#AND she does all that without once dropping the level of coding

[thrill-seeker-vn]

tahir

tahir ⇢ what part of writing do you want to get better at?

To be honest, all of it! Especially, I think, not getting embarrassed at my own writing. I feel like I just need to start learning how to take a more objective view, instead of trying to refine, refine, and refine.

Another thing I would like to work on is my atmosphere! I hope to add more atmospherism into my writing, as some of my favorite authors do (a great example being @anya-dev and @manonamora-if, especially their game DOLOS)!

[animazi]

icl i fundamentally disagree with the 'oh the acolyte shows anakin could have left the order anyway actually so he's so much worse bc he had an easy way out the whole time' discussions I've been seeing, because, like. literally why is this even a topic of discussion? ok ok hang with me here, I'm doing a list.

there is literally nothing in the prequels that suggests this is ever an option for him. up until shmi's death he is happy with the order - most of the problems he expresses come specifically from his relationship with obi-wan not the jedi generally, so why would he want to leave. once shmi dies, sure I getcha. his mum died and the jedi have a significant hand in that, and then he immediately breaks the code and does a massacre. however, and some may have missed this, its a fairly small plot point, the clone wars begin. anakin is not only never characterised as the sort of guy who would back out of this conflict (esp since he was involved from the get go), but also there is literally no time between anything - aotc and rots take place over such short time spans, comparatively; we see quite literally All the events happening at once.

so why doesn't he quit in tcw/rots? again. there is a war on and he is directly involved. tcw shows him as having made personal connections with the clones, and if there's one thing about anakin that everyone should be able to agree on its that he sure has attachments. also, again, rots takes place over such a short span of time and he is fairly clearly not in the best place in like fucking any of it

it probably wouldn't even fix anything bro. anakin is not the central turning point of the war, not really. that's palpatine. with or without anakin palpatine still gets the war, and realistically if anakin leaves the order then war breaks out, he is going to turn to palpatine as one of the only people he is close to, and ergo probably falls anyway. maybe he doesn't kill the younglings but like. shit still happens, jedi still get order 66'd

No Please Understand One Busy And Isolated Woman Is Not A Full Support Network Stop It. ok so. padme isolation is something that I fully see in the films. I will not yap on about that now, but take it as read for this point (although. even if she has a great and healthy support network that is not the issue! you are still saying that padme, who has a very busy job and her own life regardless, should functionally drop everything to support anakin). a key part of support networks is that they are a network aka not one woman. look me dead in the eyes and think anakin and obi-wan (already not having a great communicative relationship) are still talking after he leaves. go on. try. realistically speaking once the war starts anakin is in an, if anything, worse position - his fatherbrothermentor is out there fighting and he cannot help, his wife is barely home, the senate is always busy, and he is so so jobless (again. here is where palpatine would swoop in...bro cannot win fr fr). and Again, One (1) Padme Should Not Be Responsible For Dealing With The Entirely Of Anakin's Issues. stop it.

I don't actually have a full point 5 rn I just like it when the numbers do this :3

so bonus not-quite point: tcw and the acolyte both explicitly say the jedi don't prep you for the outside world if you leave the order, transferable skills etc etc BUT ALSO does your ex-jedi have any records of employment? any space gcses or a-levels or space degrees? a letter of recommendation? are they actually skilled enough in say mechanics/engineering to be able to survive in a world where droids exist and clearly have a huge presence in those sectors? any any money to help them get a flat or smth (not applicable in anakin's case but worth saying anyway)?

in short. I don't think it's a fair point to make when criticising anakin. it relies on a really weird reading of the prequels that misses a) the war, b) palpatine, c) the inherent misogyny of putting the wellbeing of anakin, guy who is hanging on the same thread as my sanity after exam week, entirely in the hands of one woman, d) the lack of regard for how support networks are, in fact, networks, e) how fast everything happens in the prequels

[poupoulebambou-blog]

My HCs of modern SB character's video games habits--->

Yukimura : loves fighting games such as Street Fighter, esp the 2D ones, a secret combo master (Sasuke can't beat him and it drives him insane so he pretends he doesn't like fighting games)

Masamune : Kojuro once found him so engrossed in a game of Civilisation IV he spent the night anihilating all the other countries in war + max difficulty

Motochika : he plays weeboo gacha games like Genshin Impact, f2p

Motonari : plays weeboo gacha games like Genshin Impact except he's a whale and a meta slave

Kojuro : stardew valley. Has the cutest nice l'y arranged farm. He had a common game with Masamune but Masamune accidently blew up his field once and is now banned

Kenshin : plays Soulsborne like games, casually dropped a no hit bloodborne speedrun once and nobody noticed

Shingen : has a 900 hours+ level 6484948494 of candy crush (started playing 20 years ago)

Tsuruhime : pokemon nerd, played like almost all of the games, owns a youtube channel where she does challenges and is one of those psychopatic gamers who have neat clean desks and aesthetic setup

Mitsuhide : has a youtube channel where he ranks the most horrific video games, also plays them on stream, his fans claims it's for science, he says openly he can only enjoy them

Hanbei : rpg maker girlie (yume nikki enthusiast) and guilty pleasure for yandere simulator

Hideyoshi : he plays the uno on the switch sometimes

Itsuki : disco elysium

Nohime : GTA, without any cheat code, just pure skill and dedication (also played L.A. Noire but when quickly bored bc she couldn't kill civilians)

Nobunaga : too cool and busy for video games(he feeds Ranmaru's tamagochi)

Ranmaru : has 47474648 different tamagochi, somehow always in his bag

Kasuga : visual novels but the normal kind like Saya no Uta and Drammatical Murder lol /s (also secretly adore yuri visual novel)

Sasuke : fighting games when he can play without Yukimura, and roguelike games like Hades or Binding of Isaac

Keiji : he sucks very bad at video games despite anything he'll say (he also love visual novel but the normal normal kind)

[msommers]

💭🎻💘😖😥 for riya, ellana and ghilly!

mwah i give you kees kees ty // details about ocs

💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)?

[ aka my favorite things, thanks. i could talk about these forever (especially enneagrams) but i forced myself to keep it to the point otherwise i’d ramble way too long ]

RIYA — she’s an ESTP + type 7 with a wing in 8 + several tarot cards associated with her but the tower (upright) and death (upright) are probably the most aligned with where she is currently in the campaign + was built to be aries-coded.

ELLANA — she's an ENFJ + a type 2 with a wing in 3 + strength tarot vibes + fellow aries girly.

GHILLY — INFJ + type 4 with a wing in 5 + i believe the hierophant was her tarot + she's a pisces babe 🥰

🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?

RIYA — tbh it does check out that Priscilla would want her children to learn an instrument or two (Loren would love it as well from an entertainment perspective), but i can't see Riya committing to anything long term. maybe she memorized an incredibly simple tune or two on the piano and that was deemed enough, her parents happy she at least tried to learn. 

ELLANA — maybe the drums? probably around intermediate level. it's not a skill she dedicated herself to, but one she picked up growing in her clan and participating in musical activities whenever they cropped up. 

GHILLY — i know she's a bard in dnd terms but she actually took some tools for her proficiencies instead of instruments to fit her backstory vibes better. so technically she's not super skilled in instruments, but i could still see her playing some fairly well! drums, flute, and lute come to mind without serious consideration what thedas elves are into. 

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

RIYA — her family! other loved ones are close behind, but she’ll prioritize her family over anybody at the drop of a hat tbh (i'm sure this won't come into play during a 15 year blight at all and she'll never have to struggle between the two)

ELLANA — leading her life with empathy and gentleness for both others and herself. 

GHILLY — at the moment i'd say preserving history, though this might change a bit with some more time spent with her. for now it's right tho

😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved?

RIYA — extrovert! if there's one thing about Riya, it's that she stay chattin’. she does let people in pretty easily, she's always been a very open lady. that ridiculous level of openness is balanced by her tendency to shut people out once she's had her feelings hurt (perceiving a slight, deciding she can't trust them anymore, getting insulted a little too deeply and not being able to ignore it in good humor, etc). 

ELLANA — i was going to say ambivert but i don't think it's true. she has troubles with voicing inner struggles to those outside of her inner circle, other than that she’s golden and quite sociable. can’t find the right way to word how she is at being open with others but it’s like,,,,she can be vulnerable with those she’s made connections with, but she’s not spilling her guts like Riya. she’s willing to be vulnerable with strangers and acquaintances to empathize with them, but she doesn’t make a habit of doing such a thing for casual chit-chat.

GHILLY — ambivert with more introverted tendencies, i’d say. Ghilly’s spent a majority of the last 12-13 years on her own (maybe had a handful of companions after her father, idk) and that's shaped a lot of her, but she still feels comfortable surrounded by others while staying with clans (the PeopleTM are supposed to stick together and thrive as a community after all). not very reserved, she'll let people in with little resistance if they match her vibes.

😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool?

RIYA — she used to be so good at keeping her cool that it was genuinely worrisome (or annoying, depending who you ask) to others that she could remain chill and flirty, but uh. everything in the campaign so far has been out to shatter her sense of self and for months it's been getting harder to locate that cool with the mounting stress and trauma lmao. we'll see where she settles on this scale later down the line, i guess. right now she's struggling :)

ELLANA — very much a girly who you can't tell is stressing until the final straw lands and she's snapping because the burden is too much to bear in silence. those close to her can tell when she's treading that line because her warm and sunshine-filled smile comes across strained, doesn't light up her eyes as it usually does. 

GHILLY — she doesn't get stressed out that often, so i imagine when the feeling does come on she isn't the best at handling it.

[sakuraandscales]

Ivory's Opinion on other Camelot residents

Going from worst to best...

Sir Lamorak for some reason despises Ivory and never lets her forget it. Maybe its because she can fly without wings that irritates him but the hawk just refuses to accept her. She hates him too, his voice and arrogance get on her nerves. She is often seen needing to be restrained by her mentor before she starts throwing something at Lamorak.... They cross blades often and Gawain or Arthur usually have to break it up as Ivory is ALWAYS on the losing end when only allowed her sword.

Lady/Queen Guinevere is NOT someone history has remembered well. Ivory does NOT trust the queen no matter how much the other knights, Arthur, or Guinevere herself try to change her opinion. It may seem like disrespect, but truly Ivory shows no ill will towards the queen either. Preferring simply to avoid her and keep quiet. She wishes she COULD give the Queen a chance....but she can't warn her nor even discuss what few events Ivory DOES know of with her. It would change too much and Lancelot would NEVER forgive her if she tried.....yet perhaps the young hedgehog can be convinced once again to be the herald of warning.

Sir Percival isn't someone that Ivory has encountered too often. While the feline was the one to vouch for the white hedgehog to be trained as a knight of Arthur's court...they don't talk all that often. Percival usually is off handling matters in the North part of the kingdom while Ivory and Sir Lancelot cover the south west. Ivory thinks she's a bit odd, but beyond that has no strong opinions of the knight beyond thinking it was nice to meet a female knight.

While she is aware that King Arthur in the stories wasn't the picture perfect king everyone imagines him as... he's never been anything but respectful and kind to Ivory. She gives him a high level of respect and pays attention to him on the rare occasion he decides to check on her. He's become a trusted ally and friend, she senses no ill intent from the king towards her. Since she's often alone, it brings her some comfort to know the king is trying to calm her ever present nerves.

Smithy is a grown fox now, his proper name is still unknown to her but...Ivory would be lying if she said she didn't sometimes drop by his shop just to watch him work and listen to him talk. He's a good man and always willing to lend an ear whenever she needs to vent about something. They're not particularly close but they are friends.

Sir Gawain is a good friend to Ivory, the one who usually keeps her company when Lancelot is too busy. He gives her lessons on the code of the knights while also listening to Ivory's own beliefs and stories. She trusts him, and listens to him well while training with the echidna. His strength allows him to measure just how strong Ivory's power is growing. Physically she would never stand a chance against him, but her "magic" allows her to catch him by surprise every sparring match.

Ivory would trust Sir Lancelot with her life, while usually he is blunt and very quick to use sharp words....he is loyal and kind in his actions. Her mentor was quick to soften when she broke down once during a training session, confessing that she literally cannot go home as that home no longer exists. The way she phrased the destruction of Iblis and its end were vague enough that Lancelot came to understand that her home was destroyed by a monster. He currently believes it to be a dragon but... regardless, it was enough to chip away at the armor around his heart. Sir Lancelot and Ivory have a rather close bond, even if neither one can be fully honest with the other about their secrets....

She has yet to meet: Sir Galahad, Merlina, the Lady of the Lake, and Morganna Le Fae

[winterpinetrees]

A Phone Call (The Gap Years part 30)

July 21st 2019

The Scapegoat Wilderness, MT

On the worst night of their lives, the party get an unexpected phone call.

We are two or three chapters from the end of "book" 1. I can't believe it. I made a thing!

.......................

There is an empty moment after Jezero staggers into the clearing and reveals that Sierra is gone. It reminds Marin of the moment after a killing blow, when fatal damage has been done but the body hasn’t quite realized.

Brian shakes his head and takes a step back. “What do you mean, she was gone? She-she got kidnapped?”

Clay rolls back on his heels and looks up at the sky. “Oh, we screwed up. Brian, the message. It said where Sierra would be. The guards must have gotten there first”. 

“No, that doesn’t make sense. She was armed, she had a gun and the loudspeaker, it only took a few minutes for you to get there. She couldn’t have been gone”.

Jezero gives Brian a look of what might be sympathy. It’s a bit like a smile, a bit like a grimace, and slightly lopsided like most of their expressions. One of his fangs shows. “The guards had magic. They must have charmed her and moved quickly. Soldiers were waiting for us inside”.  

Brian is breathing too quickly. The boy smiles madly and starts to laugh. The whole scene feels distant. Should Marin run to him? Should he cast a spell? The boy hunches over, nearly convulsing with laughter and despair. Clay catches him when his knees give out. Finally, Marin spurs himself to action. He kneels beside them while Zerada runs to her brother. Clay’s behavior is the perfect opposite. His voice is level and he doesn’t make any moves. He’s not calm though. Clay is like a rabbit frozen in the grass. He has the face of his mother on that night he only vaguely remembers, the first time he saw her with her shining helm and scepter when he looked up into its emerald glass eyes and didn’t recognize her at all. His innocent memory says she was wearing red armor, but he knows it had to have been blood. 

Somehow he finds himself holding Brian and petting his blond hair. Some of the strands at the back are stiff with blood. He thinks it helps. Somehow they manage to fall asleep that night, deciding that if they plan anything it won’t be tonight. He wonders if Jezero is using Sierra’s sleeping bag. It’s not like he’d care. The truth is that Marin doesn’t have trouble sleeping. High nobility are so fragile that they need their rest, and he’s learned how to fall asleep as a skill. There’s probably an old edit to his genome that makes it even easier, but he never memorized that sort of thing. Even without those gifts, Marin’s feeling pretty good. He does miss her of course, but Sierra really doesn’t know anything, and now he has his family. This whole scheme might actually work! Of course, the humans are distraught enough to kill if they knew.

So Marin covers his hair and sleeps but does not dream while Clay and Brian have the worst night of their lives. He doesn’t know that they once again discuss surrender because there’s no way to explain this to Sierra’s actually loving parents. They don’t have a proper plan, but Clay will do anything for his friends and neither of them can get the metaphorical blood off of their hands. Then, at around two in the morning, Clay’s satellite phone rings. 

It wakes up all three boys in the tent. Clay feels for his glasses and reads the number on the screen. 

“I don’t recognize the number, but it’s a San Francisco area code?” 

