#Also puppet! I want to post this on ao3. Do you mind if I'm the notes of the fic I link your winter soldier fic??

[giurochedadomani]

Guys I've been possessed by the possibilities of a winter soldier mungrove au.

@puppetoffthehook 😁

I'm shit at any long format fic, but I couldn't stop thinking about the ‘first meeting’ post the winter soldier events. Also, perhaps Eddie getting framed for murder fits better post his turning into the winter soldier? As in, every information points in the direction that the winter soldier was designated to infiltrate, kill and disappear. So it doesn't make sense that he was behind the brutal murder of governor's Carver wife (or any of the horrific murders that take place shortly after). They have been extremely public and extremely gory, not like any of the other victims of the winter soldier, who disappeared never to be seen again.

However, Eddie might be the key to lead them to whoever's plotting behind the curtains (perhaps Vecna / Henry Creel is our Baron Zemo?). Billy really defends this hypothesis because something something he and Eddie have always had each other's back, something something he finds infuriating that people have always read the worst in him, but also because he prefers that option to telling anyone about why he's so invested in helping Eddie.

(Also, the logical thing to me is to make Steve into our Iron Man, because rich white boy with daddy issues and also to keep the Rivalry ™ with Billy, but I'm also a strong supporter of harringroveson or at least 'Steve, Eddie and Billy as besties' so, an Iron Man that doesn't have uhhhh the same kind of backstory with the winter soldier? A bit more understanding Iron Man that doesn't lead to the civil war big fight?)

(also Corroded Coffin as the howling commandos, perhaps?)

Anyway, a bit of suffering for our favourite guys:

A red guitar pick hangs from a necklace. Strange light reflects on it, making it vaguely fluorescent. Billy feels the familiar warmth of a leather jacket as two arms envelope him in a hug, a voice speaking as through a broken phone:

"Don't believe him. You know what Neil wants. What do I have to do to convince you that you're not the bad guy?"

"Eddie". Then again, louder: "Eddie". He feels the cold down his back and then– on his face? And the arms around him keep him from– Gareth's shouting something. And Billy hangs on the broken door of the train. And Eddie's scream gets lost in the distance as he falls to his death.

"Eddie!"

…

…

Billy wakes up as the bucket under the broken pipeline overflows. Drop, drop and then–

"Don't move", mutters a voice next to him. Billy rises up abruptly, only to be pulled back by his wrists and a clinking behind his back and– okay, he's handcuffed to what feels like a broken, old radiator. And Eddie's next to him.

Eddie–

Eddie slowly rises the damp rag when Billy's head snaps back to look at him. He's been. Patching him up? Big, brown eyes eye his forehead curiously as Billy feels the cut closing. The long list of plans, the myriad of contingencies Harrington ran him through disappear as his chest constricts.

He thinks: he's alive. He mutters: "Thanks".

The hair's longer than the last time, curls sitting comfortably past his shoulders as Eddie sets the rag aside and gets up. He has ditched the uniform in favor of a dark leather jacket over dark denim.

"You didn't have to put yourself in the middle". If it wasn't for the roughness of his voice, it would almost feel like they're again sixteen and he's chiding Billy for defending him from some bullies instead of for helping him out with a Swiss special operations team.

Billy shrugs.

"You didn't have to take me to–", wherever this is. He takes on the aseptic, spartan room they're into as Eddie moves around. There's a thin, ratty mattress in a corner, Billy can't help the little smile that curves the corner of his lips when he sees Eddie putting in a bag a scribbled notebook next to it. "You didn't have to help me either. Yet here we are".

He can't have been unconscious for long, they're probably still somewhere in Geneva. He wonders how long he has before someone inevitably tracks them down.

"I'm not here to arrest you. I can help", he says, because it probably begs clarification. Eddie's face parts in a sneer. "I know you didn't do it".

Which is an hypothesis at best, a bad hunch at worst, as Harrington oh so kindly put it back in New York.

Billy's not sure what Eddie's trying to read on his face, but he'd like to smooth his frown with his hand. He wants to– He wants–

"Whoever you're searching for is dead". Billy feels as if all air has been punched out of him, as if they were back at Starcourt, Eddie's hands around his throat. "You'll end up dead if you keep searching for him".

He thinks: no. He thinks: not even if another century passes. He'll drag Eddie back from hell no matter if the devil himself decides to get in his way.

"That's what he told you?", he shouts, as Eddie makes his way to the door. "You don't have to believe him! Eddie!"

(What do I have to do to convince you that you're not the bad guy?)

…

…

Later, a shadow on the Mont Blanc bridge will extend their hand over the water. They will absently caress a stolen necklace, feeling the slight beat of the minuscule tracking device hiding on the pick. After a long moment, the shadow will put it back around their neck.

[mewintheflesh-2]

Without You

Rating: Teen and Up audiences

Archive warnings: None

Characters: Francis Mosses, Original Characters

Tags: Unrequited Love, heartbreak, Song: Without You (Strawberry Guy), Crushes, Unrequited Crushes, Francis Mosses has sensory issues (briefly mentioned), minor blood and injury, Francis deals with the qualms of being a retail worker (kinda), men crying, emotional hurt, hurt/no comfort, not beta read, Reader is gender neutral.

Word count: 1,800 (rounded down)

Summary: Francis wasnt having a good time.

And you're not about to make it any better

Also posted on Ao3

Francis sighed solomly as he gripped the now empty milk carrier. Hard enough to leave imprints on his hand and whiten his knuckles.

His black leather shoes clicked and clacked against the cold, concrete sidewalk. The sunset painting everything around him in a golden light. It'd be nighttime soon.

He lifted his free hand to his head and clutched his sweaty hair from underneath his hat. He was so tired. He just wanted to get home and sleep.

But he mostly just wanted to talk to you.

Even if you only really talked through that thick, protective window, youd been making more and more conversation with eachother each time you spoke, getting to know eachother more and more each day.

It wasnt long before Francis' lovesick brain fell head over heels.

It was everything about you. The way you looked, with a smile rivaling the warmth of the sun, and just as dangerous to his heart and mind. You always seemed to know exactly what to say to him to pull at his heart like a puppet on a string.

If he didnt know any better, hed say you were doing it on purpose.

He wouldnt mind either way.

Francis slugged up to the reception window, a weight lifted off of him at the sight of you at your desk.

He pushed his ID and Entry Request inside the letterbox for you to receive, planting his hands on the metal shelf jutting out of the wall just below the window; watching you expectantly with a simultaneous aching and soothing feeling in his heart.

After a minute of shuffling papers and opening folders, you look up at him.

"Hello, Francie." You smiled warmly at him.

There it was.

That nickname.

God how it made his heart swell. 

'Francie.'

Such a cute nickname

and it was just for him, gifted from you.

"How's your day been?" You tilted your head slightly at him, setting down and organizing his identification and sliding his profile back into the appropriate folder.

Francis looked at you for a second before frowning. "Not great." He sighed as he shook his head softly, looking down at his shoes.

Your eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown adorning your lips.

"I'm sorry, Francie. What happened, if you dont mind me asking?" Your voice was so warm and soft as you leaned in closer to the window.

It made Francis' heart flutter for a second before he had to think back to all that had happened earlier.

"It's just a lot of little things building up. I'm probably more upset about it than I should be." Francis looked down at his hands, and then up to you.

The expression on his face was just killing your heart. 

"Im all ears." You speak softly as you push your chair in closer to your desk, and by extension, the window.

"If theres anything you need to say, then say it. Its always nice to get things off your chest, dont you think?" You smile softly at him, pushing your chair closer to your desk, and closer to the window by extension.

"Are you sure?" Francis looked around, almost worried. Surely he'd be taking up your time on your job if he did that, right?

"I have all the time in the world-- and I'd rather be talking to you than anything else right now." You assured, that deadly warm smile on your lips again.

The words made Francis feel warm and soft.

A small smile appeared on his face for a brief, fleeting moment. 

 Francis stared at you for a moment, as if asking for approval to speak.

You nod.

He sighed, looking down at the metal shelf infront of him as his ungloves hands tapped at it, wondering where to begin.

"Its just- work has been just awful today.  Someone had left their dog outside, as soon as it saw me it wouldn't stop chasing me, i tried to run away, but it eventually caught up to me and bit my leg.

It wouldnt let go until I had to pry it off of me. And even then it didn't leave me alone for awhile. Not until it's owners came back to take it off of me." 

You frowned, trying to open your mouth to speak, but Francis kept talking.

"And because of that dog, i dropped and broke multiple milk bottles on the sidewalk. So after the dog got taken off of me, i tried picking up the glass since I didn't want anybody accidentally stepping on it because of me, but the shards cut me. Badly. Even through my gloves."

He held his hand up to the window for you to see. There were bloodied bandages wrapped around his hand, and several smaller cuts on his bare fingers. 

You cringe at the sight.

"I had to take them off to clean the wounds, and everything has just been sensory hell ever since." Francis' face draws to a grimace.

"And to make things worse, I had to deal with people yelling at me for being incompetent for losing their deliveries."

He clenched his jaw, his expression doesn't look anything but sad.

"Even though it wasn't even my fault. I'm not the one who left their dog outside. And just to top it off, I've had a horrible migrane all day, and It's just-" He inhales and groans,  collapsing onto the metal shelf infront of him.

"I just want to take a break. I just want to rest."

He mumbles as he tucks his face into his folded arms.

Silence, for a moment.

"Francie........... That's awful-- I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" You frown sympathetically as you push you chair forward even more, squishing yourself against your desk and placing a hand on the window infront of you.

Francis lifted his head to look up at your hand, and then at you.

"I think talking to you and going to sleep is  enough for me to feel better." Francis smiled briefly before registering what he'd said, casting his gaze anywhere but you after he realized what he'd spoken.

You laugh softly. "If you say so."

Silence for a bit, as Francis regains his composure.

He lifts himself up, slowly propping himself on his elbows on the shelf, leaning his head on his knuckles, huffing out a breath of air.

"...How was your day?" He asks after a beat, head tilted curiously.

You smile, retracting your hand from the window. "My days been pretty slow, but im meeting someone later, so im pretty excited for that."

Meeting someone?

...

Francis blinked for a second. His expression faltering to a look of sadness for just a moment.

No. Surely you didnt mean it like that.

"Meeting someone...?" He echoed.

"Mhm." You smiled softly at the thought. "We met just a few days ago. He seems pretty nice, I'm excited to get to know him more." You lean your head on your hand, mirroring the man behind the glass.

"A-ah.......... Congratulations." Francis did his best to refrain from letting any indication of his emotions fall upon his face as he straightened himself out; but he couldn't help but frown. 

"Francie? Are you alright?" You tilted your head the slightest bit, voice a catalyst of concern for the man standing on the other side of the thick, protective glass. 

"Mhm. I just remembered something. Apologies." He held the brim of his cap between his pointer and thumb, pulling it down over his eyes the slightest bit to avoid looking at you. But he really couldn't help himself.

"Oh, alright. Is there, uh, anything I can help you with?" Your voice was calm and careful in a way that just broke poor Francies heart even more. "About what you remembered- I mean." 

"No, no. It's fine. Thanks for the offer." He shook his head softly, forcing a small smile as he looked down at the shelf infront of him.

"Of course, Francie." Your eyebrows knit together in concern. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you. You can tell me anything." 

"Mhm. Thank you." Francis took a quick glance at the door, before looking back in your direction-- though nowhere near directly at you. You put together he was probably signaling to you that he wanted to leave now.

"I'll see you tommorow?" Your voice was soft, sweet, a delicacy and a curse to Francis' ears.

There was a light buzzing noise as you pressed the button to unlock the main entrance. 

"Mhm. Goodbye." He waved at you softly, only actually looking into your eyes for a brief, fleeting moment before walking away. 

"Goodbye........." You spoke quietly, a soft pit in your stomach as you watched Francis dissappear through the doors.

You were so caught off guard by his sudden change in behavior you nearly forgot to lock the door again.

He usually liked to stay for as long as he could.

Was it something you said?

You frowned, leaning back in your chair and fidgeting with some papers.

You'd have to ask him about it tomorrow.

Again began the waiting for your neighbors to return to their apartments.

Francis opened his apartment door with shaking hands, keys jingling as they were set on his kitchen counter.

With a heavy sigh, he flicked on his lamp, enveloping the room in a warm yellow glow, trying to keep his composure.

Slowly but surely he kicked off his shoes, grabbing and throwing his hat onto his dresser.

Just as he was about to unbutton his uniform he was hit with a sudden disgusting, sickening feeling in his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

He shook his head, eyes squinting involuntary as he let himself fall onto his bed.

He lied there, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore anything he was feeling.

But no matter how many times he tried, something still peeked through.

He inhaled sharply through his nose as he flipped himself over onto his stomach, nestling his face into his soft pillows.

The feeling in his chest was too intense to bear, he could feel his breath become sporadic, unsure if it was because his face was buried in his pillows or otherwise.

He inhaled sharply once more, this time followed followed by a small Hic as his throat began to close up.

No, no, he wasn't going to cry. It's not that big of a deal. He's fine. He should be happy for you if anything.

But. With everything that happened up until that point. He really couldn't help himself from letting his emotions get the best of him.

Hot tears soaked into his pillow as his hands clutched at his hair violently, hissing in pain as his wounds flexed open.

He grits his teeth, another hic escaping his lips as he opened his eyes into the pillow.

Nothing but a warm, yellowish void.

 He pushed himself up and flipped onto his side, curling into himself, yanking a blanket over his shoulders before clutching his head, throbbing in a burning pain once again as he cried quietly.

He didn't even turn off the lamp before he'd passed out.

Silent, steady breathing, wet cheeks illuminated by the soft yellow light of his lamp. 

Tired eyes, finally getting their well deserved rest. 

An aching heart, beating slowly, deep inside his chest.

[mistymisfit]

So long, Marianne IV

Summary: Reader is a spy working undercover in Gotham when she meets Jason Todd, who despite her better judgement she forms a very close friendship with. This story follows their escape from Arkham asylum, their fall out and the times they run into each other as they get older.

Warnings: mentions of sex (but nothing smutty happens), mentions of past torture and sa!!, also one mention of Jason pushing reader's hair back but that's all that's said, no texture or anything specified.

Word Count: 4,1K

a/n: told myself i'd stop posting this series on tumblr and keep it only on ao3 but whatever, i'm having writer's block so idc

Read on ao3

Masterlist - Mobile masterlist

Your first thought is "what are we even doing anymore?" It's great to have him back in your life, but what the fuck is going on? Ever since you worked things out with him after what happened in Gotham, you started to sneak and meet him in secret. First, it was random hotels until he bought a few safe houses in the city. You never went to the same place twice. The safe houses would always switch after a while, he'd sell them and replace them. Out of the current ones, there was one of them uptown, then the other was downtown, and the third one was near the harbors.

You've been doing this for months, secretly meeting him in the dead of night every once in a while, and it'd always end up the same way. You see him, you get overwhelmed with how much you missed him and cry, then he'd wipe your tears off, and you'd sleep with him and leave. Frankly, you were growing a bit tired of it. He wasn't honest to you most of the time, wouldn't even tell you what he did when he was not with you. It didn't matter how great he was, it was exhausting being pushed away this much.

The first time you met him like this you cried, telling him all about how sorry you were for yelling at him like that, for saying all those things to him and leaving so cruelly. And he'd say he was sorry about locking you up and that he was a jerk- you agreed on that. To be fair, you were both wrong; you put yourself in danger going to Gotham that day, but it didn't give him the right to behave like that.

"Let go of me!" You had screamed when he picked you up, carrying you over his shoulder. "I swear to God, Ja-"

He cuts you off with a grunt before you can say his name. You trashed and kicked, but it was no match against his strength. Using your powers was out of the question, freezing him would only make it harder to escape his grasp. In between you cursing and yelling at him, he managed to walk to the military car so he could throw you into the backseat.

"Is this your fucking plan?" You were yelling as he opened the door "Have you lost your mind? You are giving him exactly what he wanted!"

"Shut the fuck up," He whispered angrily, putting a gloved hand over your mouth and hovering over you as you laid on your back. You looked around to see his men on the front seats quickly averting their gaze from you two. Of course, it was all about questioning his authority in front of them, it was fragile like that. "I don't want you to get hurt, so they're going to take you somewhere safe"

You took his hand off your face before saying "And I thought you were making decisions for yourself. Can't you see you're still his puppet? Just stop-"

"Enough, you are leaving. Now" You watched as one of his hands searched something in his pockets, handcuffs. It almost made you want to roll your eyes.

"Ja- Wait, what are you- stop it" You kicked him, trying to get out of his grasp "you're a fucking idiot, you're so brainwashed you can't see you're playing right into his trap"

"Quit it"

"Quit it? Let go of me!" You shrieked as he managed to bound your wrists behind your back. Then the anger got to you and you lowered your voice before you could say the meaner things you could come up with "You never left Arkham, huh? Figured I forgot a part of you there, left your humanity behind"

"Yeah, I'm a real monster sweetheart" He scoffs, and even over the modulated voice, you can tell the hurt in his voice, how much your words were affecting him. It made you feel bad for a second until you remembered how he was treating you.

"Clearly, you're not the person I thought you were." That's the last thing you say to him before he knocks his helmet against your head, rendering you unconscious so you wouldn't escape and ruin his plans.

You woke up with a killer headache and no idea how long you've been out or where you were. What you do know is that you're laying down on a mattress on the floor, no longer handcuffed and with an ice pack on your forehead right were Jason hit you. As you gradually regained consciousness, you started to check your whereabouts before you could move again. The room was dark, had no windows, and looking at the walls, you realized you were at some old, run down abandoned place. Panic quickly washed over you as you checked the state of your clothing; nothing was wrong with it, and you left out a sigh of relief.

You could hear voices outside, not outside the door but a bit further away. Moving as silently as you could, you walked towards the voices, going down a set of stairs and hiding behind a pile of wooden boxes as you tuned into the conversation a few meters away from you. It seemed to be some sort of weapon exchange, as most of you could make out of what they were saying was about either guns or ammo. You could only see the backs of some of Jason's men and not who they were talking to, but you recognized that voice as soon as you heard it. You took a step back, unknowingly knocking over some things and not being able to react and freeze them on time due to the shock. You'd drawn their attention to you now; neither Jason's nor Harley's goons were as fast as her to react.

"You!" She exclaimed in that high-pitched voice of hers, your heart felt heavy in your chest as it felt tighter and tighter and harder to get the air in and out of your lungs. You could feel the acid traveling from your stomach to your mouth and had to swallow down the need to puke."All grownup, Arkham's little princess!"

She kept talking as she walked closer to you, you shook your head saying no, unable to get any word out of pure fear; it had been years since you had felt that helpless. "Ah, you always healed so fast, not a scar on your pretty face, besides you know...that" Her cold fingers traced the tiny scar on the apple of your right cheek before you weakly pushed her hand off.

Your fingers went to your cheekbone, covering over the area you healed all those years ago, Jason didn't know about it. He didn't need to know about the acid burn scar you would have on your face had it not been for your powers.

"You used to be my cutesy dress up doll!"She laughed, grabbing a strand of your hair and twirling it "Remember when you wore my outfits? You looked so adorable!"

