mind raced with trying to find an adequate answer. Although it felt futile. How could she describe her relationship with Sergeant Don Collier? Not that there was a relationship, per se, even if memories of their last encounter sprung forth in her mind's eye. Even though they had not known each other long, he was someone she found herself trusting wholeheartedly and feeling safe around. The loyalty of his men inspired her. The brutality of war was evident in the way he carried himself, the shifting of his eyes and the perpetual frown on his face when he was thinking. Yet he still cared. He still went out of his way to take care of a nurse who meant nothing to him. How when he was close by, her heart beat a little faster and butterflies danced in her belly. On more than one occasion, as she laid down waiting for sleep to find her, she wondered what his kiss would feel like. 

 Finally, she settled with a glossed over version, hoping Gene would be satisfied with just that. "Um....we don't…. he’s just looking out for me. Him and his crew kind of took me in."

 "Mmm….and when I walked into him holdin' ya in his arms, lookin' ready to kiss ya?"

 "It's....it's not like that."

 Malarkey spoke up, leaning against the doorframe. "Who’s this Sergeant?"

 "In charge of the armored division." Gene answered, dark eyes staring at her as if to sift the secrets out of her words and wide eyes. 

 "Don's just looking out for me…. him and his crew, they've, well, they've protected me several times already from…. others." She finished lamely, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to push the memories away. 

 He must have sensed her discomfort. "Alright, chérie, just be careful."

 She nodded. She appreciated his concern but felt it was misplaced. 

 "Don, huh? Do you call him Donnie too?" Malarkey broke the following silence. 

 She rolled her eyes but smiled at the slight change of subject. "No, only you get that nickname."

 "Lucky me. So, is he a redhead too? You have a thing for the name Don?"

 She covered her face as her cheeks warmed. 

 "Ya two can discuss this tomorrow." Gene pushed off the desk. "I'll come get ya the day after tomorrow. If ya need anythin', send someone to get me."

 She dropped the coat at the end of the bed and moved to give him a quick hug. "Thank you, Cajun angel."

 He rolled his eyes while Malarkey snickered in the back but returned the embrace.

 Next, she walked over to Malarkey and gave him another quick hug. "Thank you too. For doing this for me."

 "I'm in the room across, if you need me. Bathroom is two doors down."

 The two paratroopers then left, closing the door behind them. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed around her as she stood there in the small room under the moonlight shining through the window. The future was always unknown but especially now, she felt tossed about on the waves of uncertainties. She hoped this plan was not completely foolhardy, but she would admit, she felt safer with Gene and Malarkey looking out for her while Don and Boyd were gone. She would never admit how she had cried while hiding away from everyone when she realized she was no longer alone, that she would not be sent with Captain Evans and his company. There were good men looking out for her. 

 She crawled into bed, slipping under the scratchy covers. All the while, her mind sent a fervent prayer that the crew of Fury would be safe. That they would return to her uninjured. That Don would be okay.

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts pt 12

A/N: if anyone is still out there reading...thanks for your patience. always a thank you to my beta and bestie @chloes-yellow-cup for doing the thing on the thing. 

12. Nosebleed

“You know when you invited me to the gym, I was expecting something more like Equinox…”

Aubrey chuckled and nudged Stacie’s elbow up and in gently so her wrapped fists were in the right place to protect her face. She blew a lock of dark hair out of her face and planted her weight solidly before throwing another punch at the hands held up as targets for her. It was weak and she knew it. Fighting had never really been her thing. Stacie’s instincts ran to comfort rather than violence and she wasn’t even sure why they were doing this.

“Equinox is a gym experience. It’s for people who work out to be seen. You won’t learn to really throw fists there. Besides, this gym was good enough for my dad…it’s good enough for us.”

Stacie was aware there was a personal attachment to the gym when Aubrey brought out her own keys to unlock the door and let them into the quiet and empty space. She just hadn’t realized what that connection came from. Though, she thought, she probably should have. Her eyes traveled to the painted brick walls with pictures and posters of fighters long past adorning them.

“Your dad trained here?”

Aubrey moved behind her, hands resting on Stacie’s hips guiding them in a pivot, helping Stacie to shift her weight with the movement.

“The power comes from the ground up. When you shift your weight, you bring it up through your legs and into your torso. Like this. Find your balance. It’s one of the first things my dad ever taught me about fighting. Right here in this very spot.”

The warmth of Aubrey’s body against her back was distracting and it made Stacie fumble clumsily. The blonde stepped back with a lingering caress and took up her spot in front of her fiancée to hold up her hands again. This time when Stacie swung her fist connected with a solid slap and she blinked in surprise at how it had felt to land a hit successfully and feel the slight jar of resistance from impact. It was exhilarating and she could see the appeal of boxing. Maybe.

“Whoa.”

“Feels good, right?”

“Yeah but….why are we doing this Bree?” Aubrey’s shoulders rolled in a slight shrug but she remained quiet, a sure sign that she had reasons she wasn’t sure how to share. Stacie dropped her shoulders and ducked low in a weave from the swipe of Aubrey’s hand. She popped back up and punched solidly into the waiting hands, the movements more fluid and sure than before. “Not that this isn’t kind of fun. But. It seems kind of purposeful.”

Aubrey’s arm swiped out again and she ducked. It was rhythmic, almost like dancing and the second she thought of it that way her body went into autopilot. She moved with ease, each punch more solid than the last.

“Two reasons. I always stop here to work out when I’m home. I dunno. Maybe it’s silly but I feel close to him here. My dad. I uh. I wanted him to meet you.”

Stacie’s fists wavered and dropped slightly and Aubrey reached out to nudge her elbows back into position. Her focus sharpened on the task, understanding that Aubrey needed to keep moving while they talked. She blew the same strand of hair out of her face once more and ducked and bobbed again, keeping the same flow.

“Think he’d like me?”

“I think he would have loved you. And he’d be proud…of me. For picking someone good like you to spend my life with. At least that’s how I always see it in my head when I think about him.”

Stacie slowed her movements on her duck and lowered her fists. Her heart throbbed painfully for Bree’s loss. It was pretty clear they had been a tight team, father, and daughter. Aubrey took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back to square them.

“I really would have liked to meet him. I’m sorry he can’t be with us.”

“You would have liked him, babe. My dad was a big softie, you know. Despite what he did for work, he never let that be who he was. Inside.”

She touched her chest lightly and smiled as her gaze landed on picture on the wall. Stacie turned to look at it and smiled too. Even from across the ring she could tell it was baby Aubrey, tiny fists raised in front of her face as she squared off against a kneeling man with huge hands and kind laughing eyes.

“I see that in you, Aubrey. I know him from the way you love your people, from the way you love me. You’re kinda just like your dad.”

Aubrey gestured for Stacie to bring her hands up again, feeling the need to move around and focus on something else. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and raised her fists to start again. For a few minutes there was only the sound of the meaty slap of her one, two punches and the rustle of her clothes as she shuffled through her routine. She was feeling more confident about it and smiled through the next punches before taking a breath to speak.

“So, what was the other reason?”

Slap. Slap. Shuffle. Slap. Slap. Shuffle.

“The second reason has more to do with me getting to watch you working out in those sweats.”

It was hard to hold in her laughter but if she let it go now, she’d mess up her pacing and breathing. Aubrey stepped it up a notch and started a slow revolution around the ring, making Stacie stay light on her feet between punches. It took her another few minutes to get her breathing under control again.

“You’ve been hanging out with Detective Mitchell too much. You’re starting to sound like her.”

Aubrey let out a breathy chuckle when the new few punches landed a little heavier than the ones previously. The blonde caught her wrists on the next pass and brought their bodies together with a strong jerk. Stacie wasn’t at all complaining.

“She’s not so bad for a cop.”

“So that’s the real reason? You really just wanted to check me out?”

It wasn’t a complaint if the result was being held against Aubrey’s chest. Strong fingers flexed on her wrists, tightening ever so slightly and making her heart beat double time. It never ceased to amaze her that just that tiny flex of control could make her weak in the knees. Pale green eyes searched the planes of her face like a warm caress before she released Stacie.

“I always want to check you out. But no, I have reasons for this.” Hands ghosted down her sides keeping them close but not distractingly so. “Things could get rough soon, Alice is a loose cannon. There’s really no telling what she might try to do. I’d feel better knowing that if someone were stupid enough to try to put their hands on you, you’ll be able to make them regret it.”

Oh. Aubrey’s head dipped and she let out a shaky breath. Stacie brought their heads together for a gentle nose nudge. Self defense wasn’t the worst thing she could learn and there was good reason for it.

“That’s an oddly sweet and endearing sentiment. And you’re right. This is something I probably should have learned a long time ago. I just…”

There was something in her nature that made her squeamish about the idea of fighting. It wasn’t the pain she’d endure. She’d had plenty of it to endure before. It was the idea of hurting someone, putting her hands on someone with the intent to cause harm. It wounded something in her. But that was a softness she could no longer afford. Her life was different. She was different. Aubrey seemed to understand and cupped her face tenderly.

“This doesn’t change who you are Stace. You’re just going to know how to protect yourself. In case.”

In case. It was said with such a casual roll of Aubrey’s shoulders and a dismissive air. As if the possibility were a far distant dream rather than a reality of the current situation. Stacie gave and stood taller, falling into stance with focused attention.

“You’re right. This is a good thing and I’ll look hot doing it.”

“Now who’s been hanging out with Mitchell too much?”

Stacie chuckled and put a little extra into her punches as they resumed their movements. After she had settled into the routine again Aubrey switched it up, adding a block and upper cut to the dance. They worked in silence until Aubrey wanted to show her how to do something else. Then the conversation was brief and direct. She didn’t really need it to be anything other than what it was. Stacie just wanted to learn everything she could.

They had started to build up a sweat as they transitioned from blocking and trading blows to grappling. It was a skill she was having a harder time picking up but as Aubrey twisted and pulled her to the ground, pinning her firmly to the mat beneath them, she realized why.

“You’re supposed to be trying to get away, Stacie.”

Aubrey’s weight shifted and Stacie couldn’t help but roll her hips up, half squirm, half grind. She knew she wasn’t the only one of them affected by the intimate position when Aubrey’s pupils blew out leaving just the tiniest ring of bright green showing. It was a little like being caught in the gaze of a very large bird of prey.

“Sorry baby, getting away from you is the last thing I want to do.”

She hadn’t meant it to be a profound statement but something flickered behind Aubrey’s eyes a second before the blonde brought them together in a deep kiss that left Stacie breathless and bemused. Stacie’s hands slid over Aubrey’s smooth, strong back, fingertips sliding under the tight elastic of her sports bra. Muscles tightened as the blonde shifted her weight again to bring a thigh up between Stacie’s legs. Aubrey dove down for another demanding kiss that she oh so willingly gave up and gave into. It was relentless and all consuming making her deaf to the creak of the glass front door swinging open and closed.

“Oh for chrissakes…you said you were gonna work out. This isn’t how I thought you’d be working up a sweat. Not that I blame you.”

Stacie sighed as Aubrey pulled back and glared up at her cousin. He put his hands up and reached into his inner jacket pocket for a pack of gum. It gave them a few seconds to untangle and stand up.

“What do you want Jesse?”

“Pop called an emergency meeting.”

“Fine, swing me by the hotel so I can shower and change.”

“No can do. He wants everyone at the table now. And when Franco says now, he means right now. Everyone is dropping everything to be there so you’ll be in good company. You’re about to see more sweat suits and gold chains than at an LL Cool J concert.”

Stacie bit her lip to keep from laughing at the image. She couldn’t keep the mirth out of her voice, however. “At least you didn’t work up your sweat lifting cannoli to shove in your face.”

Jesse’s lips quirked. “No offense cuz, and don’t hate me for it, but I think I’m kinda in love with your girl.”

“Hate you? I don’t have to hate you Jess…I can just shoot you.”

The laugh finally tumbled out at the mock offense on Jesse’s face. Aubrey laced fingers with her and shouldered the bag they had carried their workout stuff in. The ring of keys jangled heavily in her fiancée’s hand as they walked through the gym and out the front door.

“So, what’s this meeting about?”

“Quincy has news on our eager beaver.”

So…finally they were getting somewhere. Stacie studied Aubrey as she locked the door behind them. There wasn’t a hint of emotion from the blonde, not that she expected there would be but it was still a nice confirmation that there was nothing whatsoever between them. At least not on Aubrey’s side of it.

“Good news or bad news?” It was said with the same cool detachment that was reserved for business matters.

Jesse’s suit clad shoulders rolled in a shrug as he led them to the car and held the back passenger door open for them. “I dunno, all I know is that Quincy came through and Pop called a meeting.”

The door closed on them and they exchanged a look. Well. One way or another they were going to get some solid answers at last. Aubrey took her hand again and held it through the silent, tension filled ride. It was thankfully short but their arrival left Stacie with an uneasy weight in the pit of her stomach. There were armed men at the gate to the drive that waved them in with stone faced efficiency. It hadn’t been that way the last time they had come here. Something had changed and it seemed like the Family was on full alert.

None of them commented on it, they simply got out of the parked car and continued into the house. It was full of unfamiliar faces tight with anticipation. They parted before the trio, giving them access to the dinning room. Jesse stopped and took his phone out and casually dropped it in the lock box he’d carried earlier. Aubrey and Stacie followed suit and pushed into the room to take their places at the table. She noticed there was an extra seat now and settled into with a grateful smile to Uncle Frank. He gave her a wink and clapped his hands.

“Everyone that should be here is here. Quince. Tell them.”

A thin man, wispy looking man pushed his chair back and stood. “I gotta hand it to you kid, when you screw someone, you really screw them. This Esposito is kind of an interagency joke, and she has a hard on to see you taken down because of it. But your guy was right, there’s nothing solid on you. She pitched her case and it got laughed down.”

Aubrey leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers while she sorted her thoughts. “If she’s running this investigation off books she must be pretty sure she’s going to come up with something.”

Stacie leaned forward unsure if she should speak. “Okay so if she didn’t get the go ahead from her boss who gave the okay for her to still keep going. At the end of the day the FBI is all about billable hours and the cogs of bureaucracy. Someone is signing off on two FBI agents payroll and smoothing ruffled feathers at L.A.P.D.”

Quincy gave her a measuring look, his stiff helmet of hair gleaming in the light as he nodded. “Smart kid. Our contact says someone flagged the report after her boss kicked it. It went straight to the director himself.”

Aubrey’s brows raised at that. If she was such a nobody why was the director of the FBI interested in her? “On who’s order?”

“Senator August Conrad.”

The air left Stacie’s lungs in a rush. Heat radiated from her chest with every heartbeat and it burned like acid in her veins. That son of a bitch. Aubrey’s hand closed over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze reminding her she wasn’t alone in the moment. Stacie blinked once and settled back in her chair, forcing each muscle to relax. Aubrey waited a moment for that news to sink in before she stood and paced around the table with slow deliberation.

“One of the scandals Whitman was involved in implicated a lot of big names. Conrad wasn’t on that list but he introduced his son in law to a lot of people. Probably most of if not all of the people being looked at now. That has to be the connection.”

Big Mike let out a hefty sigh. “How do we know it’s not just because you hooked up with his baby girl?”

All eyes swung to her and Stacie gave the question some thought before answering. “I think Aubrey is right. It does bother him that she’s a part of my life but he’s greedy enough to realize the benefit of having a relationship with a businesswoman like her. He’d only be making a move like this if someone else pushed him into it. Someone has to have leverage on him of some kind.”

Franco stood and placed his hands on the table. His heavy gaze pinned each of them in turn to convey the seriousness of what he was about to say. “How this plays out determines how far we can push business on the West Coast. There is no margin for error where this is concerned.” When he turned to look at her everyone’s gaze shifted too. “Find out who has the squeeze, and what they have on him.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Stacie made the association with Senator Conrad to her father. She had somehow divorced them in her mind as two separate people and now the realization that they were one in the same winded her. She could feel everyone studying her, waiting to see how she’d act to the order. Wondering if it would bother her to be disloyal to her family, to her father. The thing was, August Conrad hadn’t done anything to earn her loyalty. There wasn’t a single instance that she could remember where he’d actually been there for her as a parent. They were little more than strangers to each other.

But did that mean she was ready to spy on him and use what she learned to blackmail him into doing what would be best for the Family?

“I know where to start looking.”

Absolutely.

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (3/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 2,601

Recommended: 18+ readers 

Summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, angst, swearing, implied torture, kidnapping, suggested smut, mentions of familial loss

A/N: Ok, so I’m a bit nervous for this one, but I’m just happy I was able to get it out today. Now, to start packing so I can get back to my college! All mistakes are my own. The GIF is not mine, so credit goes to the original creator! 

Series Masterlist

Two days after I had barged into my father’s home, my phone rings, and I stupidly answer without checking the caller ID first. If my father knew, he’d have my head for being careless.

“Y/L/N here.”

“You need to come in as soon as possible.” Coulson’s voice sounds serious, and I straighten up instinctually. “Fury has requested you.”

“On my way.” I tell him before hanging up. A quick message to my bodyguards later and all four of us are piling into the car. Hunter gives me a small glare as he moves into the driver seat. I smirk back.

“See, Hunter. You’re driving me. Don’t look so upset about it now.” He sends me another glare that has me chuckling, easing the prickle of nerves that rests under my skin.

During the drive to the estate, I find myself zoning out. The moment I step out of this car, the moment that a plan I’m not entirely aware of will fall into action. A feeling in my gut settles heavily and some part of me knows my hands are going to get dirty soon.

Like usual, we pull in front of the stairs leading into the estate, and my guards escort me in. Once I’m in, I’m led the familiar path towards my father’s office. Three out of four of my group stop where the other guards are posted, and I head through the door. I falter slightly, seeing both my siblings, Hill, Coulson, and my father but continue on just as quickly.

“You have a way in.” Fury starts, not wasting time, while also pushing a thin file towards the edge of his desk. I grab it and flip it open. “Your team will stay here during your assignment. Hill will drive you to where your vehicle will be, your new identity is in the glove compartment. Once you leave the premises, you won’t be able to have any contact with anyone in the Clan. I thought you’d like to see the twins again before you left.” I give him an appreciative nod, keeping myself firmly planted where I stand so I don’t run to my sister and brother.

“Who’s he?” I ask, in reference to the man in the folder.

“A known HYDRA affiliate. Your way in is capturing him and delivering him onto the Barnes territory. Oh, and they just want him alive when you get there. Better for information.” I smirk slightly. There it is.

I look over the file again, memorizing everything about this guy, before I close it back up.

“Can I say my goodbyes, now?” I ask with a slight hitch in my voice.

That’s all Wanda needs to hear before she’s sprinting over to me. I stumble slightly when she reaches me, then lock her into a tight embrace. I feel a third party join the hug and move to let Pietro in as well. It’s not long before I feel the chill of tears seeping through my shirt. The sting of fresh tears burns my nose, and I will them not to fall.

“Please, be careful.” Pietro practically begs. In order not to start sobbing, I can only nod into his chest.

I eventually push myself away with a shaky breath. “I will try my best. Promise me you two will stay safe.”

“It’s not us,” Wanda sniffs, drying underneath her eyes. “That you should be worried about.”

I give her a sad smile before it suddenly drops and I’m looking between them. “Promise me. I need you to promise me you’ll be ok.” I whimper as a single tear rolls down my face. The reality of what is being asked of me comes crashing down and I need to make sure I don’t worry about them. I need to know my little siblings will be safe from HYDRA.

“Promise.” Pietro and Wanda whisper sadly with tears streaming down their faces.

I nod while drying my face before looking directly at Maria.

“Hill.” I start, masking my vulnerability. She nods once in acknowledgement. “I assume there is a bag with my necessities for this mission.”

“Yes, and the Barnes family also has some things for you on arrival.”

“Then let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A semi-long trip, an outfit change, and an equipment exchange later, and I’m on my way to some second-rate club on the outskirts of NYC. When I pull in, I’m not shocked when I find the parking lot mostly empty. After coming to a stop, I run through the mental file I have on this guy.