Brian crosses his arms. “I swear if we’re getting a spam call…”

“Sierra-” Clay nearly drops the phone. “She added some junk to block calls. This isn’t a normal scammer. I’ll decline it. If it’s important they’ll call again”. 

He does. He places the bulky phone onto the plastic floor of the tent. A minute later, it rings again from the same number. The dim glow of the screen lights up all of their faces.

“Wait, Marin, can we get charmed through a phone?” Clay asks. 

Marin says no, and so he picks up the phone and sets it to speakerphone. Immediately they hear a voice. It’s been distorted by a voice changer into something rough and warbling. The words are clear, but none of them can make out an accent or guess a gender.  

“Have I reached Clayton Shepard?” It asks.

“This is he. What do you want?” Clay rests his chin on one hand and doesn’t emote at all.

“You have another ally. I am a servant in the palace and I have access to internal documents. I know where they are keeping Sierra”. 

Setting the tent on fire could not have gotten a greater reaction. Marin is the only one with any sense. 

“How do I know you aren’t leading us into a trap?”

“I am a human. I do not approve of this conquest. Without Sierra, the Mercurali will certainly succeed. I have to act while I still can”. 

Marin isn’t so sure that Sierra is the key, but he stays quiet. 

“How do you have this information?” 

“I am a servant in the palace. I handle paperwork”. 

“On what level? For who? What’s your pedigree?”

Brian raises a hand in the dark. “Back up, is that a so-called normal thing to ask a human? You go around asking that like someone’s a racehorse?”

“I will not disclose that information as I cannot guarantee that this line is secure. I am wildblood, if that makes you more willing to trust me”. 

Marin scoffs. Having recent wild heritage and maybe even the inherited trauma of an abduction could explain why a palace worker would rebel. The dialogue is so methodical though. Is this even a person?

“I am trying to help you, your highness. Do you want it?”

Brian takes the phone himself. “YES. Yes we do want it. Where is Sierra!”

“Thank you, Brian. Sierra is being transported to the old laboratory in the Excalibur ruins, where you raided a month ago”. 

Well… it’s as their informant said. They raided that place a month ago. It’s too easy. Why not take her into the elven world, and then across an ocean or two? 

“That would make a rescue suspiciously possible,” Marin replies. 

“I know! That’s why we swayed Councillor Eburos to claim her for plague testing. It was not so hard. Questionable decisions happen often during times of crisis”.

The boys look at each other and the surprise on each other's shadowed faces. It seems their informant is more than just a paper-pusher. There’s bad news though. 

“Plague testing,” Clay says as though the words hurt to say. 

“She will not be infected with anything for five days at least. Councillor Eburos is very specific about intake protocol. Even then, she will not die”. 

“Is not dying is worse?”

“That would depend on who takes possession of her. She is already a legendary figure for traveling with Prince Marin, which may protect her. It also may not”. 

They all pause for a moment. Marin nearly says something absurd about Lazarus’s reforms to protect humans from all sorts of abuse, but he knows those are easy to dodge. There was a scandal when he was very young after a kidnapped wilder exposed the entire racket that brought her to the elven world. His mother gave her a title and a royal favor as a reward, but he forgets what it was used for. Rivka something or other, bringer of justice. She must have passed away from old age by now. 

Brian takes a shuddering breath. “How long do we have? Before they fake her death and we have to reveal everything, I mean”.

“According to the files, you have not spoken much with your families. That means a disappearance could go unknown for several days. However, the Mercurali would rather kill you all than risk you revealing the truth. They are already watching your families”.

“Okay. Fun. Can we keep using this number? How do we contact you?”

“I can access your phones in any way that is convenient, but you must remember that this is treason. I can speak during the second hour of the night, about 1:30 to 3am in your hours, and may see messages at other times, but you should not expect quick replies”.  

Zerada and Jezero, probably woken up by their loud reaction to learning that Sierra is almost in reach, poke their heads into the tent. They’ve been inseparable since Jezero returned. He can understand why. Marin doesn’t have any siblings (which is a bit odd for the high nobility) but he remembers his relief when Zera called. He’s realizing that they’ll probably split from the party now that his arm is mostly healed. The car only seats five, and it might be better for him to lay low. She smiles and leans closer to the phone that Brian is holding. “Good on you for having boundaries”.

“Your Grace, I assure you I would make myself more useful to this team if I could”.

Her brother crouches in the doorway. “I like her”. 

Brian looks over his shoulder in confusion. “Her? You can tell?”

“I can guess the original sound. The speaker is probably a young human female”.

“Lord Adust is right,” the voice says, suddenly afraid. “I assume you wish to claim that title. You are not the eldest surviving Adust, but you were the eldest acknowledged heir”. 

He pauses and looks at his sister. She rolls her eyes, elbows him in the side, and waves him on. “ I do”. 

Their little tent in the woods holds a prince, a noblewoman, a new lord and the son of a governor. There is also a son of a billionaire, but he’s no heir at all and all these titles are making him uncomfortable. “What should we call you? Unless you want to be our mysterious voice forever,” 

This causes the longest pause yet. The voice changer crackles without an input. “I have no qualms with staying a mysterious voice until I add a few more layers of security”. 

Brian’s eyes go wide. “A few more?”

“Treason, remember?”

He opens the phone to it’s list of contacts. “I’m sorry, I really can’t call you The Mysterious Voice. Does ‘The Spy’ work for you?” 

“That sounds so blunt. I’d prefer you think of me as an emissary. You can think up a silly nickname from that”. 

They look at each other and smile. Marin blurts out Emmy or Essie the Emissary, only for Brian to cut him off with definition of the word and how it doesn’t really fit the situation, no matter what she wants.  

The distorted voice from the phone doesn’t care. “I like that second one”. 

“An emissary is a diplomat! You’re an informant at best”.

“Brian Whitaker, my job is to be pedantic. Trust me”. 

He hands the phone to Clay. “Oh, we have to trust you, Essie. I’ll get a notebook. Tell us everything you know”’.

Marin doesn't believe for a second that she actually does tell them everything, but it might just be enough.  

…………….....

Elven days are 18 hours long, but each hour is 80 minutes. The high council, Voyagers, and many other elves do the biphasic sleep thing where they wake up for an hour or two in the middle of the night but go to sleep earlier. Esther fakes that she can’t manage that sleep schedule to get an hour of free time in the night. 

Esther’s codename was originally going to be Emmett, but I had second thoughts about the symbolism and it sounds too much like Emer anyway. Instead, she tricks the gang into giving her a nickname she’s already using with Amedi, but with plausible deniability this time!

Next time, we see what Sierra and Amedi are dealing with (eachother).

@lokiwaffles @reggie246

[shadowwolflady]

Shadow Intern Part 1

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

Hawks originally denied having Tokoyami as an intern. But the kid's quirk was familiar. He knows of another shadow weaver that may have some insight.

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

Hawks needed some fresh air; leaping out of the agency building, he took a flight to where he could think clearly. The sky always helped to clear his head. He wasn’t tethered down and could float freely among the clouds, without a care. This wasn’t the case for this flight. His blood pumped through his body faster, providing fresh oxygen to his brain to help him think. Now that his brain was cleared, he could focus on the problem posed before him. A file he had read on his computer about a possible intern from U.A. named Tokoyami Fumikage.

Hawks had the teen tag along for a weekend, which wasn’t too bad. But for an entire internship?

Originally, when approached about the offer, Hawks turned it away when handed the paperwork and file. He hated paperwork, always more paperwork. It was mainly the paperwork that told him ‘No’, on top of him not wanting to drag around an extra body, asking questions, not keeping up, and getting in the way. This had been going on for several days this week, with phone calls and more files being delivered to his agency. Another notification pinged in his inbox, he read at the heading ‘Intern’ and the sender, Nezu from UA.

“What does that damn rat want now?” He muttered as he opened the email. Several attachments automatically opened in separate windows on the monitor, one pulling up information on the potential intern and the other the form to fill out for the intern’s shadow days. “Shadow quirk, huh?” He muttered as he leaned his elbow onto the desk and placed his head into his hand. Shadow. A chuckle escaped his throat as he leaned back in his chair before standing up and closing the laptop in front of him. “Looks like I’m going to need some fresh air.” He muttered, adjusting his headphones back onto his ears and pulling down his glasses over his eyes.

Now, he was flying high above Kyushu, heading northeast towards Kyoto. A gloved hand went into a pocket on his jacket, finding the familiar form of his cellphone, he carefully grasped it and pulled it out. Not even bothering to look at the screen, his thumb put in the security code and went into his contacts once the phone opened up. Bringing the device up to eye level, his amber gaze filtered through the names and emojis on the screen as he scrolled through it, until it came upon a black dot along with the word “Shadow” in the name. Amber eyes narrowed at the name for two seconds before his thumb tapped the screen and name, selecting it and making a call. Once the screen switched to the outgoing call, he brought the cellular device up to his right ear, pushing the one earpiece of his headset back.

And it rang.

And another.

And another.

And…

Someone picked up, there was no noise on the other side, just silence. He flapped his wings and slowed his trajectory; this was so he could hear the recipient better over the wind rushing past him. One corner of his mouth lifted up in a lopsided smile, “Hey, little lady. How’s it hangin’? Haven’t heard from you in some time. Just figured I’d give you a heads up before I popped by.”

A scuff came across the earpiece, “Hawks, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A female voice came across the line. She didn’t sound at all impressed to be talking to the man.

“Awe, can’t I give my Commission’s buddy a call?” He asked in a teasing tone. Closing his eyes, a small sweat drop formed on his temple. “You know we haven’t seen each other since I moved out to Kyushu.” Though this was true, he wanted to sugar coat it a little to not make it sound like he was going to just ask for a favor.

“Not without wanting something, usually.” Her voice was monotone, almost as if she had stated from experience. She had figured him out that quickly. There was several seconds of silence. “What is it?” Her tone dropped and held an edge that told him she may have been slightly annoyed.

Hawks’ face turned serious as he scanned the city below him. “I have something to ask of you. I have an intern-“

“No.” A firm decline came across the line crystal clear, cutting him off.

“Now, now. Hear me out.” He sighed.

“I don’t work with kids.” The tone her voice held, made it clear that was the end of their conversation.

He sighed again. “Look, I wouldn’t be calling you if-“

“No.”

Another wing flap as silence engulfed their conversation. About 15 seconds went by before he spoke quietly into the receiver. “He has a shadow quirk.” There was no response on the other end for several seconds. The brief thought that she hung up on him graced his mind. A sigh was heard, disproving his theory. “Just think about it for a bit. I’ll be over Kyoto after sunset.”

“I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?” She sounded a little irritated.

A triumphant grin spread across his features. “I knew you’d see it my way. See ya.” Pulling the phone from his ear, he hung up on her. Fidgeting more with his phone, he went into his email and responded back to Nezu, ‘Intern. Accepting, on one condition…’ His thumb paused as he thought of how to word the email. Once he formulated a nicely worded email, he hit the send button before placing the phone back into his pocket.

Adjusting his headphones to the correct position, he propelled himself forward. The wind whipped through his messy blonde hair as he raced time.

A buzz and vibration came from his coat pocket. A hand fished his phone out again, eyes glanced at the screen. “That was fast.” He muttered as he opened his phone again. Nezu had responded to his email almost instantly.

ACCEPTED! Was in the header of the response. The corner of his mouth lifted up into a smirk as he read the contents of the message.

Just as he said, he crested the skyline of Kyoto just after the sun sank below the western horizon. He descended into Kyoto city. Flying low along the suburban outskirts of the city, his sharp eyes scanned the shadows for a figure. The dwindling light played tricks on his eyes as he scanned the shadows. He circled back, another sweep of the lower rooftops. Amber glinted as he spied a figure on a dark roof of a 3-story building.

“Found you,” Hawks chuckled to himself as he descended swiftly and quietly. He barely made any sound as he landed, his scarlet wings folding elegantly behind him. Stretching his arms over his head, “Hey there, sorry to keep you waiting.” The yellow-tinted glasses were pulled up to rest on top of his head before his hands were shoved back into his pockets.

“You? Keep me waiting? Never.” The female voice came from a black-cloaked figure standing a meter away from the corner of the building. Her voice held a sarcastic tone. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her forearms were covered in black leather arm guards with straps. The front of her hooded cloak split open to reveal her whole attire was black; black leather boots with straps, black leggings, black shirt, black gloves, and black belt. The hood cast a shadow over her face, however, the bottom half of her face was covered with a black mask. The only skin showing was on her face, above the mask that covered her mouth and nose. Pale flesh contrasted against the black fabric, brown eyes, and brown bangs were the only other colors that seemed different among her features. The fringe framed above her eyes and around the side of her face, barely brushing the mask by her cheeks.

Amber took in her dark figure before locking with her brown, “Good to see you, Rogue.”

“Likewise,” She said as Hawks gave her a little bow, bringing his arm across his torso in a flamboyant gesture. “Quit being a show-off.” Rogue’s tone was sharp. Hawks stood up straight and assessed her demeanor. “My answer is still ‘No’.”

Hawks let out a sigh, “Still as cold as ever.” ‘Still an Ice Queen,’ crossed his mind. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and bypassed the security screen. Opening the email app, he went to the attachments on the email Nezu sent to him, describing Tokoyami. “He has a shadow quirk.”

“I don’t work with kids.” She reiterated as he moved closer to her and held out his phone for her to take. She glanced at his phone. “No.” Was her answer when she looked back up at him. She wasn’t dumb, she knew what the internship was entitled to. She was not allowed to go on any record. She was supposed to be nonexistent. HPSC was going to reem her when they found out.

Looking off to the side, he lowered his voice a little. “Nezu will keep him under my name. You won’t even be mentioned in the reports.” After several seconds, he looked back to his commission senpai. “Did you think I forgot?” His black-gloved hand moved a little, gesturing for her to take the phone. “Don’t worry, you’ll stay in the shadows just as the HPSC wanted.”

Brown eyes analyzed him, flicking down to the device, her arms uncrossed as she reached one hand out to take the phone. A black leather-gloved hand grasped the phone, the leather missing off the fingertips. The calloused skin on her fingertips shifted the images and documents around on the screen as she read over them. Rogue didn’t go into details; she just took in a brief summary of the kid. “I don’t know if I can help him.”

“Oh come on, Shadow Queen, you have to have something up your sleeve.” Hawks gave his best charming grin. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Rogue shook her head, “I’m afraid you are overestimating me.” That grin doesn’t work on her, and he knows it.

“His weakness is the dark.” Hawks’ voice lowered several notes and the smile left his face. He thought carefully about how to say this, to try to not trigger both of their past horrors from being trained by the Commission. “I’m sure, with your training, you should be able to have some ideas.”

Brown eyes darkened at the mention of her training. Ah, yes. The Commission. Complete and utter hell for them. Her mind’s eye playing a nasty trick and rerunning scenes like a slideshow through her consciousness. She blinked hard, bringing herself back from the dark corners of her mind. “You’re going to try and pawn him off on me, aren’t you?” Rogue’s voice was cold and sharp.

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Hawks looked off to the right as he scratched the back of his neck.

Rogue let out a frustrated sigh. She knew him too well. “You’d rather lay about than inconvenience yourself with an intern.” She scrolled through the document one last time. Once she reached the end, she held the phone out at arm’s length for him to take.

Looking down at his phone, he extended his hand out and retrieved it. Making sure the phone was in sleep mode, he placed it back into his pocket.

She let out another sigh, “I won’t train him, but I can offer some advice.”

A huge grin spread across Hawks’ face, “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’.”