Then you remembered you were no longer tied up or keeping a cover or that you haven't been Marianne for a while. So with any and all the strength you could find, you raised your fist and delivered a swift and highly trained blow to her face. The silence that followed was deafening; the militia men were well instructed and had orders not to let anything happen to you, so they were ready to stop the situation from escalating. Stopping Harley's company from getting involved. She spat out blood and smiled, her twisted smile made your stomach turn once more. But you were free, or at least freer, so you grabbed one of her ponytails and smashed her head to the concrete wall. No longer putting up with the torture she put you through.

"What's wrong?" She teased, laughing through it "Didn't cha' miss me too? Cause I sure did! How much fun was it when I nailed your hand to-"

You let go of her hair only to push her away, making her stumble a few steps from you "Shut up, shut the fuck up!"

Then it's her laugh, that wicked, overly exaggerated high laugh that made you launch yourself again at her to fight her before you're stopped, dragged back by someone. You look up to see his expressionless helmet. He's been here this whole time? Didn't matter as you immediately started wriggling, trying to get out of his hold.

"Heal her" He ordered you, you jerk your arm out of his hand and take a few steps back, almost tripping. What? You looked up at him with eyes brimmed with tears begging to be shed and scared at how much he reminded you of him at that moment. It was like you went straight back to your captors, forcing you to heal and slow down his disease.

"No." your voice came out so low and shaky that you almost cringed at yourself.

"Stop causing me so much trouble and fix her face"

"You will not speak to me like that"

"I'll speak however I want, now do as you're told" He grabbed your face harshly; he didn't like the look in your eyes at all, or the fact that he successfully scared you into doing something you didn't want to. A whine escaped your lips as he gripped your jaw tighter, and only eased up once your eyes lit up. He could already feel the guilt eating him up, but his mind was dead set on carrying on with his revenge.

"Harley get you and your people the fuck outta here" He orders, before giving his men the same command. To leave you two alone.

"Gladly," She scoffs, holding her no longer broken nose "it was good to see ya' again"

"You're working with her?" you recriminated, shoving him and getting out of his grip once she left

"She works for me."

"Don't you dare touch me," you stepped back, raising your arms defensively when he tried to reach out for you "you heard her, you know what she did-"

"I'm using her, it's part of a plan"

"Did this big plan of yours really need her?" You sighed, wiping the tears that fell down your face; again, you found yourself crying over the same thing. Something you thought you had pushed down years ago. His silence gave you all the answers you needed

"Fine, I'm leaving"

"Wait a-" His hand caught your wrist.

"Let go of me," You struggled out of his hold "I don't even know who the fuck you are anymore. Working with her, all of them, you really are just one of the people you used to chase"

He opened his mouth to say something, not that you would know under the mask, but stopped when you added one last thing before you left. "You're just like him, and killing Batman won't fix the shell of a man you are"

Jason regretted what he did, his revenge plan didn't seem as important when he broke down after being unable to kill Bruce. He had him, but he didn't manage to pull it off. He lamented it especially when he needed you so badly to tell him it'd be okay and he wasn't a failure but you wouldn't, and now he'd probably lost that comfort forever due to his own doing.

He thought very differently. From his point of view, he was coming to you whenever he needed a decent sleep. It seemed this was the only way he could get at least an hour of useful rest, he thought fucking you was a way of making you hate him less. Maybe if he made you feel good, then you'd let him get close. It was his very fucked up way of saying he was sorry. This was the routine until tonight when he showed up incredibly injured, talking about some black mask character-- whoever that was. He had broken a few ribs and his nose; his body was poorly stitched in multiple places, and you were sure he had more wounds than those he admitted. It was a miracle he managed to leave Gotham to see you. Despite his insistence on being okay and that he was not in pain, you got to healing him.

"You have-"He whispers, wiping the blood off your nose.

"Oh it happens sometimes," You brush it off, taking the tissue from him. "do you feel better?"

"Mhm, thanks" He nods, cupping the back of your head with his hand and pushing you into a kiss.

"Wait, you should rest" You sighed "I haven't healed you completely "

"I know-" He smirks, kissing you again.

"Jay, I don't want to" You put your hand on his chest, trying to get some distance.

He sighs getting away from you and sitting as far as he could on the couch. Even if he was pissing you off, you've grown to appreciate seeing him in casual clothes. Right now, he was wearing a (way too tight) black shirt, his cargo pants as well as his boots were also black. He'd lost the leather jacket the second he walked through the door of the safe house, the safe house he'd bought to be able to meet you. You knew that with Jason you had to take what you could get, so you cherished seeing him dress like a normal person for the actual weather and not being covered from head to toe. You sigh back, rolling your eyes, and crawling to his side.

"Can't we just talk?" You whisper, tracing circles on his chest and hoping he wouldn't just get up and leave.

"Talk? " He chuckles in disbelief "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything" You shrug, but a smile creeps up your lips when he turns to see you.

"How was your day at work?" He teases, knowing you wouldn't tell him about that.

"Ugh," You complain, but when you try to get away from him he is fast to grab you and pull you flush to his chest "Jason, is this all that you want from me?"

"What do you mean?" He lets go of you enough so you can put your arms on him to prop yourself up to look him in the eye.

"Sex, Jay" You sigh exasperated "Do you visit me just 'cause you want to get laid?"

He's taken aback by your question; you wanted more from him? Also, is that what you think of him? And on your side, you can't decipher his expression. Sometimes you miss being 16 and knowing exactly what went through his mind. He used to be so easy to read, now it's like he's purposely closing off any and all information he didn't want to give to you willingly. You had your suspicions that he'd come see you just because it was easier for him than letting some random girl see his scars, you even doubted he went out at all for the very same reason. You figured maybe it was easier to let his guard down with you since you had already seen the worst of him and been through the same. Maybe it was just convenient that he was still in touch with his high school sweetheart.

He shakes his head no, regretting giving you that impression. His cheeks blushed thinking he was to blame for it, remembering how he broke into your apartment that night. He intended to apologize, in between his new activity as Red Hood, he'd found the time to search for you in Bludhaven like he was originally meant to before you found him first. He stood on the roof of a building in front of yours for weeks before he actually tried to contact you, going over and over again if you'd even want to know anything from him. Eventually, he grew a pair, missing you far outweighed the shame he felt.

"Shit," You cursed when you saw him standing on your apartment "you can't be here"

He was disappointed by your reaction, yet he knew he should be grateful you weren't greeting him with a punch to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but you immediately signaled him to stop. You looked around for a pen and paper and wrote down: meet me at the Harborview plaza 3 streets down. I'll get a room and leave the window open for you.

He agreed with a silent nod and left through your window, he made his way to where you told him to meet you. Jason knew he was in no position to question you and ask why wouldn't you want him in your apartment. He clearly knew where you lived, so keeping that a secret wasn't an issue. He expected yelling, cursing; Jason knew you never held back any words when mad at him. While overthinking your skittish behavior, he finally sees you open the window on a seventh floor. Of course, you couldn't have made it easy and asked for a room on the first floor, but then again he was the one taking you to the top of Gotham's skyscrapers so you could marvel at the view when you were 16.

"You shouldn't have gone there, we don't know if they're listening" You explained as soon as he came in through the window.

"I-uh,sorry" He's had months to think about what to say to you, but now that you're in front of him he's at a loss for words. No speech he had prepared came to his aid. "I didn't think about that"

He reaches for his bike helmet, undoing the buckle under his chin so he could drop it and see you. Or mainly so you could see him, maybe it was selfish of him, but he wanted someone to see him, look him in the eye and not be scared of him. Jason wanted to know if he could still count on you for that.

"I'm so sorry," You started to sniff as soon as you saw his face, wiping the tears with the sleeves of your sweater "I never should've said those things to you"

"No, I'm sorry"He finally took a step closer to you, pulling you in for a hug "I'd never forgive me if I were you"

"I don't think you're like him at all, I'm sorry I told you that" Your cries turned into sobbing, and suddenly you couldn't hold back any emotion anymore as you set the waterfalls of your eyes free. It was like a dam broke when you saw him, and everything you've been pushing down was now out in the open and you couldn't control it. He let you cry into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back to comfort you. After a while, when the sobbing didn't seem to calm down, he guided you to sit on the bed. Wiping the tears from your face with his thumbs. Kneeling down in front of you, he told you to take deep breaths, helping you relax.

"Baby," he whispered, kissing your knee over the jeans you wore "I keep fucking everything up with you, can you forgive me?"

You nodded, still tearing up and opening up your arms, so he'd come up and hug you. He does so, pushing your back to the bed and laying on top of you in the process. You're about to say you're sorry again when he kisses you. He stops, giving you a second to tell him to fuck off and looking for a response in your eyes. Lucky for him, you understood his silent question and nodded as your fingers ran through the back of his hair, and he lowered himself once more to kiss you saying, "I'm sorry, I'll never do that again to you"

So with Jason finding himself sleeping and waking up with more energy, your little rendezvous started. He's only realizing now that he has been giving you a wrong impression all this time. He sighs before, in a rare flash of vulnerability, he tells you what he thinks.

"I've been trying to make it up to you," his eyes dart to the floor, he's got every right to still be embarrassed about kidnapping you and what he made you do "make you hate me less"

The closest he's been to opening up like this was that one time when he had you wrapped under his arms, your skin touching his, and the question slipped from his overworked mind through his lips: "Are you scared of me?" You shook your head no, pressing a kiss to his scarred chest as you drifted off asleep. "No, no I'm not. We're okay," you had mumbled in response.

"I don't hate you, Jay" Music to his ears, he even contemplates asking you to say it again

"But you cry every time we meet"

"I-" You don't want to admit he has a great point, besides now that you think about it, this is the first time you ever said no to him "I have my reasons, besides you cry too, does that mean you hate me?"

"No" He defends himself, damn it, he thought he was hiding it well "I could never hate you, I love you no what ifs"

You smiled sweetly; that was what you said to him once. Many many years ago, when he was still Robin, it felt you were both completely different people from that distant memory where you told him "I love no what ifs, Jay". He had laughed then, now you doubted he would ever be that joyful again.

"Come on, you used to tell me everything," You encourage him "tell me something, anything"

"Anything?" He pushes your hair back, and you nod eagerly "You don't look like a Marianne, or a Penny, or any of your other aliases"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow in fake disbelief, you never felt those names suited you anyways"Does my real name fit me better?"

"Yes," He whispers with his hand cupping your cheek. Even if your situation is not the best or what he'd hoped for when you first met, he's still glad to have you around. Sometimes, he remembers all the dreams and plans he had and holds back from scoffing when he recalls how he already made his world spin around you before you even kissed.

"You know," Now your hand caresses his scarred cheek "my offer still stands, I can try to get rid of your scar if you want to"

He blinks, not knowing how to take your words. Did it bother you? Did it make you like him less? He takes your hand off his face, and with that, he withdraws the hand in yours. Your expressions turns sadder, he can tell, so instead, he opts to deflect the conversation as he usually does.

"Can I ask you something?" He changes the subject, and you nod, allowing him to do so even if it's exhausting at this point "Would you ever want to get out?"

"Jay-" you sigh, knowing where this conversation is headed. You couldn't leave with him, no matter how badly you wanted to. "You know I can't"

"I asked if you wanted, not if you could" He insists, secretly hoping you give him the answer he expects. Give him a sign of how important he is to you, he'd drop his Red Hood persona in a second if you asked. He's learned his lesson after being the knight, and he's been trying to redeem himself by taking out the bad guys in Gotham instead of working with them.

"Of course I want to but-"

"We could find a way out, I-" he doubts but decides to push through "want more than this"

"Hm, you want me to be your real girlfriend?" you hum, your expression softening and your shoulders relaxing as you played with his hair, him leaning into your touch which he finally learned to enjoy. "You'll finally take me out on a real date?"

"Yes, everything," He closed his eyes, relaxing even more. His tone also weakened, becoming almost a pathetic whimper as he made promises to you "whatever you want"

"You'll be honest with me?" You question, your free hand going to the other side of his face, making him look at you.

"Yes, I promise" He replies, holding your gaze "We'll work something out"

"Okay, I'll get you as much information as I can." You nodded, maybe you could hold onto the hope that he'd put his brain and abilities to good use and he could find the way out that you couldn't. Maybe two heads can think better than one alone.

[tswaney17]

Shadow Puppets

For the amazing @leiaamidala!! I'm your Secret Santa this year, and I hope you love cheesy, Elriel fluff! Thank you for being such an amazing person and a wonderful friend. I wish you a year full of happiness and cheer (and confirmation 😘)!! ❄🎄

This fic is based on the artwork linked here.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: minor language. Mostly tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 1,136

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read here.

Azriel shadow-walked them to the front door of their home from the River Manor. Typically, he preferred to fly. But with Elain two months from giving birth to the twins, and their adopted Illyrian son, flying became too much of a challenge to do so safely. Especially since Kaden was still learning how to properly fly, having not been taught before he was left at the orphanage, nor during his time spent there.

It was something Azriel could relate to more so than anyone else. That fear of flying becomes ingrained into your mind without realizing it until you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with a looming drop before you.

Kaden had tremendously improved since they began their flying lessons, but he still struggled to maintain himself if caught in a wind draft and Azriel preferred not to have his pregnant wife in his arms should he need to save his son.

So, when it was the three of them—soon to be five, gods spare him—he preferred the easier method of transportation. He still couldn’t believe they were going to be a family of five soon. He didn’t know what he did to be blessed with such a beautiful wife and the most perfect children. Lord knows he had done atrocities for the sake of his court. But somehow, through all the darkness surrounding him, Elain saw the light he never knew was shining inside of him.

A soul to match hers.