Target: Ian Quinn (with his brown hair and smug smile I memorized from his photo)  Occupation: Disgraced billionaire, but still has money. Is believed to be working with HYDRA for extra money as well as to help his business; has most likely been given access to classified info Location: Club Atlas, low security on premises, cameras only at the front entrance and boss’ office door Other: Seemingly a sucker for a damsel in distress

I groan to myself as I throw the car door open. My simple black heels, with one strap over my toes and the other around the ankle, click on the asphalt as I fall into the role of the meek and timid persona I am adopting for this part of my op.

I try to tug the dress down as I walk closer to the bouncer, making me seem uncomfortable. He eyes me skeptically before asking for my ID. I pull out a fake and hand it to him. With only a quick glance, he nods then motions for me to head on in. I slowly walk across the sticky floor as I make my way towards the bar. The bass of the music send strong vibrations into my ears that seem to resonate through the rest of my body. The few patrons that are here either sit at the booths lining the walls or writhe on the tiny dancefloor. However, Quinn is nowhere to be found.

I adjust my dress again once I reach the bar, then continue looking around.

“Can I help you, little girl?” The bartender asks in a condescending tone.

Yeah, I’ll take a glass of the fuck off, please. “Oh! I- uh- I wa-.”

“Is Mikey giving you a hard time?”

I turn around with wide and fearful eyes to meet two blue ones. Ian Quinn.

“I-I, no! No, I was just startled is all.” He smiles softly but with a twinkle in his eye that unnerves me. I turn back to the bartender. “I’ll just have some tonic water with a lime for now, please. I’m just waiting for someone.” I tell him softly even though I want to punch the sneer he gives me right off.

“So...” Quinn says grabbing my attention. “Who are you waiting on?”

“Oh, uh, I was supposed to meet a date here that I met online. But, uh, this isn’t how he described the place.” I chuckle shyly.

“Well, until they get here, why don’t I keep you company.” He states with a smug grin. It wasn’t a question.

I giggle, my fingers tucking on a loose strand of hair. “That’d be fine.”

“My names Ian. Ian Quinn.”

“The billionaire?” I question with a gasp of awe that I force out of my mouth. “I can’t believe it. I’m Rissa.”

We shake hands before my drink is placed in front of me. After 30 odd minutes of Quinn talking about himself and flirting, I glance at my phone and sigh.

“Ya know. I don’t think he’s coming after all.” I mutter sadly.

“I’m sorry, Rissa.” Quinn says with concern, though I’m sure it’s just an act. “You don’t deserve to be stood up like that.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Ian, I don’t usually do stuff like this but there seems to be no point in us just sitting here. Would you, I don’t know, possibly, want to come to my place? It’s, uh, it’s not far from here.”

He smiles. “I’d love that, Rissa.”

I smile back, ignoring the bile rising in my throat. We pay for our separate tabs before I’m leading the man to my car. He closes the passenger door and I turn towards him. He faces me with a flirty smile before leaning in for a kiss, only faltering when he feels a prick on his neck. Before he can understand what’s happening, he’s slumped forward in the seat.

“Thank fuck.” I breathe out, pocketing the needle, before driving off.

I’m able to find a rather vacant one-star motel and get a room for one night. Luckily, it’s on the ground floor making it easier for me to drag Quinn in without causing any raised eyebrows. I hastily change out of my dress and heels into a pair of jeans, a tank top, my leather jacket, and some combat boots. I give myself a once over before I hear a faint groan come from the bathroom.

I smirk then throw the duct tape and zip ties I had taken out once I got Quinn into the room, tossing them into my backpack. At the sound of another soft groan, I saunter my way to the bathroom.

Ian Quinn is barely regaining consciousness from his place in the bathtub. My eyes glance over his ankles, five layers of duct tape and two zip ties binding them together. I used two layers of duct tape and a zip tie to bind his wrists behind his back so he can’t try to escape. Not to mention the duct tape I put over his mouth.

“Morning, sweetie.” I chirp as his eyes begin to flutter open. “We have a lot of work in store for us. Well, for me. Bet this isn’t what you had in mind.” I smirk down at him, well Rissa does.

Quinn starts squirming while attempting to glare at me, eyes still half-closed because of the drug I gave him.

“You can’t get out of this.” I purr, sensually dragging my finger down the side of his face. “I want an in. And you, you’re how I get it. And don’t take this too personally, you were just the easiest of HYDRA’s scum. Still important though.” His brows furrow as he thinks over the information I just gave him. Good, that’s the point.

While he’s distracted, I pull out my switchblade.

“Now. They just need you alive.” I quip, flicking the knife open. “Not unharmed. And don’t worry, I won’t let you die. Not yet, at least.”

His eyes widen in fear right before I’m digging my blade into his side. The duct tape muffles his screams as the blood drips into the bathtub.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I take a big gulp of the coffee I had purchased through a drive through, glaring at the sunlight. I really do hate pulling all-nighters.

I cross the line of my father’s territory and take a deep breath. There’s no turning back now. As I inch across the Brooklyn Bridge, No Limits by Zayde Wølf plays through my speakers. While the lyrics only sort of apply to my situation, the beat is enough to keep me awake as I inch through traffic. Well, maybe it’s the double shot of espresso I had added to my coffee.

The occasionally soft thumping of an item, or person, shifting in my trunk is enough to assure me he hasn’t escaped. Though, I doubt he could, especially with the drugs running through his system at the moment.

The neighborhoods are bright and lively as I drive by, but I keep my guard up. I cannot get caught now, I’d receive no help if that was the case.

Following my father’s directions, I eventually pull in front of a warehouse. The second I get out, five armed members of the clan approach me.

“Who the fuck are you?” One asks, pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

“I’m here to speak with your boss. I have something that is of interest to him.” I tell them as I cautiously round my car.

“You don’t deal with the boss man. You deal with us.” Another pipes in, giving me a slow once over. I resist the urge to shudder or punch him.

“What’s goin’ on here.” Another man walks out of the warehouse. His blond hair is pulled into a half-ponytail while the rest brushes his shoulders. I note that he’s slightly taller than Steve is, if I recall, and has a slightly broader build.

“I’m here to speak with Barnes.” His men all stiffen at the mention of his name. “I have a gift for him.”

“Show me.” Blonde says. I shake my head.

“It’s for your boss, only.”

With an annoyed snort, blonde turns around with a shake of his head. “Your funeral.” I hear him mutter as he walks in, causing the men to chuckle.

A few minutes later, I lean on the side of my car with my arms crossed, tired of having to wait. Five minutes later and I get annoyed.

The doors finally open as a flood of people I don’t recognize walk out of the building. Sam and Steve follow. The group causally surrounds me as I hold my place against my car, showing I’m not intimidated. The two men I know stop closely in front of me.

“You have some nerve, I’ll tell you that.” Sam quips before movement behind him catches my attention.

“Some nerve indeed.” Barnes adds. I give him a smug smile. “I hear you have something for me.”

“Something or someone.” I state as I push off my car.

The men immediately go ridged, watching every step I take towards my trunk. Barnes follows me with his eyes. Blonde stops me before I throw the trunk open and does so himself. His eyes widen when he sees my gift. Rolling my eyes, I push past him and drag a semi-conscious Quinn out of the car. I pull him to his feet and walk him forwards before throwing him down in front of Barnes. James’ eyes rake over the blood-stained clothes, and the cuts and bruises on his face.

“Ian Quinn.” I start. “Known HYDRA affiliate who’s been able to pay off any arrest warrant issued. He’s said to have been in contact with the top brass as he’s been a critical part in their financial endeavors.”

“So why give him to me?” Barnes questions skeptically.

“I’ve heard what they did to your father and I knew if I had any chance of being able to take them down with any help, it would be with you and your clan.”

“And why would you want to be part of the Clan?” Steve pipes up.

“HYDRA killed my parents in cold blood. I want every single one of them to rot six feet under.” I tell them, maintaining the cover Fury gave me, though there’s still an element of truth.

James nods looking back at Quinn. “You do all this yourself?”

I roll my eyes but nod back. “He’s only valuable alive, that doesn’t mean unharmed.”

He hums. “What’s your name?”

“Rissa, Rissa Maximoff.”

“Thor, show Rissa to my office while I deal with him.” Barnes says, motioning towards Quinn.

Blonde, Thor, nods then roughly grabs my arm and drags me inside. Once inside, Thor sighs.

“You’re a brave thing aren’t you, fiery one?” I chuckle at the nickname.

“I guess you can say that.”

He leads me through the warehouse and past a few offices until he opens a door and ushers me inside. It shuts with a soft click, locking me inside.

Part 4

Tag List:

@the-ss-horniest-book-club

@broco8

@tcc-gizmachine

[obx-writings]

4,5 ,8,9,15 from the agnst list with jj

Im sorry this took me so long but here it is! I hope you like it, as it was very interesting to write this kind of story! I wasn't sure how to incorporate #15, so I did the first 4 and I hope thats okay!

T/W: Reader has major anxiety, if this triggers you, please don't read further.

Bold: Request sentences

Italics: Reader’s thoughts

Regular: Story

___________________________

You were sitting in your old sweatshirt from middle school, torn and tattered. Your cheap leggings from the thrift store were doing little to keep the chills of the autumn air off your skin. Tears tracks had permanently shined your face, and you hadn’t moved in 3 days. Your phone was dead from all the calls and text messages from your friends that you had been ignoring. This is how it was at times. The anxious thoughts in your brain never left, and you wouldn’t move for days. Only this time was different. 

Usually, you’d send a short text to your friends saying you were going fishing with your brother, or busy working on a project and needed the space to think, which they always respected. You had never gone radio silent like this. And that scared them. It mainly affected the blonde haired surfer boy that wiggled his way into your heart years ago. You hated that you kept your feelings from all of them, especially JJ, but you were too afraid of what they might think of you. Every time you thought “I’m okay, I can tell them. They’re my family and they’ll understand,” that little voice in your head spoke about how worthless you were to them. How much they secretly hated you, and put up with you because they pitied that you were an orphan, just like John B. As more tears slipped out of your eyes, you heard a tapping at your window. You elected to ignore it, knowing full well who was the source. After 2 minutes of the continuation, he finally spoke.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. I know you’re home. Open the window…please.” He sounded broken, as if he had been crying too. It took everything in you to wipe your eyes, and get up, but you did it. You knew you had to face the music of your actions. You pulled yourself together quickly, and padded over to the window, moving the curtain to reveal JJ’s blue eyes shining with worry. After unlatching the window, you pushed it up slightly, and moved away, allowing for him to move it fully, and maneuver into the room. Your back was to him as you sat back down onto the bed, silent. 

“What the hell, Y/N?! Where have you been?” His voice was rough, the anger finally seeping through, as you knew it would. You would be angry too, if he fell off the grid without a simple word, and yet here you were, doing it to him.

“Why are you awake? It’s 3am JJ, go home.” Your voice was monotonous, filled with no emotion. You didn’t have any left to use.

“Go ho-! No one’s seen you in days Y/N! Why am I awake? I’ve been worried sick about you! You just ghost and ignore us? What the hell?” You deserved it. You did. At least, that’s what that voice was telling you. So you just shrugged.

“Wasn’t in the mood then, not in the mood now. Go home, J” You don’t deserve him to care. He should cuss you out. He should leave. He should not care at all. You’re worthless.

“Not in the- What the fuck is going on?!” He was pulling at his hair, it sat on his head and frayed strands as you finally turned to face him. To face the reality of your problems. His face screamed anger but his eyes poured love, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to punch him, or kiss him in that moment. So you simply shrugged again.

“Just a bad day, I didn’t want to burden anyone with it. I’ll be fine…I always am” You mumbled the last part, not sure if you were saying it for his benefit, or yours. 

“Why are you lying to me? Y/N, I’m your best friend. We don’t keep secrets. Hell, we’re even more than friends. You know that, I know that, we always, always, let each other in. Tell me, please, what is going on?” His face shifted, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curved downward in an unmistakably JJ way that he still managed to look unbelievably hot with. And it was true. You both had this unspoken thing where you knew you both had feelings for each other. This was just the first time either of you had acknowledged it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to be loved. You don’t deserve the way he’s looking at you. You honestly believe it, so you did what you do best. You pushed him away.

“Go home, J. I won’t ask again.” You’re voiced was laced in bitterness, the first sign of emotion he had gotten out of you in days. He laughed.

“Why, what are you gonna do? You gonna shrug me to death? You gonna glare me down? You can’t push me away, Y/N.” He was egging you on, trying to get a rise from you, and it was working. 

“Get. Out.” Your voice finally sounding stern, you glared daggers at him.

“Make. Me.” He reiterated in the same tone you just used on him. 

“Forget it. You’re a fucking asshole. I’m taking a shower, and when I get back, I want you gone.” You pushed past him, all the emotion in your voice gone once again. You were too beaten down to have this conversation with him, and JJ was just trying to make you feel something. Anything. Even anger, if it meant you’d talk to him, and while it was the only thing you wanted, to just crumple in is arms and let him love you, you didn’t feel as if you deserve it. You don’t. He grabbed your arm, a last attempt to make you listen, and you did something you never thought you’d do. On instinct, you slapped him. Hard. Across the side of his cheek, your hand burning with the sting. He stumbled back, but the look in his eyes came back. Love. 

“Do it again. C’mon Y/N. Hit me again. I dare you.” He laughed in your face. You deserve this. You deserve to be laughed at. You’re pathetic. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you realize what you’ve done. He steps towards you, towering over your small frame. You step back. “What’s wrong? Where’s that tough girl that was just there. Do it again. C’mon.” He knew exactly where to hit you with his words to make you feel something. It was one of the reasons you’d stay away from him when you got like this. You shook your head, a tear escaping unwillingly. “Your attempts to push me away aren’t gonna work, baby.” You pushed him back.

“Don’t call me that.” You were angry again. You don’t deserve to be called something so sweet. You’re worthless.

“Why’s that, Love?” He looked at you, pouring love from his eyes again, and you snapped. You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve anything. You pushed him again, and you kept pushing him, striking him on the chest with weak fists. He took it. He took every hit. He let you get everything out. You were grunting, crying, screaming, anything. You were feeling every emotion bottled up inside for those last 3 days come over you in a crashing wave. The dam you built finally broke, and you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, still weakly attempting to push him away. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, the crushing weight against you only heightening how broken you felt. You don’t deserve this. You’re trash. You’re nothing.

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” You screamed and covered your ears, falling into JJ more. He shushed you and stroked your hair. 

You sat there for 3 hours, just like that, with JJ holding you, your head eventually falling into his lap as he pet you. As the sun rose up, you lifted your head, seeing the same tear streaks that once adorned your face, now cleaning a home under his eyes.

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. You can not push me away like you do the others. I’m yours, forever.” He croaked out, looking at you with so much adoration it Hirt your heart.

“I-I’m not worth it, J. That what my head keeps telling me. That’s why I leave. I’m not worth the trouble…” Your voice barely a whisper, hoarse from crying all night.

“My voice, the one right here, is telling you you are. And it will keep telling you until it drowns out the one in your head. I’m here, Y/N. I promise.” He placed a kiss to your forehead, and held you close to him for another hour. And while his words comforted you, you knew it would be a long long road before you got there. 

[litwitlady]

with you i serve, with you i fall down

Read on AO3.

Angst Prompt #3 - ‘Is that blood?’ (I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING)

Warnings: blood, minor physical violence, guns, gunshot wounds, mind games, mind control

‘We don’t have to do this today,’ Michael begs, eyes shifting back and forth between Isobel and Alex.

Isobel places her hand on his shoulder and tilts her head slightly, trying to make him understand. ‘There are innocent people inside, Michael. At last thirty heat signatures. We might be their only hope. We can’t wait for Max. He’s in California.’

‘We’ll be okay.’ Alex knows that’s not really enough, but it’s all he’s got at the moment.

Michael turns to him slowly. ‘You don’t know that. Me and Iz will go, Alex. Please stay here.’

‘You know that’s not the safest option. We’ve been over this already.’ Isobel tugs Michael’s eyes back to her. ‘There’s no cell reception in that building or even outside of that building. Leaving Alex here by himself cuts us off from communication. But having you out here means I’ll be able to reach you if something goes wrong.’

He makes a strangled noise and shakes his head. ‘Then you stay. Alex and I will go. You cannot ask me to watch the two people I love most on this planet - or any other fucking planet - walk into that building.’ He shrugs his shoulders and takes several steps away from them, needing the space to breathe. ‘I will not do that.’

Alex watches him walk away, kicking at the ground in frustration. Michael has never said the word ‘love’ to him. Not in the present tense, anyway. It makes him slightly dizzy. They’ve only just started finding their way back to each other. A friendship blooming gradually and finally able to talk to each like grown adults. Their future open and waiting for them.

Michael climbs into his truck and slams the door. But he doesn’t start the engine. Alex and Isobel watch him lean his head against the back glass and close his eyes. ‘He’s never going to agree to this.’ Isobel crosses her arms and stares at Alex. ‘It’s a terrible thing we’re asking him to do.’

‘None of us have a choice. I’m not willing to risk someone else’s life to keep my own safe. So, there’s no calling anyone else for help. And like you said, we can’t wait.’ Alex squares his shoulders, frowning. ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

‘No.’ She moves in front of Alex, blocking his way. ‘It needs to be me. Wait here.’

She slides into the truck next to Michael. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence. Just keeps his eyes shut and stays silent. ‘You know it has to be me and Alex, Michael.’ No reaction. ‘I’ve worked on my abilities more than you have. So, I’m better equipped, better armed. You know I’m right.’

Michael’s eyes open and he blinks several times at truck’s the rusting roof overhead. ‘I feel it deep in my gut, Isobel. Something bad’s going to happen if you leave me behind. We don’t have enough information.’ He turns his gaze out the window, focusing on Alex. ‘I love him too much, Iz. And you too.’ Angry tears burn down his cheeks.

‘You’re willing to risk all those lives - more than two dozen people - just because something might happen to me or Alex?’ She squeezes his knee. ‘I know you’re not. And we both know how this ends. So, if you want to sit and watch from the safety of your truck, that’s okay. But Alex and I are leaving.’

Isobel rejoins Alex by his Explorer, one last look over her shoulder at Michael. ‘We better get going. I don’t want to be inside that place after sundown.’

Alex checks that his gun is fully loaded. ‘What did you say to convince him?’

‘Honestly? Not a whole lot and I’m pretty sure he’s not convinced.’ She stuffs several bottles of acetone in Alex’s backpack next to his extra bullets. ‘He loves you, you know. I’m never sure how clear that is between you two.’ They hear a door slam shut and turn at the sound. Michael is on his way to them, sadness etched deep in the lines of his forehead. Alex sighs. ‘It’s much clearer these days.’

He’s left his hat behind and his curls swirl in the wind. ‘I don’t want you to go, but I won’t stop you either. But Isobel? At the first sign of trouble you scream for me. Do you understand?’

‘I promise. The first sign of trouble - even the inkling of trouble - and we’re out.’ She pulls him into a tight hug and whispers in his ear. ‘I’ll keep him safe. As best I can.’

Michael nods into her neck and watches Alex slip the backpack onto his shoulders. Isobel unfolds herself from him and Alex gives a little wave as he turns towards the concrete warehouse. But Michael reaches out and grabs his elbow, spinning him back around. ‘No, you don’t get to just walk away like that. Not anymore.’

He pushes the backpack off Alex’s shoulders and onto the ground. And then they fall into each other’s arms - Alex’s wrapped around Michael’s neck and Michael squeezing at Alex’s waist. Noses buried in hair and fingernails clawing at naked skin. So many words left unspoken but not a single one left unheard.

‘Don’t go playing hero, Alex. Sometimes running away is the right choice.’ Michael holds on tighter and glances towards Isobel who’s already at the electric fence, giving them their space. He pleads with his eyes and she mouths I promise one last time.

They pull apart. Hands lingering at collars and hemlines. Eyes blurry and hearts worried. Alex takes a couple of backwards steps, grabbing his backpack and then turns away. Joining Isobel at the fence and setting off together to whatever fate awaits them. Michael looks on completely and utterly helpless. He knows they are competent and well-armed. Smart and desperate to return to him. But that knowledge does absolutely nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

Once they disappear from sight, Michael heads back to his truck. He stands with his hand on the door handle for a long time, trying to convince himself to open the door and not do the thing his heart wants him to do. But his heart wins. Unlocking Alex’s Explorer with his telekinesis, he slides into the driver’s side seat and shuts the door behind him. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever done in his life, but he doesn’t care. That nagging feeling is still punching at his stomach and the smell of Alex surrounding him helps to calm his nerves.