Rogue quickly pointed her index finger at him, just to get her point across. “I am NOT training him. I am just giving advice. AND you’re paying for my ticket. Got it?”

Hawks adjusted his glasses back over his eyes as his wings started to unfurl. “Gotcha, little lady.” His wings extended fully and gave one strong down stroke to get him hovering off the ground. He gave her a two-fingered salute, “See ya in two weeks, Shadow.” And with that, he turned and took off.

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

2 Weeks Later

Rogue and Hawks stayed in touch through texts mostly.

Feathers- Purchased your tickets! Sent them to your email. (Smiling chibi Hawks and star emojis.)

Shadow- I will check when I get home.

Got it.

Feathers- Let me know when you get on the train and get here. (Followed by a heart emoji.)

Shadow- Boarding now.

Here.

Feathers- Glad to see you made it, little lady! (Followed by a heart emoji.)

Sorry I couldn’t meet ya, but duty calls! (Peace sign chibi Hawks emoji.)

Shadow- Where are you?

Feathers- My agency.

Shadow- I will be around.

Feathers- K! (Peace sign chibi Hawks emoji.)

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

Rogue, in civilian clothes, scuffed as she reread the messages on her phone. She had left the Shinkansen platform and made her way out of the station, dragging a small suitcase behind her. Following the flow of traffic, she made her way to a small Tokyo Inn not even a 5-minute walk from the station.

Once she settled in, she made her way out of the room by her patio, melting into the shadows clothed in her hero outfit. Now, she stayed in a dark alleyway, avoiding the lights as they began to turn on for the night.

It took a while for her to find them, but the unmistakable red and yellow blur in the sky led her straight to them. Using her quirk, she hid among the shadows, teleporting among the alleys and buildings as she kept up with the duo.

In typical Hawks fashion, he sped away from his intern, leaving him way behind.

3 hours went by, Rogue didn’t need to be there, but within the first couple of minutes, she was able to pick out the main problem.

Rogue stood near the corner of another 3-story building as a red and yellow blur shot past her before arching back and landing on the ledge of the building next to her. It was Hawks.

“So, what do you think?” Hawks said.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, or else I wouldn’t have agreed to this. It’s not going to be easy to make him realize that he is the one keeping himself back.” Rogue had a finger curled around her chin as she put the pieces together.

Hawks put on his charm, acting bashful as he folded his arms behind his head and smiled at her, “Awe, thanks! I love you, too!”

Brown eyes darted to her right and glared at him as she scuffed in disgust. Rogue turned her attention back to the black-clad teen running towards them on the street below. Tokoyami stopped below them and looked up and down the street, panting heavily while Dark Shadow swiveled around trying to find Hawks as well.

“Well, what do you think?” Hawks looked down to the lamp-lit street.

“I think,” Rogue turned to look at Hawks, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’re right. He’s similar to you. However, he needs to have those training wheels ripped off.”

With her comment, Hawks leaped off the ledge and dove down to the street below, picking the kid up and flying off to one of the tallest towers with a radio antenna on top of it.

Rogue couldn’t help but watch with her mouth slack as they took off. Once she noticed where they were going, she broke line of sight. “Nope, nope. Not me. I’m not going up there. Nope.” She turned and stepped into a dark black fire that engulfed her, teleporting her to the street below.

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

Please note. Rogue has Hawks' contact under Feathers in her phone. While Hawks has her under Shadow.

Part 2

[fandom-trash-xl]

EPISODE 5: PANZY

Haven't been feeling well this week, so I'm glad I could top it off with some Dragon Ball

Time to get formally introduced to Panzy! Our scrappy little tech-savvy tomboy to round out Team A until Team B comes along. I definitely see them trying to fit her in as a Bulma parallel (or even a foil or rival) if the opening animation is any indication.

Training is an absolutely foreign concept to Panzy when Goku brings it up- does that mean certain characters are particularly gifted with their levels and there's nothing they can do to change? Or is it that they simply haven't tried? Apparently, Goku being able to fly is also a shock- I guess Glorio's a special case.

The Demon-Folk don't have ki, but instead have specialty spells- Panzy has levitation, albeit not at a good level. Perhaps something she's not willing to show off. If that's the case, Glorio being able to fly might be one of the spells in his arsenal.

And the quirks of demon aging- they apparently have an average of a thousand years of lifespan under their belts and Panzy is still child-sized at 82! Are they late bloomers or is there a different measurement of time in the demon realm? What does that mean for the Namekians? I'm still confused as to what's the maturity age for a Namekian when classed under Shenron's youth wish.

And speaking of Namekians- Baby Dende!!! Gomah and crew are raising him as their own and they're... oddly doting and wholesome with him. Guess it's to make sure he's on their side when he grows up. They're waiting patiently for him to grow up enough that he can create new Dragon Balls for them. You're going to have a lot of waiting to do... Unless my theory of different time measurements is correct. Maybe that's why they were funneling out lifespans- can they feed that into Dende to make him grow up faster?

We've made it to King Kadan's castle and- surprise- Panzy's apparently the princess! The King is said to be an unjust mafia man, but Panzy still things someone's out to give him a bad name. ...And the King promptly tries to marry off Panzy (once she's even older than 82) to Goku before he mentions he's already married.

We got our first little blink at Super Saiyan!

They're loaned a spare plane, so it's time to begin the Dragon Ball Hunt! Panzy's tagging along whether you like it or not!

Also HYBIS- Silly little guy. The iconic Toriyama-style gag character. Apparently he's going to fetch Team B to avoid the pin code snafu, but I sense some other wacky shenanigans will get in their way.

Shin is growing more suspicious of Glorio. Clearly he has something to hide and I'm all for seeing what it might be. Hoping they hide it if the Dragon Ball Legends appearance drops first.

Unfortunately, Panzy packed too much useless junk and the engine shorts out! Looks like it's time for a crash landing!

Putting this note at the end because I write these very stream of consciousness- the concept of collars. They mention them as a form of tracking or ID after Goku flees from the Gendarmerie. Took me a second glossthrough to notice the little red collars on everyone. Except, notably, Panzy (although we haven't seen past her scarf) and GLORIO (although we don't know if this is Demon World specific). Interesting...

Onto the preview: Shin seems disgusted at the thought of canned food products, Glorio and Goku have what I'm assuming is a spar (we can't have the betrayal this early), and we meet the Minotaur from the opening!

EPISODES WITHOUT KNOWING HANVI'S WHEREABOUTS: 5

...Yeah, they're totally baiting us. Maybe we'll get a hint when we tune back in with the B Team.

[bonefall]

The growing radicalization in ShadowClan

As directly as you can possibly state this without dropping a term the cats wouldn't know, Berryheart is canonically xenophobic.

It's very likely that she picked up this fear from her experiences with the Kin, and she's now using this belief to justify every reactionary response she has to the code changing, her discomfort with outsiders, and her general fear of uncertainty.

Berryheart and her clique have invented a political term to frame the idea of changing clans in a bad light. This is comparable to the way you might hear a conservative using the word "Illegal Alien" instead of migrant or expat

And, much like how the conservative applies this to migrants they don't like such as brown ones, Berryheart does not apply the derogatory label "clan-swapper" to people she does like, such as Dovewing.

Not yet, at least. We all know how these things tend to go.

So next, Sunbeam finds herself at what can be compared to a political rally. We saw in River that their toxic rhetoric has already made more level-headed people such as Tawnypelt drop out of the clique entirely, and now Sunbeam is the only voice of reason in what is otherwise an echo chamber.

She thinks that she can reach them by being diplomatic, the way that in an argument you can calm someone down a bit by showing them that you're listening. She does not realize that these cats have been radicalized. They jump on her concession like it's a weakness.

This is a frighteningly real scenario. Sunbeam has been so focused on the drama of her personal life that her friends and family have suddenly become people she doesn't recognize.

What was once some people getting together to gripe about how change is scary has been mobilized into an irrational, motivated hate group.

Sunbeam can't reason with them, she can't fight them, and at this point in the book, she also can't bring herself to abandon them.

[this-acuteneurosis]

I’m in AGONY over the Leia v Bail v Tarkin v Palpatine v Darsana hurricane of misfortune. So much panic! So much shielding! So much intense scrutiny!! I would die for some outsider POV of how successful (or not…) Leia is at hiding her origin and training from these keen observers. What for Bail’s aids think? The clones? Darsana??!

(<_<)

(>_>)

*drops words*

*flees*

~...~

Rampant speculation on one Leia Skywalker’s inexplicable discomfort around the Prince Consort abounds.

Everyone dismisses Keely’s juvenile, tasteless assertion that Skywalker is in love with the Prince and trying to seduce him. For one, anyone with eyes can see that is not true. For another, if Leia Skywalker ever got it into her head to seduce anyone, she would succeed. She knows how to plan and how to execute and how to work with minimal resources.

She is a nightmare, and Sheltay wishes she could kill Amidala so they would be able to hire Skywalker.

She doesn’t say this to the Prince, of course.

Instead, she answers his orders of, “Keep an eye on her. To learn about her, yes, but also as if she’s one of ours. Padmé said…well, I think her exact words were, “she’s fine until she isn’t,” and I’d rather not get to that point on this trip,” with a placid, “Of course,” and a firm determination to identify all of Skywalker’s tells for “fine” and “not fine.”

The frightening thing is, if Skywalker has tells, Sheltay can’t find them.

Skywalker has different masks. Ones for friends and allies, ones for…less certain persons. Like the Chancellor.

But they already know that. It’s all on file.

Leia Skywalker, resident of Naboo by their refugee laws, has alternately demonstrated skills and training in espionage and infiltration, diplomacy, combat and field command, basic to mid level mechanics, piloting, broad language fluency, and writing legislation. Her education is lightyears above the standards set by her official Naboo training and certification, her clothing is as carefully selected and styled as any of Padmé’s inner circle, and she’s made personal friends with multiple senators. Her untrained skills include Force sensitivity.

She is twenty five years old.

According to her Naboo records. That she had filled out. No other records exist.

They’d looked.

So here they are, with a trained…spy? Soldier? Diplomat? Trying to make the best of this frankly stupid, high handed, clumsy power play by the Chancellor, and Sheltay is supposed to be babysitting.

Only, she isn’t sure what exactly she was supposed to do.

If it were Binks, it would have been managing his slipping words and tripping feet. With Padmé it would have been keeping an eye out for her temper.

Leia is like quicksilver. Or air. Trying to hold her, to understand her, is a struggle moment to moment. Her eyes can be pinched with humor one second, and wide and inscrutable the next, with no apparent context for the shift.

Never mind the insanity of what she can do.

She never takes notes. It’s not a casual or clumsy decision either. She remembers everything that is said at every meeting without ever taking down a word. Even in shorthand. Her comments are insightful, to the point, and—on rare occasion—hilarious.

She says she cobbled her wardrobe together by borrowing Padmé’s things, but it takes skill to dress Naboo opulence so that it slips in seamlessly with Alderaanian fine austerity, and she does it. With the entire collection and without a dresser.

She’s never lost. Even when the Prince mistakenly slips into casual code phrases that the team is familiar with to capture multiple ideas or things that cannot be said, Skywalker is with them, not even a half step behind. Like she can read their minds.

Or speak their language.

She can switch postures between the efficient threat of a solider to the polished grace of a trained courtesan in seconds, and looks equally comfortable in both.

When she does slip, only once that Sheltay has seen, Skywalker is picture perfect high court etiquette but also so sweetly unguarded with the Prince that she makes him laugh. Without even trying.

And she’s proud of it. Not as a technical accomplishment, but with a simpler, purer joy that Sheltay almost—almost—can’t believe what she’s seeing.

It doesn’t change her opinion on Keely’s theory. It’s still stupid.

But Leia isn’t. She’s composed and careful and thorough when she helps them clear the room, not even hesitating to help. Not skimping on the job, acting with a meticulous efficiency that Sheltay had fought for during her own training, loading hours of extra practice in to make sure she didn’t slip.

She’d wanted to be at the royals’ right hands. Now she is, and it’s taking every fiber of her being to not kidnap this child and drag her back into the Queen’s service.

Which makes it all the more baffling and terrible when Leia finally breaks.

[dindjarins04]

CHAPTER SEVEN

I AM NO JEDI MASTERLIST

You ran towards the medbay, Anakin close behind, telling you the directions considering you've never been to this exact medical room. Once you got there, you straightened your robes before gently opening the doors. Only Captain Tyhoo was in the room so as soon as the doors opened, Padme looked over and a smile broke across her face."(Y/N)...Annie," She greeted as you went to her side, kneeling to be level with her.

"How are you feeling?" You asked, delicately taking her hand in yours.

"Oh...still weak but I'll survive," She says, yawning. Her face was still pale and her hand's...cold. You smiled warmly, rubbing the back of her hand with your thumb.

"I knew you would pull through," You said softly, but you can sense Anakin scoffing through the Force.

"I knew you would believe in me,"

"I'm so sorry for not protecting you the first time...If I just-"

"(Y/N)...I'm still alive because of you. Captain Tyhoo told me because of you Master Jedi Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon Jinn are finding my killer right this second," You fake a smile and nod.

"Sorry, but Lady Amidalla needs rest. She should not be this active so early on in her recovery," A white medical droid said.

"Apologises," You say, standing up and dropping her hand. "Rest to see another day, Amidalla," She scoffs in your direction.

"Call me Padme otherwise I'll call you (Y/N/N)," You roll your eyes before leaving.

‡★•~~~•★‡

You relax on a chair in front of a blazing fire, hair wet from your shower, your only clothing a silky white robe. You finally received a message from Qui-Gon.

"Obi-Wan and I have discovered the mystery planet; Kamino. We have arrived, I'll report back when we have more information to disclose,"

You smile, happy he is still alive and well. You place down your holopad and let out a sigh.

"Princess," Your peaceful environment is disturbed by Anakin as he comes strolling into your room.

"There has to be a spare room,"

"There probably is...but I got here first and insisted we shared a room," You raise a brow and quickly turn your head to face him.

"And they did not question it?"

"I said it's better for us to be closer to each other so we can be more connected to the Force...which is a bunch of crap but they didn't question the Jedi way," You nod and turn back around, your hand reaching for the necklace, thinking back to Lumarina's letter:If anything, love makes us stronger and more connected to the Force.

"Yeah...what a bunch of crap,"

"May I tell you something?" You quirk a brow and watch as he sits to a chair in front of you, beside the blazing fire.

"What is it?"

"I can only think of you," He begins and you sigh sadly.

"Anakin, don't..."

"From the moment I met you, all those years ago, a day hasn't gone by when I haven't thought of you. And now that I'm close to you again, I'm in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you makes my stomach turn over - my mouth goes dry. I feel dizzy. I can't breathe. I'm haunted by the kiss you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar. You are in my very soul, tormenting me. What can I do? I will do anything you ask..." You feel butterflies in your stomach as he confesses his feelings towards you. How can he be this open? Does the Jedi Council not affect him? You look up at him only to see him kneeling before you. How did he move so quickly without you noticing? And...he remembered. The kiss. You thought that meant nothing to him. He gently holds your hand between his two, your silence causing him to continue. "If you are suffering as much as I am, tell me," You're so close to telling him you too have feelings for him. But you remember. The Order. The code. The Oath. The Council.

"...I can't. We can't. It's just not possible," You say though it pains you so much. You build up those walls Anakin's words manage to knock down, refusing to look into his heartbroken eyes.

"Anything's possible. (Y/N), please listen..." You shake your head, trying to find the confidence to speak lies.