Read More

~~~~~

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[ynisreal]

wires (8) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: helloooo tumblr! so, i've already uploaded these two chapters to ao3, because my main fan work consumption is on the site… sorry for the delay in posting them here :P summary: Michael tells you part of the truth. You and Michael clean up the establishment. Where is Ennard?

"You know what his goal is, right?" Henry's voice echoes in Michael's memories. Of course he knows, that same goal was hinging and hammering on Michael's memories all the way to your house. "Ennard must be looking for a new body to camouflage himself with again," Henry reminds the younger man of each metallic limb entering his stomach and wearing his skin like a coat. Michael wasn't going to forget the animatronic's purpose, having experienced first-hand what the big robot intended to do.

"I know, but he won't be able to find one so quickly. The person he chooses has to be injected by Remnant through the scooper before he dies or, anyway - during, as happened to me," Michael's answer to Henry's question pops into his memory, reminding him of the seriousness of the situation they were in, "I don't think Ennard knows about this, so until he finds out, there will be other bodies just like Noah's, failed attempts to find a puppet for this piece of shit."

That's Michael's fear. It's the same fear that makes him hold on a little tighter to the hands that are intertwined on his torso. You notice the change in his grip, finally understanding that you weren't the only one afraid of going back to the establishment. All along the way, Michael has been giving you these little indications that he was also afraid of what had happened, even though he didn't want to show it to you. The sudden grip on your hands, the slightly controlled breathing and the tension in the broad shoulders of the man in front of you. When there was a red light and Michael's motorcycle stopped, the man's hands brushed against your thigh, his anxious fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm on your skin. Honestly, you feel a little guilty for not comforting him, but you know how serious Michael is about his secrets and what he decides to share, so you don't want to force an opening and end up fighting with him again. You don't have the strength to get into a fight about who yells the loudest with Michael right now, with the vivid images of Noah's organs racing through your head.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up," you thank him, trying once again to distract yourself and Michael from the fear you were both feeling on your way back to the establishment. "Sure, I promised I'd help you carry the weight on your back, and I'm going to do just that," Michael replies, in a slightly happier tone than his demeanor showed. He was trying to reassure you and show confidence, which you could appreciate in him.

You smile under the large helmet that surrounds your face, "Is this the extra helmet you use when you offer girls a ride?" you joke, trying once again to ease the tension in his shoulders. However, this seems to have the opposite effect when you feel his shoulders tense up once again, perhaps even a little more. This makes you open your mouth in shock, "Wow, here I was just joking, and little did I know that I was another one of your victims," you imitate an angry tone, wanting to hear what Michael's response would be.

"Calm down, it was only two," Michael replies quickly, turning his helmeted head slightly in your direction, keeping his eyes on the road. "Apart from you, of course," the last comment being added in an obviously teasing tone, the man clearly amused by the little jealous tantrum you were throwing. "Hm, I see, should I assume that they also worked with you? Or that you also wrote them notes?" you add, continuing to dramatize the situation, amused by the lightness in which you and Michael were chatting, which completes its task in distracting both of you from the fear hanging over both your minds.

"No, that was just you," Michael says seriously, which surprises you a little, given the joking tone the subject was taking.

It's true. You feel it almost immediately.

"I didn't used to get too involved with the people I had sex with or talked to, that only started with you," Michael adds, not really caring what his words meant or what they suggested.

True. Again.

Your cheeks immediately blush. Shit, how Michael had the ability to dominate your thoughts and make the problems surrounding your head seem like ants next to his magnitude. "Well, what's in the past doesn't matter, I'm glad you've changed. You're the kind of person that everyone would love to meet," you replied awkwardly, not knowing how to react to Michael's sudden confession, letting the first words that came into your mind take over your facial muscles and spill out of your mouth.

Michael doesn't answer. After all, that clumsy little reply of yours brought a light into Michael's mind. He had changed, after meeting you, after so many months locked in the silence and darkness of the establishment, after dying and having to drag his own corpse out of a dark alley, Michael had changed. And this change was a good one, of course he still had certain reactions or behaviors that were already automatic in his brain, but even unconsciously, he had opened up to you, he wanted that opening. Michael was willing to open all his scars for you to look inside, through all the blood and pain.

"We're here," Michael says, seeing such the familiar establishment lurking on the sidewalk. You raise your head to look through the tinted window of the helmet, feeling your stomach rise in your throat and threaten to come out of your mouth. Days passed, Noah's case was still open, analyzing suspects, the sun still rose and fell the same way as before, but your fear was still there. Michael's company made you feel safer, knowing that neither you nor he would ever walk those same corridors alone, but it was inevitable that you would create various scenarios in your head about how the two of you would end up dead in the same way as Noah.

Michael noticed your hesitation, so he squeezed your hand that was still wrapped around his torso, signaling that he would be entering with you. He would help you carry the tiring weight of fear, even if his hands were growing calluses from having carried the same fear alone for several years.

The engine noise ceases and you look around the parking lot, unaccustomed to the scenery belonging to the establishment. You remove your helmet awkwardly, wrinkling your nose as you feel some of your hair being pulled along with the material. Your eyes meet the dark glass of Michael's helmet, and you wait a few seconds, a little confused by your companion's delay, when it finally hits you.

"Do you want me to go in first?" you ask, your voice soft and your head tilting slightly in sympathy. Michael's gentle laugh makes itself known and he lifts his hand to stroke your cheek.

"No need, just wait for me at the exit to the parking lot," he replies, knowing that you would feel uncomfortable entering the establishment alone, but you still wanted to make him comfortable. Michael still had no plans to show his face to you, that hadn't changed, so he appreciated your respect for his secret.

You nod and give him a small kiss on the hand that was hidden in a glove, which you assumed was part of the bike's equipment. Your footsteps echoed through the establishment as you walked up to the large red door that marked "Exit" in black letters. Michael waited until the footsteps were far enough for him to take off his helmet, wrinkling his nose when he felt bits of skin from his face getting stuck in the material. Shit, he would have to buy a wider helmet to avoid the cracks that were forming in his face, leading to some black patches from the necrotic muscles. He picks up the backpack he had brought, reaching for his hoodie and the black surgical mask he had brought. After lifting the hood from the hoodie, the upper part of his face was hidden, along with the lower part which was covered by the mask.

After a few minutes, you hear Michael's footsteps echoing through the garage, signaling to you that he was coming to meet you. "Is this the exit?" you ask, given that he's been working in the establishment longer than you. Michael saw the red door next to you and made a positive sign with his hands, showing you the new bandages that covered his fingers and hands. The famous mask and hood you were used to seeing every week are back, and you finally realize how much you had missed Michael. Honestly, you were grateful. A lot of feelings went through your head these last few days, especially with Noah's death and the story Henry told you, which helped you realize that: life is grey. It doesn't judge, it doesn't help or facilitate nor does it hinder or slow you down. Life gives what it can, and now, you were extremely grateful for what little Michael shared with you. Whether it was a blind kiss, a faceless figure or sweet words that were muffled by the mask. Life gave it to you, and you felt grateful for what seemed so little to other people, but was immense to you. And for Michael too.

"And the wage earners always come back to collect their wages," Michael said casually, letting out a theatrical sigh as he opened and held the large, eye-catching door for you to pass through. You let out a small laugh, "True, the chocolates my sister likes are very expensive these days," the same joking tone in the man's voice is heard in your own, enjoying the light mood you were starting the shift in. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's just your sister who eats them," Michael says sarcastically, calling the elevator as he pushes the button that instantly lights up. You let out another laugh, pushing the man's arm a little too hard, just to provoke him. But honestly, with the short contact of your hand on his toned arm, you realize that even if you had used one hundred percent of your strength, Michael might not have moved at all.

The elevator finally opens its doors, making a loud noise, as apparently all the doors in this establishment do. Michael lets you in first, extending his arm between the open space of the doors to prevent them from closing. As you enter that familiar environment, the reality of the place you're returning to makes itself present in your stomach again. Memories of you running through the corridors and praying to any entity that would listen to you so that you wouldn't be the next victim return to your mind, letting the discomfort begin to grow in your body. You are not alone is what you try to repeat to yourself, as an attempt to stabilize your anxiety. And it was the reality, you weren't alone, Michael was with you, the man who always tried to help you and ease your worries, why should this time be any different? It wouldn't.

The man next to you found your sudden silence strange, imagining that the memories and traumas of that night must be tormenting you. He still didn't know the details of what you had done or what you had thought on that day, only receiving the narrative through indirect sources—via Henry and the reports the older man had brought home. His imagination filled in some of the gaps, relying on the fact that Michael had been through similar experiences a few times to make accurate assumptions. "Close your eyes," Michael says impulsively, his voice coming out hoarse, surprising even himself as if his body had taken action before he realized what he was about to do.

You hardly needed time to react, immediately complying with Michael's request and allowing your sight to be stripped away. Your swift response exuded desperation, a realization that left you a little embarrassed. It became clear how effortlessly Michael could read your body language, especially in your most vulnerable moments. Your other senses took over, enabling you to listen to Michael's movements. You heard the elastic of the mask being stretched and the friction of the material against the man's skin, indicating that he had removed the object. Almost immediately afterward, your sense of touch allowed you to feel Michael's lips meeting yours. The kiss was slow and sweet, the small cuts on the man's mouth adding a subtle tickle, especially when you reached out to grab the material of his hoodie, bringing the two of you even closer. The affirmation you sought was present in the shared kiss—Michael was here. The same Michael who had promised to help you, no matter how challenging things became.

The sound of the elevator doors opening echoes through the closed room and you feel Michael's hand cover your eyes, even though you've kept them closed. The sweet taste of the man's lips disappears, replaced by the cold breeze that envelops the bare lower part of your face. "We're here," Michael whispers, his husky voice close to your ear. You nod positively, a little nervous about your prolonged lack of sight. The hand covering your eyes finally leaves, allowing your vision to return, the dim lighting of the establishment invading your eyesight again, irritating you slightly.

You glance at Michael, who already has his mask back on. The affirmation you were repeating was now firmly in your mind, so you didn't hesitate to take the first step, making your way towards the heavy, noisy doors of the main hall. This time, the loud sound didn't startle you, showing how determined your brain is to ignore any kind of fear, focusing solely on the mantra hammering away at the back of your mind. Michael follows you, satisfied that the little bit of encouragement he provided in the kiss worked, pleased with the image in front of him: you attempting to move forward. It won't be easy, but he can try to make it easier for you.

Michael follows you, noticing how you're walking a bit too fast through the main hall, searching for the cleaning utensils to organize the chaos that the police and investigators had left behind. Michael's strong arm appears in the corner of your vision as you reach for the mop bucket.

"Doll, slow down, I'm here to help you," his voice is once again close to your ear, "I'm glad you're determined, but don't forget that I also have my role in helping you," he continues, grabbing the bucket with ease and placing it on the floor in front of you.

"Okay, sorry, I'm just afraid this wave of motivation is gonna leave too soon," you express, rubbing your hands on your uniform, a sign of your sudden hyperactivity. "So don't use it all up within seconds, just take a deep breath and calmly use up your motivation battery, so you don't go into total denial about everything that happened," Michael says calmly, raising his arm to pick up the other utensils. "Honestly, denial would be a good way to deal with all this," you admit, watching as the man in front of you, once again, gathers up all the items and then leaves you empty-handed.

Michael turns his head towards you, letting the dim light illuminate the upper part of his face. With so many emotions over the last few days, you'd forgotten: Michael's eyes were completely dark. A dark black that consumed all the light in the room and didn't reflect a single glint. You remember the drawing you made that associated this feature, which at the time you thought was imaginary on your part, with the eyes of a powerful villain. It's true, it was a look that would make any villain envy the darkness and emptiness that his gaze conveys. But you couldn't possibly think that about his gaze, knowing that Michael wasn't a villain, at least not in your eyes. You looked away, not wanting Michael to find out that his eyes were uncovered. After all, if he kept secrets, you could keep yours.

"Don't say that," the man's voice is serious, "Denial won't do any good, in fact, reality will only hit harder afterwards," Michael says. Truth, you feel it again. Damn, you wish you could tear your insides apart so you could stop feeling these intuitions. Feeling your body betraying you and agreeing with Michael.

"Yeah," you reply dryly, in denial about being able to stay in denial, basically. "I hate to be cliché, but time heals all wounds, and well, justice heals other wounds too," Michael looks back at the shelves, reaching for the cleaning cloths and gloves.

"Have you experienced this before?" your voice comes out hoarse, a little frustrated with Michael's advice, not wanting to accept the reality that you would have to cope with your emotions and fears. The man doesn't stop in his movements, continuing to throw the cloths he found into the bucket in front of you. He takes a few seconds to respond, as if he's thinking about what to say.

"Yes," Michael says, "Noah wasn't the first death in this establishment."

Well, what the fuck? Isn't this kind of information usually shared with new employees?

You don't answer, your body speaks for itself, your eyes going wide and your hands clenching your uniform. "What do you mean?" your voice comes out a little broken, your fear returning almost instantly. Michael realizes this, so he makes the decision to tell you this story in another manner. "I'm going to tell you, I just need you to close your eyes so I can comfort you," he says, his voice heavy with anxiety. Shit, it was hard having to be careful about the secrecy of his appearance and keeping you physically close at such times.

You sigh and close your eyes again. Michael brings you close, covering the top of your face once again with his hand and letting his other hand caress the fabric of your uniform that was covering your shoulder. "It's been a while since that body was found," Michael is careful with his words, not wanting to scare you or expose himself too much, "Henry, the man you met, was the one who found the body, but the killer was already identified in that case, so you don't have to-"

"Did this man come back to life, or did something happen to him after death?" you ask curiously, remembering the tale Henry had told you. You really didn't believe that the man had come back to life, so you assumed that it must be some kind of lesson or significance that the employees of this establishment shared. Well, you were partly right.

"What do you mean?", the hand on your shoulder stops abruptly, surprised by your question. "Henry told me that he knew a story about a man who had another chance in life after he died," you explain, your hand reaching for Michael's to return the caress on your shoulder that was helping you to calm down, "Well, I assumed that it was a well-known tale in the establishment, and since Henry found the body, he may have tried to pass it on to me," you conclude, a little confused by your own statement. "Forget it, I must look crazy," you add, finally finding Michael's hand as you feel the familiar bandages around your fingers.

Michael smiles beneath his mask, evidently Henry must have shared the story of his death with you. "Would you like the story to end like that?" Michael asks, resuming his caress on your shoulder, "For the corpse that Henry found to come back to life?". You think for a few seconds, not understanding Michael's question, but regardless, you decide to answer: "Yes, it would be less gruesome than ending up with Henry running around the corridors afraid of being the next one, just like me," you shrug, the sincerity in your voice making your speech seem a little too casual for the reality of your statement.

"Okay," Michael smiles, a smile so big that he's afraid the necrotic tissue on his cheek will tear deeply. "You mentioned that the killer was identified, is he under arrest?" you ask.

That's going to be impossible to explain, Michael thinks.

"No," the man replies sincerely, not wanting to delve into who, or rather what, the killer was. "That's why I'm here with you, it's safer for both of us, and believe me, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that these same stories don't repeat themselves with you or your sister."

"My sister?" you vocalize, your hand that was stroking Michael's bandages quickly ceasing. "Michael, what does my sister have to do with this?", your voice sounds irritated, which makes Michael hesitate in his movements. Shit, he said too much.

"She has nothing to do with it, Y/n, calm down," Michael blurted out as he felt your hand grip his tightly. Not that it was actually hurting, but he could sense the desperation in your tone. "I only vocalized my concern for both of you, I know how much you love and care for her."

"Okay, but why should the murder in this establishment worry my sister?" you asked once again, the irritation you felt still not subsiding.

"There's a killer on the loose, Y/n, that's what I'm saying, we don't know where he is," Michael knows that what he's telling you is the opposite of comforting or calming you, but it's the truth. He didn't want you walking the streets carefree or letting your sister come home from school completely alone. Ennard was still on the loose, and he was testing bodies until he could find one that would hold up, which won't happen until Ennard realizes that the corpse needs Remnant.

You sigh, letting the depth of Michael's statement settle within you. He was presenting facts that were difficult to accept, the realization that your sister or other people could be in danger. You couldn't afford to let fear paralyze you, to be as openly vulnerable as you were being, you needed strength and courage in this moment, especially since your little sister depended on your protection and care.

While Michael could bring you comfort and motivation, this line of thinking brought you courage and determination. You had to control your emotions, after all, it wasn't just your life that depended on it.

It worried the man when he didn't hear any response from you, but soon after, he listened to your breathing become more controlled, as if you were trying to calm your thoughts and stabilize your heart. "I understand, thank you for clarifying that to me," you finally reply, your voice strangely calm, "I needed to hear that, thank you Michael," you add, raising your hand to caress his other hand, which was still positioned over your eyes.

Michael smiles, satisfied with the conclusion of the confusing and unexpected conversation you two shared. So he carefully lowers his mask, sealing the discussion you two had with a small kiss, just to bring you and him a sense of comfort and closeness after a sensitive conversation for both of you.

When you feel the hand being removed from your eyes, Michael is already wearing his mask and standing at the same distance he considers safe. Your gaze falls on the utensils already positioned in the bucket, apart from the mop and broom in Michael's hands. You crouch down to pick up the bucket with the cloths and cleaning products, but Michael's arm reaches for the item before you can grab it.

"Why do you still try?" Michael's voice is laced with teasing, totally different from the tone you two had been talking in a few minutes ago. You let out a hearty laugh when you saw that Michael was practically hugging the broom and mop with one arm, squeezing them tightly against his body so they wouldn't fall off, while his free arm was carrying the bucket. "If you'd rather contort yourself to carry the bucket than let me handle a broom, honestly, you're crazy," you smiled, holding out your arms, hoping that Michael would make an exception for today.

"Call me crazy all you want," he says, ignoring your offer and starts walking through the corridors in search of the mess made by the investigators. You roll your eyes, amused by Michael's extreme insistence on being a gentleman, but you still follow him down the corridors to start your day shift.

"Fuck, couldn't those jerks collect their damn tapes?", Michael's voice rings out through the corridors until you reach Ballora's gallery, where you were. Hearing him get angry about this makes you laugh as you organize some boxes that the cops had emptied during the investigation. "Damn it, just put that shit in the garbage can, did they have to leave it on the floor?", Michael finally makes his way to the door of the room you were in.

