#It should be fixed when its done and on AO3 I swear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aannonn · 4 months

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I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

- W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

Go away.

Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

It's just him, and the world that hates him.

At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

He wonders where his friends are...

Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

- We're sorry."

Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

- We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

- We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

- We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

- So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

Oh wait.

Oh. Oh.

The stage was for him?

- I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

- The world being us."

Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

It was his show. It is his show.

The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

For me?

Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

For you.

Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

It was perfect. It is perfect.

Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

It was perfect. It is perfect.

He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

He always was. And he always will be.

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thesakuragarnet · 3 months

Text

The Boy Born With Everything

Summary:

It had been five years since the war ended. Five long years that Touya had spent in an asylum of a hospital, watching from the other side of a glass tube, occasionally being let out to prevent his muscles from completely atrophying once the surgeries gave him range of motion…or to eat soba with his youngest brother. Once again, his body wasn’t supposed to last a month, much less years. Touya thrived on proving other people wrong…and he’d done it again.

Now, he finds out that, not only is he allowed to go back home (albeit with an ankle monitor), but also, his old hookup has nominated him for the new villain rehabilitation program.

After all these years, Touya will be able to fulfill his dream...he'll be a hero.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! TAGS BENEATH THE KEEP READING SECTION

Word Count (first Two Chapters Posted): 8,212 words

AO3 link

Tags: Fix-It Fic, Hero!Dabi, DabiHawks, LOV redemption, MHA 426 coping (everything after it has been retconned probably with this), swearing, explicit s3xual content, Final War Arc Spoilers, drinking, making out, fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, Touya has Both Quirks (Post-Quirk Awakening)

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Chapter One: Prologue || Before The Betrayal

One week before X day.

Merging with the Meta Liberation Army had its ups and downs…but this could definitely be shelved in the list of ups. Compress whistles as he rolls the dolly cart into the rec room of the Gunga Mountain Villa, and everyone’s heads turn to stare at the crate full of alcohol. It was a gift from Trumpet for the exponential increase in new recruits. Dabi, Toga, Spinner, and Twice had finished their meetings for the day, and they've been waiting on Compress to return with their “reward for cooperation”. Dabi’s eyes scan the bottles as excited murmurs bubble in the room.

Alcohol affected his body differently. His fiery Quirk processed it, burning it up almost instantaneously, resulting in him getting shitfaced quickly but also sobering up in the same hour. If Dabi wanted the buzz to last, he had to keep drinking. He was going to have to hoard a bottle for himself. Compress opens the crate with flair, brandishing each bottle as he sets it on the center table. There’s vodka, sake, whiskey…plenty of options.

“Oh, please can I have some!” Toga beams broadly, reaching for the bottle of vodka, but Dabi snatches it, opening it with little effort.

“ No ,” Dabi hisses firmly, annoyed at her puppy-eyed stare as Toga pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What’s the point in being a villain if you can’t break the rules and do what you want?” She grumbles, and Dabi rolls his eyes.

“It’s for your own good,” Dabi sighs, hating that he sounds like a parent…but he doesn’t want Himiko drunk around this compound of complete strangers. The liberation members come from everywhere…the last thing he wants is for someone to take advantage of Toga when she’s vulnerable, whether that be by stealing the little wad of money she kept in her A-line coat or…he doesn’t even wanna think about it. It comes down to the facts. It’s for her own good.

“C’mon, Dabi . You’re such a letdown . Nah, Toga, he’s right,” Twice replies as he drinks directly from a bottle of sake. Compress rolls his eyes, muttering something about Twice acting like an animal as he snaps, turning the two marbles in his hand into glasses before handing one to Spinner.

“He’s right, my dear. You should stick to tea,” Compress sniffs as he sits down in one of the armchairs, crossing his legs as he pours whiskey for himself and Spinner.

Dabi takes a breath as he puts the bottle to his lips, gulping it down, barely registering the ever-so-dull burning sensation running down his throat. The liquor starts filtering through his system the moment he pulls away from the bottle, sighing as the walls around his mind begin to dissolve, letting the real Touya come to the forefront. He found it harder to keep the mask up when he got intoxicated, acting a little more smiley and talkative than usual. He leans back onto the couch, sinking into the textured fabric as he unceremoniously props his leather boots up on the table.

“C’mon. You guys are so lame !” Toga groans, staring at her fellow League members drinking without her as she kicks her feet in the air on the beanbag.

“Dabi’s just lookin’ out for you,” Spinner explains, turning to Himiko as he sips his glass.

“Am not,” Dabi scoffs, trying and failing to keep up his front; in truth, he’d grown to view Toga as a little sister. He felt protective over her; it was incredibly irritating. Dabi starts slugging the vodka, gulping with a comical force that clearly shows he’s trying to get as wasted as possible.

“If you throw up, you clean up,” Spinner says flatly, but Dabi ignores him, draining the bottle until there’s only half of it left.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” Dabi huffs; his vision blurs for a moment and his body feels lighter.