"No, you listen. We live in a real world. Come back to it. We're both studying to become Jedi Knights. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go..." You breathe to put your weakness under control. "Regardless of the way we feel about each other," You say barely above a whisper, still not looking at Anakin but finding comfort behind your eyelids, the darkness better than looking into his eyes where you know you would break.

"Then you do feel something! There's an extraordinary connection between us. You can't deny that!" He pleads and your eyes start to strain as you try and hold back the tears.

"Anakin, it doesn't make any difference. Jedi aren't allowed to marry. We swore an oath, remember? We'd be expelled from the Order. I will not let...I will not let you...destroy my future because of your teenage feelings," You say, but you don't understand why it's so hard for you to say those words.

"You are asking me to be rational. That is something I know I cannot do. I wish I could wish my feelings away..." He squeezes your hand. "But I can't,"

"I am not going to give in to this! I'm not going to throw my life away! I have more important things to do than fall in love!" You stand up, pulling yourself away from Anakin, letting your anger cover your sadness. There is silence before Anakin speaks from behind you.

"It wouldn't have to be that way...we could keep it a secret," He says, his voice trembling.

"Then we'd be living a lie - one we couldn't keep even if we wanted to. I'd be betraying Lumarina...be betraying Qui-Gon Jinn. Could you easily betray Obi-Wan? Lie to him? Lie to yourself?!" You turn to face him, eyes glassy and you notice the heartbreak in his eyes. "Could you, Anakin? Could you live like that?!" You say, voice louder. There is silence for a moment.

"...No, you're right. It would destroy us," You watch as he picks up his suitcase and walks to the door, his hand hovering over the button, almost as if he's waiting for you to say something; ask him to stay. You turn away, allowing tears to fall freely. You hear a shaky sigh come from him followed by the whoosh of a door opening and then sharply closing. A choked sob leaves you as you rub your arms, falling to the ground in hope of finding comfort. How could you deny all those feelings?! You were so tempted to run back to him, tell him the truth but the Council was holding you back. You were already on thin ice. You couldn't. It wouldn't have lasted long. He would've moved on from me. Stupid hormones. You think bitterly before crawling into your bed and trying to fall asleep.

‡★•~~~•★‡

It was a few hours and sleep was not being your best friend. If anything, it was far away from you. You decided to meditate on the balcony. You sit, legs crossed, hands resting on your knees as you reach through the Force. Rocks and sand around you begin to rise as you meditate.

Thoughts of the old times, with your old master, come back. Moments when you two joked and played around.

Qui-Gon also came to your mind. You remember the times you would break down in tears after the Council degraded you and he would hug you tightly, reassuring you he didn't believe the Council.

When he helped you through your studies, how he would stay up late with you in the library.

But suddenly, the good memories were plagued by darkness. You furrowed your brows at the sudden change in your meditation but continued. You heard lightsabers igniting but saw nothing.

You hear screams, lightsaber upon lightsaber, deep, modulated breathing, metal feet approaching you. Then the voices. First, it was Lumarina's.

"Trust in the Force," Then...Obi-Wan.

"I loved you!" Then...Qui-Gon Jinn.

"You...will bring balance to the Force..." Followed by more screams.

"No..." You mutter and you turn to see a double-bladed red lightsaber behind you. You stare in horror, metal feet coming to view. you quickly stand up. You're no longer on the balcony but in a black abyss.

"I'm sorry Master, but I'm not coming back,"

"I love you, more than anything," You hear Anakin's voice, but it sounds more mature.

"Anakin Skywalker was weak...I destroyed him,"

"No...No," You grab your head as you watch the feet come closer. The red saber then lights up his face. It's him.

"The apprentice lives," It's Darth Maul. "I will always return,"

"NO!" You scream before falling backwards. You groan and you open your eyes to see you back on your balcony. However, you're not laying on a cold hard floor, but in someone's arms. You turn to see Anakin holding you. "Anakin~," You say breathlessly before falling faint again.

‡★•~~~•★‡

You awoke to the sound of birds whistling. You rub your eyes and sit up. You see Anakin on the balcony, hands folded behind his back.

"Anakin?" He turns at the sound of your voice as you get out of the bed.

"You're awake," He says but doesn't walk towards you.

"Um...you came back," You said, keeping your distance. He nods and leans against the railing.

"I...I heard you shouting...crying...I thought you were in pain so I came to see...and you were on the balcony...there was this dark mist surrounding your Force signature. And then rocks and sand were floating by you. I managed to catch you before you hit the floor," You nod and lower your gaze to the ground. "What happened?"

"I was meditating...there were the happy times when all of the sudden it changed...I heard voices from the past and the future...a possible future. And...somewhere...he's alive...Maul is alive,"

"The one who killed your master? Impossible...Obi-Wan killed him," You nod again. But the image was so clear. His face, his lightsaber, his feet...his eyes. You suddenly feel arms wrap around you. "It's okay, (Y/N)...I'm right here, I'll never leave your side...no matter what...I'll be here forever," You hug him back, finding comfort within his hold.

But forever always ends. That's what you've always known.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VIII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~13.2k

Warnings: this one fucking hurts, pining, stupid decisions, miscommunications, explicit sexual content (it’s time for something we’ve been waiting for), yet another party, angst A/N: Read this, but before you murder me remember there’s one more after this. Also, this isn’t the big thing you’ve been waiting for, but I know it’s something a lot of people have wanted to see. Enjoy this ouchie. 

Mike doesn’t feel human when he wakes up. He’s nearly positive he no longer is—body taken over by some creature of the bog with toxic breath. Jesus, what the fuck happened last night?

 Blinking hurts. Shifting his leg hurts. His chest is fucking killing him, feels like he bruised his god damn sternum, and when he moves to sit up in a bed that is not his, overwhelming nausea has Mike groaning and covering his mouth with one hand. 

 “He has risen,” a vaguely familiar baritone voice rings through the air, loud enough to make Mike wave his other hand in an attempt to mute it. Erwin chuckles, paying him no attention apparently as he speaks again, “Good timing, too. I just came to drop this off.”

 Mike tries to focus his bleary eyes on the nightstand where his friend sets down a bottle of water, a bigger bottle of Gatorade, and several liquid gel pills. 

 “Chill here for as long as you need. I’m just watching the pledges clean downstairs. Want me to bring the trash can over?” Erwin’s concern can’t entirely hide the amusement in his voice. It’s irritating, but also… Mike needs that trash can.

 “Yeah,” he croaks through his palm. “Thanks.”

 Erwin nods and grabs the little plastic bin, setting it down next to the bed. Mike considers just picking it up and sitting with it in his lap, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stay upright for long enough.

 “I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, you’ll just have to yell because your phone is definitely sitting in a bag of rice in the kitchen right now.”

 “What?” Mike frowns. How even…

 “It got wet,” Erwin states, like that clarifies anything. “Probably in the shower.”

 “Why was I—”

 “We can talk about it when you’re less…” Erwin gestures to Mike’s face with one finger and grimaces as he finishes, “Green. You didn’t do anything too terrible, though, so you can rest easy.”

 He leaves, and Mike chokes down the pills and a few gulps of water before gently laying back down. He has to retrace metaphorical footsteps to get to the last thing he remembers from the night before, and it’s body shots off some blonde clone. His order of events goes: hanging out with Rhi, talking with you and Erwin, Zeke showing up, catching Eren mid-roofie attempt and throwing him out, getting mad at Nile, and then just a lot of drinking. Too much. Of different kinds. That had been dumb. 

 He thinks he spent a little while in the bathroom. Erwin was there. And, Nile came and went. He thinks he may have heard your voice a few times but can’t be sure, and honestly, trying to recall anything from the period of time his brain was literally incapable of processing new memories is a pretty big waste of time.

 Mike spends most of the day in Erwin’s room. He drifts in and out of restless sleep, waking up to drink his water and Gatorade. At some point, one of the kids, Jean, knocks on the door and drops a bowl of soup off, mumbles, “Erwin told me to bring this up here.” Mike hasn’t spent a ton of time around the current pledge class, but Erwin must like Jean if he trusted the kid enough to give him his room code. 

 The soup settles his stomach enough to move around a little more. His headache ebbs into a dull throb, and the sharp ache in his chest fades into that of a bruise. By around five o'clock, Mike is finally able to amble downstairs, give everyone a tired wave, mumble his thanks to Erwin, then drive himself to his apartment. 

 He's still trying to piece together what happened the night before, but he just ends up more confused than before, so he decides to put it behind him and move on. Everyone deserves a wild night every once in a while. 

 *

 Thanksgiving nears. Mike has already made plans to go home to his parents which means he has to turn down the Pike house Friendsgiving offer that Erwin extends to him. 

 He tells Mike that Nile and Hitch will be there, but Marie might show her face, "So, that will be interesting." 

 Some of the brothers who can't make it home will attend. Erwin is bringing Maddie who Mike hasn't heard about in several months, but he's pretty sure that's just to throw him off the scent of whatever Erwin has going on with you. You, who will also be in attendance because apparently your mom opted to go on a girls trip instead of face the family. Mike can't blame her. 

 He thinks maybe he should reach out to you, to ask about the night he blacked out because he has a feeling you can give him some details that others can't, but Erwin assures Mike that you were only in the bathroom with him for a short time. "Just long enough to see you rip your shirt which she seemed a little too happy about."

 Mike doesn't know what he'd say to you anyway. Even after learning that Zeke had blocked his number in your phone. He's still mad that you let the fucker get close enough to do that in the first place, that you had chosen him. It's a wound that just won't heal. Any time he sees you or hears your name, all Mike can think about is why he wasn't good enough. 

 So, he keeps distancing himself. It seems like the most appropriate thing he can do until he decides he'll be able to have a conversation with you without blowing up. 

 Mike's parents are happy to see him when he walks in the door. Scout jumps on him until he picks her up and holds her like the puppy she is not. He isn't surprised when his mom asks about you, if you and Mike sorted things out. The question hurts even if he was expecting it, seems like yesterday you were walking around the house like you'd always been a part of it. 

 Lying is the easiest path to take. He tells his parents that you had to go home for the break, that you couldn't split up your time between two families in just four days, and, of course, they buy it. 

 Thanksgiving day is nice enough. The family travels a couple cities over to Mike's aunt and uncle's house. It's much bigger, has room for the relatives that are able to make it. There are traditional Greek dishes as well as the usual turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, etc. A few pictures here and there, entertaining his younger cousins—it's a good time. 

 Until Mike checks his various social media apps and sees the pictures from Friendsgiving.

 They're tame, nothing wildly inappropriate, but they still make Mike scowl as he thumbs through them. 

 One of Nile cutting into the turkey, of Reiner ripping into a drumstick, Connie hoarding all of the cranberry sauce while his best friend, a girl named Sasha, does the same with the deviled eggs. Gelgar looks to be crying with a dot of potato salad in his hair. Marie is indeed there, glaring in the background of a photo where Nile and Hitch are tapping beer bottles together with silly smiles. She looks much happier in the shot of her and Maddie sitting together, laughing over glasses of wine. 

 Mike's heart stutters when he gets to a photo of you aiming to toss food into Reiner's mouth, then of you and Erwin both holding beers in one hand and pointing matching finger guns with the other.

 Thick as fucking thieves. Two peas in a god damn pod. Mike wants to throw his phone out the window of his dad's suburban. 

 There are several more pictures that Mike doesn't bother to look at. He'd like to have a good time with his parents for the remainder of his break, and there's no way he'll be able to do that if he's pissed off. 

 So, he distracts himself. He goes on walks with Scout and plays with her for hours, watches old movies with his mom and dad, calls a couple relatives from overseas to catch up. But, those pictures are seared into the back of his mind, surfacing whenever he has down time. 

 He doesn't have any desire to go back to campus, not if he's gonna see you and Erwin together. His friend can deny it all he wants, but Mike knows something is going on between the two of you, and as he drives back to the college, he finally has the realization that… you might just be a shitty person. 

 Yeah, you have issues, but so does everyone. It doesn't excuse you from—from fucking toying with people, from using them as puppets whenever you need to. Mike wishes he'd never even tempted you to sleep with him that last time. It had felt too good and too right, but apparently you don't feel the same way. You went right back to Zeke once you'd gotten what you wanted, and Mike should have seen that coming. He should have been prepared for it. On some level he knew that's what you'd do, but that never stopped him from hoping that maybe… maybe it would have opened your eyes. 

 Plus, it ruined the entire Jurassic Park franchise for him, so that sucks. 

 He picks up where he left off both in his classes and in his social life. He stays away from PKA as much as he can but still attends meetings when necessary. The lacrosse season is coming to an end, so he tries to make the most of it. Rhi ends up in his bed again, both of them taking what they can from each other. Erwin jokes that he's gonna fall in love with her— "You know what happened the last time you tried to keep it casual," —and Mike nearly decks him in the face. 

 You don't try to talk to him, no texts or calls. When you see each other on campus, you don't spare him more than a sad glance as you pass him. 

 Mike is fine with it. He isn't about to be the one to make the move to talk things out. Honestly, he doesn't know if there's anything to talk out. You dated Zeke, and now you're dating Mike's best friend and trying to hide it. 

 He's mad at both of you, but it's easier to channel that blistering anger toward you rather than Erwin who he has to see on a regular basis. Besides, Erwin has always gotten around. Mike isn't especially surprised that he'd try his hand with you especially after what happened at the ranch house, but fuck, couldn't he have waited until after he and Mike graduated or something? Just disrespectful. That's what it is. 

 *

 "Bro, I do not wanna go to another party," Mike's voice rises in frustration. "Consider me partied the fuck out, okay? I'm tired of 'em."

 "It's not even a party," Erwin tells him. "It's more like a gathering of… like-minded individuals."

 Mike snorts. "Yeah, okay." 

 "I'm not kidding! Like, twelve people at the most. All we're doing is hanging out at the ranch house."

 "Will there be drinking?" Mike questions, moving his head back and forth in a mocking way. 

 Erwin shrugs his shoulders where he sits. "Of course there'll be drinking, but you don't have to partake. I just want you there to chill. Come on, man."

 "Who's going?"

 The blond lists off some of the Friendsgiving group, but he doesn't get to finish because once Erwin utters your name, Mike cuts him off with a loud, "Nope!"

 "Duuuude," Erwin sounds like the frustrated one now, not that he has any right to be. 

 "Don't dude me! Why the fuck would you think I'd have any interest in watching you two giggle and cuddle n' shit."

 "Mike," Erwin groans, rubbing his forehead. "How many times do I have to tell you…"

 "You don't have to tell me anything. I already know what I need to know."

 Standing up, Erwin seems like he's at his wit's end when he barks, "You don't know shit! You're seeing what you want to see without asking either of us! She misses you, dude. I'm just the next best thing."

 "Nice to know your dick game isn't better than mine at least," Mike grumbles. 

 "Jesus Christ, you know what? I don't care. Come to the house, or don't come. Whatever."

 Erwin takes long strides to get to Mike's front door, obviously ready to get away from him. He slams it hard enough to make Mike flinch. 

 He doesn't care how annoyed Erwin is with him. It's partially his fault that Mike doesn't want to go to the gathering, and he should know that. He'll come to understand eventually, and that thought makes it easier for Mike to make his decision. He's not gonna go. He refuses. There's no way. He won't—

 Mike ends up going. 

 After powering through finals and visiting his parents for another few days. He has a mental debate the entire way to the ranch house, swearing to himself, going over the pros and cons. He comes close to turning around more than a few times, but after a couple hours, Mike finally pulls into the large circle drive right behind Levi's black Prius. 

 Erwin is extremely surprised to see him but keeps his mouth closed about it, just tells him, "Room upstairs on the far right is still open."