"Michael, it's our job to manage the establishment, their only job is to investigate," you explain, without taking your eyes off the task you were doing, sorting out the items that were for the decoration box that ended up on the floor due to the policemen's carelessness. "But it's also their job to have the minimum of human dignity and throw garbage in the garbage can," Michael replies, still frustrated by the mess that had established itself in the Funtime auditorium: badly cleaned blood, torn yellow tapes on the floor, empty coffee cups everywhere and, to complete the humiliation, the staff toilet near the auditorium was clogged. Not that Michael needed it, he no longer has a functioning digestive system, but you did, and the asshole cops apparently didn't think about your digestive system while they clogged up the only fucking toilet in this establishment.

"Are you going to unclog the toilet? I can finish the boxes quickly and get it done," you asked, turning your body towards the door. You saw Michael standing in the doorway, holding two transparent garbage bags, both visibly full. "No, I'll do it," Michael replied in frustration, not at you, but at the mess. As much as he found the months he spent alone in the establishment frustrating, he had created a sense of home for the place. For him, seeing this messy and untidy place that he'd practically lived in for months would burst a vein, well, if he had veins with blood pumping through them.

"You're already cleaning the auditorium, which I believe has been left in a mess of blood and other filth," you plead. Michael had immediately offered to clean the auditorium, knowing that it would be uncomfortable for you to relive your memories there, even more so with the blood barely cleaned up by the investigators who collected the body and the various tapes written "Crime Scene".

"No, I'll clean the auditorium and the bathroom, no problem," Michael put the bags down, sighing at the effort he'd been putting in all afternoon. It was strange, to spend the whole afternoon mopping the floor and walking back and forth through the corridors to carry bags of garbage, and not break a sweat. He felt hot and breathless from the hard work, but he couldn't sweat anymore. "I don't want to kiss you later and have you smell like stale coffee and bleach," Michael explained, putting one hand on his waist and the other to loosen the hoodie he was wearing, shaking the fabric of the collar so that a breeze of air would cool his dead body.

"Oh yeah, then I'll have to smell that on you later," you laugh, not at all convinced by Michael's explanation. "I don't want your sister to be traumatized by the stink she'll smell when you get home," Michael says, his voice carrying a provocative tone, which makes you smile once again.

Michael looked extremely attractive right now, even with his face covered. The fabric of the hoodie really helped with the masterpiece in front of you, making no effort to hide the man's physique, apart from the fact that, with the movement he was making with the fabric, you could see a bit of bandage around his abdomen. You had discovered yet another feature of your sexual preference with Michael, finding the bandages he wore on his hands extremely attractive, even if you didn't understand why he wore them. A good amount of time had passed since the episode in the control room, and honestly, all you wanted now was to have the opportunity to feel Michael like that again.

"Doll, I'm going to throw this shit away and finish the auditorium tomorrow, I need to sort out the fucking toilet by today," Michael announces, picking up the bags again. You nod positively, "I like it when you call me that," you say with a fond smile on your face, happy to have Michael working with you, it really managed to distract you from the fact that the two of you were cleaning up the mess of the policemen - policemen who had come to investigate a murder.

"Brings back good memories, right?" Michael's voice echoed through the corridors, the malice evident in his tone, but he missed the opportunity to see your cheeks blush and your eyes close in shyness. But your face bore a smile, good memories indeed.

You took the opportunity that Michael had taken on the task of cleaning and unclogging the toilet to check the Scooping Room. Over the last few days, you had called the company a few times, explaining the situation of the robot forgotten in the establishment. The secretary had been polite to you, but she repeated that there was no record of the animatronic you were describing, an animatronic with several exposed wires and white plates forming a face that held a hat on top. You were confused by the situation, which she tried to explain could be some robot from another establishment or an export error by the construction company. The secretary explained that they were swamped with demands from the redesign of this facility and the lawyers who were handling the lawsuit over Noah's death, so she couldn't give you a definite date of when someone would pick up the lost animatronic.

So, walking quickly through the Funtime auditorium, avoiding looking at any traces of blood or, frankly, anywhere other than the small door of the Scooping Room, you decide to check on the animatronic, even to see if the police had removed it or done anything to the robot. When you enter the dark room, the animatronic is no longer next to the door, which makes you think almost immediately that it must have been removed, but as soon as your eyes get used to the darkness of the room, you can see the animatronic standing next to the large scooper in the middle of the room.

The animatronic was positioned in a creepy way, its arms, which were tubes and tubes of wires, were next to its metallic body, with its eyes turned towards the door, where you were standing. Next to him was the large scooper, which you assumed was for rebuilding or destroying the robots. "Well, it looks like they left you right here," you vocalized in a low voice, making sure Michael didn't hear any noise coming from the auditorium. The animatronic was submerged in the darkness of the place, the open door with the low lighting of the auditorium didn't do your vision any justice, you could only see the white plates that formed the robot's face and the long tubes that escaped from the metal body. Some dark spots were on the animatronic's white face, which made you think that the policemen must have moved the robot and let some coffee drip onto the plates. You were still amazed at the lack of care the investigators had shown with the establishment.

When you hear footsteps in the corridor and Michael's voice calling your name accompanied by some complaints about the smell in the bathroom, you immediately close the door to the scooping room and practically run through the auditorium, taking care not to bump into anything and cause a loud sound that would attract Michael's attention. "Y/n, let's close up and leave, I can't stand that stink any longer, tomorrow I'll bring a gas mask to keep cleaning the bathroom," Michael says, as he walks towards Ballora's gallery, but quickly notices that you are no longer there. "Y/n?" Michael says louder, wanting to hear an answer from you before he turns this establishment upside down, creating more chaos than the policemen left behind.

"I'm here," you reply as you run down the corridors to meet Michael. "Where did you go? Finished with the boxes?" the man asks as soon as he sees you running towards him, his hood hiding the frown of concern that has formed on his eyebrows. "I went to have a look in the auditorium, but I came running when I heard your call," you explain, placing your hand on the old walls of the corridor, trying to calm your breathing. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, but you still felt bad about lying in front of Michael, especially about a subject he clearly felt strongly about.

"Hm, you could have told me," Michael replied, crossing his arms, "It's okay, next time, just let me know before you go to the auditorium, I don't like the thought of you alone in that place," the man explained, his husky voice filling your ears with a tone of distress.

"It's okay, Michael," you responded, smiling awkwardly due to the shortness of breath you were still feeling. "Let's go, you need a shower," your attempts to calm your breathing allowed you to inhale deeply of the reek that covered the man at that moment. Honestly, you were relieved that he had offered to clean the bathroom, you wouldn't put up with that smell for a second before vomiting.

"Wow, look what a gentleman gets for cleaning the bathroom for a girl," Michael imitates a sad voice, "Get used to the smell, doll, you'll have to cling to me on the bike on the way home," the man adds, letting out a small laugh while your face contorts into a disgusted expression. "Honestly, I'd rather walk," you admit to the man in front of you, who, upon hearing your statement, lets out another laugh, this time more sincere and louder than the first.

"I'll walk with you then," Michael starts heading towards the auditorium, moving past you, while your figure is still leaning against the same wall, trying to rest your body from the effort you've exerted today. "I'm going to lock the rooms, wait for me here so we can head down together," he said, stroking your hair gently as he came across your clumsy figure, still leaning against the wall. Your gaze was on the floor, giving Michael free access to run his fingers through the strands of your hair, which were shiny with sweat and a little messy. For Michael, it was another reminder that your body was alive, your body was warm, sweating and flushed red, unlike the cold, purple fingers of the dead man.

You nod positively at him, feeling the touch of careful fingers in your hair go away, accompanied by the sound of Michael's footsteps once again echoing through the corridors. The wall was strangely comfortable for you, so as Michael had asked, you didn't move, letting your whole body lean against the wall as you waited for Michael to return and leave.

The man does his task quickly, locking all the rooms that had been opened in the investigation and checking if the ones that remained locked were properly closed. Arriving at the auditorium, Michael moves in hurried steps towards the door that was so familiar from his nightmares. Now he and Noah shared the same place of death. No matter how much his steps faltered or how much his dead heart screamed at him to get away from that door, he always checked to see if it was closed. It seemed that his soul recognized the place, as all the organs that were no longer active in his lifeless body twitched and writhed in pain. Michael unconsciously raised his hand to protect his abdomen, an unnecessary and useless action for his current situation. His stomach had already been ripped open, all his organs had already been expelled onto the floor, Michael's survival instinct had nothing left to protect.

Even though his hand was shaking, he reached out for the handle, which, to make matters worse for Michael, was open. At that moment, the fear ceased, the feeling of rage and revenge taking over Michael's entire body, already expecting to find Ennard behind that door. He couldn't risk leaving that door open, not with you here, not with your figure standing a few meters away from this room. The door swung open abruptly and violently, the dust that guarded the entrance flying everywhere given the room's lack of use.

There was no one there. Or rather, there was no animatronic. The room was dark, but Michael could draw this room with his eyes closed, he didn't need light, the memory that terrified him every night would help him navigate the room. The man wasn't stupid, he knew and had experience with the way animatronics hid, so he made a point of checking every corner or square meter of the small space. Michael felt his soul almost jump out of his body once again as he stood inside the Scooper Room, recognizing that it was here that he had lost his life, it was in this small space that Michael didn't see the light, Michael didn't hear, see or feel anything for the first time in his life. At least, he couldn't feel anything after he felt the large piece of metal puncture his stomach. He couldn't hear anything after his ear almost bled from his own screams. Ennard was the last vision he had.

Ennard wasn't here. Michael felt selfish for being relieved, at least, he didn't want to imagine how he would deal with knowing that Ennard was in the establishment at the same time as you were. However, that meant it was somewhere else, loose on the streets of this city in search of a corpse to dress, just as he had done with Michael.

The man quickly closes the door, locking it before going to meet you.

[eliotqueliot]

Queliot & The Magicians Fic Reading Winter Challenge, part 1

I'm going to return to posting about my fic reading. Basically this is just a list of Queliot & Magicians fanfic that I read & loved! With a few little comments about why I loved it, in case you want to try it, too.

However--there's a little more to this challenge personally, behind the scenes.

I started reading Queliot fanfic before I had an AO3 account. While I always left kudos as a guest, at first, I didn't leave a lot of comments.

Meanwhile, this summer, I was out of town a lot. I did a lot of fic reading--but a lot of it was offline, with fic I downloaded so I could read them--and then I got super busy upon return and still haven't finished commenting.

And also--a lot of the fic I love, including several I'm currently reading, are LONG. I don't wanna stress myself out or shortchange the fic by telling myself to read a new-to-me fic every day, like I did the last time.

This time--my personal challenge is gonna include spending more time reading Queliot & Magicians fic (I love it the most, and I've been so stressed out lately that I haven't had time to read enough--yet ironically reading the fic would help so much with the stress!)--but also--taking the time to go back and add comments to some of the fic I've read but haven't yet commented on!

I'll be sharing the list here--because I hope more people will dive in & enjoy these wonderful stories--also to keep me on track and help me find the fic I love. I'll do my best to post every few days with 2 or more recs. My goal--starting today through Jan. 31--is to rec about five per week--for a total of 40 fic! Let's see how I do!!! <3 (Yes, you know me too well--I will be trying for more than 40 LOL)

By the way--this whole thing started thanks to @lizardkingeliot and specifically:

I really love this high school AU showing Eliot & Quentin's friendship--and just how important they become to one another, how quickly (platonic, not a romance). It's deep and moving and for me showcases just how well they connect. Please mind the tags. Thank you so much, @tbraves24

And I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life - tbraves24 - The Magicians (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

2. Queliot romance--very hot!--very much like them--and so sweet! I love how their connection develops--it feels so true to them--and honestly I just love how they are together in this fic. Thank you so much, @veronicasawyer99

Making Friends After 30 - cold_wind - The Magicians (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

3. I can't stop thinking about this one. Mosaic fic--my favorite type of Queliot fic--oh, the sweetness! Eliot makes a puppet show for Teddy...also showing El missing Margo...omg. Thank you so much, @lizardkingeliot

in a land far away - peacefrog - The Magicians (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

[imagineagreatadventure]

20 questions for fic writers

i was tagged by the wonderfulll meg @ladyfenring thank you!!!! sorry i took weeks to do this lol

1. how many works do you have on AO3? 62

2. what's your total AO3 word count? 578,129

3. what fandoms do you write for? asoiaf mostly

4. top five fics by kudos: my austenland jxb au, puppets dancing on strings (my 12 dancing princesses au), my hp au (i debate about orphaning it due to joann shenanigans except it has one line that still touches my heart too much to do so), the maiden of the tree (gendry is a trueborn child of cersei and robert au and betrothed to arya), and no chance and no choice (post s7 ep3, basically right before the show went even more to shit)

5. do you respond to comments? usually but often waay later. the only time i don't is if someone does a lot in a row (like they're marathoning and commenting every chapter which I loveeeee) - I just try to respond to their most recent comment unless they're going in deep with their comment

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? my Theon/Jeyne fic "That's One Hell of a Mess"

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Austenland

8. do you get hate on fics? sometimes! sometimes people are just kind of dicks.

i think the funniest one was when some idiot went around asking when sansa was going to get spanked and i was like: wrong fic brah

9. do you write smut? yup

10. craziest crossover? probably disney x asoiaf lol

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? ummmm honestly i think so but I can't remember for sure

12. have you ever had a fic translated? yes!! into russian a few different times. and i appreciated they asked for permission.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? yup but not on ao3 - olden days

14. all time favorite ship? jaime x brienne who are we kidding

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The Tempered Kingdoms - I honestly love the universe and i find it really interesting but I'd have to go deep into fandom lore and that's also the one i feel like brings out the fandom wank more than the other fics.

people get mad if i'm nice to dany or mean to dany or mean to sansa or nice to sansa or sympathetic to cersei or arya (notice it's always the women). and honestly in addition to the research and reading involved, i don't want to deal w/that lol

16. what are your writing strengths? characterization and dialogue

17. what are your writing weaknesses? honestly right now I feel like everything is but I feel like planning the story because I'm definitely a "gardener". not that it's always a bad thing but it can really cause a problem in a situation where you're posting as you go and you change your mind about something later.... :////

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language? highly dependent on context

19. first fandom you wrote in? ella enchanted

20. favorite fic you've written? this was difficult but probably Brienne of Sapphire Island. It was a fun world to build and it makes me emotional in a good way when I reread it

[hornyclownthing]

Well since I'm gonna on this post once and edit it forever I guess I'll just post it now.

Sub Titles (get it?): Toy, Doll, Puppet/Poppet, Pumpkin, Bug, Fleshlight, Fuckhole, Slut, Whore, Thing, Pierrot

Dom Titles: Mistrum, Sir, Knight, Cat, Scary Clown (but only if you're crying <3), Daddy (but you gotta ask all embarrassed first)

Hi hello if you must address me you can call me Ahsk Forett. I'm a jerking off enthusiast and occasional artist and writer. My gender is clown and my sex is whatever makes the joke land.

I'm Not Good About Tagging Things. As Much As I Would Like That To Change I Do Not Forsee Me Getting Better About It. Continue at your discretion.

I'm on AO3 as SilverAuguste, dm me for my art blog.

Dms are open if anyone wants to chat or role play but please be normal (freakish).

Switch Verse open and dating @punks-submissive

Hard No (I won't block but don't come onto my posts or into my dms with these):

Detrans/Misgendering

Cuntboy/Dickgirl (recent, ignore if you identify as such but if you don't and you're using these phrases I get to block)

Ace breaking

Receiving anal

Piss drinking

Scat/Vomit

Feedee (I wouldn't mind playing at being a feeder)

Dieting/Food restriction

Being milked (In my case. I love milky tits.)

Ask games: Pokemon Type, Pervy Questions, Silly Horror Movie Asks, Kinky Questions, Sexual Questions

Anons: 🐮

My Yes list is under the cut cause I'm slutty I guess, and my taglist is down there too I'm working on retagging my shit though

Yes:

BDSM (what, all at once?) (#bound, #d/s)

Hypnosis/Mind Control/Mind Breaking (#spiral)

Transformation/Transition

CNC (#cnc)

Enthusiastic Consent

Exhibition/Voyeurism, Public Sex/Public Use (#public)

Monsters Demons Aliens And Other Inhuman Beings (#monster)

Breeding/Creampie (#filled)

Primal (#prey drive)

Oviposition/Egg Laying (#ovi)

Sensory Deprivation

Body Drawing (#marked)*

Impact (Ass, Thighs, Cunt, Dick), Scratching, Biting, Marking (#ow) (#marked)*

Forced/Extended/Multiple/Overlapping Orgasm (#cum for me)

Teasing (and teasing and teasing and...)

Tickling

Androgyne Supremacy

<3 Written Contracts <3

Somno (#shhh)

Intox/Aphrodisiacs (#deep breath)

Musk/Sweat (#stink good)

Blood, gore, wounds (#tear me apart)

Toys (#props)

Costumes (#costume)

Objectification (#toy)

Harnesses and Leashes (sometimes goes under bound, sometimes goes under bark)

Lactation (#milky)

Drooling (#drool)

Sensory play (#overstim/#sensorydep, #blindfold)

idk im sure i'll think of some other shit

I tag RP and scenarios with extra shit:

#good girl / #good boy /#master / #mistress other gendered titles so anyone who gets turned off by those can block

Puppy play: #bark (Similar with other pet/beastial play)

Royalty/Knight/Fantasy: #king of fools

Unseen, hiding, or masked party: #behind a mask

I'll also be tagging images with one of the following cause community labels don't mean jack or shit

Subjects Clothed, Safe for Work #sweet

(Self evident tag: #just don't let anyone read it over your shoulder)

Subjects Partially Clothed or Covered, Safe for Public (Pinups, suggestive poses) #mild

Subjects Partially or Fully Nude, Chest and Genitals Visible, Toys Present #spicy

Sex/Masturbation is Happening On Screen: #hot

*changed from #mine cause i realized that's a really stupid tag from a practical standpoint

[grismavessel]

So i kinda have alor of question but Lil just Ask you 3, there about gris / ingo!vessel au

1.what would happen if ingo went angry ?

2.did gris ever calmed ingo from being angry ?

3.how did the two meet ?

Sorry if they where already answered but i really liké the vessel au and you're Ship. ^^

Anyway have a nice day :]

Ah! Hi!

I try to organize the posts as much as I can but keeping an orderly blog is tough OvO (you can always send an ask I'm always happy to answer) so I actually can't remember if I've answered these before, though I have some writings here and there that do answer this stuff (stares at ao3) but I'm always happy to talk and ramble more about them!

Vessel Ingo is relatively a new idea for this blog (if you don't count @/nartothelar twin dragons au and also @/narutojacksondemigod came up with it first <3) and I haven't come up with much else but I have been thinking about how it fits into the Vessel AU as a whole. It'd like to think that not every legendary can turn someone into a vessel/puppet.

If Ingo got angry

Ingo only really shows his anger when something absolutely foolish/selfish/rude happens. He rarely ever does get angry with Gris but of course, no one is perfect so the two do get into disagreements and both are stubborn as hell. He does show it, only on the rarest occasions.

If Zekrom Ingo were to get mad, Zekrom would be able to feel the sudden rise of emotion and 'wake up', which causes Ingo's appearance to change. Clouds will gather and if Ingo were upset enough it could storm. Sparks would start flying off of him and could leave small marks.

If he's super pissed, as in someone who had thoroughly wronged him (cough cough probably volo cough) it would be the thunderstorm to end all thunderstorms and Ingo would be littered with Zekrom's scales all over his body. The dude's a generator for emotional and physical electricity.

Sometimes he can calm himself out of it but having a legendary pokemon taking residence in your head means sometimes you aren't entirely in control. Zekrom feels like it is in danger and will continue to lash out. Either Ingo finds some way to let the anger out until Zekrom is pleased or it backlashes and leaves Ingo with a horrible headache that leaves him bedridden.