The interior is immaculate. So clean it makes Michael roll his eyes. There’s nothing in the center console but two pens and a roll of quarters. The glove compartment offers only the owner’s manual and a flashlight. But when he reaches around into the seat pocket, he strikes gold. Michael smiles down at the cd case he pulls free. The title is written in Alex’s too-perfect script and black-inked sharpie - Desert Mix.

Starting the engine, Michael slides the cd into the disc player and waits. Static crackles through the speakers and then the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar, followed shortly by Alex’s own voice. And Michael knows these songs - remembers the lyrics scratched across the various notebooks tucked under the futon in the toolshed. He’s listened to Alex sing these songs over and over again in the bed of his truck underneath the starry sky more times than he can count. When they were still teenagers with all their dreams still alive and close enough to touch.

Thirty minutes pass and Alex’s songs have nearly lulled him to sleep when he feels the first twinge of fear. It’s faint and distant enough to not immediately alarm him. He just shifts into a more comfortable position and recloses his eyes. The second wash of fear is much stronger and arrives accompanied by Isobel’s screams echoing in his head. Within seconds he’s running harder than he ever has in his life, straight into his worst nightmare.

No doors exist in the building’s central door frame. Just a gaping hole daring him to enter. Which he doesn’t hesitate to do, especially once Isobel begins to chant help us help us help us through his thoughts. He checks behind every door he passes, but finds nothing until he arrives at a large open space. Bleak and gray, the roof leaking water onto the concrete. Isobel on her knees and Alex sitting flat in the center of the room. Farmer Jones behind them, deviant grin spread wide across his face. ‘Welcome, Michael. So glad you could join us.’

Michael’s heart sinks to the floor. He tries using his telekinesis but knows if Isobel has been rendered powerless, so has he. And with that reality before him, whatever hope he’d been trying to hang onto flees. ‘There were never any hostages, were there?’

Alex and Isobel shake their heads.

‘Front and center, Mikey! We’re going to play a little game.’ It points to a spot between Alex and Isobel. Michael has no choice so he steps forward. Stopping when he’s commanded to. ‘Well done. Now, take a good, long look at Isobel and Alex. Spend some time thinking about how much you love them. Let me know when you’re finished.’ He steps back, arms crossed over his chest and still grinning like a madman.

That’s when Michael sees the gun.

It’s Alex’s personal weapon. The one he keeps for protection. Protection he’s needed more than once in his life from those supposed to love him most.

Dragging his eyes down to Isobel, he can tell how broken she is despite the way she holds her shoulders back, strong and proud even in her despair. Her eyes are wet with tears, her chin lifted in rebellion. But he can no longer find her in his head, so Jones must have cut their communication.

Beside her is Alex. A dark red stain soaking the shoulder of his t-shirt. ‘Is that blood?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a little scratch. Alex didn’t like my methods at first. But he’s since come around to see things my way.’ Alex’s jaw flexes and Michael watches him try to speak. But no sound leaves his mouth in spite of how hard he’s straining, veins in his neck throbbing with the effort.

‘Let them go and I’ll do whatever it is you want.’ Isobel and Alex both violently shake their heads. Michael ignores them. ‘Please.’

‘Can’t play the game with only one other person. Sorry.’ Jones rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging.

‘Then let Alex go. He’s not one of us. Just a human who doesn’t belong here.’ Emotion chokes Michael’s voice which makes Jones’s eyes light up. Alex continues to shake his head, tears now trailing down his cheeks.

‘Everybody stays, Michael. Are you ready? You’re going to need this.’ He yanks the gun from the waistline of his pants and holds it out to Michael. ‘Go on, take it.’

Dread seeps deep into Michael’s bones, making him dizzy. He keeps his hands at his side and gulps loudly. Brain frantically searching for some way out of this horrific situation.

‘Now, Michael. Before you make me angry.’ Jones steps between Isobel and Alex, shoving the gun into his chest.

Michael takes the gun, hands beginning to shake. Eyes pleading with the monster in front of him, eyes avoiding the two people he can’t afford to lose at his feet.

Jones begins to walk in circles around the three of them. Slow and menacing. Taking his time and enjoying every sick second. ‘The game is simple. The rules easy to follow.’ He stops and puts one hand on Isobel’s shoulder, the other on Alex’s. ‘Your mind is a fascinating place, Michael. An electric minefield of love and suffering. Never a dull moment.’

He pauses for effect. Basking in his control and breathing in their terror. ‘This backwater planet has made you so soft and pliable. Imagine what you could have been had you grown up on our marvelous star.’ He feigns pity and then laughs. ‘But instead, you are this. Pathetic. Now you will pay the price for your mother’s wicked hubris. And the choices she made.’

Jones uses his power to raise Michael’s arm. The one whose hand is holding the gun. Michael fights like hell but it’s no use. The gun wobbles as Jones swings his arm back and forth. Pointing the gun first at Isobel and then at Alex. ‘So that’s the game! Your mother once had to make a decision and now her son will do the same. Isobel or Alex, Michael. You have five minutes or I shoot them both.’

Michael knows the moment his voice returns to him - his arm under his own control again as well. Jones smiles at him and Michael shakes his head. ‘I won’t do this.’ He tries to turn the gun on himself, but Jones just takes control again and laughs.

‘You will do this, Michael. Losing one is better than losing them both. And you’ll make it quick. I’ll make it sweet and so very slow.’ Jones tenderly cups Isobel’s cheek and runs his other hand through Alex’s hair. Michael watches as they both wince and shiver under his touch. ‘It’s not like we don’t know who you love the most. I mean, it’s no contest really.’ With a strike quicker than a snake, Jones backhands Alex square in his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. Michael shouts and tries to go to him, but Jones holds him in place.

‘The lover. Well...the ex-lover, anyway. And the purest love you’ve ever felt.’ Jones wraps his fingers in Alex’s hair and yanks him back into a sitting position. His lip is split, blood flowing freely down his chin and dripping onto his t-shirt. All three of them are panting and openly weeping. Michael’s entire body covered in a cold sweat. None of the thoughts in his head coherent with no last minute save-the-day solutions presenting themselves. Wordlessly, he begins to pray.

Jones goes back to lapping the three of them. ‘In case you were wondering, they both desperately want you to choose themselves. Alex is begging you to pick him. Isobel is maybe less enthusiastic about offering herself, but that’s still what’s inside her head. Noble, really. And Max, well - he’s enjoying the show all the way from sunny California.’

He sits between Isobel and Alex like he’s preparing for some grotesque kindergarten story time. ‘It disgusts me how weak the three of you are. Born to wield such power and instead you’re this - something lesser than even toddlers back home. I blink and you can’t move. I blink again and your minds are easy to crawl inside. Another blink and you’ll do whatever I say.’ He tsks with his tongue and shakes his head. ‘And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael.’

He releases Michael again. ‘Choose. Your five minutes start now.’

Faced with an impossible choice, the decision is easy to make in the end. He’s able to talk but decides not to. Not with words anyway. Michael raises his eyes to Alex and then the gun. And Alex smiles. Because he knows it was always meant to end this way.

Michael thinks back to the first time he’d seen Alex in the hallways of their middle school. An unremarkable moment. Alex and Valenti laughing in a classroom doorway. Valenti grabbing his arm, ‘Who are you?’ And Alex smiling, waiting for his answer.

But the next barrage of memories collapses his lungs. The first time Alex had come to school with his ear pierced, the septum ring hanging from his nose. Always with Maria and Liz, right in the middle. The occasional what’s up, Guerin. Valenti slamming him into a row of lockers after the first rumors started to spread. And eventually, a stolen guitar.

His hand shakes violently. But Alex softly and nods his head. Resigned and ready for what comes next.

Michael takes a moment to step back inside the UFO Emporium. Bright Eyes playing through the speakers overhead. Not a soul in sight. Other than the prettiest boy he’s ever seen with a bigger heart that he could have ever dreamed. A flood of quick flashes - Alex naked beneath him, making out at the movie theater, the desert sky as Alex strums his guitar, Alex’s hair shorn to regulation, letters written and never sent, first glances after long absences, hands on hips and lips on necks, harsh words and bitter tears, i loved you and i think that you loved me, the toolshed destroyed, another soft smile and would you come home.

Michael pulls the trigger.

The gunshot ricochets around the cavernous warehouse, reverberating off the back of Michael’s molars. And then everything falls silent and time stops. Alex crumples to the floor, blood leaking from the hole in his forehead. Eyes dead and lifeless. Michael’s heart claws its way out of his chest and throws itself on Alex. Alongside a screaming Isobel who can move again, hand covering Alex’s wound trying to staunch the bleeding.

But it doesn’t matter because Alex Manes is dead.

Jones tugs the gun from Michael’s hand and pistol whips Isobel on the temple. She collapses across Alex’s unmoving chest. Then Michael is thrown through the air, landing with a thud against the cylinder block wall. He hears the crunch of his skull and then mercifully blacks out. The gunshot playing one last time through his mind before the world disappears.

Time inevitably continues to pass. Alex growing colder and colder as the seconds tick by.

Michael reawakens to Isobel’s gargled cries. Shouting his name over and over again, hoarse from the effort. Michael has no idea how long he’s been out. Looking around, Jones has vanished. A ghost in the night. He squints into the darkness, Isobel slumped over Alex still trying to save him. Beating at his chest and pressing her hand over his wound.

Alex remains dead.

And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael. That line replays in Michael’s head as he sits watching Isobel’s struggle. It’s those words that convinced him to choose Alex. He closes his eyes and goes to the place deep in his gut where his power lives. An electric minefield of love and suffering. He rests his mind, truly hushing it quiet for the first time in his life. Laying the love and suffering aside long enough to connect his brain with his power. Completing a circuit that his trauma had never allowed before.

Energy flares in his nerve endings, clearing all the muck and grime. He thinks of Isobel and easily slides into her mind. There’s chaos and panic and an overwhelming gut-wrenching fear. Bile rises in her throat. She’s convinced that both of them are dead and that she’s all alone in this hell house. Michael reaches out for her and settles her nerves. Sends his own energy through her arm and down into the palm of her hand. The one pushed tight to Alex’s forehead.

Michael concentrates on picturing Alex’s face, whole and happy. Warmth from his belly travels through his connection with Isobel and begins to weave Alex’s brain back together, one fiber at a time. He can feel Isobel gasp when the wound under her palm slowly smoothes away. Her fear subsides and big, choking gasps tear from her lungs the minute Alex’s eyes reopen and his chest rises. She starts to scream Michael’s name again, but this time for a very different reason.

He climbs to his feet and is amazed at how good he feels. Not drained at all - slightly light headed in a pleasant way. Alex sits up and Isobel pulls him into a tight hug, waving at Michael wildly with her free hand.

It takes Michael a moment to take that first step forward. Questions twist in his mind and he knows in his gut that his relationship with Alex will never be the same again. And while he’s excited for what comes next, he’s also terrified of what it might all mean. The overwhelming desire to feel Alex’s heartbeat eventually tugs him forward, though, and before long he’s dropping to his knees beside them.

Alex paws at him, crawling into his lap with Isobel not far behind - clinging to the both of them like she never intends to let go ever again. ‘I felt you, Michael. You did this. How?’

Michael feels Alex bury his nose in the crook of his neck and reaches out to pull Isobel closer. ‘What he said about me being meant to save everyone. It just clicked in my brain and I knew I could save us.’ He presses his lips into Alex’s temple. ‘But I had to choose Alex in case I was wrong and needed help.’ His voice cracks and falters, a sob catches his breath and Michael collapses into them. They hold him close while he cries. The crash of adrenaline and the weight of his choice catching up to him.

They sit tucked tight together for a long time while the sun sets outside.

‘Is he going to have a handprint on his forehead?’ Isobel asks, pushing Alex’s hair aside to see if his skin has started to glow.

‘I don’t know - I don’t think so.’ He cups Alex’s cheeks and inspects his face, finding nothing. ‘Do you feel any different?’

‘Yes. I feel you everywhere. All over me. Inside of me.’ He wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrists, gently knocking their foreheads together. ‘It’s hard to breathe around, actually.’

Michael laughs. ‘Well, I’m having a lot of feelings right now.’

‘About me.’ Alex smiles.

‘Yeah, baby. About you.’ Michael hovers his lips over Alex’s, waiting. Alex doesn’t hesitate to answer, instantly closing the gap between them. And when their mouths finally lock together, both whimper at the touch, kissing each other like it’s the first time all over again. Eager, a little shy, and once again filled with so much hope for their future.

Isobel stumbles to her feet to give them space. She’s still covered in Alex’s blood, needing fresh air. And desperately wants to call Max to explain everything. Reaching out with her mind, she searches for signs of Jones somewhere nearby but finds nothing. Glancing back at Michael, she supposes Jones must know what he’s awakened inside her brother. Michael - the savior. Honestly, she’s not really all that surprised.

Michael hugs Alex flush against him. ‘I’m going to do something, Alex. And you’re going to feel it.’

But Alex shushes him. ‘I already know. Are you sure?’

He nods and shuts his eyes as Alex pushes them as close together as they can get. Offering Michael everything he has to give. Michael smiles and whispers. ‘I love you.’

And Alex responds, ‘I know.’

Michael searches across the desert, not knowing exactly what he’s doing. But before long, he spots what he’s looking for - a mind signature frantically fleeing from his wrath. Alex puts on a hand over Michael’s heart and Michael snaps Jones’ neck, his mind signature blinking out as he crumples to the dirt. He reopens his eyes and looks down at Alex. ‘Let’s go home.’

They rejoin Isobel and Michael informs her that Jones is dead. She nods her head. ‘It was the right decision, Michael. I guess I just wish we’d been able to find out more about where we come from.’

‘We don’t need him for that. I took his mind from him, Iz, before I killed him. I know everything he knows. And we have a lot to talk about. But first, I’m taking Alex home and crawling into his bed for at least a week.’ He hugs Isobel and she looks at him like the marvel he truly is and always has been before climbing into her SUV and leaving them alone.

‘I haven’t said I’m sorry yet.’ Michael turns to Alex. ‘And before you say I don’t have to,’ he holds his hand up to Alex who is already trying to stop him, ‘let me finish.’ Alex reluctantly nods. ‘I know I made the right decision. But I’m so sorry that means you can close your eyes and picture what it looks like to watch me hold me a gun to your head and pull the trigger. Because I can’t fix that part.’

Saying it out loud breaks something inside of him. Something he’s not sure will ever heal. So, he doesn’t bother trying to stop the tears that burn down his cheeks.

Alex grabs his hands. ‘Look at me.’ He waits for Michael to meet his eye. It takes a while but eventually he gets there. ‘I have seen a lot of horrible things in my life. My father’s fists aimed at my face, his hammer breaking your hand. Friends - brothers - riddled with bullets and bleeding out in my arms. Innocent people dying at my hand, riddled with my bullets. My leg shredded to pieces on the side of a dirt road in Iraq.’

He pauses to take a breath. Michael threads their fingers together to give him comfort. ‘You pointing that gun at my head? It is an image that will stay with me. Forever. But not for the reasons you fear. Because you didn’t get to see your face in that moment. The steel and certainty in your eyes. The courage and the love. And the defiance, Michael. I knew I could trust you. I knew I’d open my eyes again and get the chance to tell you how much I love you.’

‘But it’s even better than that. Because now it’s like you’re tattooed underneath every inch of my skin. You’re the oxygen expanding my lungs and the blood pumping through my veins. Yes, you shot me, Michael. But when I opened my eyes, I was so much more than I was before. You gave me that and only you could have given me that.’

They push against each other, chest to chest. Fingers clawing at whatever purchase they can find. Nose in necks and the first flares of arousal spreading through their hips. The scent of rain and Alex’s shampoo mingling together for the first time in over a year.

Michael feels something insistent pressing between his shoulder blades. Reluctantly, he pulls away from Alex and turns to find his cell phone floating freely. He concentrates on his power and realizes it’s not coming from his mind. Alex laughs behind him as Michael yanks his phone out of the air, stunned into silence.

A death. A homecoming. Something bright and new.

[mimichan2018]

Allegiance - Chapter 1 - The Forbidden Forest

It was dark and cold and oppressing and oh-so-familiar … Harry knew exactly where he was despite not being able to see. The Forbidden Forest. Again. Fuck.

He instantly recognised the tingling of the green burst of light all over his body, from his toes and his fingertips to the scar on his forehead, which was hurting like hell. It felt like being struck by lightning. How very ironic, he thought, that the great Harry Potter was to meet his end as he had started – with a bolt of lightning.

There was some poetic mirroring there somewhere, he was sure, and his subconscious may have enjoyed torturing him further on the issue, but his ears were now buzzing loudly, refusing to let his mind drift. It didn’t help either that he could still hear the echo of the Killing Curse that had just hit him square in the chest, resonating within him like the soundwaves of a bass.

Harry knew this was a dream. One of the many similar dreams he had been having since the War had ended a month ago.

There was something quite comforting about knowing that what he was experiencing wasn’t real, at least not anymore, but reliving his death on repeat was far from a pleasant experience and not something he would wish on anyone, not even Draco Malfoy, he decided.

He was falling backwards from the force of the curse, his eyes tightly shut and his hands clenched into fists, waiting for the impact he knew would come. Thankfully, any minute now he would hit the hard ground and wake up, as he always did. He just needed to wait.

But, for the moment, he was falling, his mind focused on trying to keep calm.

Just another few seconds, he told himself, clenching his jaw tightly to stop his teeth from chattering.

He wasn’t complaining though; he liked to feel his scar again. Not that he would ever admit it, but it had always been something he could rely on to give him a sense of direction. Since Voldemort’s death, his scar had not hurt once, and although it had been a relief during the first few days, it had quickly turned into a void, a feeling of unease, as if a part of him was missing.

He hated to think about what it all meant, but the truth was that he missed the sense of purpose it had afforded him in the last seven years, even if it had been a doorway to the most dangerous dark wizard of their time. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but it didn’t change that fact, and this was his nightmare after all.

When he thought that he had waited long enough, he instinctively flung his arms behind, waiting for the familiar ground to crush against them and miraculously wake him up, but there was nothing there to meet his flailing hands. He was still … falling.

What the hell is going on? His strained inner voice screamed as he threw his arms sideways to try to reach out for something, anything. His mind was racing at an alarming pace when he failed to hit the ground after what now felt like … well, way too long …

Time in dreams really makes no sense at all, he thought. For all he knew, time could have stopped altogether. The idea of being stuck in time, dying forever on end, was terrifying, unbearable. A Groundhog Day joke made especially for him. He grimaced: irony again.

Panic engulfed him as his throat tightened and his hungry lungs began to desperately gasp for air, small spots of light flickering into his vision. When his hands frantically moved to his throat, however, fear morphed into detachment and a chilling thought whispered to him: Why fight it? It should have been the end then … You know that … In fact …

As the idea formed in his mind, Harry felt a pressure in his chest which had nothing to do with lack of air. He let the familiar feeling roll over him, seep through his soul until he was enveloped in nothingness.

I want this. This time, don’t let me wake up.

As the thought lingered, he felt a small, bitter smile pull at the sides of his lips and tears of relief run into his ears and hair.

Let it be the end. Please.

Just as he was about to let go completely, however, another voice burst into his head, full of dread and something akin to … hope.

“POTTER?!”

He would have recognised it anywhere, but it didn’t make any sense.

“Malfoy?” he mouthed, as his awareness kicked in again. A choked cry escaped him when he heard the boy scream in what could only be the same intense pain he had felt so many times himself.

Instinctively, Harry then did something he had never done before – although clearly this nightmare wasn’t like any of the others as Malfoy had certainly never appeared – he opened his eyes. All he saw was a faint flicker of blond hair, an outstretched hand and terrified grey eyes, before everything disappeared and he found himself staring at his wardrobe, his hands on either side of him, sitting up in sweat-soaked blankets, trembling.