 Mike drops his stuff off then greets the others—Nile, Gelgar, Reiner, Jean, Marco, and Levi. 

 "Wasn't expecting to see you here," the last states, focused on burning the loose string of his hoodie with a lighter. "Erwin told me you guys had some bullshit argument."

 "Happens sometimes," Mike dismisses as he takes a place on the couch. 

 "I guess. This is why I don't have a lot of friends. Can't put up with stupid shit like that."

 "Oh, is that why?" Mike rolls his eyes. 

 Levi snickers, shaking his head. "Aw man, he was right. You are in a bad mood, aren't ya'? 

 "Man, fuck off."

 They sit in silence for a few minutes. Mike is bouncing his foot where it's thrown over his opposite leg—anxious or angry or some other negative emotion he needs to get rid of. 

 "Party's gonna be a fucking sausage fest," Levi mumbles. 

 Nile passes behind the couch just in time to hear and informs the smaller man, "Not entirely. Maddie, Marie, Hitch, and Mike's little heartbreaker should be getting here soon."

 Mike groans internally but speaks out loud, "This was a mistake. I can't fucking be here if you guys keep talking about her."

 "If you can't handle us talking about her, how're you gonna handle seeing her?" Levi scoffs. 

 Erwin has stocked the bar with craft beer and various wines. Mike considers going ahead and breaking a few bottles open, but he resists—doesn't want a repeat of the forgotten party. 

 They set up a horror video game upstairs and an animated adult series downstairs. Erwin wasn't lying about it being a more relaxed environment than usual, but that doesn't stop Mike's neck from prickling when you arrive with Hitch at around five. Maddie and Marie show up a couple hours later, and Mike can feel the tension that surrounds all four of you. Amusing as it can be, he really doesn't have the patience for cattiness tonight. 

 High quality Chinese food is provided courtesy of Erwin's father's credit card as well as dipped strawberries that Nile keeps feeding Hitch. It gets Marie very heated very quickly, and Maddie has to talk her down in another room. 

 It makes Mike wonder if you would ever let him feed you like that or if you would snort and bat his hand away. What the fuck do you think you're doing, Zacharias? That's couples shit.

 It makes him sigh and slouch on the couch, thankful you're upstairs watching Connie play the most recent Resident Evil. 

 He knows you're not a fan of horror, so the only reason you'd be up there is to avoid Mike. 

 Good. 

 Erwin is the first to open the wine. Maddie won't leave his side, stuck to him like a magnet. The fact that he has to get a drink only furthers Mike's theory that Erwin didn't invite her as a real date. 

 He spends a fair amount of time shooting the shit with Levi. It isn't necessarily the most enjoyable conversation considering Levi's constant smartass comments, but it's better than trudging up to the second floor. 

 Nile fucks Hitch in the bathroom for everyone to hear. Marie starts crying and runs to the porch. This gathering is about as insufferable as Mike assumed it would be. 

 Eventually, you journey downstairs. It was inevitable. You spare Mike a glance and sigh as you make your way to the kitchen to grab a beer—you don't even like beer, so why—

 "Hey, can you grab me one too?" Erwin calls out, and when you hand it to him, he gives you that hundred watt grin Mike knows brings girls to their knees, but while Maddie stares at him with that dreamy look in her eyes, you just snort and gently shove him. 

 "Don't fuckin' look at me like that, Smith."

 Ah, the last name card, the one that you pull to act like you're all aloof when really you're just reeling them in. 

 "Like what?" Erwin asks before taking a sip, still smiling around the rim of the bottle. 

 "You know what."

 Mike chooses then to go upstairs, knowing he steals your attention as he stomps like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

 Why did he even come here? Was it just to give himself more reason to brood? Solidify that he's valid in being angry? 

 Connie is trembling as his character makes his way through a decrepit house. Jean laughs every few minutes, but he also startles at every jump scare, leaving Reiner to call both of them pussies as he bites into strawberry after strawberry, throwing the stems into a little bowl in his lap. Mike supposes the first years are entertaining enough. He can see why Erwin invited them here. 

 It's close to nine o'clock. Mike is bored out of his mind, can't help venturing back downstairs mostly because he's tired of watching the pledges swear and shout at the video game (including Reiner now) but also out of morbid curiosity. 

 Marie has returned and is sitting in the kitchen with Maddie, both of whom are glaring into the den where you, Erwin, Nile, and Hitch share the couch. Hitch may as well be in Nile's lap, but you're sitting on the back ridge, feet planted on the cushions as you hunch forward and nurse a beer. Your knee is against Erwin's arm, but that's the only point of contact. Still, whenever something funny is said on the TV show, he looks up at you, as if to check that you're laughing, taking it in. Mike can't blame him. You have one of the cutest laughs he's ever heard. 

 Levi and Gelgar are both on plush loveseats on opposite sides of the room, either scrolling or typing on their phones. 

 Again, Mike has to think about how laid back the party is—even if he's a mess. It's so different from the raucous scenes he's used to—blasting music and keg stands and dancing on tables. This would be infinitely preferable if it weren't for the open pit in Mike's stomach. 

 If he could just chill the fuck out, pay absolutely no attention to you and Erwin and the way his fingers slowly wrap around your ankle when you won't stop bouncing your leg. 

 Not together his ass. 

 When Mike gets a text from Rhi, he basically sighs in relief—the perfect opportunity to forget about you for a while. 

 He doesn't bother asking to make sure it's okay with the host, just messages back, what are you doing rn? and immediately asks her to come over, knowing she only lives about an hour away. 

 Naturally, she agrees. One of the only great things about Rhi is that she’s always, always down to fuck. Mike doesn’t know if it has something to do with his size or if she just has a high sex drive. Either way, he’s glad for it.. 

 He meets her on the porch after waiting for what feels like an eternity, just having to sit and watch you kick Erwin’s thigh whenever he says something dumb. He always retaliates by pulling on your little toes which makes you squeak and almost fall off the couch. It’s fucking maddening, makes Mike want to pull his hair out or throw something, just trash the fucking house because Erwin deserves it. 

 But, then Rhi arrives in all her Ugg boot glory, wearing the old, green hoodie that you had given back to Mike a few months ago.

 They walk in, Mike’s hands on her shoulders like he’s pushing her over the threshold. You look up, take the other girl in, then very quickly step off the couch and prance into the kitchen without saying a word.

 Erwin, however, makes up for your silence, wide eyed as he stares at Rhi and utters, “Fuck.”

* You didn’t want to be like Maddie and Marie, jogging to a private place to cry over a fucking boy, but god, you are definitely locked in the bathroom, hunched over the sink sobbing as quietly as you can. Your nose is running, and your eyes are burning, leaking god damn rivers

 It wouldn’t have been so bad if she was just in her normal winter sorority get-up. But the hoodie? The one you wore for months on end, the one Mike would sniff whenever he would lay his head on your stomach, mumbling something about, “Smells good. Might have to take it back.” He didn’t have to say it out loud, but you knew he always felt a little jolt of pride when you’d wear it, like you were advertising how close you were to him.

 So, to see another girl wearing it—to see Rhi wearing it—it fucking hurts. Your throat is sore from holding back those loud, pained cries. Your stomach is rolling like you ate something spoiled. Your fingers ache from digging into the fancy, granite sink. Everything hurts. 

 It makes you wonder if Mike felt like this when you first told him about Zeke, if he feels like this now that he thinks you’re with Erwin—stupid, stupid, stupid. You shouldn’t have waited so long to talk to him. You should have cleared things up right after the party. Now, it’s too late. 

 There’s a knock on the door that makes you sniff and wipe your nose, but you still tell whoever is on the other side (most likely Hitch or Erwin), “Go away.”

 “It’s me.” Erwin. "Let me in."

 "Literally what did I just say?" 

 "If you don't unlock the door, I'll kick it in. It's my house, so I won't get in trouble for it."

 "Oh my god," you grumble before turning the lock on the knob. "Spoiled fucking brat."

 Erwin steps in and closes the door then takes a good look at your puffy face and red eyes. Sighing, he leans against the wall. "For the record, I didn't invite her. Mike must have—"

 "That doesn't make me feel any better," you say, grabbing some toilet paper to blow your nose. "Actually, it makes me feel even worse."

 "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

 "What, d'you want brownie points or something?" You ask sarcastically, making sure the toilet lid is down before sitting on it, bracing your arms on your knees and looking up at Erwin to find him frowning. "Sorry. I'm being a bitch, I know."

 He waves it off. "It's understandable. I'm not very happy with him either. The perpetual shitty mood is driving me crazy."

 You don't know much about that other than it being entirely your fault, so you apologize, "Yeah, sorry about that."

 "If you guys would have just talked it out like adults—"

 "Well, we didn't, Erwin. And, it seems like it's not even an option any more, so…" you hold your hands out in a clueless fashion, like you're at a loss. "I don't know what you want me to do."

 Your voice is thick, straining against the lump in your throat. Vision going blurry again, you shove your palms against your eyes, repeating, no more crying, no more crying, no more crying. 

 "I'm sorry he's doing this to you," Erwin says quietly. 

 You sniffle, almost laugh when you reply, "Not really different from what I did to him. Like," you have to blow your nose again so it doesn't start running, toss the toilet paper into the waste basket next to you. "I don't know if he's trying to get back at me or legitimately moving on, but I can't exactly hold it against him."

 "Still," Erwin takes a couple steps toward you. "Pulling this kind of shit is fucked up. He had to have known it would hurt you on some level."

 "You don't have to, like, take my side or whatever," you state. "I know we're friends and all, but you don't have to coddle me like this."

 "I'm not trying to coddle you. I'm sympathizing. There's a difference."

 "Whatever it is, it's unnecessary," you mumble.

 "Yeah?" Another step closer so that he's right in front of you. "So, you weren't planning on crying in here for the rest of the night?" 

 "No," you're quick to deny, but your lips quirk upward when you correct, "I was gonna go up to my room and cry in there for the rest of the night."

 Erwin shakes his head then pulls you into a strange embrace, pressing your face to his stomach with one hand while the other settles between your shoulder blades.

 Your first instinct is to shove him away, but his shirt is soft and smells like detergent, and his stomach is firm and grounding against your cheek, and the knuckles rubbing up and down the top of your spine are warm and soothing. 

 So, you stay in the slightly awkward position, shutting your eyes and trying to relax, but all you can think about is Mike walking in with his hands on Rhi and the way she looked in his hoodie. Is she cuter than you? Does she smell better than you? Does she treat him better than you did? 

 Tears well up in your eyes once again, dampening Erwin's shirt as they slip over your waterline, and before you know it, you're clutching the material covering the small of his back and crying against him. 

 And, he lets you—just keeps stroking between your shoulders and shushing you with a quiet, "I know, I know. It'll be okay." 

 Erwin is cocky and bold, takes things a little too far sometimes, but, just as you thought last year after he stole that kiss, he is good. Even if he's broken too many hearts to count and completely disregarded people's feelings, he's a good guy. At the very least, he's good to you, and that's what you need at the moment. 

 "What time is it?" You speak into his shirt. 

 "About eleven thirty."

 You hum and turn so that your forehead is resting just above his hips. It could be a suggestive position, but—

 But nothing. 

 You blink a few times, weighing the situation, everything that unfolded tonight—everything that's unfolded over the past semester and… it would make sense. It's not like you've never thought about it before. You're worked up and need to unwind, need to clear your head, and besides, Mike already believes there's something between you and Erwin, so why not take advantage of that?

 Sucking on your bottom lip, you go through a list of pros and cons. The biggest downside is that Mike will be upset with you. He already is, though, so there’s isn’t much to lose on that front. The upside is that you'll be able to forget about him for a while and possibly get an orgasm out of it. 

 "Hey, Erwin…" You're not entirely sure how to bring it up, but it turns out you don't have to. 

 "Don't fucking ask," he huffs. Perceptive bastard. 

 You push away from his stomach and look up at him. "Okay, why, though?"

 His head is hanging back, gaze trained on the ceiling as he admits, "Because if you ask, I won't say no, and it'll only make things worse."

 Something about that gives you butterflies. That's a good sign, means you might be invested enough to finally let your mind wander from Mike. 

 "Mike already thinks we're fucking, though, so unless you don't actually want to fuck me, I don't see why we shouldn't."

 Erwin walks backward until he hits the cabinets. His full lips are pressed into a tight line, and his blue eyes look like a warning. Don't push me. 

 "Do you honestly think you won't walk away from that feeling guilty?" He questions. "We know we aren't sleeping together, that we aren't actually doing anything wrong even if Mike doesn't believe it. But, to actually go through with it?" Erwin lets out a little chuckle and crosses his arms over his chest. "I probably won't feel bad 'cause I'm kind of an asshole, but you? You will feel awful."

 "I already feel awful," you remind him as you stand. "I already feel guilty. If you think I could feel any fucking worse than I already do, you might be overestimating my—my—I don't know—emotional capacity?"

 Moving forward, you nudge Erwin out of the way to get to the sink, splashing cold water on your face to clean it of dried tears. You cup a hand under the faucet, then toss some water into your mouth, swishing, and spitting, and turning back around. 

 Erwin's gaze is dark and not at all subtle when he eyes you up and down. 

 "I might hurt you, you know," he states in a voice that's considerably deeper than before. 

 You raise your eyebrows, unconvinced. "You don't have to worry about me catching feelings, Smith. Relax."

 Mouth tugging up on one side, Erwin smirks in a way that makes you squirm where you stand. 

 "That's not what I meant."

 It takes you a moment to decipher what he's trying to say, but you breathe an, "Oh," when you realize, then another as it truly sinks in. "Oh."

 That's okay, you want to tell him. I want to be hurt tonight. You only want it if it will hurt. If you confess to that desire, though, Erwin might back out—a disappointment considering the way you're starting to get a little excited. 

 "If I can handle Mike, I can handle you," you say, fully aware that he'll take it as a challenge. If there's one thing you know about men, it's that they thrive off competition. 

 Erwin is no different as he slides in front of you, hands finding your hips and pulling them to his. He's already half hard in his khakis, and you stand on your tip-toes, brushing against him as you do, to tilt your head back and hover just under his mouth as you tease, "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it before."

 "You have no idea how often I've thought about it—how often I think about it."

 You nip at his bottom lip, enjoying the way he licks it afterward. "Have you been holding back since we started hanging out—just the two of us?" 

 His fingers dig into your back, just above the curve of your ass, and you already know there will be small bruises left behind. 

 "Do you want me to paint a picture?" He rumbles, and you nod, pressing a kiss to his throat. "Any time I have you in my room I think about fucking you. On the bed. Over my desk. Up against a wall…" A little gasp makes its way out of him as you bite down on the skin you've been sucking on, and Erwin ruts against you a couple times before continuing, voice a little more strangled than before. 

 "Thought about fucking you downstairs on the couch for the whole frat to see, all spread out, moaning like a porn star. I know what you sound like," he whispers, catching you off guard when he suddenly lifts you to set you on the counter. "I've heard the way you scream for Mike." 

 There's a pang in your chest at the mention of him, but it's gone just as quickly. 

 "And, you'd like it, wouldn't you? Being watched." Erwin trails his lips from your temple to your ear, making you shiver when he speaks into it, "You can pretend all you want, but I know you liked it when I walked in on you and him. You liked being on display."

 He isn't wrong. You replay that instance in your head a little more than you probably should. 

 Hearing the fact stated now, though, right to your face has your body heating, arousal flooding you and making warmth pool between your legs. 

 "You can admit it, it's okay. I've known for a while now."

 One of his hands moves to the inside of your thigh then further up, fingers dancing over your covered pussy. It's your turn to gasp. You clutch his shoulders and spread your legs despite knowing there's no way you'll be satisfied with this, not when thick denim is separating you from his touch. 