“Guess I’m late to the party,” A familiar voice chuckles from behind Dabi, nearly scaring him out of his skin while simultaneously putting his heart at ease. Dabi never realized how much he enjoyed Hawks’ voice before; he never noticed how it was sweeter than honey beneath the shit-eating grin and the charismatic facade. Dabi would be lying if he said he never found Hawks attractive; embarrassingly, he’s had a little bit of a crush on him for a while. It was infuriating. Hawks has everything Dabi’s always wanted…and it makes his blood boil. He’s got the world’s eyes on him as the number two hero, always watching with overwhelming adoration. He’s got fans, he’s got fame…he’s got the approval of the number one hero…Touya’s father. It almost makes him sick how easy Hawks has it…to be beloved so easily. It’s not fair.

Dabi stares at Hawks through his thick upper eyelashes, eyes tinged with lust but mouth drooping in a jealous frown. Hawks is too pretty for his own good, Dabi decides the longer he stares at him. Surely that’s not just the alcohol talking.

“Hawks!” Twice gasps, leaping up from his seat on the floor and wrapping his arms around the hero in a vice-gripping hug. “You made it! I was hoping you’d be hit by a plane on the way here!”

“Jin, always a pleasure,” Hawks grins, patting him a little less than condescendingly on the head before squirming out of his hold.

“Care to partake with us?” Compress beckons, flourishing with another glass that practically appears out of thin air.

“No thanks. Can’t drink and fly. Don’t wanna get a ticket,” Hawks winks, and Dabi almost gags at the terrible joke. But if the dumb bird turned him off that much, why were his thoughts swimming with ideas involving Hawks? Why can’t he stop staring at his lips like he wants to kiss them? The idea of kissing Hawks makes his head spin…makes something stir deep inside that he thought was long dead. Lust? That had to be it. To think it was anything deeper was crazy; the alcohol was just probably making him horny. It was a silly coincidence, regardless of how often he thought of Hawks prior…which was daily. He’d become a little obsessed with his double agent, finding it hard to keep him on a longer metaphorical leash. He enjoyed his company…enjoyed talking to him…it was fucking weird. Sure, Dabi was well aware of his own abandonment issues and attention-seeking habits, but…why did he unconsciously latch onto Hawks ? He pretended to play dumb with himself, shoving any urges or ideas deep back from where they came from in his chest. But now, the alcohol is making them float right back up to the surface.

Dabi takes another long drink from the bottle, swishing the liquid in his mouth absentmindedly as Hawks makes eye contact with him. The hero looks mildly amused before he leans over the back of the couch, whispering in Dabi��s ear:

“Hey, Dabi, I need to talk to you. Can we take a walk?”

His husky voice and the heat of his breath totally don’t send something that can only be described as arousal pulsing through Dabi’s lungs. He hates it. It’s stupid. It’s just because he’s drunk. He’s clingier than usual…and Hawks is objectively attractive. That’s the only explanation.

“Mkay,” Dabi slurs, finishing off the bottle before slamming it on the table as he swallows a hiccup. He leaps to his feet on swaying legs, the room spinning ever so slightly and making him marginally nauseous.

“Fuck,” He whines under his breath, regretting chugging so much alcohol in a short period. Granted, he’d planned to just chill out on the couch all night, but, apparently, that was no longer the case.

“Back later,” Dabi murmurs sloppily to anyone who cares as he follows Hawks out of the room and into the hall.

Dabi is in another world; he’s hearing Hawks’ voice but not processing anything he’s saying at all. He’s mumbling and nodding, the illusion of paying attention, but he’s too captivated by the faint glitters in the hero’s irises. His gaze falls onto Hawks’ lips…they look so soft. Soft enough that part of Touya wants to reach out and touch them, even though he knows he wouldn’t be able to feel them. His senses are so fucked up…it cuts him viscerally to the core how much he wishes he could feel things again. Every sensation is dulled except his emotions, ironically…which have always been the strongest to begin with. His emotions are still as real and passionate and reactive as they were before his accident at Sekoto Peak.

The two keep walking down the hall, Hawks dawdling on about whatever “intel” he’s managed to obtain and how many copies of the Liberation manifesto he’s disseminated. Dabi loses his balance for a moment, nearly stumbling and falling on his face, but Hawks catches him, arm lurching forward and clutching his chest. Dabi blinks as he stands up straight, turning to look at Hawks. The hero seems… concerned . Why the fuck should he be concerned about him ? Hawks has zero reasons to give a shit. His eyes dart to the hero’s lips again…and lust undoubtedly pools in his gut.

Dabi just wants to feel something…anything at this point. Anything other than the raging anger and desperation that’s always bubbling beneath the surface of his cold and callous facade. Hell, just his imagination is enough to set his shriveled heart ablaze. The concept of another person…of Hawks touching him intimately…it’s ethereal. The temporary drunk confidence makes him completely interrupt Hawks as he slurs:

“Doyouwannamakeout?”

“Dabi. You’re drunk,” Hawks snorts, caught off guard and probably flustered with the sudden spray of pink that dusts his cheeks.

“I’d make out with you sober, too. And other things. If you wanted,” Dabi mutters bluntly, pointing his finger at Hawks and poking him sharply in the chest, “I don’t really wanna talk business with you right now.”