It took him several minutes to catch his breath and register that he was in his room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He moved his fingers cautiously, then his toes and, when he felt confident that he could feel his body again, he stretched towards the nightstand to feel for his glasses. As he reached out, a wave of nausea swept through him and it was all he could do to pick them up and rush for the bathroom, banging his big toe against the doorframe on the way, before being violently sick.

When he felt that the worst was behind him, he rinsed the sink – he hadn’t made it to the toilet – and looked up at his foggy reflection in the mirror. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and awkwardly placed his glasses on his nose, hands still trembling from the vivid dream and the more recent strain on his body.

It was not unusual for him to be sick after one of these nightmares: in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had walked around without a cloud of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He had got used to it, though. It was, he thought, his new normal. He looked at his reflection and frowned.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Lived Again …

“The Boy Who Won’t Fucking Die!” he spat at the innocent mirror.

His frustration boiling over, he punched the glass with as much force as he could muster. It must have been enough because cracks appeared from the point of impact and the pain in his hand was certainly real. After taking a few ragged breaths, he reluctantly dragged his fist away, warm, red blood dripping into the sink. He half-smiled as he looked at the wound: physical pain was always a relief compared to his inner turmoil. He had become accustomed to these outbursts when he was on his own, even relied on them to keep his mind connected to reality. Why not, when all you need to do is …

“Tergeo,” he murmured, observing with morbid fascination as fragments of broken glass magically removed themselves from his knuckles and his blood started to coagulate.

He had become frighteningly good at wandless healing spells as he never seemed to have his wand ready when his outbursts occurred. Perhaps that’s a good thing, he mused.

He looked up at his reflection, now fractured and uneven, trying to calm his breathing.

Neither can live while the other survives. Trelawney’s voice rattled, unwanted, in his head.

Voldemort’s dead, he told himself for what felt like the hundredth time. Doesn’t that mean I should, I don’t know, be able to live? So why does it feel like I’m just surviving, even more than when I was tied to him? He swallowed with difficulty as the question that kept painfully pressing on his chest formed in his mind: Who am I without him?

The thought of having no answer to that question – or worse, that the answer was that he was nothing at all – was terrifying. A fresh wave of nausea threatened to take over again when a familiar snarl cut through it.

“Who do you think you are, Potter?” His last name was all but spat out with utter disgust. “Wait until they realise you’re not the perfect hero they think you are.”

Harry smiled at the memory of his teenage nemesis confidently taunting him in the safe corridors of Hogwarts, leaving him with an unexplained sense of … Longing, he realised, surprising himself.

“Well, there’s a first …” he said, shaking his head.

A sense of longing was not something he would ever have associated with, well, Malfoy. But so much had happened, and those taunts now had a comforting, almost homely, quality to them. And anyway, he knew deep down that Malfoy had always annoyingly hit the nail on the head when it came to understanding Harry’s insecurities, although he would never have acknowledged it as a teenager, of course. But now was different. He was no longer a child and he would be damned if he couldn’t admit it to himself, alone in his bathroom.

“You’re right, Malfoy,” he said slowly, staring to his broken reflection. “Who the hell am I?”

The nightmare came into focus again, and although it seemed to be slipping away as quickly as it had reappeared, he clung desperately onto the panicked voice, the painful scream, the flicker of blond hair, the outstretched hand and those haunted grey eyes.

Malfoy had always managed to ignite a fire in him, even when his energy seemed wholly depleted – and even if that fire was anger and hate, it was better than the emptiness he now felt, so he held on to the memory with more purpose this time and let his emotions swirl up. To his surprise, however, he didn’t manage to feel the same heart-wrenching hatred he was so used to associating with the boy, and his dream gave way to a real memory this time. Of Harry on his knees, his face distorted by Hermione’s stinging hex, staring into those all-too-familiar grey eyes that looked just as terrified as he felt. He remembered the silent understanding that had travelled between them as Malfoy lied to his father and Bellatrix. The glimmer of certainty he had felt at the time hardened and settled in his middle.

Malfoy had known it was him. He must have.

The unexpected look of disgust the boy had given his father that day flashed before his eyes, and he felt a sudden and overwhelming spark of curiosity.

“Why did you do it?” he whispered.

And that was that: he had to know. He was going to see the bastard even if it was the last thing he did. A thrill of excitement flooded his body. There was finally something he wanted to do. He tried not to linger on the fact that that something had everything to do with his second worst enemy and instead focused on what to do about it.

First, he had to find out when Malfoy’s trial was. Something in the back of his mind told him he already knew, but however much he racked his tired brain, it kept eluding him. It seemed that his short-term memory had been an unfortunate casualty of the War, in addition to his sanity and already limited sense of self-worth.

He looked up at the old clock on the bathroom cupboard, feeling his shoulders tense. Shit, it was only three thirty, not a decent enough time to wake anyone up, let alone a friend. He would have to wait.

Filled with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in weeks, he descended the narrow staircase to the basement kitchen – there was no way he was going to sleep again tonight – and made a strong cup of tea whilst cursing himself for forgetting something as important as the War Trials and Malfoy’s testimony.

******

The wall he was leaning against was humid and the cold air penetrating, but it was much better than last time, at least. He smiled to himself, his breath forming a cloud in front of him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but he knew that time in this place made no sense anyway. The only indication of its passage was how long his toenails had grown since the last time he’d looked down at his bare feet. There was no apparent source of light in the room, but there was an ever-present ghostly glow, barely enough for him to see the long strands of his black hair, but sufficient to feel his way around and make out that there were no openings anywhere. No doors, no windows.

The only objects in the room were a bucket, which would be magically emptied when its repulsive contents started to overflow, and a bowl of soup and crust of bread, which would materialise on the floor in one of the corners of the room. Which corner, however, seemed to be decided entirely at random and he could not discern a pattern to the sporadic arrival of the disgusting yet life-sustaining pittance.

Sometimes, it was hard to know which way was up or down in this place, so he always sat in one of the corners to give himself as much grounding as possible. He had learned the hard way to avoid the centre of the room at all costs: if he spent too long there, he knew he would lose himself forever. The swirling and hissing of the sea wind through every small crack in the walls, floor and ceiling only added to the very intentional sense of disorientation. Everything was made to make its inhabitant feel utterly powerless. Yet, his smile broadened.

*

Home, but not home. Lost. Alone. Where to go? The One must hide. Must hide. In the walls. Yes, the One knows how to hide. Others will come to find the One. Wait. Patience. But the One is hungry, so very hungry …

******

Harry had been pacing his living room for the best part of four hours when he felt confident enough to fire-call The Burrow. He knew Molly would be up already, busying herself in the kitchen, and he couldn’t wait any longer. As expected, she was putting breakfast on the table when his head popped into the fireplace, and she jumped.

“Sorry, Molly,” he mumbled as she waved her wand to repair the broken plate. “I should have owled …”

He regretted his words immediately when her face turned from surprise to disappointment. “Oh, Harry, what do you mean, you should have owled? This is your home too, you know?” She crouched in front of the fireplace and gave him the most motherly look only Molly Weasley could muster. “I don’t understand why you don’t just stay with us, dear. Why would you want to live on your own in that horri—”

“Is Hermione around?” he asked before she could launch into her now-customary tirade about his living arrangements, which always managed to put him in an even fouler mood than usual.

If she was offended by the interruption, she didn’t show it. “Yes dear, I believe she’s in the bathroom. Would you like me to tell her you called?”

He breathed out in relief, grateful she hadn’t invited him for breakfast this time.

“Yes, please. Thanks. It’s … er … quite urgent. Nothing bad, though,” he added quickly when her eyes widened to the size of two small saucepans.

He should have realised that, to other wizards and witches, “urgent” meant something very different coming from Harry Potter, namely that the end of the world was looming. He bit his tongue, trying to contain his irritation and managed an uncomfortable smile. “Speak soon, then,” he said, before disappearing without waiting for a reply.

Cold guilt seeped through him as soon as he pulled out of his fireplace.

“Why the hell is it so difficult?” he burst out to the empty room, kicking the foot of the coffee table in frustration.

He stared at a patch of burnt wallpaper, waiting for an answer. When it stubbornly stared back at him, refusing to help, he let himself fall onto the old, smelly sofa, his eyes drifting around the room. It was just as dusty, dark and uninviting as it had been when the place had been the Headquarters of the Order, when Lupin and Sirius … His thoughts stopped abruptly there as he felt his throat tighten with the strain of containing a sob. So, for lack of anything better to do, he closed his eyes.

He must have drifted off into a dreamless sleep, because he was suddenly awoken by the sound of someone cursing and kicking their way out of his fireplace, rubbing the top of a bright red mop of hair.

“Why is it so bloody low?” groaned a familiar voice.

“Ron? What are you doing here? I asked for …” He felt suddenly awkward.

“Er, yeah … right. Hermione thought this would be a good opportunity for us to, you know … speak. You don’t have to, though.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. “It’s a girl thing, they think you have to talk about everything to know you’re still friends and stuff.” He chuckled but it didn’t quite make his eyes. “I know you’ll talk when you’re ready, mate. I just didn’t want Hermione to think I wasn’t trying hard enough … You know what I mean, right?” he added with a look begging for understanding.

Harry knew exactly what he meant. Since the start of his new relationship with Hermione, Ron had become both more and less confident in equal measure, which should have meant that nothing had changed, but that wasn’t how it had worked out. He seemed to have gained confidence in certain areas and lost it entirely in others. From Ron’s uncomfortable shifting from one large foot to the other, apparently Harry had become one of the latter.

“That’s okay …” Harry managed. Although, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really want to discuss what was on his mind with Ron right now. That was exactly why he’d asked for Hermione in the first place. Unfortunately, there was no calling one without the other these days, as she spent most of her time at The Burrow.

And now, Ron was standing in his living room, eying the sofa longingly; he was not an early riser by any stretch and was fighting a wide yawn. He glanced nervously at Harry, and, after a second’s deliberation, sat down. He seemed relaxed, but Harry noticed that he had sat as far away from him as possible, a small reminder of the unspoken awkwardness that now floated between them. He wasn’t sure when or what had started it, but their friendship, which used to be as simple as breathing, had slowly become a frustrating maze.

Just as Harry’s insides started to smoulder like embers, a flash of green light appeared in the fireplace and a groggy-looking Hermione walked out, putting a shaky hand on the mantelpiece.

“I will never get used to travelling by Floo,” she croaked, with more vehemence than she could physically manage.

Ron jumped as though on fire and gently led her to the sofa.

“Thanks,” she said, gazing up at him with so much love Harry felt he had to look away, but couldn’t quite bring himself to, in some sort of masochistic way. And there it was again, brewing in him … That dark cloud of anger and emptiness he’d become so familiar with.

He had to say something, anything, to distract himself. He couldn’t be that person who wouldn’t be happy for his best friends, for the people without whom he wouldn’t have survived … but, as loneliness clung to him like a leech, all he managed was an awkward smile and a cough.

Using what could only be referred to as a sixth sense, Hermione turned a worried look in his direction.

“Er, Ron, love, could you make us tea please?” she asked, flashing a smile at her oblivious boyfriend.

Only too happy to be doing something useful for her, Ron nodded and left for the kitchen with an air of pride and determination that forced an affectionate smile out of Harry despite his dark thoughts.

Hermione quickly closed the distance between them, looking miserable. “I’m so sorry Harry. He’s been so keen to see you … and I couldn’t face telling him you’d asked to speak to me first …”

“It’s okay … I understand.”

“So … why did you call me?” she asked, her over-eagerness palpable.

He supposed it had been a while since he had contacted them. Looking at her genuine, caring face, he almost wanted to lie, tell her that all he wanted was to spend time with his best friend, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him, not after everything… He settled on the truth and, in any event, he couldn’t hold the question any longer.

“I, er … When’sMalfoy’strial?” he blurted out all at once.

Given the shock now written on her face, it was clear she had had several theories about his reason for calling, and Draco Malfoy’s trial date had not been one of them. “Er, on the first of June I think.”

Harry suppressed a smile at her awkward recovery before the weight of realisation fell into his stomach like a cold stone. “That’s … only two days away, isn’t it?”

He remembered now. Kingsley had told him about it, a week or so after the end of the War, but he hadn’t given it much thought then, not with everything else going on. And a month had seemed like a lifetime away – what with having died and been resurrected all in the space of an hour. Still, how had he lost track of time like this?

Hermione was frowning when he looked up after what must have been a suspicious amount of time.

“Why do you ask?” she queried cautiously. “I thought that after what happened last time, you’d want to avoid the Ministry at all costs …”

He shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual and hide the undeniable thrill of excitement combined with cold dread he was now feeling. “Just curious.”

He must have done a poor job of it because she looked less than convinced, but her next question, if there was to be one, went unasked when a beaming Ron came barging into the room with a tray of steaming cups of tea and biscuits.

They sat in silence for the next ten minutes, Ron lying on the rug and playing with the worn-out tassels, trying to avoid Harry’s eyes. Although they were used to silence – you didn’t go through life and death together without it – it was not the comfortable type they had once enjoyed, and they all knew it. There was an uneasy quality to it that made Harry shift in his seat and Hermione fidget with her jumper, until Ron couldn’t take it anymore and awkwardly rose to his feet, looked around the room and said something about promising a game of Quidditch to Ginny and George.

“You know how he is now … I need to keep my promises, however small …”

Although Harry knew all too well it wasn’t the only reason Ron wanted to leave barely after arriving, he understood completely. There was no need to remind him of the gaping hole Fred had left behind, or of Ginny’s broken heart, both of which were because of him.

And there it was again. That cloud of cold, seeping anger. Why was Ron not screaming at him?

“’Course, Ron.” He forced a smile. “Give them my … erm … best.”

Somehow love didn’t seem like the appropriate word to use right now, at least as far as Ginny was concerned. His friend returned the smile with what looked like relief and turned his gaze to Hermione, who was still staring at Harry, clutching her empty cup.

“You go first. I don’t play Quidditch anyway,” she said in a tone that didn’t leave room for negotiation.

From Ron’s pained expression, it was clear he wanted nothing more than to negotiate, but years of knowing her had taught him it was a lost cause, so he merely sighed and placed his own half-empty cup on the tray. He turned around, waving an awkward hand at Harry and throwing a casual “see you soon mate” in the mix, and then vanished into the fireplace.

Harry stared at the vacant spot Ron had occupied a few seconds ago, his shoulders tense, and waited for whatever Hermione had to say, but what came next was not the torrent of questions he had expected.

“You’re thinking of going, aren’t you? To testify, I mean … You know you don’t owe him anything, right?”

He could feel her eyes boring into him and he knew her well enough to know that it was taking every ounce of her self-restraint to wait for his answer, but when Hermione was determined, there was no stopping her. If he didn’t say something, they would be there for hours, and he had other things to do now that he knew Malfoy’s trial was only two days away. Plus, he could feel the cloud of anger gathering dangerously in his chest at her tone and didn’t want one of his outbursts to rear its ugly head – then she would definitely think he was mental, and that was not what he needed. What he needed was to speak to Kingsley, now.

He looked up at her, unblinking and hoping with everything he had that he would be convincing enough to end the discussion. “He didn’t rat us out when he could’ve. It’s only fair I return the favour by telling the truth, don’t you think?” Although his reply had come out a bit harsher than he had intended, she seemed to have been ready for worse and, to Harry’s disappointment pressed on.

“Is it really just that? Because you know what you’ll be putting yourself through by going there … What if it happens again? And” – she hesitated, not meeting his eyes – “it's only Malfoy …”

The tight lid he had been keeping on himself went flying in an instant.

“Just stop, Hermione, please. I know you’re trying to help but it’s not helping. I know what I can and can’t handle, okay?” He struggled to keep his voice even. “I died and still managed to come back to life, so I’m pretty sure I can handle a few ministry officials, The Daily Prophet and a former Death Eater, thank you very much! And YES, I AM SURE”, he bellowed at her dubious expression, “DESPITE WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME! I WON’T LOSE IT!”

That, he thought, had definitely come out harsher than he had intended, particularly as he was now standing with his hands balled up in fists, plainly demonstrating her point, but he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want to act like he wasn’t angry and he trusted Hermione to be strong enough to take it.

“I know you can make decisions for yourself, Harry, and I understand why you’re angry with them, but I’m your friend. And I know you … I …erm … I know.” She overemphasised the word in a tone that reminded him instantly of how she had sounded when teaching Ron to levitate a feather in what now felt like another life. “I know why you really want to do this, and honestly, I’m worried about you!”

“Well, you don’t need to be!” he replied, instinct taking over. “And what the hell do you mean by ‘I know why you really want to do this’? Oh yeah,” he added, sarcasm quivering in his voice, “the famous ‘Harry Potter Hero Complex.’ They should really coin the term and add it to the Magical Dictionary of Unwanted Afflictions of the Mind, don’t you think?”

He was starting to shout again, part of him aware that he was taking it too far, that he was being unfair, but he was just pleased with himself for not having punched the sofa already.

“I didn’t mean that, Harry ... Forget I said anything. I just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong!” He cut off with more confidence than he felt.

Part of him was curious about what exactly Hermione had thought she knew. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew why attending the Trials was suddenly so important he had had to fire-call his friend at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, with no preamble despite not having so much as said “hi” to her for the past two weeks. His pride would not let him back down now, though, and he had succeeded in pushing her into silence, so he was not prepared to lose the advantage.

Apparently resigned that she wouldn’t get anything else out of him, and perhaps a little scared he would start yelling at her again, Hermione left shortly after, giving him one last half-frustrated, half-apologetic look, as if she could not quite make up her mind which emotion would win.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, the dark walls closing in around him.

“Two days,” he whispered to the empty room.

*****

Today was not a good day, not that any day was particularly good here, but this one was definitely one of the worst ones so far. He had woken up with a dead arm and had tried to move it back into life, when he realised that two of the fingers of his left hand had frozen stiff overnight. He kicked the empty bowl across the floor. It bounced against the opposite corner, spinning for a few moments until it slowly settled on the floor. To his frustration, there was barely any sound, no satisfying clatter – just a dull thud, muffled by the hissing of the constant wind. There was something different today, though: the air was even colder than usual. He looked up towards the dark ceiling and squinted. There was no use, however; he knew it. The ceiling looked just as foggy as the rest of this box. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, running a hand through his greasy black hair.

Now, where was I? he thought. Oh yes … half an adder’s tongue, one portion of Galanthus Nivalis, two inches of Boomslang skin (fresh), four drops of unicorn blood, stir clockwise with a wooden spoon on high heat until the contents dissipate into a dark blue liquid, add three live beetles and an ounce of powdered sage, stir ag—

He stopped and his eyes flew open as he felt a presence in the room. He knew that wasn’t possible though, and yet …

“Who’s there?” he said out loud, not recognising his own voice. His throat hurt from being used suddenly after so long. No one answered.

Maybe I am starting to lose it? he thought, as his eyes darted around the empty grey box.

*

Finally. Tasty food. The One’s favourite food. Desire. Must be prudent. The One cannot be found … Just a taste maybe? The Others will not know.

END OF CHAPTER 1 :)

If you liked it - Read Part 1 of Allegiance in full on AO3 ;) Part 2 is ready and I'll start posting in a few days! Hope you enjoy! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33585556/chapters/83455573

[yodawgiherd]

Insecurities

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Short main fic (anytime anyplace) reject I found while cleaning up my file. As it doesn't really fit where the story is at, and doesn’t tie into it, I could either delete it or post it here, and I decided for the latter. It's definitely "canon" in the AU tho o_o Hope you'll enjoy it :)

“So, what do you fear? “

From her perch on the dorm bed, Mikasa shot Eren a slight frown, and he shrugged innocently in response. Well, she supposed that he had the right to know, considering that she just woke him in the middle of the night by violently shoving him off the mattress they shared together, screaming. Mikasa sighed. She wasn’t used to this yet, the bed sharing, but she liked it. Most of the time, it helped to keep the nightmares at bay, but tonight was an exception, sadly, and the dream sneaked its way through Eren’s embrace and into her mind. In just those two weeks that they were together, her life felt so much brighter, and she hoped that this little accident won’t push her newfound boyfriend away. Then again, if he survived the failure of their second date, he could most likely handle a night of ruined sleep over her bad dreams.