 "Don't get too cocky, Smith." You try to sound confident, but it's hard to when your breath keeps hitching. 

 "Why?" He grazes his teeth over the sensitive space below your ear, and it makes you twitch in his grasp. "I have every reason to be."

 He goes on to list every other place he's thought about fucking you—apparently just about every setting you've ever been in with him. Each and every Pike party, the locker room before or after a lacrosse game, his Mustang, Mike's Wrangler.

 "That's fucked up," you somehow manage. 

 Erwin shrugs his shoulders, mumbles, "Can't help it," then slots his lips against yours for the first time (or, the first consensual time). 

 You're reminded of Zeke, the way all you did was compare him, only now with Erwin, you have two men who flash through your mind. He's softer than Zeke but just as bold as he cradles your head and slips his tongue into your mouth—tastes sweeter than Mike (probably from the strawberries), but it's not necessarily a good thing. It isn't bad either. It's just Erwin… Different. 

 His hair doesn't brush your cheeks like Mike's does. He doesn't have glasses to dig into your skin. Clean shaven, no coarse hairs to tickle against you, and he's smack in the middle in terms of height. You have to crane your neck more than you did with Zeke but less than you had to with Mike. 

 It's all a little jarring, but you feel this was always sort of an inevitability, at least once you started spending time with Erwin one on one. You never would have let this happen if you had stayed with Mike—if you had actually taken the next step with him—but that's why you started hanging out with Erwin in the first place. 

 You never noticed the way your back and forth was flirty, mostly just you giving him shit about one thing or another, but apparently others read further into it. And, you've had as good a time as you can. The heartache has put a damper on things, kept Erwin mostly off your radar save for the days you woke up frustrated and desperate, but that's what your vibrator is for. 

 Apparently, while you were busy making sure things stayed friendly between the two of you, Erwin's mind was getting away from him. Every god damn time you hung out, he told you, whether it was at the house or out to lunch, walking with you to classes or out to your car. 

 He did make it a habit of touching you, you can admit, but none of it was inappropriate—a nudge to knock you off balance that would result in you hitting him, a prod in the ribs that would result in you squeaking and hitting him. Sticking a foot out to trip you that would result in you…

 Dude obviously likes to be slapped around. 

 There's also the hugs. Up in his room when you feel extra gloomy, he'd wrap his arms around you and sway back and forth. Sometimes he'd sit and pull you with him, turn on a movie and keep a tight hold around your shoulders. There were afternoons you'd walk into his room while he was studying and just pass out in his bed, up too late the night before from worrying and obsessing, in need of a nap before your evening lecture. He'd set an alarm for you, stay up for a while longer before allowing himself to take a break and crawl under the blankets beside to—

 Oh, god, you've been dating Erwin Smith. 

 You have to break away from him to laugh, lightly hitting your head against his chest so that he chuckles and asks, "What?" 

 "I—" You look back up at him, shaking your head to yourself. "I can't believe I didn't fucking see it."

 "See what?" 

 "You and me—"

 "You and I," he corrects, and you shove him. 

 "You and I have just been doing what Mike and I were doing."

 "Uh, excuse me," he holds a finger up. "We have not been having endless sex, thank you."

 "That's not—" You roll your eyes. "I'm saying we've been dating without actually dating. Like, I get why everyone thinks we're a thing."

 "Oh," Erwin nods, sucking his teeth for a second then adding, "Yeah, I was wondering when you would figure that out."

 "Fucker. Did you do it on purpose? Like, just to prove you could?" 

 He frowns, looking genuinely offended. "Christ, what kind of person do you think I am?" 

 "Not twenty minutes ago you confessed to being an asshole."

 His face softens when he snickers. "Okay, true. But, no. I'm not trying to manipulate Mike or you for that matter. You've been upset, and you've put up with a lot of shit over the last few months, and I just figured you could use a friend."

 Staring up at him, you notice the way his face is turning a little red, and you hold your tongue between your teeth as you smile knowingly. 

 "You caaare about meee."

 He scoffs and looks away

 "Heartbreaker Smith cares about a girl," you tease. "How embarrassing."

 "Laugh it up. You would've been miserable without me."

 "I mean, yeah, but still. What's it like having a platonic girlfriend?" 

 He tilts his head to the side then reaches forward to squeeze your thighs. "Is it really platonic if we're about to have sex?" 

 "Absolutely. Hundred percent."

 "You're not even a little worried that it'll become a regular thing and you'll fall in love?" The arrogance is both astounding and amusing. 

 Cocking your head, you take a deep breath, expression one of false sympathy as you pat his stomach. "I'm positive. Unfortunately, my heart belongs to another."

 Erwin clicks his tongue before moving forward and sliding his hands between the counter and your ass. "I'm a little hurt, honestly. I'm used to fucking a girl and having to hide out for a while afterward—always so clingy."

 You squint, can't tell if he's being serious or overdramatizing to annoy you. 

 "You know what? Nevermind. I don't even want your little playboy ass anymore—"

 Naturally, he turns the charm back on right then, getting too close to your face, blue eyes flicking to your lips before he breathes, "Don't lie," and presses a tiny peck to them. "The tough girl act is only believable for so long."

 "Wow, fuck you."

 "That's the idea," he smirks. 

 "Har fucking har. You're so funny."

 Erwin pulls you closer to the edge of the counter and grinds his hips against yours then prompts, "Your room or mine?" 

 "Mine," you reply. "I'd rather you have to do the walk of shame later."

 "Probably a good idea since you won't be able to once I'm finished with you."

 You actually laugh out loud. It would have worked on you a few minutes ago, but all the joking has you a little giggly at this point. 

 Fuck, he is going to make a great distraction. 

 "Okay, calm down. Don't make promises you can't keep."

 "Sounds like a challenge to me."

 "Men," you sigh. "So predictable."

 After minutes more of unnecessary banter, Erwin finally coaxes you out of the bathroom you've both spent far too much time in. Your face has cleared up, the urge to cry subsiding, though your heart still drops in your chest when you pass behind Mike and Rhi on the couch, green eyes tracking you as you walk up the stairs in front of Erwin. 

 This is not the right way to solve a problem, but it'll probably be fun for a while. It's already fun as Erwin kicks the door closed and walks you back to the bed. He isn't even touching you, just watching you with a hazy blue gaze. He isn't smiling, looks like a predator, and honestly, it's ridiculously attractive. 

 "Stop making that face."

 "What face?" 

 "That—that—"

 You run into the bed, wave your arms to keep your balance, but Erwin presses his fingertips to your chest and just barely pushes to knock you back. 

 "What face, hm?" 

 The hair on your arms and neck is standing on end, anticipation bubbling in your gut as you try to crawl higher on the mattress only for Erwin to grab you by the ankle and tug you back down. 

 Damn. He's good at this. 

 "Stay," he commands, straightening up to take his shirt off. 

 He's tan and toned, light blonde hair sprinkled over his chest and above the waistband of his pants. 

 You're reminded of the very first Pike party you went to, the first time you slept with Mike (and can't remember), walking downstairs the following morning to find Erwin in the kitchen wearing sweats and drinking his coffee and smirking at you like he could tell the future. 

 Maddening. He's maddening. 

 You rid yourself of your own top then shimmy out of your jeans. Erwin eyes you hungrily, causing your whole body to tingle. It simultaneously makes you want to cover yourself and spread yourself open for him. 

 "I have been waiting way too fucking long for this," Erwin mumbles, raking fingernails down your torso so that you take in a shuddering breath. 

 "It's been, like, a y-year and a half." Your back arches on its own volition, hips bucking as Erwin scratches over the bones before catching your thong and pulling it down. He kneels at the end of the bed, a familiar scene save for the head of shiny, golden hair.

 "A year and a half of having to look but not touch."

 "Poor little—" you gasp when he parts your folds with his thumbs, staring at your pussy then blowing a stream of air over it. 

 "Do you know how many times I've jacked off to the thought of you? How many times I've slept with other girls while imagining it was you?" 

 You want to make another smartass comment, tease him about being a pervert or in his feelings or something, but you can't find your voice as he licks a long, slow stripe up your slit. You stare at the ceiling, not even blinking as too many signals fire in your brain all at once. 

 Erwin is good with his mouth. Like, stupid good. He has a teasing rhythm, flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue until your muscles are coiled then moves to trace the ring of your entrance, taking his time as you turn from human to puddle. 

 He’s better at this than Zeke who would purposely graze his teeth over your sensitive little bud a little too hard on purpose, would suck on it until it hurt. He liked when you whimpered for him, liked leaving raised welts on your ribs and back from where he’d scratched. The intermixed pain and pleasure never failed to make you come, but the climb up to that precipice was usually precarious for lack of a better term.

 Then, there’s Mike (because of course there is). His mood usually determined how he would take you, hard and fast before a game or slow and lazy as you both relaxed in his room. One thing always stayed the same no matter his disposition, and it’s that he fucking worshiped your pussy—even said it on multiple occasions. He would eat you out like a starving man, lapping at your juices like it would quench his thirst. Some days he would overstimulate you to the point of tears, neverending licks lavished over your clit as he pumped thick fingers in and out of your cunt. Other days he would go down on you like it was a fucking hobby—turn on a movie, spread you out on the foot of his bed, and eat you out while only halfway paying attention to the TV. He could pull multiple orgasms from you that way, letting you come around a finger or two before returning to your pulsing clit. Fuck, you used to make such a mess. He’d spend minutes trying to lick you clean, but you always ended up in the shower afterward.

 You shouldn’t be thinking of that right now, though. You should be thinking about Erwin’s clever tongue and the fingertips just barely brushing over sensitive skin. You want them inside of you, want something to clamp down on, but no matter how much you pull his hair or utter a breathy, “Please,” he keeps the same pace, only moving on when he feels like it.

 He’s doing it on purpose, trying to break you before even getting to the point of fucking you, and if you’re being honest, it just might work. He’s gonna make you lose your god damn mind tonight. Exactly like you want to.

 “Fuck, how much p-practice have you had with th-this?”

 Erwin laughs, stilling your wriggling by curling his arms around your thighs. “Too much, probably.”

 You whine when he continues, but when he starts softly sucking on your clit, you’re surprised at how close you suddenly feel, your legs naturally trying to spread further but remaining immobilized in Erwin’s grip. The threat of not being able to move only intensifies the building sensation in your gut, and soon you’re gasping his name, eyes rolling as you try in vain to buck further into his face. 

 You feel more than hear Erwin groan, a deep vibration that pours over your clit and makes you twitch. He gives you a few more long licks, then pulls back and stands, exposing the way his mouth and chin are covered in a glossy sheen. 

 “Feel better yet?” He smirks.

 You wave a lazy hand, don’t want to fluff his ego too much, so you allow him to witness your borderline stoned state while still jeering, “I’ll feel better when I have your cock inside me.”

 Erwin laughs to himself, mutters, “Eager,” then takes his pants off. 

 Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you give his cock a cursory glance and stop. “Hold on,” then slide off the bed and to your knees. 

 If you’re gonna fuck Erwin Smith, you’re at least gonna appreciate it. 

 He inhales sharply as you place your hands on his thighs, eyes traveling over his length. It’s pretty, above average in size, smooth, with a flared tip that’s currently flushing a dark pink. 

 “I really hate to admit this, but you could be, like, a dick model.”

 He chokes on some kind of snort, and you swear his entire chest turns red. “I—thank you?”

 “You’re welcome,” you tell him, promptly taking hold of his cock and guiding it into your mouth.

 “Oh, fuck, fuck—”

 His skin is soft against your tongue, warm as you take him deeper. His girth stretches your jaw, but you’re still pretty used to the feeling, had to get used to it with Mike because he’s a little bigger than—

 That’s not important. 

 Erwin breathes through his teeth as he places a hand on the top of your head, and when you look up at him through your eyelashes, he lets out a disbelieving little laugh. That confident fucking tease is nowhere to be found as you swipe your tongue over the tiny hole leaking pre then surge forward, almost pressing your nose to his pelvis as you run the muscle back and forth under the base of his cock.

 “Shit, let me—let me lean against the bed,” he says, pulling you off him and chuckling, “Gonna make my fucking knees buckle.”

 You turn where you’re kneeling, waiting for him to get better stabilized before resuming your efforts to ruin this annoying, charming frat boy who is always put together. You suck and slurp and trigger your gag reflex a couple times. Erwin’s fingers scratch against your scalp like he’s looking for purchase. He’s careful not to be too brutal as he pushes you down on his cock, raising his hips to meet your rhythm. His head is thrown back, thighs tensing under your hands as his chest rises and falls with short breaths. 

 You have to work up to it, but once you feel loose enough, you press forward and let Erwin slip further into your throat. His voice sounds like honey when he groans a low, “Hoooly fuck,” letting his head hang down as he attempts to stare at you with unfocused eyes. 

 “Okay, okay, okay,” he huffs. “Keep going and we won’t get to the main event.”

 You pull off of him with a lewd pop then raise to your feet. Your knees are a little sore, but it’s nothing some exercise won’t work out. 

 “Want me to wear a condom?”

 “I don’t care. I’m clean and on birth control,” you tell him. “What about you?”

 “Well, I’m clean, but I haven’t gotten my birth control prescription refilled in a wh—”

 You flick his chest, and Erwin laughs as he bats you away. 

 “Alright. Up on the bed with you then,” he motions to the mattress. “Lay on the edge.”

 You do as you're told, spreading your legs for Erwin to stand between, and you bite your lip when you feel him rub the head of his cock between your folds. You’re still wet with slick—probably dripped onto the carpet when you were giving him head—which makes the glide easier as he teases you. 

 “Ready?” He asks, wriggling thick eyebrows until you smile. He doesn’t wait for an actual answer before he starts pushing in, pressing your legs to your chest as he slowly seats himself in your cunt.

 You’re making that face—eyebrows moving toward your hairline as if you’re worried, jaw dropping open as air is pushed from your lungs. Erwin looks focused, licking his lips as he gazes down at the way your pussy stretches around him. 

 He thrusts in and out at a tortuous pace, apparently waiting for you to start trembling around him before he deems you ready to take more. Every one of his movements is measured, slowly pulling out only to push in all at once. The ridge of his cock drags over your g-spot, pressing firmly against it and making you claw at his shoulders. 

 He feels good, satisfying, but he’s not quite as good as Mike who used to hit all your spots without even thinking about it—somehow making you beg like a whore and sing like a little girl in Sunday school all at the same time. 

 Still, you don’t have to lie when Erwin quickens his pace and pants, “Feel good?” 

 “Fuck—yes, yes, Jesus Christ—”

 He’s pulling all manner of crude sounds from your pussy, wet and greedy as it sucks him back in with every rut of his hips. The angle is perfect—his height paired with the bed on stilts has him hitting your spot every time, and you feel the need to warn him, “If you keep—keep fucking me like this—god—m’gonna squirt.”

 “Fuck yes,” he praises, wetting a thumb in his mouth before bringing it down to massage your clit. He only speeds up as your voice rises, body confused like your muscles don’t know if they should be flexed or relaxed. 

 You feel that tell-tale burning, that urge that only gets stronger the more Erwin abuses your g-spot and presses against your clit.

 “Shit, shit, shit—”

 Erwin groans when fluid starts to trickle from you, pushes more and more out of you while quickly swiping two fingers over your clit. The sense of relief is mind-numbing. You can’t even be upset that your sheets are gonna be damp whenever you decide to sleep. 

 He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t lose his rhythm, just sticks his two wet fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. 