Ingo getting angry causes many problems for those in the radius and himself.

Gris calming Ingo

In this whole au Gris has double jeopardy. They have both Arceus and Giratina fighting for who gets control. Gris is the most qualified to help Ingo with Zekrom, or at least understand what is happening and what to do. Also, Gris is Ingo's partner, so regardless of circumstance, Gris would try and help Ingo anyways out of care, concern, and love.

When Ingo is showing signs of letting out a storm or becoming a lightning rod, Gris reaches out to him slowly. The reason being Ingo gets jumpy during his storms, Gris has been shocked on more than one occasion, and it just eases Ingo's state of mind better. A slow descent.

Physical touch helps to ground Ingo during his storms, and Gris would hold him. Ingo can recognize Gris's presence and already it soothes him immensely. If touch is not enough Gris would talk to him. Ask him what he wants to do tomorrow, or what to eat, and they'll tell him sweet nothings and reassurances. Even try cracking jokes if Gris could improve them. Talking him down and taking his mind and therefore Zekrom off of the thing that upset him.

Sometimes it's not enough to totally die down the storm, Gris stays close to him anyways because the aftermath always ends with Ingo's headaches and body aches. Cold water and heavy blankets.

If its very dire, Gris could coax either Giratina or Arceus out. Zekrom can sense either two and stop whatever it's doing to Ingo to retreat. It works every time but it's Gris's turn to deal with being a host. Both wind up with headaches and are forced to huddle in bed.

It's not the nicest circumstance, but in the au they have each other for comfort.

How they met

ah, a tale as old as time

Gris is the hero of hisui, so they take up the player character's role in hunting and capturing every pokemon and quelling the nobles in pokemon legends. So they don't meet Ingo until he goes to Jubilife village by the request of Irida.

The two don't get off on the right foot since Gris and Ingo are different. Ingo's the respected warden who keeps to himself (with no indoor voice) and is very careful. Gris is this out-of-place punk that is loud and clumsy. They don't really connect until after they battle where Gris wipes the floor with Ingo and impresses him, then they almost get crushed by some boulders and Gris saves him which starts the eventual avalanche that leads to them dating. It's that strangers to best friends to lovers trope <3

In the vessel au they can also sense something odd about one another from minute one. Ingo feels a sense of dread and smallness due Zekrom being sort of a lesser god in the pantheon, and Gris feels just a strange familiarity since both Giratina and Arceus aren't so acquainted with the Tao Trio. Neither really know that they're both stuck with the same problem until the two grow closer as friends and confide/discover it with one another.

I lot of people really like the au and I wish I had more time and skill to do a lot more with it, but it's cool to see people so interested in it! <3

So glad you like Gris n Ingo together, I know not a ton of people enjoy oc x canon stuff but again, it's so cool to see people interested <3<3

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Eleven

In which Annabelle Cane makes an appearance and offers a hand, and Elias "helps" Jon with his nightmares with cruel violation...

Chapter one is here

(Status: finished. I'm going to post the rest of this, then make an index. ALSO! It's going up on AO3 soon, once it's been beta-read.)

Eventual Jon x Michael. Eventual ALMOST Jon x Elias.

Warnings for intense stuff; canon-typical violence.

This one gets ROUGH.

We're dealing with nightmares that involve skinning.

We're also dealing with Elias harming Jon and ignoring Jon's desires in order to "help" him handle said nightmares.

It's appropriate for canon, but it is ugly as hell. You have been warned.

*

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jon is having the worst night.

His body won’t calm down. 

He could masturbate. It’s a thing.

But doing it in Elias’ house with Elias’ eyes everywhere just feels awful. Even if they’re not in this room.

…that he knows of.

Jon tries a cold, cold shower, and succeeds only in giving himself a headache.

By the time he lies down, he’s angry.

He didn’t ask for this. Never indicated he wanted it. Oh, now he does, sure, but it isn’t his idea, is it? No, it’s just… contagious, like some kind of disease.

He lies face-down in his pillow, telling his body to shut up right now.

It does not.

He tries to think of anything else but Elias’ mouth.

Speaking of temptations…. 

He doesn’t want to consider that Salesa’s little sphere-of-darkness was incredibly tempting, too.

But it wasn’t a guide. It was just a way. An entryway, into the Dark - and, Salesa said, one-way only.

What the hell good would that do anyone?

Why would Annabelle offer this? Does she think he’s stupid? Does she think he’s that out of his mind, that he’d just plunge into the Dark without a plan, or hope, or any kind of exit? Surely there had to be easier ways to kill him off.

Jon squeezes the pillow around his head. Maybe he can suffocate himself, and sleep that way.

Something taps on the window.

He groans.

No. No, he doesn’t want to see whatever is floating out there, or tossing tiny skulls, or scratching with twenty-foot fingernails. He wants his body to shut up, and he wants to go to sleep, and he wants it all to be over, and to retire to Wales with a cat and maybe some fluffy Scottish cows.

Tap tap.

Why isn’t Elias stopping this?

Jon goes still. And slowly, very slowly, rolls over.

His entire room is filled with webs.

They’re more obvious, now. Wall to wall, corner to floor, the edges of the ceiling and wall completely hidden in woven, white strands, and as his breathing grows fast and short and sharp, they flutter in response.

The good news is he no longer feels remotely sexy.

Tap, Tap.

Oh, look. They’ve left an opening. If he rolls off the bed and goes to the window, he won’t touch any web at all.

Or he could fight his way through that mummy-mass of weaving, and bust through the door.

Elias would help him. He knows this. Elias would absolutely know what to do.

And the payment would be…

Not payment, exactly. But there would be a cost.

Jon is not ready to pay it.

He lies there, trembling.

Tap, tap.

Twenty minutes pass.

Tap, tap.

Is it going to do this all night?

“I’ll outlast you,” he whispers, vowing. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Quicker, that time. Like laughter.

Salesa’s words come back. So she is Web, so what? What do you expect me to do about it? Expect anyone to do about it? Nothing, that’s what we can do, so no use letting it bother.

Was that the reason he visited? To plant that idea in Jon’s head?

Maybe.

It’s not like Salesa was wrong.

You don’t resist the Web. Not really. Even if it doesn’t control you directly, it controls your circumstances, your situation, your environment, carefully tweaking things precisely so that you, with your free will, your nature-nurture instinct, will still do what She wants.

That's the concept, anyway. And it is terrible.

Of course it is. Like the rest, the Mother of Puppets feeds on fear.

Can Jon really put this off forever?

Yes, he thinks.

Except that there is no way the Mother hasn’t thought of that.

The one thing Jon would never do is willingly walk outside.

He closes his eyes.

What if… just what if… all this time, all these attempts, was not to sacrifice him to Mister Spider, but to put him in a position where he had to listen and not run away?

He doesn’t like the idea. It assigns far too little malevolence to the personification of the fear of being controlled.

But… it isn’t impossible, either.

Tap, tap.

What if he listened, said no, and it went away?

You know that’s not how this works, he chides himself.

Unfortunately, he knows this, too: that if he says and does nothing, it’s not going away for sure.

His chest tightens as he tries to see years in the future, decades of this, of the Web hinting and dropping terrifyingly cursed books, sending enemies to give him messages, tempting him with half of what he needs.

Forever.

He covers his face with both hands and exhales very slowly.

Elias can’t hear this, can’t see this, can’t sense this. How does Jon know? He knows.

The amount of power required for that is horrifying. Even Michael couldn’t pull it off for long, and this is Elias’ home base.

A lot of effort is being expended to make this happen tonight, and Jon has a bad feeling the Mother considers the cost worthwhile.

He’s tired.

Fuck, he thinks, and rolls out of bed. 

No webs touch him as he goes to the window, heart in his throat, empty stomach doing wild and crazy flips. 

Nothing is making him as he slides the window open, the Roxane to the Spider’s Cyrano.

That’s a really inaccurate analogy, he thinks, already ripping it apart, but then the window is wide, and he stares.

Annabelle Cane stands in the courtyard.

She is young and thin. Tall. A Black woman with bleach-blonde hair that does not quite hide the thick webbing covering the hole in her skull.

She is smiling. “I was beginning to think we’d need to hire a skywriter. Hello, Jonathan Sims.”

“What are you doing here?” he demands, trying to sound brave, trying not to let his teeth chatter.

“Why do you think?” she says, friendly, her tone amused and humorous and pleasant.

“Just tell me.”

She shivers, closes her eyes for a moment, smiles. “You’ve made it very clear you’re not willing to talk unless you feel at least a little bit safe. So this is a compromise. You’re very lucky, Jonathan Sims.”

How was he supposed to take that?

Not to mention this was the first time an avatar of fear had not responded with anger to being compelled.

He doesn’t want to push his luck. “Wh… what do you want?”

“A better question is what you want, Jonathan Sims.”

That’s three times she’s called him by his name. Not Archivist. He frowns. (Is she being intentionally personable? Is it manipulation? Does she want something in my capacity as Jon and not as the Archivist? What is going on?) “Stop… dancing around and answer me.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Why would I know? You’ve been stalking me since I was eight years old!”

She ignores that. “Let’s try a different line of thought. What good would the Unknowing be to the The Spinner of Schemes, The Hidden Machination, the great Spider herself?”

Jon opens his mouth. Pauses.

It suddenly hits him that the Fears are being divided neatly down a very simple line, and he sees - knows - who falls on each side.

The Corruption doesn’t care if victims know nothing. That’s rot, stench, suffering. Understanding not required.

The Buried doesn’t care if no one knows what anything is. You don’t have to know anything to be crushed and choked, forever deep below creation.

The Dark, similarly, requires little knowledge; it is blindness and helplessness, fear only aided by not knowing what’s there with you, eating your flesh.

The Desolation? It’s about pain, burning, and one does not have to be able to define it to feel it.

The Flesh? Hard to say. He has a strange feeling Jared doesn’t give a damn either way.

But the Eye is knowledge.

The Web requires understanding to manipulate, to birth fear. 

The Spiral relies on knowing things so one can doubt them. 

The Vast only works if one knows there should be solid ground, knows how small one is in the face of the universe.

The Slaughter engenders fear specifically from the terror of murder - not the pain of it, but knowledge of the actual act. 

The Lonely doesn’t work unless you know that you are inescapably alone. 

The Hunt needs understanding that you are being hunted, are prey, and it is after you. 

Even the End can only drink fear if one knows one is alive, and can lose that life. 

Jon’s eyes are very wide.

Annabelle waits. She doesn’t have to do anything more. 

Planting a seed, Jon thinks bitterly, because now that he sees this, he can’t unsee it. “So why offer me - wait. You say what you’re offering me, instead of me assuming.”

“What do you think we’re offering?” Annabelle says, positively playful.

“I am going to shut this window if you do that again,” says Jon.

“Sorry about that,” says Annabelle. “Explaining things, giving answers like this… it’s not what I am. It’s difficult, against my nature.”

“If the Distortion could manage it, I’m fairly sure you have a solid shot,” Jon snaps.

She grins. “We bring a goodwill offering, Jonathan Sims, but also a needful tool. The Mother has looked at every angle, followed every strand. If you go to stop the Stranger without a door, all but you will die. But if you have one - if you have that way to get out before it’s too late - you have a ninety-seven point eight percent chance that everyone lives.”

She might as well have swung a hammer directly into his stomach.

It stuns him, knocks out his breath - and couldn’t have been more what he wanted than if he’d planned it himself. Everyone lives. “So you’re offering a way to retrieve Michael.”

“Is that what - sorry. Yes.”

“Why not do it yourselves?”

“Because you are the Archivist.” She shrugs. “With a little help, you can make it through the Dark, find the book, and get out again. I promise you there is not one other person in this world who could - even with our guidance.”

“People of the Dark, maybe,” Jon mutters.

“Yes. But they’d never retrieve the book. It’s delighting their Mister Pitch too much to be holding a part of an enemy inside itself, helpless.”

Jon is breathing quickly again. “Mister Pitch is real?”

“Anything humans fear enough, worship enough, is real,” says Annabelle. “I’m out of time - what we did to keep your host unaware had a short shelf-life. I suggest you tell him most of the truth when he comes in. He’ll be pretty upset - and you don’t lie very well.” She looks so amused. “You and I will talk again. Soon.”

Jon is shaking. “No more books. No more Mister Spider.”

She tilts her head. 

The silence is bad.

He swallows.

“Then you’ll be willing to talk to me of your own free will?” she says, and she doesn’t make air quotes, but she might as well have done.

Oh, gods, what is he doing? “Without being… tricked or trapped? Traumatized further? I… on my terms. Fine. Yes. My terms.”

“Of course. We need you, Jonathan Sims. You’re very lucky that way; the strands of your life have a lot of flexibility.”

“That’s not actually encouraging, you know,” he mutters.

She winks, turns, and walks right out the side gate, casual as anything, and the moment she’s through, Elias slams the door open.

Elias’s silk robe is half-on, his pajamas and hair both mussed. It’s the most undone Jon has ever seen him.

And that looks like genuine fear.

Rage, yes, heating its edges red, but fear.

Jon is so tired. He closes the window.

Elias is on him, pulling him away from the window, shoving him against the wall. “What happened?”

“Annabelle Cane was in your yard,” says Jon, weary.

Elias is studying him. For what, Jon doesn’t know; spider legs in his nose? Webs, dangling from his ears? “What did she do?”

And that is a terrifying tone. It is not directed at him, but it is frightening, the full wrath of one who knows how to harm. How to kill.

Jon swallows. “She says the Web wants to work with us to stop the Unknowing.”

Elias makes a disbelieving sound. “Did she touch you?”

“What? No. She was on the ground.”

Elias doesn’t seem sure. He’s still looking, burning into Jon, as if searching him down to the marrow.

Jon keeps his thoughts surface-level. It’s easy, this tired. “She didn’t get me, Elias,” he says, softly. “I think she actually wanted to talk.”

“She could have taken you,” Elias says, low and rough. “I’d thought… she could have taken you back, and I wouldn't have even…”

Jon blinks at him. “Back?”

Elias meets his eyes again.

It feels like staring down a train, coming full speed, too much mass and inertia to dream of stopping in time.

“You are sleeping in my bed tonight,” Elias says.

“No!” says Jon.

“Not for sex. For safety. This,” Elias holds up a small necklace; from it dangles a glass bead that looks like an eye with a crack directly across the pupil, “was slipped into my nightstand at some unknown time. However it happened, there will be repercussions.”

“Not like you can stop the Web,” says Jon.

“This is not about stopping,” he snarls. “This is about making the cost too high to fuck with me again.”

Jon has never heard Elias swear before, in all the years he’s worked for him.

He also - in spite of comments to Tim about physique - did not truly appreciate Elias’ strength. He is not given a choice about moving to Elias’ room. He is all but carried.

The bed, fortunately, is a king-size, because Jon does not want any touching right now.

Elias isn’t in the mood, either, and that’s good. As Jon lies down, wrapped in the scent of whatever Elias uses for his personal linen, Elias makes several phone calls, snarling about boundaries and consequences and penalties.

“Yes. Do it,” he finally says, hangs up, and looks over at Jon.

Jon has made himself as small as possible. The blankets are up to his eyes.

“Oh, relax, Jon, I’m not going to maul you like a bear,” Elias snaps, and moves to the other side of the bed. “Do your best to sleep. Tomorrow, we are making plans to blow up the Circus.”

So that was good, at least.

But they needed a door, or people would die.

Jon knows that wasn’t a lie. There’d be no point to a lie like that; he knows, deep down, that Annabelle has every intention of continuing to bother him. You don’t start a fraught relationship like this with a lie doomed to be disproven in a few days.

And then in spite of himself, in spite of the distracting awareness of Elias breathing behind him, Jon’s heart lifts.

He’s going to rescue Michael.

Stop thinking like that, he tells himself, because it’s not guaranteed, because it means going into the Dark, because Michael probably doesn’t want to see him and will take off like a dove the moment it’s set free.

But Jon can’t help the tiny little ray of joy in his heart. It feels better than anything has in a long time.

He thinks about Michael as he drifts off, and, half-asleep, realizes why Michael’s approach to seduction had been better than Elias’s.

Elias relied on overwhelming him. Flooding him; maybe making him mindless so he agreed without thinking it through.

Michael… did not do that, even though it was obvious he could. The Distortion’s control of Jon’s senses was terrifyingly precise, and elegantly demonstrated.

But Michael did not overwhelm him, short-circuit him, leave him writhing and out of his head. 

Michael left Jon more choice.

This joins the little bit of joy in his heart, though maybe it’s not a good thing. Whatever happens, Jon thinks, he doesn’t think he’s going to choose Elias. Even if Michael runs away.

He has so little choice in his life.

This one, simple thing matters.

“I will help you when you dream,” murmurs Elias.

Jon tucks his revelation deep in his heart, resolves not to think about it, and hopes Elias is telling the truth.

#

Nikola.

Ringmaster’s uniform, painted-on face.

Plastic hands deep in Jon’s body, gripping his skin and peeling it down like a thick and meaty sock.

He screams, and he screams, and he screams.

Elias.

Pulling him away, reaching from behind and around his chest like he’s saving Jon from drowning.

But then he doesn’t do things like Michael, doesn’t help Jon to know this isn’t real.

Instead, he holds Jon against his chest, tight, trapped, reaches up, and pries open both of Jon’s eyes with his fingers.

Jon is watching himself be skinned.

Gripped, Jon gasps; cries out; screams weakly as he watches, sees Nikola stretch her new trophy over herself, smearing blood and fatty tissue, tearing and distorting his features so it is Jon’s face she wears, and Jon’s hands she waves, and her bell-clear laugh comes from his wide-open, ever-screaming mouth.

Jon cries.

Elias does not let him go.

And the Beholding feeds.

Thrums through Jon, filling him with energy and power and easing his pain until Elias no longer needs to hold his eyes open anymore, but stays, holding him close, watching Jon’s skin contort.

Watching it be used.

And the intensity of Jon’s gaze grows, heats, until his ever-open eyes do not sting but they burn, and everywhere his gaze falls begins to snap and tatter and sizzle, and Nikola screams as the fingers she’s stolen burst apart to reveal her own unmoving plastic ones beneath.

And Jon stares at the Dance, and stares at the Strangers, and anger quickens his breath, and the Beholding surges into his fear and his rage and his pain, like a sluice-gate opened, through him like many waters, seeing them so deeply that they boil and quake and reduce to what is, lies cooked off, masks rendered down.

Until all that remains is a twitching dendrite of plastic limbs and old, brown blood.

Elias kisses his neck. Jon cannot look at him. Cannot look away.

The dream shifts, and now there are statement givers, parading their way through his nightly journey. Doctor Elliot is there, and Naomi Herne is there, and Trevor Herbert is there, and Julia Montauk is there, and Georgie is there, and Jon watches them all without memory of blinking, held from behind, and Elias kisses his neck and watches Jon feed their god.

[fragileahoges]

fresh paint 一 danganronpa oneshot

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: byakuya moves in with nagito and kokichi, and realizes it may not be as bad as he originally thought. THIS IS NOT THE FULL ONE SHOT.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff

𝐓𝐖: none

From the moment that Byakuya Togami stepped into his new home, the sun peeking in through the windows, he knew he'd never find another moment of peace in his life. He'd never feel real happiness again, and all chances & hopes of becoming a better person quickly diminished. He would never feel content as long as he lived inside these restricting walls. 

Okay, maybe he was being dramatic. He had bought the house, after all, and he wouldn't have done so in the first place if he hadn't been 100% sure that he was ready to accept any & all consequences that came with the purchase.

A small boy with purple hair shot past him, cheering & whooping as he danced around the empty house. "This house is mine! I rule over everyone here!" he chanted over and over again, laughing maniacally.

Byakuya sighed. Nope, he didn't think he was being dramatic at all. Kokichi Oma was the most annoying person he had ever met, & now here he was, living with him. Why did he ever agree to do this? Because he wanted so badly to be under the same roof as the boys? Seemed unlikely, but he wasn't going to dwell on it any longer.

Nagito Komaeda walked in after Kokichi, holding a big, brown box in his hands that was labeled Kitchen & Living Room (⅓). He smiled sheepishly at the shorter boy hopping around, walking over to the island and placing the box down on top of it. He inhaled the scent of the new house and turned to Byakuya. "Heh, I still can't believe you agreed to this. We thought you were going to shut us down on the idea almost automatically."

Byakuya shook his head, flabbergasted. Why did Kokichi have so much energy, and why did he feel like it'd conveniently drain right when the time came to unpack? "I'm starting to think I should've. I'm already getting a migraine." Nagito laughed softly, and the two made their way back outside to the moving van to retrieve more boxes while Kokichi hummed loudly to himself as he frolicked aimlessly around the house.

During that period of time, Byakuya allowed his mind to wander. He hadn't expected for himself to agree to such a foolish proposal so easily. Obviously both Nagito & Kokichi hadn't expected the sudden approval either, for their mouths were on the ground when they realized that the Byakuya Togami had actually decided to go along with their usual "brain-shrinking" plans.