“Why do you want to know?”, she asked, curious, “Planning on scaring me?”

A smile appeared on Eren’s face, just a small twitch of his lips.

“Of course not, I’d just like to understand you. Whatever is going on in those dreams of yours, it’s an important part of who you are.”

He fell silent, most likely waiting for her to start, but Mikasa wasn’t really feeling like talking. She just woke up from another terrible dream, in the middle of the night, and her brain was still dealing with that unpleasant reality. Instead of voicing her concerns, she bent forward, intertwining fingers with her toes, letting her hair cover her face.

“Look,”, Eren began, seeing her unresponsive, “it’s not hard to guess that your dreams have something to do with your parents, right?”

Honestly speaking, Mikasa didn’t even know why she told him about her past on their first date. Bringing up the tragedy of losing your family to someone you just met was unusual, weird, especially for someone as silent as her, but Eren just made her open up, talking to him was natural in a way she didn’t truly understand. Well, now she had to deal with the consequences. With a sigh, she nodded, just a tiny movement of her head, but he caught it.

“I don’t always have them.”, still not feeling brave enough to meet his inquisitive green gaze, she kept watching her toes, “It just happens from time to time, I can’t help it.”

“I don’t blame you, I have nightmares myself.”

She peeked up at him through the curtain of her hair, curious.

“You do?”

“It's about my dad.”, Eren leaned back in the chair where he retreated after being forcefully evicted form the bed, eyes studying her posture. He reminded her of the therapist she went to, years ago, when Levi tried helping her with those dreams this way. But therapy has no chance of working if the patient doesn’t want to, so after a few sessions of her stubbornly staring at the floor and not opening her mouth once, her brother gave up. Then again, she never had those warm feelings in her chest when she looked at the professional, but Eren made her spine tingle.

“It’s always the same. I’m standing on the ground, in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a plane flying over my head.”, he took a shuddering breath, as the topic was not exactly pleasant, “I know, I just know, that there’s my dad in there. Then suddenly, the plane starts falling, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So, I just stand there, and watch, as it goes down, spiraling until it crashes and explodes. Then I wake up.”

Mikasa didn’t even realize it, but she covered her mouth with one hand during his story, staring.

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t have it that often anymore,”, Eren shrugged appearing indifferent, “I got used to it. Kind of.”

But it was forced, this unnatural calm and Mikasa could see the pain behind his eyes. Dulled, maybe, but still present. If anything, she surely owed him her nightmares, now that he shared his own.

“I don’t really remember much,”, she began, “but I know that’s its always cold, and dark. There’s blood on the floor, and the bodies, but I can’t see their faces. Luckily.”, extending one hand, she closed it, fingers curling inwards, “I’m holding something, and it’s warm against my skin at first, but as I sit there, listening to the quiet, it always gets colder over time, until it’s like ice in my grasp.”, her breathing became agitated, “And I’m scared to trace the thing in my palm because I know what it will be, it’s always the same. It’s my mother’s hand.”, dropping her arm, she redirected her gaze back at her feet, a singular tear falling on the tips of her toes. “I usually wake up then.”

Eren didn’t say a word. Instead, she could hear the shuffling of his clothes as he stood up, and soon after the bed dipped under his weight as he sat down next to her. The arms that wrapped around her body were warm, and she leaned into the hug, closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder. The remnants of the nightmare finally gave up, and their cold fingers disappeared underneath the warmth. It surprised her, but it felt good to share her demons.

“Mikasa?”, he asked, waking her up a bit. She hummed in acknowledgement, not feeling like talking right now. “You told me your secret, I told you mine. It’s good to get that off your chest, no?”

She just hummed again, burrowing deeper into his embrace.

After a few minutes, Eren cleared his throat, making her look up at him. The boyish smile that she liked so much was there again, as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I was thinking since we aren’t sleeping anymore, maybe we could…. practice?”

It wasn’t hard to guess what he was implying. And while it might look stupid and insensitive, to suggest something like this, it was exactly what Mikasa wanted. There was only so much that talking could achieve, and the feeling of his body against hers, to know that this is real, not the nightmares, that was something they both craved right now.

“Again?”

“Why not?”, I mean, we are still far from perfect and…”

Both to silence him and her laughter, Mikasa climbed into his lap, straddling his waist as she kissed him, aggressively. Maybe there were better ways to spend your night than sleeping. She just had to make sure to watch her teeth, that’s all.

Those downtimes between classes were always the worst. It was bearable when Armin could hang out, but most of the time his friend was unavailable, as his breaks were on different times than Eren’s. Just perfect. Like, what exactly could you achieve in an hour? Eren usually just ended up wandering around the campus, sitting down somewhere to review his notes, or meditating on the futility of life and whatnot.

Today was the first day he found himself in front of the gym, looking at the entrance. Contrary to the masses, he didn’t even come here to work out himself, but rather to meet someone who spends almost all her waking hours here, in her own words. Pushing the door open, he had to admit that the room was in a rather good state. The walls seemed freshly painted, the air inside was kept cool through the ventilation system, and the music was silent enough to offer the beat the gym-goers were most likely looking for. Eyes darting around, he searched for the object of his interest, only to find her in front of the punching bag, going wild at it. Her hands were a blur, the leather was creaking, and Eren couldn’t help but wonder what all those guys from elementary school would say, with the whole “girls can’t fight” shit. Mikasa seemed immersed too and didn’t even notice him, taking a step back to put a few well-placed kicks to the sides of the bag. Satisfied with her performance, she took a break, putting her hands on her hips and breathing deep.

“You could kill a man with your punches.”, Eren stepped in, making her turn on her heel with a surprised expression. He grinned “You do them so fast, it must feel like getting a shot when you hit someone.”

“Eren.”, she shook her head, but she was smiling too, those dumb jokes making her feel giddy, “What are you doing here?”

“You said that you will be here, and I had some time to kill so…”, he shrugged, “can’t I come to see how you work out?”

“I mean, sure, if that’s what you want. It’s just that I was expecting someone else, that’s all.”

“Oh, a secret lover in the gym.”, with a fake expression of anger on his face, Eren scanned the room, working his muscles, “Where is this rascal?”

“Stop that.”, Mikasa poked him in the chest, unable to hold her laughter in anymore, shoulders shaking, “It’s my brother. I usually go out of the campus to his gym today, not here, but he’s got some paperwork in the city, so he said that he’s going to drop by.”

As on cue, another man appeared behind Eren, short and grumpy, looking him up and down.

“Mikasa, who is this guy?”, he arched an eyebrow, disbelief in his voice, “Your new sparring partner?”

“No, no, of course not, this is Eren, he’s my….”, she was nervous, fidgeting a bit, “friend, just friend.”

“Just” friend? Wow, that one stung.

“I see.”, Levi seemed to lost interest in Eren, turning back towards his sister, “Get to the ring, let’s see how much you slacked in your training.”

But while Mikasa was climbing up, a hand bunched up in Eren’s shirt, and the man pulled him down to his height, with unnatural strength, staring right into Eren’s eyes.

“Listen, “just friend”, I want you to know that If I ever hear that you’ve done anything bad to my little sister, I swear to god that you and I will have private sparring, between my fist and your face. And if you ever make her cry,”, he moved even closer, growling the words in Eren’s ear,” I’ll cut your balls off.”

With that, he released him, and followed Mikasa into the ring, as if nothing had happened. Right, Eren thought as he was straightening his clothes, seems like Levi didn’t buy into the friend thing much. Checking his watch, he saw that he still some time, so he leaned against the wall, watching the two siblings fight.

Hours later, when he was done with his classes and picked up Mikasa from the gym, they were walking through the darkened campus hand in hand. The air was clear, the evening quiet, and her hand in his warm, but still, the little friend thing just kept circling inside his mind.

“Mikasa?”, he began, “Can I ask you something?”

She liked the way Eren pronounced her name, how it rolled off his tongue. Her name wasn’t even that hard to say, but in her life, she met a ton of people who tried impressing her by adding that weird -h at the end of the -ka-, or by using the Japanese honorific – Chan in the end. She didn’t like either of those things. Not to mention those smart assholes who called her Gothkasa, because combining your name with your fashion style is soooo smart, right? Not even mentioning the girl who kept asking if she is sad, since all Mikasa wears is black. That one dubbed her Raven. But Eren didn’t do anything like that, he said her name exactly as it was, and she did enjoy the sound of it.

“Sure.”

“Back in the gym, why did you tell your brother that we are just friends. I kind of thought that we are … more … by now.”

“We are! Of course, we are.”, she squeezed his palm a bit tighter, pulling at it to make him stop and turn to face her. “I just never had a boyfriend before, and Levi came out of nowhere,”, she sighed, “I was surprised, and I didn’t want to break it to him like that.”, she looked up, blushing slightly, “Are you mad at me?”

As if he could ever be mad at someone as cute as her, with his red scarf wrapped around her colored cheeks.

“Nah, not mad. Your brother is a scary guy, I understand.”

“True that.”, she sniffed, “he’s the toughest midget you’ll ever meet.”

With Eren still being silent, a bit of suspicion entered her tone.

“Wait, did he tell you something? Eren?”

“Nah, nothing.”, to stop her grey gaze from staring at his face so inquisitively, he brushed the ends of formerly his scarf from her mouth, pulled her closer by the silver cross around her neck and bent down to press a kiss to Mikasa’s lips. “You still owe me one, friend.”, he murmured when they paused, and she pinched his bicep in retaliation, before surrendering to the sensation. They both still had a lot to learn in that area, anyway.

“Tell me a secret.”

“Secret?”, Mikasa half turned in his arms, watching him over a shoulder, “What secret?”

“Something about you, a thing I don’t know.”, Eren grinned, hiding it by burying his face in her hairline, “Something you wouldn’t tell just anyone.”

“Oh?”, a tiny frown appeared between her fine raven eyebrows, “And why should I tell you my secrets, mister?”

He shrugged.

“Think of it as a payment for the friend stuff.”

“I thought you understood!”

“I do, but I still demand satisfaction.”, a hand poked her, under the ribs, “C’mon Miki.”

Mikasa used to hate pet names, despise the way couples called each other as if they were children. But that was before she had Eren, and now she was strongly considering how it would feel like if he called her a kitten. Maybe not so bad after all. Before him, Mikasa never had a pet name in her life, well, if she didn’t count that Levi was usually calling her brat, but she grew to enjoy this little one Eren gave her. It was certain intimacy to it. She was also hyperaware of his touch now, of the arms around her, feeling his fingers through the fabric of the shirt. Sure, he touched her before, and she liked the way his palms roamed up and down her body when they kissed, even the few times he got lost in her and traced her shape all the way down to her ass. Mikasa usually stopped him there, for now, but overall, she was very satisfied with how his touch felt.

“You want to hear a secret.”, she cooed, putting her hands on top of his, both to press him more firmly against her skin, but also to stop him from moving. Eren sometimes tended to be more adventurous than she was comfortable with.

“Pretty please.”

“All right, well I got one.”, it was awkward, but she couldn’t think of anything else right now. So, she took a deep breath. “I used to hate my breasts.”

That silenced him for a moment.

“Your…. breasts?”, he queried, unsure if he heard her right.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because they are useless! Useless weight! I mean…”, she turned around, watching his face for a change. Eren’s cheeks had a slight blush in them, but he met her eyes with a small smile, clearly interested in hearing her explanation. ”I was flat as a board when I was a kid. So, when the puberty started, and things began to…. expand, it bothered me. I know that I’m not big either way, my, uhm, chest, is small compared to other girls, but suddenly, there were two bags of fat on my chest, completely fucking up my balance. Out of nowhere, I was being forced to wear a tight bra just because otherwise my tits would bounce all over the ring when I train.”, she looked down, over the place where her shirt was raised, “I used to bind them you know.”

“For training?”

“No, for everyday life. I didn’t want them.”

“Oh.”, Eren could see that it was a sensitive topic for her, the way she saw her body, and he felt happy that she trusted him enough to share it with him. “Well for what it’s worth,”, Mikasa looked up, and he couldn’t miss that the way those few strands of hair got into her face was downright adorable, “I think that your chest is beautiful.”

She started laughing, on the cheesiness of it all, small simpers escaping her lips, so he kissed her to stop it from blowing into a full-blown explosion, and before either of them realized what was happening, she fell on her back, pulling him right along. With Eren on top of her, his hands roaming all over her sides, mouth sealed against hers, all their long weeks of training were paying off. Comparing the first time they kissed, and the second, third and a lot after that, which usually ended up with either of them laughing, losing breath, or doing something that the other didn’t like, this was much better. She knew now to open her mouth for him when he nipped at her lower lip, and to push her tongue against his, licking into his mouth, not caring how obscene sounds it was making. It felt good for them both, and that was the only thing that mattered. Considering that she was doing her best to remember the things he liked, Mikasa was rather surprised when Eren pulled back, sitting up. Did she bite his bottom lip too hard again?

“Miki…”, he began, before she could ask what was wrong, “Could I….”, suddenly she realized that his hands left her sides, and were now toying with the hem of her shirt. Eren swallowed, obviously not sure how to proceed, although it was rather easy to understand what he wanted to ask. Her face was already red, from all the kissing and stuff, but now the color must have been on par with a tomato.

But why should she deny him? They were taking it slow already, and there’s a difference between taking things slow and not moving forward at all. Just a few seconds back, she was thinking about how good Eren’s touch felt, so why would this be any different? With a mortified expression, that didn’t do justice to how she felt inside, she nodded.

Eren’s eyes went wide when he saw her agree to his proposition, but he wasn’t one to question his good fortune. Yet even with her agreement, he could feel the light uncertainty that covered Mikasa like a blanket, and he wanted that feeling gone. So instead of going right to his prize, he lifted her shirt by just a few inches, bringing her muscled stomach into view.

“I love those.”, he pointed out, tracing the shape of her abs with his fingers. They didn’t even look real, more like a sculpture, made by an ancient Greek master, the way they perfectly stood out beneath the skin. But unlike marble, Mikasa’s skin was warm to the touch.

“Why?”, she frowned down at him, “It’s just muscle.”

“Nah, it’s much more than that.”, willing to see just how much she would let him do, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her firm midriff, loving the way the skin shivered beneath his lips. “It’s proof of your dedication. Show of your strength. It’s admirable and gorgeous at the same time, just like you.”, he murmured in-between gentle nips, making Mikasa’s breath hitch in her throat. She never saw her stomach as beautiful, just useful, but the way Eren genuinely seemed to enjoy spending his time down there, it made her wonder if perhaps her torso is aesthetically pleasing after all.

But he couldn’t just spend the whole night admiring her abs, he was on a mission. With just slightly trembling fingers, he started pulling the hem of her shirt further up, eyes darting between the increasing amount of revealed pale skin and her face, to notice the moment she changes her mind and tells him to stop. But she didn’t. It was mesmerizing, watching her body come from underneath the fabric until the bottom of her chest finally came into view. They were home, relaxing after school, and Mikasa ditched her bra as always, so the shirt he was currently lifting was the only cover. With a last peek to her face, seeing her nod again, Eren held his breath and pulled upwards, with finality. The instinct to cross her hands over her chest hit Mikasa hard, now when it was bare to him, but she held herself back, fisting the bedding instead.

“Holy shit.”, Eren breathed out, running his hand over his face.

“That bad?”, Mikasa could feel the old insecurities knocking at the backdoor in her mind, the same that made her roll those bandages around her breasts, every morning before going out, that made her angry when she felt the extra weight on her chest anytime she breathed. This was a mistake, she shouldn’t have done this. Now he’s going to….

“Bad?”, the word was choked out, as Eren still had trouble controlling his breathing. “Bad?”, he repeated in disbelief, not sure why in the world would she think that, “No, it’s not bad. It’s fucking wonderful.”

“Huh?”, she asked, not sure if she heard him right.

“Whoever told you that you look bad Miki?”, he wanted to get to the bottom of this, even with his brain working on about ten percent of its capacity.

“Well…”, no one told her anything like that, now that she thought about it. Then again, the only people in her life to saw her topless were her mom, her doctor, and now Eren. The only thing the doctor said was that she’s a healthy female, as one can expect from a professional, and if mom ever said anything, Mikasa didn’t remember it. All those doubts were her own.

On top of her, Eren was having the night of his life. Sure, it was the twenty-first century, he saw boobs before, with internet, TV and everything, but it was the first time he got to see a pair live, and there was quite a significant difference. Mikasa’s chest was rather small, but with next to no excess fat on her body, what could a sane person expect? Honestly, Eren didn’t care about that one bit, she was perfect just the way she was. The perky, firm shape, the flawless skin, the darkened area around her nipples, that all combined to make her breasts one of the prettiest things he ever saw. He found himself wanting to touch it, to feel it beneath his fingers, but just as he raised his hand, Eren realized that starting to grope her might not be the nicest thing to do to Mikasa right now. That was until she spoke.

“You can t-touch me.”, she answered his unspoken question, words unsteady, eyes wide and watching his every move.

Carefully, he put one arm down, tracing the shape of her chest with his fingertips, paying special attention to the underside, where he just found out she was ticklish.

“H-Hey! Stop that!”, she squeezed out in-between the giggles, squirming beneath him, but her voice betrayed that she didn’t want him to stop. Continuing in his exploration, Eren worked his way all around the breast, cupping it with his hand and thumbing the nipple lightly. It was amazing, to find something so soft and squishy on Mikasa’s rather toned body, so he gave it a few testing squeezes. In conclusion, it felt pretty damn good. Overcome with a sudden urge, Eren leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to the top, right in the middle of the peak, which in turn made Mikasa gasp and quickly pull her shirt back down. All right, playtime was over, but Eren was immensely satisfied, nevertheless. Her breathing was shaky, a very light frown on her face, as she sat up, pushing the hair from her face.

“Couldn’t help myself.”, Eren reached out, hoping that his sudden show of affection didn’t offend her too much, and was pleasantly surprised when she took his hand, intertwining their fingers. Not too mad then, all good. “But Miki, let me tell you, your chest is god damn perfect. I love it. And my opinion should count for something, after all, I’m a certified FBI.”

That gave her a pause.

“FBI?”

“Female Body Inspector.”

With a tug, he pulled her to himself, and together they tangled back on the bed, mouths once again combining amidst the laughter. And for the first time in her life, Mikasa was glad that puberty changed her the way it did.

[vikingsagine]

The Sacrifices I Have Made (Ivar x Reader)

I don’t know how I feel about this one. It’s darker and more dramatic and Idk if I like the way its written, but yeah. This one is a bit, weow okay, that got real....Anyways, yeahh. Ivar is sexy. Alex is an amazing actor and so fkn sexy like bruh...that’s not even fair. And I just realised, I called Ubbe, Ubba, oops.

Summary: You and Ubbe end up fighting because you discover where Ivar is and you decide to return to his side. But you also find out, Hvitserk has a big mouth...

Warnings: Okay, this is a darker chapter. RAPE. FIGHTING. BLOOD. MORE BLOOD. You have been warned. Mind you, its Vikings sooo, yeh.

(I just realized Lagertha raped King Harald, huh...)

“You can’t leave.” Ubbe demanded, his staunch figure standing in the doorway of your home. You were packing your gears, weapons, clothes, food and what was left of your coin. You knew this was going to happen but made no move to fight Ubbe. “You said you would come with me and Torvi to Iceland. You promised.” 

“I don’t have time for this Ubbe.” You avoided his eye contact, strapping the bag over your shoulder and gripped the fur coat made of animal skin. It was already winter and where you were headed was far but also dangerous. If you played your cards right and left in time, you would be fine. But for that, Ubbe had to leave you alone. 

“I can’t let you go.” Ubbe clamped his hand over your forearm, preventing your calm exit as you tried to stay civil. If things continued this way, you knew it wouldn’t end well. Both of your eyes locked, his filled with determination and yours were the same. “If you leave, Bjorn will send men to find you. He will kill you.” You ripped your arm from his and stepped back.

“Even so, I need to find Ivar and you know that.” 