 You see it now—the skill, the appeal, why the girls always come back to him. It makes sense. He’s devastatingly handsome, especially like this, all fucked out and flushed, hair out of place, lips red and swollen from biting them. 

 Yeah, Erwin is fucking hot.

 But, that doesn’t mean he’s your type. 

 Pulling out, he flips you onto your stomach, and you have to stand on your tip-toes as you lean over the bed. The burn in your calves disappears almost entirely when he slides into you from behind, pelvis pressing against your ass as he curls over you, cupping your tits and tweaking your hardened nipples as he gifts you with a series of shallow thrusts. It makes you whimper and teeter forward, unable to balance and squirm at the same time. Face suddenly buried in the mattress, your cries are muffled by the blankets. Erwin’s hands travel back to your hips, rocking you back and forth on his slick cock. He’s getting a little rougher, pressing into you as deeply as he can, and the fact that you’ll be sore from this tomorrow gives you a strange sense of satisfaction. 

 Only way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else, right? Or, underneath in your case. Being a little more in control wouldn’t be the worst thing, though, so…

 “Erwin, Erwin, fuck—Lemme ride you.”

 There is no hesitation. Erwin slips out of you and throws himself onto the bed, grinning crookedly as he watches you climb over him on unsteady limbs. His patience must have worn out some time ago, because he holds his cock with one hand, using the other to line you up with it, then guides you down his length. 

 You have to sit still for a second, or you would like to, but Erwin is still holding your hips, and he rocks you back and forth in his lap like he knows. He probably does. He’s probably fucked enough girls to notice exactly when their eyes pop open, when they shudder and break out in goosebumps because that pressure is hitting exactly where it needs to, and yeah, he knows. 

 Finding it in yourself to move again, you lean over Erwin, planting your hands on the pillows by his head, then start bouncing on his cock. He hisses in a dark, appreciative way, eyes and hands immediately drawn to your chest. He sits up enough to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and pinching then doing the same to the other. 

 He’s so good—feels so good, knows just where to touch, the exact place to bite on your neck that makes you melt, but how—how does he know that? It’s like he has a sixth sense or—

 Or, he just paid attention to the bruises that Mike used to leave on the sides of your throat. That checks out. 

 Fuck, he used to mark you like he wanted everyone to see, especially that last night. It was almost animalistic, like he had been—marking his territory, Zeke’s voice plays in your head. It makes you frown, and you rid yourself of the thought only to replace it with the memory of Mike’s mouth on your skin, his calloused fingertips trailing down your torso, huge hands wrapping around your legs to pull you against him—

 You whine, glad it sounds like a sound of desperation rather than frustration. You just want to stop thinking about him. Just an hour—if you could go a single fucking hour—

 “Hey, look at me,” Erwin commands in a soft voice. 

 You open your eyes, still hovering over him, and expect him to say something, but instead he just reaches up to the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. 

 He’s helping move you on top of him, forcing you to take his cock over and over, and like this, so close and breathing him in, you don’t even have the room to think about Mike. 

 Both of your bodies are damp with sweat, and Erwin’s hair is a mess, pushed from his flushed face. He bites down on your bottom lip and tugs, only letting go to ask, “Where do you want me?”

 “I don’t care,” you groan, legs and arms and pussy growing sore. You’re not surprised; you’ve been going at it for a while now. 

 Erwin licks your lower lip as if to soothe it after biting it, tells you, “Oh, don’t give me that option. You know where I’ll pick.”

 Smiling, you straighten up then move to fit your feet underneath you so you can bounce more freely. “You can come inside, dude. It feels good to me, too.”

 “I really don’t know how to respond to being called ‘dude’ when I’m balls deep in a girl.”

 You shrug, “Sorry not sorry,” then raise and drop yourself, feeling in charge for the first time tonight. 

 “Fuck—shit—”

 That feeling is short lived as Erwin goes right back to using you the way he wants. You think for about half a second that he’s finally, really losing himself, but the accuracy of his finger on your clit proves that is not the case. He’s clearly having a good time, but he isn’t at that feral stage that Mike falls into sometimes.

 Before you can dwell on it for too long, you hit your peak, moaning Erwin’s name, hips moving uncontrollably as you ride out your orgasm.

 He’s speaking, mumbling praise or pleas or curses, you aren’t so sure, but after about another minute of fucking into you relentlessly, Erwin comes, shooting line after line inside of you until he’s spent and twitching. 

 With your two previous partners, this is usually when you’d fall forward and cuddle, catch your breath and enjoy the feeling of being all plugged up.

 But, it’s Erwin, huffing and blinking up at the ceiling then finally stating, “That was a dumb idea.”

 It makes you laugh for some reason, probably because you agree. 

 The sex was great. There is a reason girls talk about him on campus, about his sexual prowess or whatever, and if you weren’t too busy suffocating in your little pit of heartbreak, thinking about your best friend nonstop, you wouldn’t mind fucking Erwin again. And, again and again.

 That’s not gonna happen, though. The heat of the moment is fading, every mental faculty returning to you, and despite the fact that you’re still seated on his cock, as you look down at him, you feel absolutely no spark.

 He’s ridiculously attractive, pretty fucking brilliant but with a dumb sense of humor, and you love him. You really do. He’s done a lot for you over the last semester, made it at least somewhat bearable, but… This shouldn’t have happened. 

 Hopefully, it quelled his curiosity, though.

 “I told you it would just make you feel shitty,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t look sad. Sympathetic more than anything, resigned that he’s probably going to have to pick up the pieces of another mess. 

 “Yeah,” you drawl. “You were right.” Your joints pop as you stand, towering over Erwin for once and leaking his fucking cum as you hop off the bed. 

 “It’s been known to happen from time to time,” he jokes absentmindedly, wiping a few drops of white off his stomach then reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. 

 You don’t feel awkward or out of place, but you have no idea what else to say. The only thing that comes to mind is, “I’m gonna take a shower,” as you walk toward the bathroom.

 Erwin moves on the bed, stretching a little before grabbing his pants and leaving you to your devices, but you pause before stepping onto the tile, turn back and pace over to him.

 “Hey,” you start, and Erwin glances up from the button of his khakis. “Thanks.”

 He rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at his lips, and once he’s all zipped and buttoned up, he pulls you into a hug. 

 “I would say any time, but we probably shouldn’t do this again.”

 “Yeah, probably not.”

 You breathe into the space under his collarbone, humming as he gently scratches you back, then break away. “Alright, actually gonna shower now.”

 Erwin nods, “You do that,” then slaps your ass as soon as you turn around. 

 You look at him over your shoulder with raised eyebrows, but he just winks and tells you, “I had to. Just once,” which is fair. 

 You run a hot shower, scrub the shit out of your skin, lather your hair with some fancy shampoo then rinse it off. Once you go through your full routine, you’re happy to change into pajamas and slip into the comfortable bed. You don’t even mind that the comforter is a little damp in various places.

* You don’t stir when the door opens and closes, but you do when the mattress dips. Shifting slightly, you assume it’s just Erwin, falling back into your usual routine by slipping under the covers with you.

 As soon as he lays behind you, though, you know it isn’t Erwin. You recognize that weight, that warmth, that smell, and you are very awake very quickly. 

 “M-Mike?”

 All he offers is a little, “Mm,” to confirm.

 You chew on the inside of your cheek, confused and clueless as to what you’re supposed to do. 

 “Are you drunk again?”

 “No. Little buzzed.”

 Why is he here, then? You want to ask—What is he doing? Why isn’t he with Rhi?

 You start to turn to face him but you're stopped when Mike sets a hand on your back. It's oddly firm, keeping you in place as he grunts, "No, don't."

 "What?" 

 "Don't turn around." His voice is hushed and choppy, like he's gritting out every syllable. 

 "Mike?"

 "I have shit I wanna say to you, and I won't be able to if you're lookin' at me."

 You have no idea how to respond to that, don't know if this is going to be a positive one-sided conversation where Mike confesses deep feelings while actually sober, or if he'll just unload all the baggage you've given him. Either way, you wish you could see his face. Something about having him laying behind you, close enough to feel his body heat, has you feeling very uneasy. 

 But, you nod, "Okay," trying to put on a brave face that he refuses to look at. 

 For a while, he just breathes. You assume it’s because he’s gathering his thoughts or maybe working up the courage to say something, but the suspense is making you shiver under your blankets. You have that terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach, the mix of anticipation and regret you get on the way up to the first drop of a rollercoaster. 

 “Why have you been lying to me?”

 And, there’s that drop. 

 You swallow. “I haven’t been.”

 “Bullshit.”

 “Mike, I haven’t been!” You try to turn again, but his large hand is still right in the middle of your back. 

 “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” His fingers close around the material of your shirt. You feel it tighten at your chest, making it hard to breathe—harder to breathe. “How are you gonna tell me that right after sleeping with him?” 

 You open your mouth to argue, realize you can’t make a case for yourself, and when you snap your jaw shut again, the sound of your teeth clacking seems to echo in your head.

 Yesterday, you would have been able to talk to him about this and be honest when telling him you weren’t fucking his best friend. Now, though…

 God, that had been such a bad decision. Why hadn’t you just listened to Erwin? Why can’t you fucking listen to anyone?

 “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mike mutters. His grip loosens, but you can still feel a light tug at your shirt, the movement of fingers, and you think he might be rubbing over the material he’s still holding. “Pretty sure all of us could hear you guys goin’ at it, so… Thanks for that.”

 You take a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes shut because it sinks in that this is not going to be nice conversation. This isn’t going to result in the two of you apologizing and making love confessions to each other. 

 “I… I’m sorry.”

 Now, you’re grateful for not being able to see his face. You wouldn’t be able to stand looking at him right now, not when you know his expression will be grim—probably angry. 

 “I can’t really do anything with sorry,” Mike sighs. His hand drops from your back, but you make no move to turn over. 

 Your heart is like a hummingbird’s, beating frantically in your chest as that ache rises inside of you again, making your throat constrict and your eyes burn. 

 “Why’d you invite Rhi tonight?” You ask, hoping your sniffle isn’t too noticeable.

 “Why does it matter?”

 You suppose it doesn’t, but you still want to know, “Is it to get back at me, or is it because you’re actually into her?”

 Mike scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but do you think I’d be in your room at three in the fucking morning if I was into her?”

 It’s probably the closest he’ll get to admitting it, but it’s all you need to hear. He’s been going out of his way to hurt you. At least any pain you’ve caused him wasn’t intentional. Until tonight, that is, and even then, you didn’t fuck Erwin to hurt him; you did it to help yourself. 

 Pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, you hold back tears and mumble a thick, “Just wanted to know.”

 “Want to make sure I’m still interested? That I’ll keep waiting for you to fucking realize—”

 “I have—” You turn over roughly, pinning Mike’s hand under your ribs as you glare at him, but he manages to put more distance between the two of you when he yanks his arm back and sits up.

 “I can’t do this anymore,” he tells you, and you think you hear his voice waver for a second.  

 The orange light pouring in from the bathroom is the only way you can tell his eyes are wide—worried—and it chills all the blood in your body.

 “Wh-what d’you mean?” 

 “I mean, I can’t fucking do this anymore,” he repeats a little louder, drawing it out like it’ll help you understand. “I cannot deal with you anymore. I can’t keep feeling this way, okay?”

 “Mike…”

 “No,” he stops you, acts like he has something else lined up but bites his tongue and sighs. He sits cross-legged on the bed now, hangs his head as he speaks calmly, “This semester has fucking sucked. I am angry all the time. I can’t focus in class, and I can’t play lacrosse without getting in trouble, and I can’t fuck anyone else without feeling bad—I can’t fucking do anything without thinking of you, and I’m—” he looks at the wall and shakes his head. “I’m exhausted.”

 “I am too,” you tell him, voice cracking as that lump in your throat grows and bubbles, pushing hot tears from your eyes that you quickly wipe away. “Mike, I am too, so can we just—”

 “No,” he cuts you off again. “Whatever it is you’re about to say—move on, pretend it didn’t happen, pick up where we left off, whatever… the answer is no.”

 He seems like he already has his mind made up, came into the room with a plan, and he isn’t gonna let you talk him out of it. 

 So, you stay as silent as you can, sniffing and swallowing and letting the comforter catch every teardrop. 

 “I have been… Right in front of you this whole time. I made myself completely available for a year—was at your beck and fucking call. I was—I mean—I was good to you, right?” He sounds incredulous, like he can barely believe he’s asking. 

 “Yeah,” you manage. “Yeah, you were.”

 “Then, why…? Zeke? And, now Erwin?”

 “Do you want me to try to explain, or do you just wanna rant for a while?”

 Mike glances at you, looks surprised that you’d give him the option. 

 “Honestly, I don’t really wanna hear it. You’ve more than proved your point.”

 Indignation swirls in your stomach alongside your nausea, and you press, “My point being?”

 “That I’m not good enough.”

 Oh, god. No, no, no. You could understand him being angry. You’re okay with him being angry, it’s fine. But, this—this feeling of inferiority? That is so much worse. It makes you sick. This is the last thing you’d ever want Mike to feel. It’s the last thing he should feel because it’s false. He has no reason—he’s too good and too kind and too warm. He’s like… He’s fucking sunshine. He can light up a room, and he doesn’t even know it.

 “Mike, n-no,” your voice breaks, making you sound like a wounded animal. “You are so, so good. You are more than enough, I promise.”

 He snorts in a self-deprecating manner. “Then, why—”

 “Because I’m not good enough. I fucked this up. This is my fault, and I can own that as long as you know that there is absolutely no—nothing wrong with you,” the last part comes out as a squeak as you try not to hyperventilate and cry the way your body is urging you to. Not yet. 

 Mike nods a few times. You can see his mouth moving from the side like he’s biting his lip or sucking his teeth until he agrees, “Yeah,” then adds a quiet, “Whatever you say, babe,” that makes you want to throw up.

 Mike scoots to the edge of the bed and stands. You assume he’s about to leave, let you be alone with your thoughts, so when he rounds the corner to get to your side, you sit up a little straighter. 

 Half of his face is illuminated, casting shadows under his eyes, highlighting the bruise on his neck that Rhi probably left, but your gaze is trained on his as he leans down to you. A finger hooks under your chin, and Mike tilts your face at an angle, kissing you so softly that it’s painful. 

 His lips are warm and familiar, everything you’ve been craving as they cover yours. There’s no tongue, no force, just light pressure as he inhales through his nose.

 You know what this is, what he’s doing, but you can’t prepare yourself because there’s still that tiny string of hope you’re grappling for. He just needs a break. You just need to give him space. That’s all—

 “I love you,” Mike murmurs. His voice is low and honest and slices you open. “I love you so fucking much it hurts, and I just—” He brushes a thumb over your lower lip as he pulls away, and it takes everything in you not to grab his hand and beg him to stay. “It’s like I hate you too.”

 You pull away to wipe your face with the blanket. There’s so much you want to say but have no idea how to articulate it, so all you can do is stare at Mike with wide, watery eyes. He… hates you. He hates you. 

 Straightening, Mike’s expression is suddenly nonchalant, like he just flipped a switch in his brain. “I’m not exactly the social butterfly I used to be, but I wanna have fun my last semester of undergrad—make up for the time I lost fucking brooding over you, so—”

 “I’ll stop going to the Pike house,” you tell him quietly. It’s easier to make the decision yourself rather than have to hear it from his mouth: Don’t come around anymore. I don’t want to see you. 

 “Cool. And, if you, like, see me on campus or anything—”

 You cough, maybe gag, you can’t really tell at this point because wow, this just keeps getting worse. 

 “I won’t bother you.”