It had slipped out of Byakuya's mouth before he could even blink. The idea of living with Kokichi and Nagito, despite having been friends with them for a good amount of time, was foreign to the heir. In fact, even living with someone sounded absurd to Byakuya. He only needed himself and himself only, or so he thought. Yet, his sudden agreement came so quickly that it had to have meant something. Byakuya wasn't normally impulsive; he did everything with practiced precision. So an abrupt answer that he didn't back down on even after how shocked he was...it meant he was progressing as a person, as a friend. Somewhere. Somehow.

Oddly enough, that was comforting.

During their fifth trip to the house (the boxes were surprisingly heavy), Kokichi waddled up to them and pointed down the hall towards the rooms. "We still have to pick out our rooms! Who's claiming the biggest one?"

"Me, obviously," Byakuya replied, tone as cold as ice. "I bought this house." Kokichi mocked him, raising his hand and opening & closing his fingers together every time the heir spoke, like a sock puppet but without the sock.

"You probably just got it handed to you," he replied teasingly. "Fine, then I get the second biggest room!"

"The other rooms are all the same size." Byakuya's comment made Kokichi huff, while Nagito lightened up a little bit, almost as if he was dreading being told he was going to get the smallest room. Byakuya didn't doubt it.

"Could you help with the boxes, Kokichi?" Nagito asked, taking off his parka and tying it around his waist, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead with a long sigh. Byakuya had to hand it to him; he too had discarded his overcoat. The boxes were harder to carry than he originally believed, and his muscles already felt strained. He was so used to people doing things for him that being independent now all of a sudden was exhausting. Kokichi groaned.

"Do I have to? I'm feeling tired," he asked, laying down on the floor and pretending to fall asleep. Byakuya was right. Kokichi had energy until it was actually needed. Nagito sighed, walking back out of the house. Byakuya chose not to press the matter, instead shooting the purple haired boy a glare and following Nagito out. He heard another loud groan, and then the pitter-patter of footsteps. "Guys, it was a lie! I'm not actually tired. I can help just fine."

Kokichi joined the expedition to get the boxes inside. Within one hour, they had made all their trips, and they were close to death by the time they were finished. Even the water they drank didn't cool the sensation of heat licking at their bodies every time they stepped outside. And when Nagito reminded the two other boys that they still had to unpack everything, Byakuya decided to hire people to do it for them.

note: well, i hope you liked this small excuse of a post! i absolutely adore all three antagonists (emphasis on togami), and i thought this AU i thought of randomly was the cutest thing ever. if you don't understand really what's happening, or if you would like to know more, let me go more into detail for you!

i'm writing an antag AU that will be posted to AO3 soon. the three main antagonists (byakuya, nagito, & kokichi) move into a house for literally no reason other than they want to. along the way, they grow closer, have fun, & most importantly, develop as people and as friends. it's all just lots of fluff and chaos, and i wanted to write it because i couldn't stop imagining the power they have as friends. there will also be naegami, saioma, and komahina every so often bc i said so :)

they can also be read as standalone oneshots, which is why i'll be posting snippets of the chapter i'm working on every now and then. it's not out yet, but it will be by the end of the week, and i'll be sure to post about it as soon as i can!

i am open to critique, as long as you are not too harsh. thanks for reading! <3

UPDATE: it's out! read it here :)

[eating-plastic]

Hello!

My name is Rita. This blog will just be a place where I reblog shit I like and occasionally write x reader things. If ya like memes, horror, x reader stuff, or self ship content like me then why not stop by. I also got a Pillowfort account where the same applies. Here's the link.

🛑 This blog only has two rules:

1.) Do not interact with nsfw posts on my blog if you are a minor. You will be blocked!

2.) Don't be an asshole

❗️Also DISCLAIMER: I don’t actually believe I’m a raccoon girl nor do I eat garbage/plastic and live in alleyways. It’s just a character I role-play as when using this blog so no need to be concerned or harass me about it. I also don’t care if it’s cringe either, I’m just here to have fun 🤷‍♀️.

More info below:

My ground rules for my writing:

1.) Due to the fact that I am female, all fics or whatever will be written with a female reader in mind. As such, certain things I write can be interpreted as gender neutral, but not always. What I write will simply be tagged as (character) x reader UNLESS it is nsfw, in which it will be tagged as (character) x fem!reader due to the focus on the reader’s anatomy

2.) I plan on occasionally writing nsfw content, I DO NOT want minors or ageless blogs interacting with such posts. Sfw posts can be interacted with tho

3.) My work will focus on unpopular or underrated characters. My interpretations of said characters may seem a little ooc but I will try my best to avoid this

4.) If I get requests, they will be done on my terms due to this just being a hobby. I have the right to not do a request if I’m not interested in either the character or scenario. Also, DO NOT request anything nsfw if you are an ageless blog or a minor

5.) Finally, all writings will be tagged as #rita writes until I find the motivation to make an actual masterlist. You can also find my work on my AO3 account

Self Shipping:

I am a shameless self shipper who posts and reblogs self ship content.

My f/o is Roller Ricky from the game Killer Frequency. You can read a bit about him from this post here as well as be treated to a pretty moodboard.

Our ship name is Heart Shaped Roller Rink.

On this blog and my self ship posts, respectful interactions are welcomed. Shipping discourse is NOT.

Some Popular Tags:

#rita writes - see everything I've written

#ocs - read about my puppet master ocs which I shamelessly ship with some of the puppets lol

#ship: heart shaped roller rink - self ship stuff relating to me and my f/o

#aesthetic - what I find aesthetic

#🦝 - raccoons! Come on, I can't be a raccoon girl without reblogging raccoons

#good music - find out what I'm listening to

[cafe-mp3]

saw fan fic (have not thought of a title for it yet)

it's about adam like surviving and escaping the trap. lawrence and adam are gay however it doesnt really mention it. i'm bad at summaries.

rated t? there's gore but not at all worse than anything from the movie

1,119 words

i wrote it for a school assignment but i figured i'd post it. i would love some feedback!! after i hear from a couple people i'm gonna revise it and post to ao3.

keep in mind that i don't usually write a lot so it may not be the best. if u read it and tell me what u think/what's good/what could be improved that would be great!!

also if u want to be credited for beta reading leave ur ao3 @ with your thoughts/review

click the keep reading thing to read it!!

It's been hours, maybe even days, since Lawrence left Adam in the bathroom. He has no way of telling how many hours have gone by, it was too dark to see his own hands, let alone the only clock in the room. Jigsaw, who lay on the floor pretending to be dead for over 7 hours, turned off the lights when he pulled himself off the blood-soaked floor and walked away, closing the door behind him. Game over. This is it; this is how Adam Stanheight will live out the last few moments of his life. Chained up and drifting in and out of consciousness on the cold, hard, grimy tile floor. Slowly bleeding to death in a bathroom, with only a corpse for company. 

After what seems like ages, someone opens the door, and the lights turn on. Hoping it's the cops and they're here to rescue him, Adam tries to say something, to let them know he's still alive, but all that comes out is a weak groan. But as his eyes readjust to the lights, he realizes who it is, or what it is, Billy the Puppet. The wretched little doll rides in on his wretched little tricycle. 

"Hello Adam," he says, after coming to a stop just out of Adam's reach. "You were not supposed to survive the game, but I have decided to give you a second chance. You have spent years damaging your lungs just for a little buzz of energy. I have hidden a key to open your chains between your ribs and one of your lungs. There is a scalpel attached to the wall behind the pipes. 5 minutes ago, a deadly gas began to come out of the air vents. You have 1 hour before the gas will kill you for good. Move quickly to remove the key in time, but make one wrong move and risk killing yourself sooner. Good luck."

He rode out of the bathroom, leaving the lights on and the door open. Adam hurried to find the scalpel, wincing at the pain of the bullet hole on his shoulder that he poorly made a bandage for with the sleeve of his shirt. He pulled himself over to the pipes searching for the scalpel. In the corner, hidden close to the ground, he spotted a thin shape attached to the wall with duct tape. He peeled off the tape and grabbed the scalpel. 

Adam pulled off his shirt to look for the key. On his right side, roughly 2 inches above his heart, was a horizontal line, cauterized shut. At some point, while he was unconscious, Jigsaw had implanted the key in his chest. Just the thought of it made Adam's stomach turn. Thinking you’ve been all alone for an extended amount of time only to find out that someone else had been there with you is not a very comforting thought. He held the scalpel to his chest, bracing himself, he pressed it into his skin. He immediately pulled it away after just barely pricking his skin.

"Come on. You can do this. Come on," Adam whispered words of encouragement to himself. He glanced up at the clock, 12:14. Less than an hour until he'd be dead for sure. "Ok, let's do this."

Adam once again placed the scalpel against his chest, hands shaking, he pulled it across his skin, blood streaming out of the cut. He then tried to get to the key, but he'd have to cut deeper. His breath ragged, he sliced through the last layer between skin and bone. Adrenaline was rushing through him. As carefully as he could, he stuck two of his fingers into the gash. Adam held his breath as he pulled the key between his rib bones and out through the wound, the key nearly slipping from fingers due to all the blood. 

12:30. Half an hour to escape. 

Hurriedly, he went to remove his shackles. Between his shaky hands and all the blood, it took him almost 5 minutes to get it off. Either from the blood loss or the deadly gas, when he stood up, he felt so lightheaded he had to lean against the wall for support, making it clear his escape would be slow and strenuous. He needed time he didn't have. 

Once Adam made it to the door of the bathroom, he walked out into a dark hallway. The trail of blood leading to a ladder going upwards was immensely plain to see despite the darkness. Lawrence had climbed the ladder with only one foot. It's almost incredible what people can do when people they love are put at risk. But unlike Lawrence, Adam didn't have a wife and daughter whose lives were being threatened; he didn't have anyone to return to once he escaped the trap. He was surviving for himself. 

By this point, his visions had started to get spotty, and his lungs burned with every breath. Something as simple as climbing a ladder would prove to be a challenging task. He could only use one arm to grab the rungs, which were slippery from both his own blood and Lawrence's blood. Halfway through, he had to pause to keep himself from collapsing entirely; every part of him was in pain, his only thoughts on making it through each second. He only had 15 minutes left to get out.

Adam ascended the last few rungs of the ladder and pulled himself onto the floor above. Down another short hallway was a door with a red "EXIT" sign above it. He managed to pull himself up to lean against the wall. Slowly, using the wall for support, he dragged himself to the door. When he was only 5 feet away from the exit, he had a sudden coughing fit. When he pulled his arm away from his mouth, it was covered in blood. That's when everything went black. 

Adam woke up slowly. It took him a few moments to realize where he was. A heart monitor somewhere next to him was steadily beeping, he had an IV tube taped to his arm, and his whole body ached. He looked around his room and noticed someone in a wheelchair dozing off in the corner. "Lawrence!" he tried to yell but it came out hoarse and quiet, though it was still enough to wake his guest. 

"Adam, how do you feel? Do you need anything?" Even though he was a patient as well, Lawrence's doctoral instincts were taking over. "Here, drink some water." 

Lawrence wheeled over to the nightstand by Adams bed and poured him some water from the pitcher sitting on top of it. Adam groaned slightly as he reached for it, using his arm that was spared from the gunshot. After drinking (or rather, mostly spilling it on his hospital gown) the whole glass, Adam spoke,

"How did I get here? I thought I'd died."

"You almost did. You were barely breathing by the time the police found you. You were in there for over 24 hours, including the time we were together. I'm sorry I couldn't tell them to find you sooner; I blacked out almost immediately as I got out. " Lawrence hesitated. "And, I'm sorry for trying to kill you." 

"Don't worry about it, man; your attempt failed." 

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry for that delay! Holidays got a bit crazy, and I've been sorting out my life since then. Will try to get this posted a bit more regularly from now on!

Also, the theme song for this chapter is "Feeling Of Falling" by Cheat Codes and Kim Petras.

                                             CHAPTER ELEVEN

The corners of my mouth lifted up the tiniest bit. "So… this counts as a date?"

"UGH!" Miss Kawakami got up from the table and crossed to lean against the kitchen bar. Seeing her framed there, between the mini water cooler and the espresso machine, her dress revealing just enough of her back to make my fingertips tingle and my mouth run dry…

'No, Makoto,' I thought to myself. 'Focus. Don't let your weird new gay feelings distract you from helping her.'

"Look. It doesn't have to be a date. This was just the kind of dinner you deserve from a date. Not specifically from me. Not me being your date, I mean, um… if that makes sense."

"Well, why not? I'm already a maid for two of my students. Gave you a bath and let you massage me, put on this dress for you. Why shouldn't I just say 'fuck it all' and throw myself into your arms? Huh?"

There was anger and frustration bleeding through now, and it made me duck my head in fear. "I'm sorry. Y-you can leave, I won't tell anybody you left early. I d-don't want to keep you here if you-"

"No, that's exactly what you want. Right?" Finally, she turned, and she was shaking with anger. "I told you already that this can't happen, and here it is. Happening. What gives you the right to just ignore my wishes? Like I'm not the grown up here!"

"O-oh," I breathed softly, shutting down. Like a puppet with its strings cut. "You're right. I apologise."

"Makoto, what…?" Then she sighed in exasperation, throwing up both hands. "See? You act like a little kid getting yelled at! Why aren't you yelling right back at me? This is not how it would work if we were equals in this relationship! What the hell am I saying? We're not even in one! Oh my GOD…"

"Hey, it's alright," I said, finally rising from the table as I kept my voice low. "Listen. I'm… I'll go to my bedroom for a few minutes. Please enjoy your meal, and… if you're gone when I come back out, I'll underst- understand."

My voice had broken on the last word but I tried to recover quickly as I strode away from the table, the room spinning. Sadayo didn't do anything, but she did watch me go, trembling as she stood there trying to weather the blunt force of a million different emotions buffeting her all at once.

Something I could relate to.

I had only been laying on my bed for a minute or two, tears rolling down into the pillow silently as I stared at the wall, when I heard a soft knock at the door. "Come in," I said as I hastily blotted at my eyes with the tissue in my hands.

"Hey," she breathed. My lights were off, so all I could see was the halo of her slightly messy hair from the backlighting. "I, um… I seem to have lost my appetite."

"That's fine. I'll clean it up later, and… Sae and I can have the leftovers. She'll just wonder why I made duck. I'll get your money in a m-"

"I'm not leaving yet," she reassured me. "Can I sit?" I nodded, so she sat on the very edge of my bed, not quite far enough back so that we were touching. "So… now it's my turn to apologise."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I did. I really overreacted out there, I… don't know why I did that. Well, I do, but it doesn't make it okay."

Eyes still blurry, I glanced up at her face that I could see a tiny bit better now. She looked pale, and scared, but not nearly as two-steps-from-crazy as she did before. Her eyes closed for a moment as she contemplated the situation, chose her next words carefully.

"You aren't… the only one."

"Hm?"

"You aren't the only one who feels this… pull toward each other." Another breath to steel herself. "I couldn't tell you when it started, or why, or how I could actually feel anything this strong for a girl in my class. But it's real and it's there."

Now I sat up a little more on my elbows. "What are you saying? Do you-"

"Wait," she bade me with a hand raised. "The thing is, that doesn't change the situation. You're a kid! And my student - and my boss when you request me through the agency. It's so messy… and I'm straight, so even if we did anything with these crazy feelings, it's probably not going to work out in a 'happily ever after' way. When I sit there and picture my ideal future, it's married to a husband who's providing for me, whose big, strong arms can comfort me when I'm sad or stressed out." Then she snorted. "Not that I'm gonna meet one at the rate I'm going, as my mom would say."

"Oh."

Her lips pulled into a little sad smile. "But I will admit you got to me way more than I thought. Just something really special about you, Niijima-san."

"And there's something special about you, too, Kawakami-san." At the term of address, she did raise an eyebrow and laugh a tiny bit, but let me continue instead of interrupting. "I've done a lot of thinking, about… what you said. Your bath and all that."

"Don't remind me," she sighed. "And how much thinking could you have done in five minutes?"

"No, not just now. The whole week." I sat up a little more as I continued, "You're my first in a lot of ways. But honestly? I don't think it matters that much. Because I know how I feel about you even without those things. Maybe I already did, because…"

When I didn't continue right away, she prompted, "Because?"

"You were the teacher I looked forward to seeing the most every day," I confided. "Probably because you were attractive to me, even though I didn't understand that until the hotel room. But it must have already been there, because… you flirting with me shocked me, but not enough. I should have been a lot more scared - I should have wanted to run screaming from the room. Instead, it almost felt… natural. And that scared me the most."

Miss Kawakami frowned. "But that flirting was just part of the job. You know that, right? I didn't… I thought you were a young man who paid to have me flirt with him. That isn't disgusting to you?"

"Like you said, it's your job. I think it would be pretty stupid and narrow-minded of me to judge you for that. Really, the way you're working so hard to pay that student back only makes me admire you more."

"Oh," she breathed, staring down at where her hands lay in her lap. As she watched, one of mine came to rest atop them, and she looked over to see my face was a lot closer. "M-Makoto, wait…"

"For what?" I whispered - and I could barely believe I was doing any of this. But it was too late to turn back; that ship had sailed. "I think you need to know right now how serious I am. Sadayo…"

Her eyes closed. "Shit. You say my name like that, and I can't…"

"Can't what? Sadayo?" That time, I was teasing a little.

"Can't resist you. Can't fight back against this huge mistake."

The last word gave me pause. Enough so that I changed my tactic; my lips pushed into her cheek instead of her mouth. But it was still a kiss. I had never kissed anyone before, and now I had, and it was my Japanese teacher. Life really is crazy. For that moment, however, we were just two women who didn't know how to handle their feelings, and it was more powerful than I ever dreamed.

"Oooooh, okay," she let out in a shaky sigh a few seconds later, when I had drawn back to rest my chin on her soft, warm shoulder. "Wow. That was nicer than a little peck on the cheek has any right to be. God…"

"Yeah?" I breathed cautiously. "I figured I should start small. Not push too much."

"So you're all in now, huh?" she asked with a bitter chuckle, despite the warmth in her eyes as she gazed down at the floor. "Totally gay, and totally gay for your teacher?"

I shrugged as I pet along her back, and she melted. It was almost comical except it was too inflaming to be laughed at. "Guess so. I'm as confused as you, but it just seems silly to pretend I'm not interested."

"Makoto… your moves are like… A+ level moves. How are you only eighteen? How are you a girl?!"

"Do you want me to put the mustache back on?" I laughed.

"No!" We both chuckled for a moment, even though halfway through she shivered and arched her back. "Oh my GOD, you are barely doing anything and I'm ready to go."

"Ready to go?"

Fearful eyes turned on me. "Wait - forget I said that. Shit, why did I say that?!"

"Do you mean…" My eyes widened, and I felt heat explode within my cheeks. "Oh."

"I said forget I said it, so stop thinking about it! Wow, I really am a mess - I need to see a therapist or something!"

My teacher was turned on. Was this really happening? Despite the fact that, as she said, I was barely doing anything to her, apparently it was getting her aroused and ready for me to explore further. Only question was…

Was I as ready to explore as she was to be explored?

"It's okay," I reassured her, petting a little more firmly and hoping it would help. "I, um, I don't remember you saying anything. Just that I have some good moves. Did you say something after that?"

Her embarrassed laugh spoke volumes. "Nice try, kid. Ugh, I'm such a loser."

"Why? Because having someone focused on you feels good? Because this…" I pet a single finger down the middle of her back - not even sure how I knew to do that, running purely on instinct - and she shook and shivered. "…feels good?"

"Stop, please…"

"Really?" My hand came to rest in the middle of her back, staying totally still. "I will if you want me to."

"Yes. I do." So I took the hand away. Her eyes were sad, but what she said was, "Thank you."

Swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pinprick of fear in my stomach, I whispered, "Of course. I'm sorry, I just… I thought I could make you feel nice, and you might feel less… mad at yourself? Scared?"

"You did, in a way. But you also made it way worse." She turned to gaze at me. "Because it worked. You got me all revved up by barely doing anything - and I only felt that with the best of the dates I've been on. Even then, most of the guys had to work harder to get me there."

"Except… you don't want it from me. I'm a student, and a girl." She nodded, and I sighed. "I understand."

"Well, I don't," she blustered, folding her arms over her chest. My hand was resting on her thighs now, but I tried to keep it still so as not to draw attention to that. "This is nuts! I feel like I'm being pranked, except it's way too real to be a prank, so…"