“You promised you’d come with me and Torvi, you said-” 

“Yes, I promised you that. I promised I would go if Ivar’s whereabouts remained unknown. But, I know he is alive and in Russ.” Ubbe was surprised by your response, staring into the sole of your eyes like, ‘How do you know that?’ You already knew Ubbe had this information, you knew he lied to you, he kept the information locked away. After you told him that one day you would return to Ivar’s side, Ubbe didn’t take it so kindly. “Hvitserk told me. Now move.” You pushed passed Ubbe and stepped out of your house, heading towards the mountain side exit. 

“I can’t let you escape Y/N. Your position remains here.” Ubbe called from behind you, the sound of his blade grazing the ground and his breathing grew heavy. You turned around and placed your bag to the side, knowing well you wouldn’t leave here unless you’d somehow deal with the tall, blonde and blue eyed man. 

“If you want me to stay, you better plan on killing me.” You held your axe in hand and the long metal blade in the other. He chuckled lightly and took slow steps towards you. You couldn’t help but get excited and quickly darted to the male, swinging both weapons instinctively. 

“Always the first one to attack, so impatient.” He mocked. Both staring each other in the eye, weapons pushed against each other, holding your ground. Ubbe dropped his axe and swung it under your right foot, knocking you down. Before his weapon dug into your chest, you rolled to the side, swiveled on the balls of your knees and went for a strike to the rib. 

“That’s because you’re a bitch.” 

“And who is the one on their knees?” He knocked your long edged sword from your hand and you quickly jumped to your feet, taking in deep breaths. Ubbe spat on the ground, challenging you to attack once again. 

“You wish horsetail.” Ubbe stepped forward, body lunging in a long extension and went for the obvious attack to your stomach but you swatted the metal blade, kicked his side and stopped your axe just before his throat. “How many times do I have to tell you? You have to be faster than that.” Ubbe growled and batted the axe away, turning on his heel to decapitate your head but you quickly ducked. 

Your sudden decision to leave wasn’t just because you found out where Ivar was. It was because of the constant dream-like visions. You saw ice and snow. A village built tall and strong but miles and miles of white. Inside was your crippled friend, laying in bed with healthy sighs and sturdy breathing. You could tell, he needed you though he might not know it. And you made a final decision to return to his side where you belonged. You just hoped that it didn’t have to end in you spilling any more blood then there already was, not when you didn’t have to. 

“I can’t let you go. I don’t care if your fate is to be beside Ivar, I won’t let you go.” Ubbe spoke through shallow breaths and a bleeding temple. You were in no better shape. Your lip was busted and your jaw ached, if it weren’t for the bolting adrenaline the pain would have taken more effect. Both of you had no axe or sword or anything in hand, all scattered too far away to actually reach and use. Your heart was torn. Ubbe has always been there for you, he was just as much as family as Ivar was to you. And no matter how a part of you wanted to stay, leave with him to Iceland or rather ‘paradise’ and depart from this life of fighting and survival, your heart screamed to be beside Ivar once again. After everything, you still wanted him. 

“I’m sorry Ubbe. Truly, I am.” Spitting out saliva, you raised your wrist to your face and wiped away the dripping blood. “But you know very well, I don’t belong here. You have to let me go.” His hissed at the words like he had been stabbed with a knife coated in snake venom. Then without hesitation, he threw a punch to your head, you blocked and returned the favor. He tackled you to the ground and wrapped his legs around your waist from your back, while his arms suffocated your neck. He prevented movement from your legs and restricted the flow of your body, squeezing the air out of your lungs. 

“Do you have no dignity?” Ubbe whispered in your ear, grip around your body firm as steel. You tried to pry the lock of his long arms, off but it was difficult. Your lungs began to burn and blood rushed to your face. “After everything he has done to you, you go back.” Ubbe was trying to reason with you, make you see the fault in your need to return to Ivar. He knew everything and he hated how you were so tied to his little brother, how his hooks were so deep in you. He wanted you to stay by his side because you were like blood. “Hvitserk told me everything.” Something sparked within you, a newfound determination and the gears inside your head kicked in. Like wheels, they spun and whizzed, analyzing the situation in a snap of fingers. You pulled Ubbe's mane from the bottom of his hair, yanking it to the point where his grip loosened and you popped your elbow into his stomach. Ubbe reluctantly let go and you rolled yourself free to finally catch air. 

Hvitserk told me everything.

Hvitserk told me everything.

Everything.

Told me.

Everything.

~~~

“You called for me?” You entered the room with no windows, a room solid and cold but with a cripple sitting and waiting. It was odd. He usually sits in the hall where everyone can be seen and lacks privacy. Perhaps because of his win over the great heathen army it had given him paranoia. Or perhaps it was because he humiliated his older brother Ubbe. Or perhaps because Hvitserk stayed by his side. You did not know. “What is it cripple? You want to fuck?” You joked, resting your bow and arrows to the side.

“If I wanted to fuck you, I’d be better off fucking a pig.” Ivar joked and made you roll your eyes. You two had a complicated relationship. Right now, you were fuck buddies. Well, you were his fuck buddy while he was the man you were madly in love with. You couldn’t confess your feelings, since you promised him you wouldn’t fall for him. In the beginning, he specifically wanted to fuck. He said he couldn’t see himself with a woman like you. “You remember White Hair and his men?” Ivar motioned to the men at his side, eyes focused somewhere other than your form. You nodded towards them in acknowledgment.. One tall and quite big but old. The other two were young. You remembered White Hair. He fought nobly and bravely. “They have earned my trust and my allegiance.”

“Okay?” You were confused about your place here. You won the battle, great. Ivar gained new allegiances, good for him. He won the great heathen army, spectacular. But did you really need to be here? No, not really. “If you don’t have anything important to discuss with me, I will return to training your army. So please, save your boasting for your brother.” You turned on your heel and went to head back.

“You promised you’d do anything for me..” Ivar stopped you in your tracks and he gained your attention. “Do you still feel the same way?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t understand-”

“Don’t fight.” He finally pierced into your skeptical orbs, bright and blue. So beautiful. Annoyingly stunning. On the surface you appeared to be calm and collected, on the inside your heart melted at how they reminded you of jewelry. Eyes like Sapphire.

“Excuse me?” You were brought back into reality when the men suddenly took closer and predatory strolls to you. Looking at you like a piece of meat. Something they could take and claim. It pushed your buttons and immediately you drew out your sword from its scabbard, threatening them. 

“What is this Ivar? You said we could have the girl.” Something inside dropped. An overwhelming feeling that shook your bones. Not fear or anxiety. No. It was disappointment and disbelief. The older  peered over to their new leader, annoyed and growing impatient. Ivar reached for his crutch's and approached your figure, not daring to look into your eyes.

“I gave my word to these men.” Ivar touched your shoulder, eyes filled with guilt and displeasure. He did not dare to even see your reaction. He knew it would break him. He knew if he’d take another look at you, he would break the alliance. But the fire inside for his ambitions and his dream overthrew such emotions. And he straightened his back and held his gaze tight on the space in front. “Their loyalty and men for wealth and, and-”

“Me.” You finally pieced the puzzle together. It was an unfortunate truth. One that caused great pain but did not waver your fidelity. You felt a sharp pain travel to your heart, throat becoming dry as tears clouded your clear vision. “I understand.” You simply stated then threw your weapon to the side, shrugging Ivar’s hand off your shoulder in disgust. His touch still filled you with warmth and joy and swarming nerves. You weren’t disgusted in Ivar, you were disgusted in yourself. You were a strong woman. Everyone knew that and were intimidated by it. Every man that has met your path, every enemy is now cold and dead. Each one cut down and beaten bloody or slaughtered mercilessly from your hands. You were a woman of pride and no one could take that away. Or so you thought. Ivar was gone without a second word, his figure disappearing with a click of the door. He left you with sharks looking for a quick fix of your sweetness. The part of you that no one could take. You pushed the tears away, slowing the beat of your heart and wore the dutiful mask you used when committing your responsibilities. The man no older than you stepped in first, hesitant yet excited. He reached for your armor in a rush but you quickly stopped him, swatting his hands away. “I will take my armor off. That is mine.” They nodded in agreement. If they could take your virtue, the gift between your legs that you once had the choice over. You would not let them take your armour. Not like this. Fingers shaking, you stripped the tight leather of your clothes and it dropped. 

Shame.

The fighting part of you  screamed and struggled. Wanting so badly to rip their heads off. Wanting to feel the wetness and warmth of their blood. To hear their cries. Yearning for the satisfaction of their lifeless corpses. You threw the remaining material of your long shirt to the ground. Cool and fresh air hitting the miles of free skin. White Hair and his sons looked at one another, lust filled and proud. There were many men who pined to be in their position, not because you were the most beautiful but because you were an untamed bitch. A wild horse they would ravish and ride. “I will very much enjoy this.” White hair spoke loudly and pulled the strong woman to his body, squeezing and groping areas he had been dreaming of.  

Dishonor.

Tristian, the youngest of the men, had yet to lose his virginity. He is the son of White Hair. Tristian inhaled your sight, impressed by the marvelous sight of your imperfect skin. The body of a true shield-maiden. Not smooth or ragged, just the right thing. Scars and slight muscular arms and legs, but not thin like other women. He noticed you had meat in certain areas and his prick grew hard. “I can’t believe the cripple had all this to himself.” He muttered under his breath, curious hands gripping the back of your ass and slapped. His Father was already leaving his mouth wide open and wet kisses down your body, sucking harshly and biting down with force normal women would have yelped. But you remain stiff and frozen, daring not for them to hear your voice. 

Weak.

Leif, a meaty man,  older brother to Tristian. He wasn’t fond of raping women but he was very eager to fuck a girl worthy of his cock. A strong-willed woman. One like fire. He watched your face, saw the growing anger but also pain. He ogled how you remained cold and emotionless, just like how he discussed with his men. He and his friends joked once during the big feast to victory. He cupped your sex and eagerly pumped his finger, waiting for a reaction which he earned. You gasped and glared down at him. 

Betrayal.

Hvitserk stood outside the door, finding himself in an odd predicament. He tumbled upon the screams and shrieks of a woman coming from a small room. He also heard the sound of skin slapping skin, the groans of men and their vulgar language. Hvitserk was searching for his brother, wanting to know their plan to invade York and instead came across an intense sex session. With a sudden wave of curiosity, he decided to peek through the keyhole. The brown haired man was left stunned, opening his mouth wide as he saw yourself. Three men taking their share turn of fucking you. White Hair and his sons. At first he was mind blown and silently congratulated you for having fun, until he noticed the difference in your screams and the relentlessness of their thrusts. They were merciless and hard. Laughing with one another and mocked the way you were crying and begging. He was ready to knock the door down and slaughter the men for raping you like that. Of course he would, you were like family. A friend. A sister. That’s until he noticed the sword placed centimetres away from you, it was easy to grab and you could have killed the men like nothing. 

Rape.

You were left alone. Body scarred with new bruises, pride and ego taking most of the pain. They left you naked, dirty with their cum and limp. You felt like a corpse. Dead on the inside and a part of you wished it to be true. Wished that they had slaughtered you instead of taking your womanhood from you. Not only did your body burn from agony, but your sex burned like your body had been ripped apart. 

“Y/N?” You snapped your attention towards Hvitserk who stood at the door frame, looking at you with pity but also anger. You quickly pulled your naked self up and ignored the burning pain between your legs, hands aiming for your clothes. With an attempt to stand to your feet, you hissed loudly and fell. Thankfully Hvitserk caught you and wrapped you in his cloak. 

“What are you doing here? Get out!” You demanded and grew ashamed. You felt weak. You felt as if the Gods were looking down at you in such disappointment. You feared the Valkyrie would no longer take you to the gates of Valhalla. 

“Why did you let them rape you? Why did you dishonor yourself like that?” His words cut deep. Dishonor. Was it dishonorable if you did it for the sake of your people and the man you loved? You did not know and instead, pulled yourself away from Hvitserk and gripped the coat closer to your being.

“Tell Ivar the allegiance is a success and that I will not be able to train his army.” 

~~~

A shriek shrill tore through the summer morning, the birds awoke and flew far away. In the small cottage where the sound came and the women rushed, there was panic and pain. All you saw was specs of black and white, dots zooming passed like flies as every fiber of your being tore open. Another wave of pain dismissed and you relaxed for a second. Your Mother was beside you, holding your hand and ordering the frantic woman to stay calm. 

“Almost done, one more push. Just one more.” Your Mother soothed into your ear but it flew out the other. Your body felt like it was splitting in half. You rather be shot by an arrow or scorched by fire or stabbed in the stomach, not once or twice, multiple times. 

“Please, please. I can’t. I can’t.” You begged, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead and your breath hitched again. Another wave of scorching pain taking over. You threw your head back and dung your nails into the sheets and the flesh of your Mother. “Ahhh! Fuck.” Giving the last bit of strength left, you pushed with all your might. The living thing between your legs slipping out and its sudden cry cursed your ears. Relief hit you like a bullet, dropping onto the sweaty and bloody sheet of the mattress you could finally relax. Without a second to spare, your Mother had left your side and was now cooing at the thing that was your child. The thing you dreaded all your life. Children weren’t a part of your plan. You knew having children would be a hassle because of the road you chose, the journey you had to take. But here you were, a Mother to a raped-born baby. An abomination.

“It’s a girl. A sweet little girl.” Your Mother adored the body of fat and new life in her arms, admiring such a little creature. You were very curious and had an instant need to hold the child, but you remembered Ivar. The great heathen army. The attack on Kattegat that was only moons away. Where you belonged. “Here.” Illiah, your Mother attempted to hand your child to you upon meeting your gaze but you declined.

“No, no. Get it away from me. Please.”

“Y/N, it’s your baby-”

“I don’t care, take it away. Just get it away from me. Please.” The older woman looked at you, her daughter, with sorrow and pity. Understanding your choice but also hating it. She knew your position, your dedication to a man she didn’t even know. And instead insisted that she, the baby and the nurses leave your tired figure alone. 