 “Cool.” He bends to press another much more patronizing kiss to the crown of your head, then starts walking toward the door. “I’m just gonna try to move on, you know? Start fresh. And, you should do the same. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.” 

 You don’t watch him leave, just listen for the door to click shut behind him before you crawl out of bed, turn the lights on, and start packing your things. 

 You and Hitch drove together, but you have no doubt that she'll be able to get a ride with Nile, and with that thought, you’re out of the ranch house and on the road just as the first rays of the morning sun start shining over the horizon.

 *

 It’s surprisingly easy for Mike to slip back into his old, obnoxious persona, and the remainder of the school year is spent partying, fucking, and cramming for tests he should have studied for weeks in advance.

 But, life is short, and he’s done beating himself up over stupid shit.

 Most of his PKA brothers are happy to have him “back”, and the pledges get the chance to see this of him, but there are times when Mike catches Erwin or Nile shaking their heads at him. He doesn’t mind much. They can both go fuck themselves for all he cares. 

 True to your word, you don’t show your face around the house. There were a few weeks after the holiday get-together where Erwin would disappear for a few hours at a time and come back either tired or angry, sometimes a combination of the two. 

 He attempted to bring you up in a conversation a total of one time, right in the middle of a party where Mike had been eyeing up a sorority girl. He brushed his friend off, easily telling Erwin, “Don’t fuckin’ talk to me about her,” through the crooked grin he was flashing at the little blond across the room. 

 Erwin didn’t bother after that, obviously deeming Mike a lost cause. 

 Mike knows better, though. He isn’t lost anymore. In fact, he’s found himself all over again.

 Every once in a while, he’ll catch a glimpse of you on campus, but whenever that happens, he just turns around and takes a different route to wherever he’s going. He doesn’t want to give you any reason to think you can talk to him—doesn’t want to give you the chance.

 He’s spent too much of his time hung up on you, too much time pining and hurting, and that hasn’t disappeared entirely. Mike can still clearly remember the way you looked at him the last night the two of you spoke, the way your tears twinkled in the dim light. He remembers how strangled you sounded while speaking, remembers the way your shoulders shook as you fought your emotions, remembers the way your lips trembled against his. 

 It wasn’t very satisfying. Mike left the ranch house the following morning sporting a few bruises on the outside thanks to Rhi as well as a few bruises on the inside thanks to you. 

 That entire night had been a clusterfuck—between Maddie and Marie storming off to cry then the little stunt he pulled by inviting Rhi, it had been much too dramatic for a gathering of that size. Mike experienced a wide variety of emotions that night, but the one that stands out the most is the searing rage that threatened to burn him from the inside, the red the clouded his vision as soon as he heard you moan Erwin’s name through the wall. 

 Mike had already been toying with the idea of severing all ties with you, but that’s what pushed him over the edge, watching you put on your little show when Rhi walked in only to turn around and have a grand fucking time with his best friend. 

 It needed to happen. Mike needed to free himself of you. It feels good. Mostly. There are still some days he comes close to giving in, just picking up his phone and calling you, but he resists, and he’s better for it. 

 He gets through his classes, does well on his finals after actually putting in the time to prepare for them, and by the time Mike graduates, he’s already been accepted to the graduate program of his choice and has an internship lined up. The tension between him and Erwin has faded for the most part, which is great since he’s going to grad school in the same area up north. Things look… promising—something he didn’t think possible without you by his side, something he didn’t want to be possible without you by his side. 

 But, now, here he is, unpacking his new apartment with the help of Scout who insists on sniffing absolutely everything. He’s halfway across the country from his parents, away from all he’s ever known, and Mike couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

 He can go full days without sparing you a thought now, and he hopes—he prays—that one day he’ll think of you for the last time in his life. 

[ next ]

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii

part i  part ii  AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 6.572

Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af

Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.

He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.

A muscle on his jaw twitches.

For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.

And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.

“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.

Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”

“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”

Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).

She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.

The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.

Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?

But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.

The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.

The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( Alex Mason fucked her that night.

Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.

Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”

The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.

He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.

Or losing a part of yourself in the process.

The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.

Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.

Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.

Obsession is good.

Obsession is dangerous.

The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.

Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.

That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.

He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:

Bell and Mason.

Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.

They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.

Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.

Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.

Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.

He wonders if it was her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanted to see me?"

Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."

And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.

"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.

There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.

But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.

Adler pushes the first tile.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.

"How long has what been going on?"

“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.

“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"

"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.

Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”

“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"

"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”

"I don't find you amusing.”

“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."

"Listen, Al-"

"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”

"That's where you're wrong."

Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.

"What?"

"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."

Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”

“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.

Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."

Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"

Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.

"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.

“There is literally no point to this conversation.”

“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."

"My own good or yours?"

Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.

"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."

Mason is quiet for a beat.

"Is that a threat?"

"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.

Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.

He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."

Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.

The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.

“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.

Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.

"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

"What?”

"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”

Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?

“You’re lying.”

“And why would I lie to you about this?”

"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.

“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."

A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.

“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”

"Because she doesn't know that."

"Doesn't know what?"

"That she's the enemy."

Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.

And that cold elastic band finally snaps.

“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.

Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”

"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"

Adler ignores his colorful outburst.

“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”

Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.”

"What was that?”

“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.

“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."

Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.

“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."

Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.

"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.

Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.

He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.

Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.

His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.

"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."

Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"

"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.

“Are you talking about Bell?”

“Who else?”

If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.

"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.

The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.

Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.

He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.

"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.

Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.

"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.

Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."

It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.

And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.

It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.

Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.

Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.

He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.

But she puts his head in such a spin.

She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.

He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.

“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.

Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown.  And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.

The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.

“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.

Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”

Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.

Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.

Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.

He should have closed his eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.

Her cleavage comes into view.

The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.

“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.

“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.

Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.

Of course, she knows.

“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”

He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”

“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”

“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”

"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."

She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."

Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”

She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.

Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”

His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.

How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.

A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.

“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.

“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.

This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.

The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.

The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.

But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.

It chokes him, frightens him to the core.

How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?

Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll drive you back.”

Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.

“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.

But he would not beg.

The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.

“Try asking nicely,” she demands.

Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.

“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.

She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.

It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.

Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.

This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.

And his mind.

But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.

Adler inhales deeply.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”

It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.

A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?

The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.

She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.

There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.

It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.

Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.

But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:

Bell left the passenger door open.

And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.

Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.

He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.

A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.

Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.

Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.

She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.

Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.

The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.

She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.

He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.

“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”

Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?

She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.

Until:

“Take them off.”

Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.

His mouth moves.

“What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”

He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.

Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.

Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.

But, like before, he’ll play her game.

There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.  

His heart booms against his ribs.

"Kneel,” she says glibly.

He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.

Nor does he want to.

The thought fucks him up to a degree.

Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.

But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.

When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.

She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.

Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.

Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.

“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”

He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.

“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”

Her grip tightens.

"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.

His confusion spikes.

Her nose skims down his jawline.

A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.

“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.

Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.

“You know why.”  

Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.

Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

“Then prove it.”

So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.

Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.

His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.

Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.

“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.

He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.

Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.

He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.

“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.

When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)

(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)

[readinginthereadyroom]

it’s the queen’s gambit job (lev 4x10) and they are sitting around a table in mcrory’s eating takeout. running down the con.

and nate’s last minute addition of salt to parker’s equipment wasn’t plan b. no, it was plan m.

which is the plan hardison usually dies in. that is if he hasn’t already died in plans c, f, or m thru q. which hardison is VERY concerned about. after all that’s like 27% of the time. it’s a little too close to home.

eliot and parker don’t die in any plans, tho eliot could be permanently disfigured and blinded in one.

nate DOES NOT ANSWER for sophie.

so they are bickering and being found family (and seriously hoping this is just nate messing with them) and parker proposes a toast. to a glass eye.

and I am gonna headcanon that this becomes a kinda inside code. maybe not plan m, but bad. tho the level of bad is never discussed. after all it’s just a joke. right?

so it’s years later and parker’s the mastermind. she regularly assures hardison that there is no plan m. it’s not even in her alphabet. eliot teases her that her plans span different languages. hardison mutters about binary code and quadratic equations. there’s no m in cuniform, right?

and most the time their cons go off without a hitch. parker’s good like that. the best. her plans are like ballets spun between rotating laser beams. both planned to the smallest movement and completely on the fly. set to violin symphanies, country ballads, and christmas carols.

but sometimes the cons go wrong. eliot gets injured. hardison can’t hack the code. she gets trapped inside a building. and sometimes the cons go wrong bad. sometimes it gets bloody.

that’s when they say it. the first time was eliot. he’d been fighting with the mark’s security goons when the gunshot had rung out over the comms. followed by a grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the floor. then a terrible silence. parker hates that she knows what it means.

she flips around in the air duct. barely manages to keep her voice low. the cons over. I’m coming to you eliot. the only sound on the comms is the clack of hardison’s lightspeed typing. a buzzing static. do you hear me eliot? I’m coming to get you.

eliot? hardison’s voice sounds so small. that’s when parker remembers that they’d hacked the cctv footage. hardison had seen the whole thing. I-- he-- hardison stutters before rushing out he’s been shot. it’s bad. you got to get to him parker and you got to get to him. now. 

eliot’s gruff drawl interrupts them. I think this might be a glass eye scenario, sweethearts.

hardison’s typing never falters, but his breath hitches over the comms and his voice is strangled—like he swallowed his soda wrong—when he tells eliot to shut up, I am trying to save your ass. you already look mean enough without any damn glass eye.

it’s classic hardison. talking right over all his internal fears. trying to manifest his words into being. eliot’s huff of laughter tho. it’s strained but it’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.  

parker’s still in the air vent. she’s moving as fast as she can without rattling the ducts. she whispers into her comms. you should have hardison make it bionic. put a laser in it. and after dealing with a tricky corner dip, also it should be green.

more pained laughter, followed by a groan. my eyes are blue, parker. then hardison’s, guess we’ll just have to save you then. keep you from going all 6 million dollar-terminator-borg on us. keep your baby blues blue. parker smiles. she knows her boys. knew they always focus better when they are bickering.

and in the end it’s okay. parker gets to eliot with the first aid kit and patches him up. hardison hijacks them an elevator and they get out safely. eliot’s glass eye is evaded.

the next time it’s hardison. he’s snatched from lucille 5—right out from under their noses. they can hear his squawk of surprise over the comms. the shuffle of bodies and the distinct sounds of fists hitting flesh.

eliot growls deep and menacingly. parker can hear him instantly switch gears—from grifting the mark to protecting the team. his heavy footfalls are followed by offended protestations as he knocks people out of his way. the con is blown but parker doesn’t care.

because there’s snow fizzing in one ear and a polite automated error message in the other telling her all she needs to know. hardison’s gone. taken.

it’s an excruciating 28 hrs later when a text message from an unknown number chimes thru on parker’s backup burner phone. it’s only two words: glass eye.

parker sidles right up to eliot. bumps their shoulders together and shows him the message. it’s hardison. we can track his location if we move quick.

good. eliot’s voice drops from it’s usual honeyed whiskey to bloody gravel. it always does when he’s in hitter mode. tell me where he is. I swear if they’ve hurt him I’ll rip their lungs out. parker nods, hardison’s spare laptop already open on her lap. I’ll help.

hardison’s in bad shape when they find him. but not as bad as his captors once eliot’s thru with them. they’re on the highway speeding toward a hospital when hardison finally opens his eyes. parker can see him smile up at eliot in the rearview mirror before he glances up at her.

it’s my peoples. knew you’d come get me. eliot uses a corner of his bandana to wipe the blood away from hardison’s face. course we did, alec. can’t have you getting any glass eyes. wouldn’t suit you. eliot leans down and stage whispers in his ear, his voice warm and smooth again, you’re not nearly badass enough.

hardison sputters in outrage and parker lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. drops the hard line of her shoulders. lets up on the gas. if her boys are bickering then she knows everything is going to be okay.

hardison will be okay. they will be okay. no glass eyes today.

and eventually it’s parker’s turn. it’s not even a proper job—she’s scaling an elevator shaft for recon when a support gives way. and it’s silly. she’s fallen 3 floors and her leg is definitely broken. and she can hear eliot’s voice in her ear saying it was a very distinctive crunch but all she can think is that this is her glass eye.

she must’ve said that out loud because hardison is babbling on about scars and lasers and talking about numbers. seven and nine what? she vaguely thinks it might be some sort of new concussion protocol tho she can’t quite focus enough to make it make sense.

something warm and wet is pooling under her cheek, blocking her vision. oh and that’s it, isn’t it? hardison’s still muttering under his breath and eliot is grunting her name over the comms. c’mon parker you gotta talk to me! I’m coming to get you dammit but you gotta talk. to. me.

can I have a snowglobe in my glass eye? hardison sputters before stuttering—woman I swear you will be the death of me. and she thinks he sounds a little bit relieved. but it doesn’t stop his voice from warbling when he asks, you okay mama?

parker lifts her face out of the tacky puddle it’s in, starts to nod and then immediately throws up. she can’t focus. eliot’s don’t move parker, you have a concussion is followed by a sympathy gag from hardison.

her head is throbbing and her leg feels like it’s on fire. but she can hear her boys breathing over the comms. can hear them cajole her to talk more. they’re coming to get her.

but they’re not bickering. and that feels wrong. that feels wrong bad.

and then there’s a metal scraping sound as the elevator doors above her are pried open. light floods the shaft and parker blinks into it. I can see you she whispers. and she can. they are silhouetted in a rectangle of light above her.

and then they are setting up ropes and climbing down toward her. just like she taught them. and it’s kinda beautiful. even if it’s plan m and a glass eye. I think I broke the pretzels.

when she wakes up it’s two weeks later and she’s hooked up to a hospital bed. her left leg is in a cast and her arms are covered in bruises and rope burn. there’s a bandage blocking half her vision.

but then she sees eliot. he’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, his hand wrapped gently around hers and his head resting on hardison’s shoulder. he looks exhausted. his hair is frizzy and he hasn’t shaved. hardison doesn’t look much better. his mouth is open and he’s half snoring. his clothes are dark and rumpled.

she smiles. she’s always enjoyed catching her boys like this—soft and quiet and together. it’s the next best thing to hearing them bicker.

that’s when she sees it. a sparkle of light, almost like a diamond, on the medical cart between them. nestled in a padded velvet box is a glass eye.

[ghostietea]

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Overheard at Blackfield.

Consider this an incorrect quote collection because... why not?

A few of these quotes are from here. 

Anyway, on with the show?

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No Face: *tapping on the table*

Billy: *tapping back*

John: What are they doing?

Raven: Morse code.

No Face: *Aggressively taps*

Billy: YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

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John: Hey.

Grimm: *grunts*

John: How’s it going?

Grimm: Leave.

John: Alright, damn.

*with the others*

Stone: I think that was the longest conversation I’ve seen Grimm have.

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Bloody Mary: I wouldn’t expect you to understand love. You’re just a teenager.

Raven: You killed your best friend because she threw you the bouquet. But, yeah, sure, I’m the one who doesn’t know love.

Therapist: Perhaps we should end this double session.

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Preacher: The gates of hell will be waiting for all of you.

Needles: Don’t threaten me with a good time.

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Needles: Ight, imma head out.

*Causes a prison riot*

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Raven in private: There are so many things I want to tell you. But I know you’ll never hear. I should have told you before, but all I have is my memories. I only hope I don’t forget you.

Raven in public: Do not involve me at all, I’m reading.

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Needles to Dollface: Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?!

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Mr Grimm: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?

Raven: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

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John Doe: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Billy: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Mary: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and it burned.

Raven: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Dollface: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it in my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Mr Grimm: I have emotional scars.

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