"How do you think I feel? You're my teacher, and so beautiful. And a woman - which I think I'm somehow more comfortable with that than you are. But it doesn't mean I'm not panicking."

"You're panicking?" she asked, and I could tell she was almost grateful to think about me instead of her own feelings. "But you seem so cool with it all. Like, other than when I scream at you like an idiot."

My lips split in a smile. "Not an idiot. You just weren't expecting any of this. We're both trying to figure it out." I pet her thigh a little now, and she shivered. "Is this alright?"

"N-no." I stopped. "God… I can't believe how different it is with girls."

"Hm?"

"I ask you to stop, and you actually do it. No 'Aww, c'mon' first, no telling me I'm some big tease if I get less comfortable."

"Oh," I chuckled softly. "Do you want me to do that instead? I probably could learn."

"GOD NO!" Then we both laughed. "It's one of the only clear advantages. But, um… anyway, yeah. How do you keep from blowing your stack while I'm over here, sweating enough to fill a bucket?"

"You are not sweating," I snorted as I thought the question over. Finally, I sat up completely, my legs out and to the side behind her as my face rested against her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind me there, even if my touches were too much for her to handle at the present.

"Miss Kawakami, I wish I knew what to tell you. But I've always been like this under pressure. I'm still freaking out and trying to figure out what to do, but it's like… there isn't any point in letting the panic turn me into a mess, so I just… don't. And I can't explain to you why I'm like that, either."

"Lucky," she pouted.

"I feel lucky. You're not yelling at me for all this, and… I do keep worrying about what you said."

"Which thing I said?"

"That I'll go too far and you won't tell me to stop, and I'll hurt you. That's why I keep taking such… small chances." I kissed her shoulder again, and she sighed. "Like that one."

Humming her pleasure at the next kiss, she finally whispered, "They're small but they aren't small. My brain is telling me 'no', but my body…"

After the next kiss, when she still hadn't finished her thought, I whispered, "Tell me."

"My body wants this. Needs it - and that's all I'm going to say, because it's already really terrible that I told that to any student. I deserve everything that's happened to me in the past few years. Scummy old woman."

"Hey." I reached up and gently moved her chin so she was facing me, and her eyes grew wide and fearful. "Don't talk about yourself like that. It's not fair. Those two are wrong."

"How are they wrong? I got a student killed, and now I'm feeling way too much for another. I'm a monster, Makoto-chan."

Smiling, I leaned a little closer. "Don't you mean 'Niijima-san'?"

"Right. That thing."

"You aren't a monster. And you aren't scummy. You're a beautiful, smart-"

"I can't take any more compliments," she laughed shakily as my face got closer. "I can't take any more of this, no matter how much I…"

"What? No matter how much… you want it?" I guessed.

All she could do was nod before our lips made contact.

Kissing Sadayo was both everything I had ever dreamed it could be, and nothing like I expected. Which didn't seem to fit together very neatly, since those feelings were such different shapes. It was warmth, and softness, and openness… passion and comfort mixing like fire and water. And now that I had tried it…

I could no longer imagine kissing a man. That easily. As much as I still couldn't believe I was with a woman, it felt so right that I didn't want to question it anymore; didn't think it was necessary. Her mouth was sweet and warm and open to me, and as our lips kneaded each other, I craved more, I leaned up harder against her, my arm wrapping around her back to keep her close.

"Shit," she breathed when we finally broke apart. Only then did I realise her hand had come to rest on my upper arm, another around my waist.

"Huh? I mean… hey."

"Hey." Swallowing hard, eyes swimming with the threat of tears, she went on, "I'm… just… it's not fair."

"What isn't fair?"

"That a little girl just gave me the best kiss of my life."

Blushing though I was, I managed to protest, "I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown woman; I just so happen to be in school, that's all."

"You'll be 'grown' when you can order that wine at a restaurant," she muttered, and I couldn't help smiling. "This is still a really… terrible idea, but…"

"It's good, though?" I insisted on knowing. "You're not just flattering me? I've never kissed anyone before."

"Stop reminding me how young you are," she whined. But when she saw me biting my lip, she closed her eyes and whispered, "The best. You just barely beat out Katsuya from my high school; he was really good, too. Like, legendary."

"Wow, high school must have been a really long time ago. How do you even remember?" When her eyes flew open, I dipped my head. "Teasing. O-or trying to. You really shouldn't shame yourself so much for this happening; it was… fate."

Her hand began to caress up and down my arm, and I felt the goosebumps dimpling and shifting under the light touch. "You believe in that stuff? Like fate? Oh - right, you still owe me a reading."

"Reading?" Her heeled foot raised up and waggled just in the corner of my vision, and I smiled bashfully. "Oh yeah… I don't know why I thought that would work."

"Honestly, I wasn't sure why you were asking about my shoe size until I saw the heels in the bathroom. So it did work; it just was very suspicious. Like, what is solestry, anyway?!"

"It's a real practice!" When she squinted at me, I shrugged and admitted, "So maybe it's not very widespread…"

"If you wanna play with my feet again, just ask. You don't have to make up fortune-telling excuses; I don't even believe in tarot cards or any of that."

Sure I was beet red by now, I whispered, "Wh-why are you so sure I'm some pervert? I just liked giving you a massage!"

"You did kiss them," she laughed. "And I'm teasing. But you keep getting all flustered, so if you want me to stop my teasing and let you play with them… just say the word and I will. I mean it."

"But you freaked out when we kissed. Why would that be any different? Because they're only feet?"

"In a word… yeah?" We both laughed. "Okay, okay, so you're not into it. I just… I don't know, I'm trying to think outside the box. Things that won't be as dangerous as that kiss was a few seconds ago. Do you want to take another bath?"

"Only if we're both naked."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Sadayo was still gulping and gaping at me when I hastily averted my gaze to stare at the wall, my fingers flexing where they rested against her shoulderblade. Seconds ticked by in silence as we tried to figure out how to recover from that line.

"So…"

"Maybe we should go back to eating," Sadayo whispered.

"I thought you lost your appetite."

"I did. But um… that kiss kind of… woke it back up. So either I satisfy it that way, or…"

My eyes lifted to meet hers, and I was aware of how close our mouths still were. "Or we could do it in a fun way?"

"No. We really shouldn't do that. I want to, I… guess there's no point pretending I don't, but it's still a bad idea."

"I'm sorry I said such a stupid thing," I suddenly blurted. "I thought it would be funny, or flirty, but instead it sounded… kind of… scary."

"Yeah," she agreed with a hard swallow as she pulled me tighter against her side. "But I know you weren't doing that on purpose; I'm… this is why you don't date somebody nine years younger than you, right? They don't have the same experiences you do. I've been around the block a few times; you just got to the neighbourhood."

"Then show me. You're already my teacher at Shujin; teach me this, too. How to do it right instead of… of messing up and making you feel bad."

"This is not what 'sex education' is supposed to mean, you know," she chuckled. I smiled a little along with her.

"Let's finish dinner. I feel like you don't want to try more because you're worried about too many things, so maybe it's smarter if… we don't keep sitting on my bed."

A long whine issued from her mouth. "I kissed a teenager. On her goddamn bed, I must be out of my mind!"

"Yeah, but… think of it this way." I couldn't help smiling up at her as I whispered playfully, "You're hot enough to get a teenager to kiss you. On her goddamn bed. Has to count for something."

That did at least earn a giddy laugh from her as she facepalmed. "Sure. It means I'm a real vixen for a predator, right?"

"Hey, don't call yourself that," I scolded her, eyes darkening a little. I saw her blink in surprise at how insistent I was. "Not ever again. I'm the one who's been chasing you, not the other way around; that makes you an herbivore, I think."

"Well… I… sure, yeah," she admitted with a weary nod. "You're right, let's go eat. That duck was really good and I feel terrible that we kind of flirted our way out of finishing it."

"You really like my cooking?" I asked as we stood up, arms still loosely around each other. Now I was a lot shorter than her again - only because she was still wearing the heels. Which was at my insistence, so I had no one to blame but myself.

"Makoto, it was amazing. Where did you get that recipe?! Not that I can cook anything besides curry and instant ramen, anyway… what a failure of an adult I am."

"I think you're perfect," I breathed as we left the room. That only made her groan.

                                                    To Be Continued…

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 1

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3. Companion POVquel to Beyond this Existence.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

Ienzo did not believe in fate.

There was a structure to fate, based heavily in choice and self-fulfilling prophecy. The human will was strong, and to the untrained eye willing things into existence could be interpreted as near to divine. Still. Lately there had been more than enough coincidence to make him uncomfortable. For so long, they had all worked in theory, guessing how the human heart and will and mind all worked, only for their hypotheses to come out right, after all that experimentation. It was a bit boggling. And not necessarily in a good way.

"Lost you in thought again, my boy?" Ansem asked kindly.

Ienzo looked over at his master, who was pecking away at the keys of his computer, refamiliarizing himself with the layout and content. Things were still misplaced from the brush with Sark and the MCP, and they'd been too busy to spend time reorganizing. Now that the worst of the chaos was over, it was time to clean up, take stock, and move on.

He did not know what that entailed. "Apologies, Master."

"No need to apologize. You were always a pensive child. Don't be afraid to think aloud. I should like to get to know you again."

Ienzo sighed. It was… odd… to be near Ansem again, and to spend time with him. It had once felt so natural and comfortable, but now he felt ill at ease. Even though he had apologized, and Ansem not only graciously accepted that apology but then turned it back on him, he still felt… unclean. Since they had all been back together again, there was a need to let life go on like it used to be. But everyone was different. Especially Ienzo. He had changed, and not just physically. There was still so much to come to terms with, least of all his own mind.

As a Nobody, sorting his thoughts and feelings (if you could call them that) had been so easy. With minimal physiological sensation, tracing sources and rationalizing had been simple. Now, even setting aside more time than usual to reflect, his thoughts and yes, emotions, were jumbled, messy, and nearly impossible to deal with. Anxiety, even as a Nobody, was a natural response, but even with limited or no stimuli he would feel it creep into his body anyway. And the reunion with Ansem seemed to have been the point where it all intensified.

"I'm thinking about how my peculiar upbringing may have altered my perception concerning emotion," Ienzo said.

"Yes, I imagine it would. Emotion as a child and emotion as an adult are vastly different, and you woke up with a completely new mind, literally speaking. How are you coping?"

Ienzo bristled. How could he tell Ansem the truth? What comfort had he earned from him? He still had so much to do to prove himself. "Well enough. I find it fascinating. I'm my own case study."

Ansem chuckled. "That's a good attitude to have. You're young. I'm certain you will adjust well, so long as you take the time you need."

Ienzo nodded. He wasn't so certain what Ansem was saying was true. He felt the now-familiar slickness of anxiety heighten his heart rate and tried to take deep breaths as quietly as he could.

His gummiphone started ringing. It had been a while since anyone had contacted him. There were a few text messages from the Restoration Committee now that they had a line of their own; Chip and Dale also reached out every week or so to say hello. He hadn't heard from any of the guardians in a while, though, so when he saw Riku on the caller ID he smiled a little, and answered.

Riku did not have his video enabled. Ienzo could hear the gentle wash of the waves in the background, and the wind. Riku did not speak, and Ienzo wondered if this was some sort of accidental call. The gummiphones were great, but not without their own glitches and quirks. "Is anyone there?" Ienzo asked.

"I'm here." There was an edge to Riku's voice that Ienzo recognized; he'd heard it in his own when Ansem had come back. Fear. Heartbreak. "I'm… sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

Ansem shot Ienzo a look. Ienzo shrugged. "Is everything all right? You sound distressed."

Riku explained the situation. He masked the pain in his voice well, but to Ienzo it was obvious. Sora still hadn't come back. He'd vanished, without a trace, gone to some place where the gummiphones couldn't reach. But the scariest thing was that Riku could no longer feel a connection to him at all.

"Ever since the Mark of Mastery test, I could feel him, his heart. But for whatever reason that's gone. And I'm not sure if that means he might be… just like Kairi…" His voice broke a little more. He must have held the phone away from his face-the sound of the waves intensified.

The acidic flush of anxiety already boiling within Ienzo worsened. He took a tense breath through his teeth to try and think clearly. His mind was buzzing. He tried to say something of comfort, but the only thing he could think was that it was all-too-likely Sora was dead as well. Especially if he were trying to retrieve Kairi from the clutches of death-

"Is there anything you know?" Riku asked. "You know a lot about hearts."

"I suppose… perhaps…" Breathe, Ienzo. "The connection may have weakened, but there's no reason to think it's still not there." Sora's bright, cheerful face flashed behind his eyes. He felt almost like he was being choked, and absolutely without warning he saw another face, Riku's face, Riku but not Riku, sharp bladed gloves against his throat-

"I'm going to Yen Sid to see what he knows, what this might mean. Is there maybe something in your research that could help us?"

Ienzo's muscles were tight. This is completely irrational. Get yourself under control. "I'll take a look through what I have," he said in a strained voice.

"Thank you. I'll keep you posted."

Ienzo wanted to say something of worth, of comfort, to tell Riku to take care of himself, but he could not speak. With a shaking hand, he hung up.

"Are you quite alright?" Ansem asked.

Feeling like he could not breathe was merely psychological. There was nothing wrong with him. He was not dying. Not being strangled. Not watching Axel's laughing green eyes as the puppet slowly drained away his life-

That had been Zexion. This was Ienzo, and he was fine, he was not being choked, he had received some bad news. Ienzo could deal with bad news. Ienzo worked very well under pressure. Ienzo was-could be-good.

Ansem touched his shoulder. "Ienzo?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Master. I don't know what came over me." To his mollification, he felt a tear run down his face, though only on the right side where it was hidden by hair. Before he could properly explain the situation, he heard footsteps on the smooth glass floor of the lab.

"Oh, this is rich," Dilan said, laughing a little. "You'll never guess who the cat dragged in. Turns out there are no more Xehanorts running around, as you have worried. Demyx is here. And he's alive. Technically speaking."

No. Ienzo did not believe in fate.

They'd put him in the spare bedroom, the one that had been reserved for the seventh apprentice Ansem had never fully brought on. (Lea and Isa, he decided, did not count. After all, where were they now?)

Demyx was unconscious. Not unlike Even after Xehanort's death, he'd fallen into a feverish, comatose state after the piece of heart cut through him. It must have been on a delay due to all his travel between worlds with odd time streams. Ienzo regarded him curiously. Their only interaction in all this time had been the day of Ansem's reunion, and Ienzo's emotions had run too high to process his appearance. All Ienzo remembered was that his willingness to help Even and defect against Xehanort was surprising.

He looked poorly. He'd lost some weight, and his body was racked with feverish chills. Even was at his side, tending to him and taking notes.

"...He's not a vessel?" Ienzo asked.

"I don't believe so. I've already checked his eyes. Not gold. Look." Matter-of-factly, he pulled back one of Demyx's eyelids, as if he were also one of the faceless replicas. Ienzo could barely see a sliver of teal.

"Do you think he's trustworthy?" Ienzo asked softly.

"I do not believe he'd cause any harm to us," Even said. "He was rather helpful with the replicas."

"The boy holds no ill will. We did not speak much, admittedly, but he seemed all too happy to get a move in edgewise," Ansem said. "I believe he was merely swayed. And we can sway him back to us, if need be."

"I'll monitor him, but he should be up and about before long." Even shook his head. "Nasty business. At least it's all over now." He picked up Demyx's ragged old coat. "I'll put this filthy thing in the wash with mine. Best to hold onto. Just in case."

They both turned and left. Ienzo tried to follow, with the intent to try and solve the Sora conundrum, but he couldn't help but look back. He decided he would have some tea.

Ienzo sat with his mug and shut his eyes. It was time to figure some things out. Not in a short period at the end of the day, as Zexion had been wont to do, but now. Perhaps he had to do this practice more often, now that he was human.

He was not Zexion. He was Ienzo.

Deep breaths.

He couldn't deny the fact that Demyx's reappearance just worsened his anxiety. Not because of any negative feelings he harbored towards him-Ienzo didn't feel particularly anything towards Demyx at either extreme-but because of what it implied. Radiant Garden was different. The apprentices were different. They couldn't just pick up their lives as if nothing had happened, not that Ienzo would want to. If anything, his appearance symbolized the two lives crashing together. Things would always be off-kilter. As much as Ienzo told himself this, he didn't quite feel it. It was so much harder to internalize fact as a human.

At least, he thought, if both Demyx and Even had lost the pieces of Xehanort's heart that had been thrust upon them, there was no chance of Xehanort returning in any form. He tried to take comfort in this. And Xehanort would never return to be an apprentice.

Ienzo's tea was bitter. As much as he had tried to busy himself, Xehanort's and Braig's absences were quite obvious, though none of them would dare bring it up. They had been a team once, a unit, you could even go so far as to say they were a fa-

He cut off the thought. It did no good to dwell on these things.

Breathe. Deeply.

"I'm not sure if this is a blessing or a curse," Dilan said as he approached in Ienzo's peripheral vision.

"I feel no way particularly. Everyone deserves a second chance. Him too."

Dilan shook his head. "We'll see how humanity fares for him. For all we know his transformation will be as dramatic as yours."

Ienzo frowned despite himself. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You, Zexion… night and day. Down to the way you're dressed." He gestured to the white lab coat that the apprentices wore most of the time.

"Perhaps it's because I've seen the error of my ways, and seek to change," Ienzo said. "You must admit. All that plotting and scheming… is very tiring."

Dilan shrugged.

"Are you not glad for a second chance?"

"I suppose I must be. Especially with Ansem here again. We can do some good for once." He hesitated, and Ienzo wondered if he wanted to sit. Ienzo realized he did not want that. He and Dilan had grown apart in the Organization, and now their relationship was a touch strained. "I feel bad for you. You've missed the majority of your youth in that hellish nightmare."

"As I'm becoming aware," Ienzo said. He felt a heat starting in his cheeks. Was he angry at Dilan? Why? It was true; Ienzo had missed most of his life. Even if he had stayed an apprentice, he still could have gone to normal school, had typical friends, would have developed in a way that would allow him to feel and express emotion properly.

"I do hope you find some way to make up for it," Dilan said.

"There are other matters to attend to first," Ienzo said.

"Yes… I suppose there are." He looked at his wristwatch and sighed. "I'm going to relieve Aeleus. See you later."

For a while after he left Ienzo sat, trying to nurse the absolutely awful tea and find a way to stand and get some work done. Tides of emotion threatened to break over him, each stronger than the last. He breathed. He sipped. He decided that he would go to the library for some light reading on abnormal psychology-surely average, well-adjusted adults didn't feel like this all the time? Firstly, though, he needed to eat. His appetite had been very poor lately, and he had to maintain weight.

He put up oatmeal and let it cook, slowly, sweetening it the way Even had when he was a small boy, with sugar and honey, remembering how he'd tell him that keeping his blood sugar up was important to think clearly. With a gentle pat on the head.

Even was not the same either. He still had the hard edge that he'd gained as Vexen. Or maybe it was just that Ienzo was no longer a child, and had lost the tenderness usually afforded to one.

Before Ienzo could begin to think about why this was important, he heard the soft squeak of floorboards coming from the guest room. Demyx must have woken up. Exactly how much time had passed? Ienzo checked the gummiphone; at least two hours.

I must keep better track of my reflection time.

He sighed, and stood. He did not feel like having this conversation, but if Demyx felt even half as confused as he did, he deserved it. He approached slowly, opened the cracked door. "I thought I heard something," he said. "I think it's time we had that chat."

Demyx's eyes were wide, frightened and, Ienzo noted with a hint of relief, still completely free of gold. He gestured for Demyx to follow him back to the kitchen. He handed him tea. He expected some of the exuberant chattiness that had filled their last meeting, and found none. Demyx kept looking around the room, as though disoriented.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Ienzo continued. Demyx was staring at him oddly. "Even was worried, but I knew you'd come around."

He was full of tension. Ienzo could see that much. "What happened? Why are my-" He touched near his eye.

He really did know nothing. "I admit we were confused about that at first, but it's really quite simple. When Xehanort was killed, the piece of his heart that had been put inside you must have been purged. Even went through the same thing. So the good news is that you're a vessel no longer."