As soon as there was no one around, you let out a loud sob. Here you were, again, suffering. Alone and in pain. Your heart didn’t break, but it felt fragile and weak. So much that perhaps a simple poke to the chest could cause it to cave and shatter. Curling your body into the sheets, you let out a loud cry and sobbed into the pillows. 

~~~

“Hvitserk told me everything, Y/N.” Ubbe repeated once again, staring at you with those light and blue eyes. His words brought back the pain of the past. The past you were so desperately trying to escape. You leaned over and punched Ubbe in the mouth. “He told me about White Hair and your baby.”

“Shut up, just shut up.” Crying out with little too much emotion, your fist came back up and pummeled into his face. Desperately searching for something that wasn’t there. Perhaps it was forgiveness. Ubbe pushed you off of him and climbed on top of you, knocking his forehead into yours with a rush of force. But you wouldn’t let him win, instead you kneed him in the balls and pushed his body into the dirt. “You don’t understand Ubbe, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My brother had you raped and made you leave your child. Why do you crawl back to him like a directionless bitch? Do you not have honor or self-dignity?” He kicked you as you came hurling onto his body, rolling over to reach for his axe. 

“And why do you care so much? I’m starting to think you might be in love with me.” You couldn’t help yourself. There was no lid to your mouth nor will there ever be. You laid on your back, eyes closed as you felt the sting of his kick. “Say, are you in love with me pretty boy. Truly I’m honored but you have a wife and a child coming alone, I don’t know how that would work.” You yelped as his figure came out of nowhere and swing his axe like a sledgehammer onto your body.

“Why do you give so many things up for my brother?” He took another thrust of his weapon. “Why do you sacrifice yourself for him when he treats you like nothing?” He was on top of you, pushing the blade into your throat as you pushed back. This is not how you were supposed to die. “Tell me!” Ubbe screamed and one last time attempted to cut into your skull. You quickly punched his throat which made him choke and crumble beside you.

“Because he is my destiny.”

 You yelled back and smashed a rock onto his head. Hard enough for him to grow unconscious and stop fighting. His head pooled with blood but you knew he wouldn’t die. After a few seconds of catching your breath, you kissed the sweet man on the cheek and whispered. 

“And because I have to kill him.”

@soleil-dor @youbloodymadgenius @cececolber @heavenly1927

[thebladeblaster]

Pokémon: the Dark Circuit (aka Vanguard Descends season 2)

Chapter 8 Prelude To The Circuit Part 1

Aichi’s current team

Level 81 Wingal (Lycanroc (dusk)) rock

Moves:

Stealth rock

Crunch

Stone edge

Play rough

Level 79 Llew (Golisopod) water/bug

Moves:

Sucker punch

Blizzard

Liquidation

First impression

Level 80 Gancelot (Lucario) fighting/steel

Moves:

Focus blast

Stone edge

Meteor mash

Dragon pulse

Level 86 Soul Saver (Haxorus) dragon

Moves:

Outrage

Iron tail

Dragon dance

Scale shot

Level 100 Alfred (Aegislash) ghost/steel

Moves:

Sacred sword

King’s shield

Iron head

Shadow Claw

There is only an endless void around.

“Some people thought of you as the devil.”

A child Oliver sits on the ground looking over to someone.

“However I knew better.”

The person he was looking at was a younger Aichi with his back turned. His face was hidden though tears trailing down his cheeks were visible.

“I knew that in reality you were kinder than anyone.”

The young Oliver got up and approached Aichi.

“You simply wouldn’t let your enemies see it.”

The young Aichi briefly looked over to Olivier acknowledging his presence. Olivier put a comforting hand on Aichi’s shoulder.

“You had the burden of a great destiny. One that far exceeded me or anyone else. However I wasn’t envious in the slightest. I knew it was tough for you extremely tough especially with your kind heart.”

The young Aichi walks forward as he does; he seems to grow older. His clothes changed from his attire as a kid. He now wore a long black general-like coat lined with red. The side of the shoulders had a yellow part hanging off. Underneath was some sort of white zipped up top. He wore grey pants and long white boots. He had a belt similar to his father’s with a red A.

“I decided I wanted to be by your side. I wanted to protect you and aid you .”

The young Oliver followed Aichi, also growing older and wearing the same clothes as his current self.

“Conquering others. Subjugating nations. Bringing the world to your feet. Guiding the world. That is what it means to be the messiah. The world may consider you a devil. But I consider you as what you truly are. You will do what needs to be done even if the world curses you as a demon. You are the true messiah who brought peace to the world.”

Olivier vision got blurry and he swayed. He held out his hand desperately out to Aichi as he got further away.

“So why…?”

“Why?”

“Why have you betrayed Team Asteroid? You were more loyal to Team Asteroid than anyone else?!”

Oliver blinks looking around feeling confused. His vision started to become clearer as it did he noticed the pungent scent of smoke everywhere. He noticed his feet were moving as despite his state as if he wasn’t really there and simply reliving a memory. He walked by the side of Aichi in the same attire he was wearing before. The land around them was scarred and billowing with smoke. Once radiant gold buildings had been tarnished in the destruction. The once magnificent structures were now nothing more than rubble. Even the grandiose statue of Arceus was not unscathed. He could make out a stronghold which they seemed to be heading to. You could tell that the building was a bit worse for wear.

Oliver wanted to reach out and speak to Aichi beside him like when he had finally reunited with him. Aichi’s eyes were trained forward as straight as an arrow towards the stronghold. He felt completely different then from when he met him before or even when they were kids. No trace of weakness shown in his expression. He was completely focused on the objective in front of him like a good soldier.

Various elemental attacks shot at them. He felt like jumping, but his body didn’t move. Aichi didn’t seem alarmed in the slightest. They continued to walk forward unfettered to his shock. He noticed a psychic barrier had formed around them. Tons of smoke blocked his vision as they were continuously bombarded with attacks. After a few minutes the attacks ceased.

“Haha! We did it”, one of the people in the stronghold said.

“Those demons must be dead, not even a legendary can survive such an attack!”, another gloated.

Underneath the cover of smoke Oliver saw Aichi’s expression shift to amusement. Aichi continued to walk forward before in an instant he seemed to vanish. The smoke cleared from his vision and the barrier still remained. Aichi stood behind the soldiers holding their general in one hand casually. The general was sweating rivers of sweat and shaked. The soldiers gasped, turning to Aichi and their Pokémon faced him. The general seemed to be struggling to breathe possibly due to the effects of Aichi’s aura like what happened in Hammerlocke caste.

“Guess who?”, Aichi said with amusement.

You could see the general’s hair turning white from all of the stress. His heart beating loudly against his chest and sweating rivers of sweat.

“P-put h-him down!”, a soldier demanded.

Aichi just scoffed, having a very confident look.

“Honestly...you dare tell your god what to do.”, Aichi finally said...no it didn’t seem like exactly the Aichi he met or even the 003v he knew.

The soldier flinched and he backed away unconsciously and noticed their Pokémon had moved back far away from Aichi quivering in fear. These weren’t wimpy Pokémon either, these were: Charizards, Tyranitars, Aggrons, Nidokings, Gyaradoses, Electivires, Hydriegons, Garchomps, Druddigons, and far more.

“You aren’t in the position to make demands anyway.”, Aichi said as he raised up his hand to the general’s neck.

“H-hey what a-are you waiting f-for attack him!?!?!?”, a soldier ordered the Pokémon pointing at Aichi who wore a smug smile.

Tyranitar is a Pokémon that lives for a battle, a Pokémon that actively seeks out challengers and is said to have unbreakable armor. It nervously shuffled back like it was a Pachirisu or something. The Pokémon looked over Aichi cautiously full of fear. Aichi outstretched a hand to the Pokémon with a smile on his face.

“Do you want to come with me? Do you want to get back at them for how they have been treating you?”, Aichi asked.

The Pokémon shuffled nervously looking at each other. A shiny Lycanroc looked down at its damaged paw. You could tell that it had been whipped and beaten a lot; the signs were all over a few of the Pokémon to varying degrees.

“You really think our Pokémon would betray us?! We have raised most of them since they were babies!”, a soldier said.

The Lycanroc looked over to Aichi feeling almost lured in. The aura he gave off while to enemies it can choke the will out of them to others it can feel extremely warm and inviting. It was an aura that naturally made those exposed to it want to give up everything for him. Some Pokémon tensed closer towards Aichi. The soldiers expression shifted to disbelief in horror as the Pokémon started walking over to Aichi’s side. A soldier raised a gun to shoot the Pokémon however Aichi used his psychic powers to jam the gun.

“Good choice. Now...”, Aichi said as he turned to the frightened soldiers.

He walked over to Aichi’s side raising a Poké ball. Aichi raised up one as well as the soldiers cowered.

“Go, Morgana!”, Aichi called out, throwing out a Inteleon.

“Go, Percival!”, Oliver called out, throwing out his Cinderace.

“Morgana use snipe shot!”, Aichi ordered.

“Percival use pyro ball!”, Oliver ordered.

Their attacks hit the soldiers and the other Pokémon joined in.

“W-why?!”, a soldier questioned.

“You shouldn’t be surprised. Considering how you have been treating these Pokémon. It’s ironic this place used to be a preserve but the moment the rare Pokémon that it was supposed to be protecting became useful to them of course as you humans tend to do...you exploited them.”, Aichi said, frowning.

Aichi turned away walking as Oliver followed. The soldiers screamed as they were attacked by their former Pokémon till eventually they went silent.

“It was just platitudes. They didn’t care at all…”, Aichi said, his voice more quiet now.

Oliver put his hand on his shoulder as they walked through the former preserve. He noticed a flicker of sadness in Aichi’s eyes. Many were beaten pretty badly which was likely intentional considering they can easily be healed by the healing stations all over the faculty.

“Olivier can you call for some grunt to pick them up?”, Aichi asked.

“Yeah...It’s fine 003v they be fine now.”, Oliver replied as he pulled out a communicator.

As Oliver made the call he noticed two employees of the company standing in front of an injured Haxorus. It seemed they had been rushing, likely hearing that they had arrived. The Haxorus growled at them stubbornly grabbing one of the whips the employees had with its teeth.

“Darn it you stupid reptile! Just give it to us! Before that-“, one of the employees was saying before he froze.

He desperately tried to move and panicked as he realized he couldn’t move his body. Both of them screamed as Aichi walked between them. Aichi looked down at the injured Haxorus and it seemed to be protecting something. It held an egg close to its chest. The Haxorus backed away nervously as Aichi approached with eyes full of paranoia and roared at Aichi.

“Hey, it’s alright. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”, Aichi assured.

The Haxorus growled at him and Aichi looked taken aback. Unlike him Olivier couldn’t understand Pokémon. The Haxorus staggered and swayed as Aichi reached out for the Haxorus.

“W-wait!”, Aichi pleaded, before the Haxorus started to fall.

He caught the Haxorus with his psychic powers before it fell. Aichi lowered his head, closing his eyes.

“She’s dead...you…”, Aichi said with venom in his voice and glared at the two employees who tried to cower but couldn’t move.

Aichi was surrounded in a dark blue aura.

“All of that for an egg! You killed her for her egg!”, Aichi said, his voice full of rage.

“W-wait we can explain?!”, the employee stampered.

“Explain it to Giratina after you see him in the Distortion World.”, Aichi replied as the two panicked more.

As Oliver finished the call the employees bodies crumpled to the ground dead. Aichi held the Haxorus’s egg securely.

“You gave everything to protect this egg. I won’t let it be in vain.”, Aichi said.

Olivier felt a sad smile form on his face. Aichi lowered down the Haxorus’s body gently and closed her eyes. Aichi’s eyes were shadowed as he did so.

“003v. It’s alright.”, Olivier assured patting his shoulder as Aichi stubbornly looked away.

“It’s alright for you to feel. No one else is here.”, Olivier continued.

Olivier could see him holding back his tears before finally letting them fall.

“W-why...can’t I just be emotionless?”, Aichi questioned, putting his hand over his heart.

He may be able to trick their enemies but he couldn’t trick him. Oliver gave him a small hug.

In reality Olivier rushes to Aichi and the others before they leave.

“It’s a long story but after I completed the Millennium Puzzle a spirit came from it.”, Yugi explained, gesturing his necklace.

“Alright.”, Aichi accepted nodding like that was perfectly normal.

The others sweat dropped at this. To be fair considering how weird Aichi’s own existence was it was no surprise he wasn’t bothered by something so ridiculous. Then suddenly Aichi froze and a worried expression appeared on his face.

“Wait...Oh...Arceus...my mom is going to kill me...”, Aichi realized, looking very pale.

Kai and Misaki sweat dropped at this and Kamui looked fearful knowing very well how Aichi’s mother could be.

“Your mom? Is something wrong?”, Tea asked.

“I-I’ve got to go back to Kakusa as soon as possible! I’ll just have to train there and make sure she does not find out.”, Aichi replied, looking very panicked and fearful.

“I don’t get what the deal is. It’s just your mom.”, Jonouchi replied cluelessly.

“Aichi’s mom is a scary woman…”, Kamui replied shaking.

“And she’s overprotective of him.”, Misaki added.

“Ooh…”, Jonouchi replied as Aichi quickly looked around for a way back to Kakusa.

“Well our boat got blown up so you would have to fly back.”, Yugi said.

“I...I don’t have any flying Pokémon. I’ll just have to…”, Aichi pondered.

Flying there with his Psyqualia crossed his mind though he was still a bit worried about losing control again. Still...he knew he would have to use it again eventually versus Leon. So, whether he likes it or not he must use it.

“I guess...I’ll fly myself.”, Aichi said, before his feet started to hover above the ground and the Kantonians jumped in shock.

“Wait...but Olivier...this might be my one chance to talk to him.”, Aichi thought.

“I have to do something here first.”, Aichi said.

“Well, your not going alone.”, Misaki said, and Aichi reluctantly nodded in response.

“Alright.”, Aichi agreed, knowing how much he had already made them worry.

Aichi sees Oliver approaching him from a distance. The others look a bit cautiously as he comes near. Aichi starts approaching Oliver much to their confusion.

“Hey bro what are you doing?!”, Kamui questioned incredulously.

“I need to talk to him.”, Aichi replied simply.

“Why? He could have been sent down here by Gin.”, Misaki asked.

Aichi said nothing looking towards Oliver who was now there. Jonouchi sneered at Oliver and Honda readied to hold him back if he needed to. Yugi looked at Aichi with confusion and curiosity as to why he was doing this.

“Oliver we need to talk before I leave.”, Aichi said.

“Wait...did...did he ever introduce himself?”, Anzu pondered.

“No, he didn’t.”, Misaki replied.

“How do you know him bro?”, Kamui questioned.

“Oliver is the son of Arthur Gaillard, my father’s brother. Making us cousins.”, Aichi revealed as the others gasped in shock.

The others gasped in shock besides Kai who just looked shocked but didn’t vocalize it.

“Your cousin?!”, Kamui questioned.

“I spent a lot of my early life with him. Just give me a few minutes. Please.”, Aichi said.

“...Alright. Fine, but me and Kamui will be there to make sure there’s no funny business.”, Misaki replied.

[jazzytriestowrite]

Am I weak?

Brief Summery: Bakugo has never been good with showing his emotions and tended to keep them bottled up. After a few comments from his classmates he spirals out of control trying to figure out what is wrong with him, and if his recent kidnapping has made him weaker. 

Parings: None, Just some Baku squad fluff

Warnings: Cursing, angst, panic attacks, light fluff

Word Count: 2,061

A/N; I feel like in the show, It didn't show enough of Bakugo’s mental scaring from being kidnapped. It was kinda brushed too the side, and I feel like he was bottling up some emotions during that time. anywho, this is just me making him soft and really diving deep with what happened to him. I also wrote this while bopping to sad bops and didn't really read over this? I accept criticism so comment below what you think. It’s also my first time writing so it obviously won’t be amazing, but I'm trying my best and have to start from somewhere. Enjoy!

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

’’SAY ONE MORE THING YOU GREEN HAIRED LOSER AND I’LL BLOW YOUR ASS INTO TOMORROW’’

The booming voice of Bakugo wasn’t anything new, and no one really paid much attention to it at this point. He always seemed to be yelling at someone about something, or boosting about how powerful he is then everyone.

‘’Why do you think they're fighting about this time?’’ Iida asked with a sigh, his eyes never leaving the tv screen. He and four others sat comfortably on the couch, enjoying a new reality tv show that had just premiered.

With a yawn, Uraraka stretched a little, wiggling her feet to get some circulation to flow. ‘’I don’t know, but it’s good to know he’s being normal after everything that has happened’’ Shifting into a comfortable position, she laid her head against Tsuyu’s shoulder.

Peering over the couch, the green haired female watched as Bakugo yelled some more in Deku’s face, the poor boy had practically turned white from fear. Turning back around, Tsuyu shrugged her shoulders, ‘’ It’s good he’s back to normal, but if he does keep acting like this, more villains and maybe civilians will think he’s a villain like the league of villains did. Ribbit. You would think he’d at least get kinder after being kidnapped’’

Mineta nodded, ‘’He’s acting like a hot shot but got kidnapped by the league of villains, you would think he’d understand that he’s weak. He’d rather pray on people weaker then him so he believes he’s strong.’’

‘’He has been meaner than usual’’ Uraraka added, before putting her hands up and waving them rapidly. ‘’Not that it’s my business’’’

Silence followed after those comments, causing the group on the couch to slowly turn around and meet the heated gaze of Bakugo. ‘’Ribbit, we hit a nerve’’ Tsuyu stated, tilting her head as she inspected the scene.

‘’Tch’’ Letting go of Deku’s shirt, he placed his hands in his sweatpants pockets and pushed passed the shaking leaf, making sure to bump his shoulder against Deku’s  body. ‘’Fuck off’’ He mumbled, walking down the hallway, probably back to his dorm room.

The silence continued long after Bakugo left, no one daring to speak. One brave soldier did open his mouth, but his words did nothing to ease the tension in the air. ‘’Not cool dude, that’s probably a sensitive topic at the moment and your making it worse.’’ His red hair seemed to match his face,  since said red head was doing his best to hold his own anger in.

‘’He has some problems with not being friendly, but he’s going through a lot.He’s not back to normal, if anything he’s picking fights to get his frustration out. Just think about it from his perspective. Bakugo is a male who doesn’t like to lose, to not seem weak or not in the loop. He probably felt helpless when he was kidnapped, and he might be cocky about it but no one can walk out that situation without any mental scars.I’m not saying his behavior is excused, but he’s going through something and as his classmates we should be there for him instead of tearing him down anymore. Or did I just assume that we’d all be there for each other?’’

Kirishima stood from the couch after finishing his rant, ‘’He does have an attitude, but picking at him like this won’t do anything. He’s going to be a great hero and he’s still just a teenager. He’ll learn to control his attitude, and I’ll be there every step of the way’’ Turning on his heels, he began his journey in the direction Bakugo ran off in.

Slowly, Kaminari rose from the couch ‘’Kirishima’s right, it’s obvious that his recent anger is being taken out on us, but Bakugo has never safely coped with anything. So we’re here to lead him down the right path for him to heal, because we're friends’’ Taking a deep breath, he followed after Kirishima.

‘’Come on Mina and Sero, we’ve gotta go comfort our friend’’

The two who had been standing in the kitchen, followed wordlessly after Denki, sparing a glance back at the people who sat on the couch.

—

Slamming his door closed, Bakugo stalked across his room, going straight towards an empty wall.He then proceeded too punch the wall with enough force to put a hole in it, pieces of the it crumbled onto the floor. ‘’Fucking assholes’’ he seethed, starting to pace the room.

One question flowed through his mind.

Was he weak? Was he.. was he chasing after a dream that wouldn’t come true?

 ‘’You hag, hit me again and I’ll kill you!’’ Bakugo shouted, his body shaking  as he aimed his anger towards his mother.

Without a beat passing, he was hit hard against the head, ‘’Oh hush, if you hadn’t been so damn weak, you never would have gotten caught and caused all that trouble’’ His mother yelled, not knowing the impact of her words

Stopping in front of his mirror, he gripped the sides of the dresser. ‘’All I did was cause trouble by getting myself caught, all I did was make even more people suffer.. my weakness..’’

Looking up into the mirror, Bakugo watched as a tear rolled down his cheek, making him clench the dresser even more. Now he was crying, showing his weakness even more. ‘’FUCK’’ He screamed, pulling his fist back, he slammed it against the mirror. He hated what he was seeing.

He’d never been so weak in his life. Crying? Pitying himself? How stupid of him. What had he become? Why wasn’t he holding it together?

Glancing back up at the mirror, he saw through the cracked pieces of the mirror.. All might. Not normal all might though, his small, weak and bloody form.

 Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to be said.. for someone to break the silence.

‘’Next… Next it’s your turn’’

Bakugo watched as many people cheered, but looking towards Deku, he noticed the tears. Glancing back at the screen, he stared at the bloody and small All might. 

‘It’s your fault.. you're the one who ended all might.. all because you were weak enough to get caught’’

Grabbing his head, he shook it violently. ‘’GET OUT OF MY HEAD’’ Backing up, he tripped over his feet, causing him to hit the ground ass first.

‘’I didn’t end all might, it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault’’ More tears streamed down his face, his body shaking with pure emotion. Closing his eyes he rocked back and forth trying to get the negative thoughts out of his head.

His head hung low, his gaze on the ground as he breathed in deeply. ‘’Why did I end up having to chase after the back of someone who was always behind me. Why did a small fry like you get strong and become acknowledged by All Might? Why was it I..’’

He stuttered over his sentence, before finally looking up to meet Deku’s gaze. ‘’Why was I the one who ended All Might?’’ His body shook, ‘’If I had been stronger, and if I hadn’t been kidnapped by villains then this would have never happened’’

‘’I don’t know what to do!’’ He yelled, his eyes wide and frantic as the scene of All Might pointing at the screen continued to play in his head.

‘’It’s my fault…My weakness…I’m weak.. I ended all might because of my weakness.. I’’ Bakugo clutched his chest in pain, a silent cry coming from his mouth.

Everything was happening at such a fast pace, that Bakugo could barely register what was happening. First the room started spinning, causing the male to shake and close his eyes. Then the pain hit him. There was something pressing against his throat, making it hard for him to even breathe, let alone say anything.

His mind was on a roll, and was buzzing with new negative thoughts.

‘It’s because of you all might had to retire’’

‘’It’s because your weak’’

‘’You’ll never be a good enough hero, no one will forgive you’’

‘’You’ll only become a villain with that attitude of yours, no one will like you’’

The thoughts continued, and as they did Bakugo panicked even more. He didn’t even know what was going on, all he knew was he couldn’t breath and everything was blurry.

‘’BAKUGO!’’

He had heard the yell of Kirishima through the buzzing in his ears, and even saw through blurred vision saw four people bend in front of him. When he blinked, he noticed that arms were now around him, hugging him tightly.

‘’Hey, it’s okay.. Bakugo I need you to breathe for me okay? Everything is okay’’

He couldn’t make out who was saying it, but he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing seemed to come out.

‘’You don’t have to say anything, just breathe for me’’

With that comment, he closed his mouth and his eyes. And focused on the arms hugging his body tightly, the protection he felt from them soothed a deep pain within him. And instead of fighting against it, warm tears continued to flow down his cheeks.

‘’It's ok to cry love, it’s ok to show your emotions’’ The soft voice of Mina filled his ears, and he felt his right hand be picked up and squeezed.

Next, his left hand was picked up by another warm hand. ‘’You went through a lot, it's ok to feel how you're feeling. Your feelings are valid’’ Kaminari whispered, heart breaking slightly.

Sero who was behind Bakugo, lightly rubbed his back. ‘’We’re here for you man’’

Kirishima who pulled away from the hug and sat directly in front of Bakugo, clenched his fist in anger. Not at Bakugo,  but at himself for letting him go through this alone. Grabbing Bakugou’s face in his hands, red eyes met red eyes.