"I'm not?"

"It seems like you were one of the lucky ones," Ienzo said. He ladled out two bowls and placed one in front of Demyx. "If you had been a true vessel, you probably would have perished." And been recompleted far less messily. Ienzo considered what he himself was going through. Which was harder-being gradually eased into humanity, or thrust into it all at once? Necessary change, but painful.

Demyx said nothing. He bit his lip.

"It'll take time for your heart to grow back and for you to adjust. Thankfully, time is something we have a lot of now." He forced a smile. "Roxas and Naminé send their thanks. It's partially because of you, after all, that they became their own people again." This much was true. The vessel Demyx brought had given them just the information they needed to be able to make new ones. And Ansem had been there to help, after all, brought out of his months of wandering in the darkness.

Demyx continued to be silent. It was, perhaps, the quietest Ienzo had ever heard him be. His emotions flickered across his face clear as day; worry, fear, relief. They lacked the slickness of recreated Nobody emotion.

"You must be overwhelmed," Ienzo said haltingly. "I assume this reticence will pass. You should eat. Get your strength back."

He listened, and for a time they ate in silence. At least the oatmeal wasn't as bitter as the tea. Ienzo really needed to cook a proper meal one of these days. They'd been living off of nonperishable goods, too busy to go to the marketplace daily. "Where are they?" Demyx asked suddenly.

"Roxas and Naminé? I'm not quite sure. I believe they're in Destiny Islands at the moment, with nearly everyone else." Roxas didn't have his own gummiphone, as far as Ienzo was aware, so it wasn't like he could hear from them. To his shock, Demyx was actually tearing up, and trying very poorly not to give in to it. Ienzo had never seen him express anything like this; he had always been so callous and crass in the past, uncaring. Was this empathy? Or simply being overwhelmed? Ienzo wondered if Dilan might be right after all, and offered him a napkin to dry his eyes.

"Your heart might not take that long after all," Ienzo said lightly.

"Did you just crack a joke?" Demyx asked between sobs.

"I do have a sense of humor," he said. "Why don't you come get some rest?"

Ienzo decided to take his own advice. He too was exhausted, reeling from the events of the day and in desperate need of some quiet. He took off his lab coat, put on some less formal clothing, and crawled under the covers of his childhood bed.

Being in this room was still strange. He'd already set aside most of the few toys he'd still had as a little boy, as well as most of the books he used to read. A lot of volumes from his current research or reading sat around in various states of organization. Part of him itched to clean it up, to make it a different space, but his body weighed him down.

Sleeping was… difficult.

Even as Zexion he'd had difficulty sleeping, thoughts swirling and pinging against one another. Adding humanity made this necessary bodily function almost impossible. The anxiety of the day welled under his skin. He'd considered asking Even for a mild sedative, but then he'd have to explain why it was he couldn't get any sleep, and the embarrassment of that alone held him back. They would think even less of him if they knew he couldn't even handle these new emotions. This new body. It did feel new, in a way, even though it was all the same as Zexion's. He touched the scars at the base of his throat where the Riku replica had strangled him.

There were so many thoughts to dwell on. Not enough time to process. Especially now that he had so much work to do. There had to be some way he could help Sora. Ienzo couldn't help but feel this was all his fault somehow. If the darkness hadn't spread the way his experiments had enable it to-

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. He sat up. He figured he might as well get some work done.

"Ienzo, my boy, what are you still doing here?"

Ienzo jerked, startled from the complex web of words on the screen.

Ansem, in his casual clothing, approached him. "Ah, there it is," he said. He picked up a book that he had left by the computer. "I finally decided to try and relax, and I leave behind my novel. My memory is not as good as it used to be."

Ienzo set about shutting off the computer. It was so late as to be early. For the first time, he noticed he had a vicious headache, particularly behind his eyes. He must have completely dissociated, which was worrying, to say the least.

"Something weighs heavily on your mind," Ansem said gently. "I can feel it. Speak, Ienzo. You mustn't bear burdens all by yourself."

Ienzo exhaled. "My emotional state today has been… worrying," he said haltingly. "I feel intense, borderline pathological anxiety."

Ansem considered this. "So you lied to me earlier today," he said. "Why is that?"

Ienzo shook his head. "I do not deserve to be comforted. Not when I-" He could feel the harsh tightness in his throat. The soft glint in Ansem's eye did not help this.

"Ienzo, we have discussed this. You were a little boy. You cannot take fault for what happened. You are fixing your mistakes now."

"But it can never make up for what I-" A hot, potent mixture of chagrin and guilt washed over him. He struggled not to cry.

"My dear, dear Ienzo," Ansem said. "You have already accomplished more than I thought possible in the way of good. Tell me what it is you feel. Truthfully."

"I feel…" He could feel the strength leaching from him. "Ashamed, and frightened, and sad, all at once. I constantly feel everything concurrently. Is this what it is to be human?"

"Yes-it is especially more intense when one is young."

"I am not myself," Ienzo said. "I am…"

"A work in progress," Ansem said gently. "As are most people, certainly people your age."

"Things between all of us do not feel right either."

"I agree," Ansem said. "It will take much forgiveness for us all to heal. It is a process."

"I was naive enough to wish these things would be done with."

"Not naive. Hopeful." Ansem squeezed his shoulder. "Let me make you some chamomile tea."

When he finally did sleep, curled on the old loveseat in Ansem's quarters, it was fitfully and vaporously. He could still feel the replica's fingers around his throat, the suit's sharp scales cutting through the soft skin. Nobodies did not feel much but he felt the fear tear through him. And then felt it when he woke up as Ienzo, bleeding and weeping as Aeleus worried over Dilan's motionless, bloodied body. And felt it the third time as he woke up.

Groggily, Ienzo pushed himself off the couch, padded over to Ansem's personal bookshelf, and started searching. He found it, dog-eared and worn, towards the bottom of the case. He blew the dust off it.

Post-traumatic stress, originally known as "shell shock", is a psychological condition in which an individual-

Frustrated, he put the book back. This wasn't helping. If anything, he was shakier and woozier than ever, and his head still pounded.

Of course he couldn't come out of all that without scars, literal and figurative ones. But the fact that he finally had life back and now had to experience this was… a little galling. To say the least.

"Good morning, Ienzo." Ansem was making coffee in the apartment's kitchen. "I figured it was better to let you sleep here rather than make you tramp all the way back to your room. You looked quite exhausted."

"I was. I am," he said.

"Understandably so. I have an errand for you, if you feel up to it. Maybe some fresh air would do you some good."

In all honesty, Ienzo could not remember the last time he'd been outside the castle confines. "Yes. Perhaps."

"I'd like you to get some clothing for Demyx. I do not want to see those coats again if I don't have to. And I suspect you must need some yourself. You've outgrown your old things, no doubt." With a wink.

"You're not incorrect." It had been almost funny, going through his dresser drawers and finding all the small clothing. Funny and also sad. The small lab coat had been handsewn, tenderly, from an adult one. In the hope that he too might grow into their profession.

Ansem crossed over to his desk and took out a small purse of money. "Take your time. I daresay you need it."

The light, even for fall, seemed piercingly bright outside, and he flinched until his eyes adjusted. The violet sky was free of clouds. Ienzo could hear the tolling of bells above that signified a new hour.

This was home.

Still. Despite the ongoing restoration of the town, there was damage lingering from both the initial fall to darkness and the massive Heartless mob that the first Organization had sent. Ienzo couldn't help but be thankful that Zexion had passed by then. Otherwise that plan would have also been added to his heavy conscience.

The town was growing as people returned from Traverse Town. The Heartless population, thanks to Cid's claymores and the end of Xehanort, was low. Life was moving on.

It did not feel that way.

Ienzo shook his head to ward off the thoughts and went to the market.

The clothing seller was kind, and didn't charge him very much. Ienzo picked out a few simple things for himself and Demyx. It should not feel strange to shop. It should not feel strange to share small talk with the vendors. And yet, it did.

While he was here, he picked up some fresh groceries. There was order in food, simplicity, and it grounded him. For the first time in all too long he looked forward to this meal, rather than having it be just another thing to get through.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

The voice, feminine and shrill, startled him. Ienzo fought hard to put on a smile. "Hello, Yuffie."

"How you been?" Despite being ex-Organization, the Restoration Committee had been generously welcoming to him. Ienzo looked over at the girl, only slightly younger than he himself was. And yet, throughout all these years, even she as a child was capable of making good choices, threw herself into the resistance-

"I am well. And yourself?"

"I'm great! You know, you should stop by sometime. You don't have to stay holed up in your castle all day. You're home."

"I admit I have to keep reminding myself of that."

She laughed. "It still does feel kinda weird. But you know. I don't really like normal." She shrugged. "What've you got there?"

"Basic supplies. Food. Clothing. One of the old Organization members returned. He's staying with us for now."

"Oh? Which one?"

"You know him as Demyx. He hasn't given his other name to us yet."

She frowned. "I remember him. He was the one who came on the day of the Thousand Heartless."

"I realize this. But I believe, or at least I hope, that he will have changed as much as the rest of us. He did help us with Roxas and Naminé."

Yuffie sighed. "We'll see. Anyway, I gotta go. Patrol. You know how it is."

"I'm sure there's no need to keep up such vigorous rounds."

She rolled her eyes. "I agree, but tell Squall that. He's paranoid even though things have calmed way down. I can't help but humor the guy. It keeps me busy. And hey. Don't be a stranger. You could use some new friends." She saluted, and set off.

Ienzo, somewhat automatically, turned and began heading to the castle. The brightness and density of the marketplace was leaving him feeling frazzled, anxious, and overstimulated. Yuffie was right; he could use friends, friends closer to his own age. The sheer strength of the Guardians of Light was testament to that. And yet… should he find the courage to drop by for a visit, how would he proceed? What would he talk about? Surely they must have known everything he'd done?

He shook his head. He had a lot of reflection to do before he was ready for that.

Ienzo spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen in Ansem's quarters. It was much nicer, and better-equipped, than the one the rest of the apprentices shared. But like the rest of the castle, it was dirty and in disrepair, and making it habitable hadn't been high on Ansem's list of priorities. He scrubbed at tile and countertops. Nothing wanted to be all the way clean, and the rust would absolutely not come off the burners on the stove. Ienzo did not stop until he realized his hands were smarting from all the chemicals.

"I should have worn gloves," he muttered. "Careless."

He prepared a roasting chicken and stuffing. Food was easy. Objective. There was nothing bad that could come from making food for others. He watched it all cook, and tried to convince himself things would be alright.

The next day the skies opened up, and it rained.

It had been months since he'd seen a storm like this. From his bed after another sleepless night he observed it fall. Cool air blew under his poorly insulated window.

Ienzo had to come up with a plan. Enough dallying about. Starting today he would do whatever was in his power to help Sora. If they could so much as contact him, it would be worth it. After all of Sora's suffering at Castle Oblivion, it was the least he could do. He dressed in his lab uniform, tightening the ascot at his throat to hide the scars.

He would fix this.

Except the files did not want to agree with him.

He must've spent hours looking through the archives. It was hopelessly disorganized, ripped apart by Sark, and the data from the Organization hadn't yet been uploaded. Rather than do anything of actual help, he had to sort the files, bit by bit, some of it pure guesswork because most of this research was not his.

"Have you a moment?" Even looked irritated; then again, lately he always did.

"Of course. Whatever is the matter?" He kept pulling files this way and that off of the cluttered screen.

"You no longer have any of your Nobody abilities, correct?"

Ienzo looked up. "That is correct." In their first confusing days of humanity, they'd all tried to connect with their powers. Trying to summon his lexicon or perform even the most minute glamor had given him a terrific migraine that put him in bed for the better part of two days. "Why is it you ask? You haven't either, have you?"

"I have tried, and I cannot," Even said. "I wanted to make sure. He found out."

"Who? Demyx?"

Even nodded. "I wonder if my tone might have been too sharp. He did look rather distressed."

Ienzo sighed. They all knew how attached Demyx was to his sitar; going without it must be something akin to withdrawal.

"But what is it I'm to do? I'm not a miracle worker. And if I'm being honest, I'm quite content with how silent things are around here."

"Strictly speaking, there is nothing we can do. Aside from have patience. Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to have dropped off those clothes. My memory has not been great lately."

"You've had a lot on your mind," Even said. "I suspect we all have. I'll be glad to not see another one of those infernal cloaks. So drab. So… cult-like."

Ienzo looked back to the computer. "Master Ansem said essentially the same thing. I suppose I should take care of it now." He dreaded seeing Demyx's face, of trying to find words of comfort. He understood his distress, but the fact that he was actively grieving part of that Nobody life reviled him.

"I shall walk with you."

They left. The castle was so large, and yet they really lived in such a small part of it. The rest of it sat vacant, unused, and gradually decaying. The carpet at their feet was worn.

"It's a shame," Even said. He scruffed the carpet with the toe of his shoe. "Things here were once so beautiful. If the committee were not so busy we could use their assistance. This place is a shell of what it once was."

"You have to admit it feels rather significant," Ienzo said.

"Too on the nose, for my tastes," Even said. He shook his head. "We're not shells of who we once were. We've changed and adapted. You most of all. I miss being so pliable."

"...So I've heard," Ienzo said sourly. "I assure you it is not as easy as it looks."

"My apologies."

A sharp emotion tightened in his throat. Ienzo found himself wanting to confide in Even, wanting to beg him to help, like when he was a child. Wanting to be comforted, coddled, even though he had done nothing to warrant such niceties. "If only times were simpler," he said. "I feel as if I've no time to look after myself-what with Sora's disappearance and Demyx's arrival."

"Sora's disappeared?"

Of course, holed up in his lab all day, Even wouldn't know. Ienzo explained what happened.

"...How curious," Even said, his lips turning down. "I wonder if there's any of his data somewhere?"

"Sora's? I do not know. I'm not sure how his friends would feel if he were a replica, though."

Even sighed. "I've tried to recreate Sora's heart, and we remember know what happened with that," he said. "As proud as I am of Xion's sentience and personhood, unfortunately his heart is so special that it seems to be a moot option. Best not to give them hope."

Ienzo hesitated.

"I thought I'd taught you better," Even said.

"You should have heard Riku's voice."

"I'm surprised you feel so strongly about him, not when you have such poor memories of him."

"That was your replica, might I remind you," Ienzo snapped.

Even raised an eyebrow. "The Riku replica? What about it?"

Ienzo froze. Even didn't know. "Never mind," he said evasively.

"Boy, tell me," Even said thickly.

Automatically, Ienzo's hands fluttered to his throat, and he fought to steady them.

"Ienzo," Even said.

Slick, sparkling, spicy anxiety swept through him. He tried to steady his breath, but the tightness in his chest was was it he could not get himself under control?

"Oh, Ienzo," Even said.

"If you must know," Ienzo forced out between breaths. "Axel had the Riku replica kill Zexion."

"He did?" Even barked out a strange laugh. "Axel killed Vexen."

A wave of dizziness nearly overcame Ienzo. Even placed a hand on Ienzo's shoulder.

"How is it you're feeling?"

"I don't understand," Ienzo said. "I don't understand what it is I'm feeling."

"Intense, paralyzing panic?" Even suggested.

"Yes-perhaps-" His knees were weak and shaking.

"You should sit down and focus on modulating your breathing," Even said. He took Ienzo by the elbow and helped him sit down on the floor. "It's alright. This is a normal reaction to recalling something traumatic-"

"Believe me, I know," Ienzo hissed. "I am perfectly aware of what this is." It didn't help, he thought.

"Count to ten," Even said. "Deep, steady breaths."

He tried. His desire to confide in Even completely gave way to an abject humiliation. "Why is it you do not feel that way?" Ienzo said.

"Perhaps my heart is not quite as developed as yours," Even said. "Perhaps it is that I have not processed it all, yet."

"I do not wish to speak of it at the moment," Ienzo said. His chest still ached terrifically. "I must… I must go." He pulled away from Even. Standing gave him a wave of vertigo. He stumbled down the hallways, nearly getting lost in the familiar twists and turns, until he reached his bedroom. Ienzo lay down on his bed for a moment. He breathed and breathed until he no longer had to think about it. He shook himself. Gathered up the bundle of clothes. Prepared himself for another awkward conversation.

He knocked at the door and waited for a moment. There was no response. Ienzo struggled to put on a neutral face and cracked the door. "Sorry to intrude. Ansem suggested you might like something else to wear, other than… that." Demyx was pale and wan and washed out, especially against the black of the coat. Ienzo realized just how obvious his cheekbones were in his face, how much weight he'd lost. "Doubtful you'll need its protection any time soon."

He was silent. There was an empty, frightened look in his eye, and to Ienzo's surprise when he caught his own reflection in the small dresser mirror, he wore the same expression.

Ienzo swallowed. He put the clothes down and hugged himself tightly. It didn't help much. "I realize this process has not been easy for you-"

Demyx's eyes flitted to meet his, and then he looked away.

He didn't know how to find the words. "I failed to make the connection. I didn't realize that gaining your humanity would result in another type of loss. But of course your connection to your power must have run deeply."

"It's just always been there," he said. "I feel like part of me has died."

Ienzo bristled a little. How could he not see the opportunity he'd been handed? Yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but agree- "Yes. I imagine it would."

"Don't you feel the same way?" Demyx turned towards him. His bright eyes sought Ienzo's. "I mean, in a sick way, becoming Nobodies kind of brought out the best parts of us."

Bile rose in Ienzo's throat. He looked down. The anxiety was back, worse than before, and all he could say was, "I disagree." How could he think that? If anything, being a Nobody had just enabled Zexion's dark nature, and instead he'd just kept committing atrocities in the name of science.

Demyx blushed.

Ienzo was shaking. "I'll let you rest," he said woodenly, and left the room.

He found himself crouched over the toilet, heaving emptily because he'd forgotten to eat that day.

The memories poured behind his eyes. How had he been so cruel? Was it ever possible to make up for it? So many worlds had fallen. So many people had-

That didn't even count the initial spread of darkness. If he had not listened to Xehanort and encouraged all those extra tests on the subjects-

Ienzo spit weakly. He crossed over to the sink, pulled back his hair, washed his face.

He really was not well. The ripples of the old life were clearly not going to settle any time soon. How on earth was he going to learn to manage them?

There was something he could do. He could help Sora. Helping Sora would save people. Maybe he could save himself in the process.

Some hope.

He picked up his gummiphone and dialed Ansem. "Master? Can you help me?"

[landofsomethingsomething]

Do you have any tips regarding writing Dirk and Jake? I got this idea for an AU DirkJake fic (I won't say what kind of AU aside from treasure hunting and archaeology will be abound but if I do end up writing it I'll post it to Ao3) but I've never been one to write fanfiction or even role play canon characters. So I'm trying to gather as much as I can so I can hopefully do my boys justice, and I've enjoyed your portrayals of both so I thought I'd ask.

I have some tips about writing Dirk & Jake in pesterlogs in this post here

And some more about writing DirkJake here (these are both p long posts lol)

But in general, the biggest tip I can give is to go and review their actual canon pesterlogs before you write. It’ll help you remember their voice, how they generally interact with people, and maybe some details you may have forgotten. MSPA Wiki is a great resource for this, because the character pages have links to ALL the pesterlogs with icons denoting who they were with. I have found this seriously invaluable.

For Dirk, my writing tends to underplay a lot of his more gimmicky traits (puppets, horses, etc) and overplay others (The Anxiety, The Overthinking, the existential fear that his Ultimate Self may not be a good person and everyone he knows would be better off for not knowing him), so if my writing of Dirk seems particularly resonant to you that may be the reason - my focus might mirror the things you liked about him. 

For Jake, my writing reflects an interpretation of him as a highly, highly intelligent guy who is terrified of his own potential and hates both expectations and confrontations, so he intentionally puts on a kind of oblivious act and will do absolutely anything to avoid a direct unpleasant situation/conversation/confrontation. Also he has deep and highly relatable social anxiety, which is sometimes a problem because he is attractive and good at affording an affable, charismatic persona. 

As with any character writing keep in mind as you go - What does this person want? What are their goals? What is keeping them from those goals - externally and internally? Frame your plot around answers that mesh with your interpretation of the characters. 

And always read your stuff out loud, if you can. I swear it really, really helps.