‘’We love you Bakugo, and we're your friends. What Mineta and the others said out there was bullshit. Katsuki Bakugo, you are so damn strong. Way stronger than me, manlier than I could ever be. You were kidnapped for god's sake, that doesn’t make you weak. We’re only kids, you aren’t expected to take out 10 villains by yourself. You did good. You know why?’’

Kirishima himself had tears falling down his cheeks, ‘’It’s because you came back to us alive. We were so scared. All we want is for you to be better. So yell at us, hit us or even cry on our shoulders- we’ll be here for you. You aren’t weak in our eyes, you are strong. And you’ll be a strong hero, so don’t let one bad situation keep you from becoming the number one hero’’

Bakugo’s eyes went wide, the tears streaming down his face at an even faster rate. He had forgotten one big thing.. he forgot about the people he had in his corner.

He wasn’t alone..

He never was, as he had these idiots by his side.

‘’Don’t go getting all sappy on me Kiri, shit grosses me out’’

—

‘’Wait Bakugo!’’

Hearing his name called, the blonde turned around, his eyes meeting Iida’s, Uraraka, Deku and Tsuyu. ‘’What is it that you want losers’’ He said lowly, not really wanting to talk to them.

‘’We..’’ Uraraka started tugging at the end of her skirt. Stepping forward, Tsuyu began to speak. ‘’We’re sorry for what we said the other day. We weren’t taking in consideration your feelings, and made the situation worse. We wanted you to know that we're here for you’’ She stated, playing with her hands. ‘’Do you forgive us’’

Bakugo’s red eyes met all four of their gazes, before he shrugged his shoulders. ‘’Forgiven and forgotten’’ He said, turning on his heels and starting to walk away.

‘’And guys’’ He mumbled, turning his head over his shoulder, ‘’I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you’’ He said, before he continued to walk down the hall, leaving the four wide eyed and mouths hanging.

He didn’t blame them for what they said, and instead tried to reflect back on what happened. In order to heal, he needed to forgive and change.

After all,

He was going to become the #1 hero no matter what. No villain or classmate was going to change his dream.

He wasn’t weak.

He couldn't always be strong either. 

Instead, he was just human. A human with emotions, and a human who wasn’t always perfect. 

He was Bakugo Katsuki, a hero in training trying to become the best hero society could ask for. 

[annes-andromeda]

Ragnarök: Asgard’s Twilight

Chapter 5: And In With The New

N/: Fifth chapter with the introduction of Hela. And also more family issues cause what’s the Thor franchise without it?

Thor felt as if he was going to pass out. He stepped back, taking in what was just told to him. As his head looked around, he could see Loki’s expression: eyes wide, jaw dropped, chest heaving. Both were breathing heavily, leaning against each other for support, and Loki squeezing his brothers shoulder painfully.

Odin turned away from his sons, unable to look at them. Darcy and Jane remained silent, the shock getting to them as well.

“No...” Thor rasped “That...no...”

“I’m afraid it’s true” Odin stated

Thor lifted his head, and his face was serious. His nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. The way his fists tightened made Jane step in as he stomped towards his father. Jane’s attempts and her small “Thor, no” didn’t stop the man from confronting Odin.

“You...lied” Thor growled “All this time...making me believe that I...lying to me... to Loki... to Asgard...”

Jane’s hand was on his chest “Thor stop this, now. I know you’re mad, but please don’t start something”

Odin just ignored the whole ordeal, walking past Thor and grabbing the arm of the coach for support. He tugged at his chest, groaning in pain. Thor saw his father struggling, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not even Loki moved from his place. Such shock had rendered their bodies motionless, with only the two women moving an inch.

“We must leave” Odin said bluntly “It is not safe here. She will come soon”

Loki finally had the gal to move “Father, no, wait-“

“NOW!” The All-Father yelled, startling everyone in the room. Jane looked over to Darcy, who was left speechless over the whole ordeal “Darcy, stay here” she told her “I’ll be back in a bit. If anything happens, call me. Please”

“Don’t have to tell me twice” Darcy mumbled

Thor stood in Jane’s path and stopped her “Jane, no. I don’t want you to be apart of this”

His voice was broken and harsh, but Jane stood her ground “I’m going, Thor. My research on the Valkyrie and your culture hasn’t just been for nothing. There are dreams that I’ve been having, visions. I don’t know what they mean, but I know it’s nothing good. Someone’s trying to talk to me, and I need to know who or what it is”

“It’s too dangerous. You could get hurt”

“Whatever it is, I’ll be ready”

Thor sighed. He was too tired to argue. Besides, he and Loki would be beside her the whole time. No harm would come to her.

“Alright” Thor finally said. He motioned for Loki to come along, the man still starstruck over the news. The only thing Thor could do was put his hand on his brothers back to support him.

Loki’s eyes were fixed on the floor, as the two walked to Jane’s car with Odin. Once he sat in the back, Loki finally spoke “My mother...is Hela. I’ve been lied to... again”

Do something, you oaf, Thor’s inner voice said. He wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulder, but he still kept his distance. Thor felt it would be inappropriate to suddenly get so close to his brother. The gesture could’ve startled Loki. And in a way, it did, with how he fidgeted in place and only moved farther away.

“It’s-“ Thor began, but instead, he stopped himself and sighed “It’s going to be alright” Whatever he was going to say wouldn’t have mattered. As if it would stop what was already transpiring.

At the front, Thor could see Jane looking up at her mirror to see into the back. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she started up the car and made her way through the streets “Where are we going anyway?” Jane asked. Since no one was speaking at the moment, Odin had to respond “Anywhere away from here”

A sigh escaped Jane’s lips “I can take you to an open field out in the country, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be at least onlookers”

With that, the majority of the car ride was pure silence. Loki looked outside the window, not acknowledging how Thor’s arm continued to support him, even after he moved away. As for Thor, well, he never stopped staring darkly at his father. He just couldn’t. The anger that radiated from him was jarring to say the least.

“My boy,” Odin began “You must understand tha-“

“No” Thor interrupted him, his voice low “Don’t bother. Whatever you say, it’ll just be another lie, or another excuse. I truly believed that you’d be able to help, but instead, I find another truth that you refused to tell. Once again, I’m too expectant of you”

Odin pursed his lips tightly “Do not come to lecture me, boy. You don’t know what I’ve had to endure to keep the peace within the Nine Realms. So do not speak to me of taking responsibility, when you can’t even accept the birthright that you were destined to take”

“A birthright that was never even mine to begin with?” The words came with venom, eyes narrowed down and nose scrunched “A birthright that I had to live up to for nearly an entire millennium because you were never satisfied with what I had done?”

“You were selfish and cruel!” Odin challenged “Arrogant and boar-headed”

Thor scoffed “I wonder who I got that from?”

That alone resulted in both of them silencing. Loki hadn’t said a word, not even bothering with the very familiar argument between his brother and father. As if he could even call them that anymore. But he wasn’t going to resort to uncle and grandfather, when brother and father where so much easier and familiar.

The car suddenly stopped, as Jane pulled into a field of grass. There were no houses or even barns, just endless roads and greens. Jane got out the car before she turned back to check on the passengers “This should be good enough”

“Let’s go” Loki said quickly. Thor wanted to stop him, to talk to him. But his face  said it all. So instead, he just got out the opposite way, with neither of them even bothering with helping their father, which resulted in Jane lending her hand, despite Odin’s refusals.

They walked into the field, with Odin at the front. Jane looked behind her to see the two brothers side by side, unable to look at one another. She sighed as she turned back, but then, she heard one of them talk.

“You alright?” Loki asked Thor.

The eldest chuckled under his breath “Finally, he speaks” It was a small gesture that made his brother smile, but the mood was still solemn “He lied” Thor motioned to his father “He lied to me. He’s my father, and I’ll love him for all my life. But to know that everything that I’ve done to make him proud was for nothing...it pains me”

Loki listened to Thor intently. It was good that for once his brother chose to talk through his problems rather than just punching out of it “He’s lied to me as well.  Again. And I will love him all the same. But that doesn’t mean I have to like him. Now that Ragnarök is upon us, what more can he do?”

Thor was about to respond, but his gaze then moved to his father, who was tugging at his chest painfully. Even with his rage, Thor instinctively ran towards Odin as he dropped to his knees. Loki followed suit, with Jane bending down with her arms around Odin’s shoulders.

“She is coming”

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

Off across the stars, in a hole of darkness, the goddess Hela sat in chains of gold. They expanded across the endless pit, with no one but her to hear the clanking. But then, they grew lighter, dropping to the blankly floor until they broke. Lifting her hands, Hela massaged her wrists, looking at them blankly.

A smile formed upon her lips

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

Before any of them could do anything, a crack was heard and they all looked to see a black portal beginning to emerge. Odin quickly got to his feet despite the pain and looked to Thor. “Kneel” he said

Thor was confused “What?”

“Kneel!” Odin repeated with more vigor. Thor did as he was told and kneeled, but his attention was to the growing portal before him “Father-“ he tried to say, but Odin shushed him “Father wait, I’m not ready-“ “Silence!”

Loki put his arm in front of Jane and pushed her back. Thor’s breathing grew heavy and labored as his father placed his hand atop Thor’s head “In the name of Asgard and of our ancestors, you will act upon the good of the realm. You will set aside all selfish ambition, preserve the peace, and continue on our legacy, now until the end of your days. Arise now,... Thor All-Father”

It had happened. It had really happened. What he had been waiting for for so long was a reality. But at what cost?

Odin forced Thor up and huddled him closer “Seek out the fire...”

Processing the words his father told him, Thor stepped back, now standing next to Loki. They looked at each other, a silent conversation between them. Thor grabbed at his necklace, ripping it off and transforming it into Mjölnir, which he used to change into his armor. Loki had also changed into his Asgardian attire.

The portal opened wider, revealing the now escaped prisoner. There stood Hela in her broken chains, clothes torn and hair unkept. Her eyes were smoky and lifeless, a wicked smile across her lips “Odin...” She sneered

The two brothers were about to come closer, but Odin stopped him “Do not get involved, my sons” he said to them “Return home, warn the others. This is my battle”

With a calm stride, Hela walked towards Odin, a smirk painted upon her lips “Look at you” she said, her eyes examining the aged man “Such a mess you’ve turned into. From a golden king leading his men into the fits of battle, to a drunken fool needing care from a Midgardian woman. Pathetic”

Despite his orders, Thor stayed behind his father, his grip tightening on his hammer “Mind your tongue”

But Hela just chuckled and even rolled her eyes “Oh how I had almost forgotten you, brother. I must say, the tales I’ve heard of you do you no justice. A spitting image of father, if I do say so myself. Tell me, what lies has he fed you?”

“That’s enough” Loki voiced. Hela stopped dead in her tracks to look at the man. Shockingly enough, her face softened and her smile was... eerily genuine “Hello my boy” she said to Loki, a shiver going down his spine as she said that. The news still hadn’t settled for him “Tell me, did you miss your mother as much as she missed you?”

Even with genuine fear in his heart, Loki stood his ground, careful not to wear his emotions on his sleeve “Considering all the stories I’ve heard of you, I’d have to respectfully say no” That probably wasn’t the best choice of words, as Hela’s seemingly sweet demeanor instantly faded.

“Stop your jests, Hela” Odin stepped in “You’ve come for me, not them”

He walked closer towards her, while her eyes narrowed “We were the perfect match, you know?” Hela said in a sneer “I and Laufey. If not for you and your... righteousness... we could have shaped the Nine Realms into a glorious empire. But instead, you lock me away in an endless void, attack my beloved, and stole my precious son to your golden castle”

”You and Laufey would have brought nothing but death and destruction to the Nine Realms. I did my duty as King of Asgard. Your way was cold and brutal”

As he said that, Hela’s smile returned, but it was far from sweet. No, this one was chilling and unnerving, forcing Thor and Loki to brave themselves “And where did I learn that?”

Suddenly, a dark blade appeared in Hela’s hand, which she used to stab Odin in the chest. Thor and Loki could be heard shouting “No!” loudly. Odin dropped in his place immediately. A wave of energy emitted from him, leaving his body and inhabiting itself in Hela.

Needless to say, Thor was left speechless “No...that’s impossible” he rasped “The Odinforce it...But, father made me King”

Hela could only chuckle “Oh brother, such ignorance you possess” She lifted her hands over her head, creating a terrifying headdress that looked sharp enough to pierce skin “What is a King compared to raw...untamed...power” The last word came out in a snarl, and before anyone could blink, Hela pounced towards Thor.

Thor blocked the attack with his hammer, and he looked over to Loki “Get Jane out of here, now!”

But despite his attempts to move, Hela immediately noticed and stopped Loki with her swords, throwing them at him. He effectively blocked them while dragging Jane away. Thor kicked Hela in the stomach, pushing her backwards. But she retracted, and kicked him back as he dragged down into the dirt.

Thor turned Mjölnir his hand and launched it towards Hela. But what happened next left him practically dumbfounded. Hela, miraculously, had caught Mjölnir with her bare hand. It was shaking in place, but she didn’t seem to struggle one bit. The only muscle she moved was her cheeks, to which she used to form a smile on her face.

“That’s not possible” Thor said in disbelief. Loki and Jane has also stopped to see the ordeal

“Brother, you have no idea what is possible” Hela said. With that, she extended her arm and threw Mjölnir back to the ground with such a force, it sent shockwaves throughout the area as it plummeted. When Thor saw Mjölnir, it was nothing more than a pile of crumbled rock.

He turned towards Loki and Jane, and practically sprinted towards them. He held onto both of them and yelled to the sky “Skurge!”

The sound of the Bifrost could be heard, and its light carried the three away. Hela could only shake her head as she walked towards the passage, but not before looking down at Odin. His breathing was shortening and his body growing limp “Asgard...is not...a place”

Hell rolled her eyes at him “Do leave your folly for someone else, father” And with that, she manifested a sword and finished Odin off. A trail of blood left his mouth, and his pupils dilated. Hela walked without rush into the Bifrost.

What should’ve been a moment of safety turned into panic, when Thor saw Hela coming towards them. He looked to Loki, who took action and shot a bolt of magic towards Hela. But to her, it was but a fly on the wall. She swatted the bolt away and plows through Loki and Jane, sending them both out of the Bifrost.

“No!” Thor yelled. He tried throwing a punch at Hela, but she blocked it with ease. She was about to finish him off like she did Odin, however Thor saw the blade and kicked Hela. But, this resulted in him also being knocked out the Bifrost.

Now that the three of them were gone, Hela made her way to Asgard, with no obstacles standing between her.

Ragnarök had officially begun.

[pensurfing]

I Surrender.

By the time I actually post this, it’ll be near the end of the year and I’ll be near my burnout. Each year, usually I take an unannounced, but quiet, break. 

2020 feels different this year. Usually, I return in January; but this time I don’t think I can return. Too much happened in so little time and as a small creator, business, entrepreneur, small EVERYTHING I can’t ignore what lurks over my head. An ultimatum. 

I was in denial about it.

I thought maybe if I pushed making the decision back as far as I could, something would change. That as long as I worked hard, promo’d my sales and merch, did as many virtual cons as I could, something would change. Networking in newer groups, looking around for clients, and wanting to make new merchandise; name it. I did it. Work hard and reap the benefits later; while that is true there is also no shame in knowing when to quit as well. I was in denial about how long the pandemic in the States would last. I was in denial about needing help with my mental health. I was in denial about so many things in my surroundings. The biggest thing I was in denial about was my importance, impact, and ability to move forward with where I was with my art journey. The biggest reason why I was able to keep it up was due to the constant questions of “How’s it going? What are you up to? How are you?” No one (at least the way I see the world) actually answers this truthfully. So I just kept saying fine and for a while, I genuinely believed it. I lied to them. But to be fair, I lied to myself too.

I was angry about it.

I stayed here for so long.

SO. 

Long.

I was angry that I felt ignored; angry that I reached out and others had their hands tied as well; angry that I still managed to make sure others didn’t drown like I was drowning & didn’t think to help myself because I’m stupid; angry that the pandemic did last this long in the States; angry at me for not pulling some magic trick out a hat that I’m not sure existed; just angry. (tw: self-harm, vivid imagery) I was so angry I took it out on my debit card and self-sabotaged my good spending habits. I took it out on my legs and arms and broke a seven-year long streak of not hurting myself; I carved myself up entirely and punched the bricks of my house. I took it out on people. I don’t quite know how yet, but I feel like I did. Maybe I had a shorter temper than normal; I stopped reaching out and making sure I fully listened to their problems. I kept caring more about them than myself during this phase. And they just kept taking. And I became an empty cup, they moved on; I see that I’m just disposable. Which, isn’t wrong. All I could handle and still can handle is heavy convos with my therapist. (I don’t have her anymore, that’s right. I can’t afford her anymore.) All I could handle was trying to write it out, map it out, talk it out.

I was angry I didn’t see a point anymore. I felt like I didn’t deserve the tiny wins I did see because I didn’t go through some kind of threshold of pain and suffering to earn it. I was angry and the crumbs tossed my way in the name of “diversity” and “trying to hire black” because of guilt and white performance. I was angry being lead on with a tiny thread of hope because that thread was bigger than the nothing I’ve gotten this entire time. I was so angry and blaming myself for things that were completely out of my reach and capability. I was just really angry.

I tried begging my way out of it.

I looked for online classes of any sort to traject myself into a sort of hope. Buying hundreds of dollars in books, classes, anything in information I just didn’t have prior to the pandemic; and now because of the pandemic, the information will be obsolete as the world adjusts and readjusts to its changes and collapse in remaking itself. Making flash sales on my website if it meant seeing eight dollars by the end of the month. 

I didn’t stay here long because of my own twisted viewpoint of begging.

I was depressed about it. 

I stayed here the longest. It was already enough having the above marinate within me; add to the mixture of new relative drama, relatives passing away, and just not being in a healthy household... I grew tired. I stopped taking care of myself. Anyone with depression can tell you that dealing with that darkness is an uphill battle; usually, the first to go is my hygiene. But I just slowly stopped drawing altogether. I don’t draw when I’m not together. I’ve mentioned this many times over the years verbally and in written form on here. So I just kept taking breaks. I had a small string of commissions here and there, but that was the only illustrations I could create and that was its own battle. 

I tried mentioning it to people I was close to, but after a while hearing “it be like that sometimes” just isn’t helpful and isn’t worth explaining the story. So I just stopped talking. And not having my therapist made it harder. Especially because I have a lot of emotional dumpers who don’t understand boundaries. I don’t blame them, but after a while of nonconsensual emotional dumping I had to stop listening to another group of people because I just couldn’t handle any more weight; either they didn’t see I was drowning or didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

I couldn’t enjoy the walks recommended by many; not even my favorite restaurants; or shows; or books/mangas; food in general; people in general.

Listening to music at least helped the “I’m sinking” feeling. But it was quickly ruined with “well intent” friends with; “Maybe if you drew something you’d feel better”, “Sketch, paint, it’s therapeutic”, “dRaW”. You get the picture. It had a double sting because it acknowledged two things: These ‘friends’ don’t know much about me and what brings me happiness; This isn’t about my happiness, but more about their own selfish requests to see more work from me because they don’t know anything else besides “I’m an artist, I draw, therefore that is all I am and all that can ever make me happy”.

See it this way: You have a friend. Friend is a musician. Your friend is slowly going deaf and loses their hearing. You can at least do small, everyday sign language. But not enough to handle a full conversation. Until your deaf friend can afford that hearing aide, talking to them will be a bit harder. But instead of learning more sign, you complain about how the person can’t hear as well anymore, so they become “quieter” and you stop reaching out to them. Projecting the “why can’t you just listen”. “You know what will make you feel better? If you play your music again, make mixes. We miss that.” “You sing, why not sing to make yourself feel better.” If the person cannot hear, how can they continue to make sure their craft is correct? In tune? On tempo? If a person is not in the mood or mental capacity to draw, then how can they draw? If all you can see is that you only know about friend is that they are a musician, can they really be a friend? Or just acquaintance?

Projecting the thing you get joy from said ‘not ok’ person and just demanding they do more of the thing you enjoy isn’t helpful; but selfish. Because in that case it isn’t about the person, but you and your expectations and things that you get from said person. Once they stop giving you the thing, then it’s about ‘how-dare-you-not-give-me-my-thing’. And I stopped caring to go through this consistent loop and being talked over when trying to explain myself.

I sat in my bathtub more than I had in years; the irony is this is comforting. So for weeks, this is where my mind and mental capacity have been. Sitting in my tub, with a blanket, my phone, and my switch. I’ll stay there all day and go to bed; sometimes I’ll sleep in the tub and stay there all day. I listened to music. Just daydream. I write a bit more now for my own purposes. It’s been nice. But not enough to get me out of a funk.

I finally accept it.

I’m just a person to be there and happy for others and their things. I think I finally get that now. I’ve slowly removed myself from social media and with the expectation of performance. I’m not a performer; I’m supposed to just be the audience. While this isn’t an “I quit” because this is all my job experience the past few years now, this is just an “I surrender”. I’m used to the fact in my waking life I’m no person’s ‘favorite’ or ‘go to’; so I guess now I’m coming to terms with that with work and with drawing in general. I have company clients I’m wrapping up work for but after that, I’ll be taking down my commission information and artist alley gallery. etc. I’ll shut down the store; I’ll do one last sale and either give away/throw away my extra items.

I just have to start entirely from square one. Maybe negative one? I went on what feels like the world’s longest pity party to say I’m taking a break, and seeing how the world broke in 2020 there is a chance I won’t be able to come back. And I don’t want people jumping me say “how dare” “you don’t try hard enough” or “shut up and just wait until next year/try again next year”

I’m covering my bases. If things look up then I’ll just happily delete this later.

But I can’t just ignore the reality of it all. I’m not ok and I haven’t been. And I just want to stare at my ceiling guilt-free for a bit. (I did this last night and it is fucking gross looking, gotta clean it.) 

Stay safe, stay indoors, and stay clever.

[[TL;DR: After continuing to get beat down by the world the past two years, this year pushed me past a tipping point. I can’t keep being a lukewarm illustrator at best and I am slowly wondering if I even want to; I want the space to figure that out. And don’t want the same friends who tell me “draw this, color this” to hound me on that decision either: it has the same energy when a kid with asthma can’t breathe and you talk over them and say “just inhale and exhale”.]]

I hereby release me from the pressure to post consistently because honestly, it is the only time I hear from anyone anyway So this is me choosing silence for a bit.