Hawks raises an eyebrow before taking a look around.

“Right here in the hallway?” He smirks in disbelief, but Dabi roughly shakes his head before grabbing Hawks’ wrist.

“My bedroom.”

…

The door slams shut behind Dabi, and he hears the click of the lock as the dam breaks and his inhibitions go up in azure flames. As soon as Hawks turns back around, Dabi’s hands cup his face and pull him into an overwhelming kiss. Kissing Hawks is just as heavenly as he’d imagined it. It’s perfect even in the haze of alcohol. From Hawks’ point of view, it’s suffocating; Dabi’s clearly never kissed anyone before.

Dabi drunkenly moans into Hawks’ mouth, panting weakly as Hawks’ tongue slides against his. Hawks takes his gloves off, throwing them on the floor in a rush before running his hands through Dabi’s hair, fingers combing through the cheaply dyed fluffy locks.

In the back of Dabi’s brain, he knows this is probably empty; Hawks is probably seducing him for intel to get closer…to gain Dabi’s trust. That’s why he agreed so quickly. There’s no logical reason he’d actually be interested in his disgusting patchwork mug. But…part of Dabi wonders if he does feel something for him…if there’s a chance that he’s actually wanted by someone…for once in his miserable fucking life. He shoves the thought back into the recesses of his mind, focusing on the faint sensation of Hawks’ lips as they suck and bite and lick Dabi’s troubles away. Dabi’s hands drop to rest at Hawks’ waist, gripping tightly beneath his jacket as his fingertips slide along the sides of the hero’s belt.

“Top or bottom?” Hawks grins slyly as he breaks the kiss. Dabi’s mind reels; not only was he kissing Hawks, but they were gonna have sex. It’s highly suspicious for the hero to want to move so fast; the Commission probably ordered Hawks to get information by any means necessary, but who knows when he’s going to get another chance like this? It’s not like Dabi’s even had sex before…and now…the number two hero is going to be his first time.

“Don’t care- hah -just want you,” Dabi huffs, greedily pulling Hawks in by the front of his shirt for another filthy kiss. Hawks melts into the gesture, hands delicately reaching down to unbuckle Dabi’s belt. Dabi breaks free from the kiss with a gasp, looking through his fuzzy vision to watch Hawks slip the belt off him with ease, tossing it to the side before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Dabi blinks, and he’s on his back on the bed; Hawks tugs the villain’s pants down enough to free his half-hard cock from his gray boxers. Dabi’s eyes widen as he watches Hawks climb onto the bed, kneeling down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of Dabi’s dick. The villain gulps, chills rolling beneath his skin as he stares at Hawks; the Pro kisses up and down his shaft, maintaining eye contact beneath his winged eyeliner, seamless and sexy.

Dabi chews his scarred bottom lip, imagining what it would be like to fuck Hawks’ throat. Imagining what it would be like to fuck him…to be fucked by him…to succumb to mutual pleasure. The concept of feeling good was foreign to him, much less in a sexual manner, but this whole situation stirred his insides from his brain to his balls. If he was going to die in the war in a week, he might as well not die a virgin, even if he was so drunk he might fall asleep before aftercare.

“You taste sweet. Not what I was expecting,” Hawks sneers as he laps up the beads of precome slowly dripping down. “But I’m not complaining.”

He’s doing this on purpose. The soft whisper of his voice and the deep intonations send vibrations up Dabi’s spine. Hawks is completely giving his all to seduce him right now. Dabi doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’ll probably be even clingier after this hookup. The war was in a week. And he would be dead. This wouldn’t matter. What does matter is for fucking once he’s giving in to his inhibitions…to an experience that he’s never had…one that might reward him in the end. His dopamine pathways must function somewhat .

Hawks presses his lips to Dabi’s tip before slowly taking him into his mouth, sucking his length inch by glorious inch.

“Fuck,” Dabi borderline whimpers, his other hand reaching down to run through the hero’s blonde locks. He was pretty sure he was getting off more on the idea of everything that’s happening than what he was actually feeling, but, regardless, it felt euphoric. This was a high he’d never felt before; it made his head feel floaty and his stomach feel warm and his heart pound with a violent fervor.

Dabi’s head falls back onto the pillow, arm coming up reflexively, hiding his eyes as his back arches and his jaw drops. His voice comes out in a raspy groan, low and long and rising in pitch the more Hawks’ head bobs up and down. Dabi mumbles something unintelligible, panting heavily as he resists the urge to buck his hips. The lewd noises consume Dabi’s bedroom, the slurping and sucking of Hawks’ lips perverting the quiet and mixing with Dabi’s weak gasps and hums of pleasure.

“You like that?” Hawks murmurs, knowing damn well that he’s skyrocketed the villain to cloud nine. Dabi can only manage a weak nod as he risks looking down at the depraved scene between his legs. It sends another jolt of pleasure through his body when he realizes that Hawks is naked from the waist down…and fingering himself. He can barely make it out in the darkness, but it’s clear the way Hawks bites his lip.

“You ready to fuck me?” Hawks taunts, and Dabi’s absolutely sure he isn’t, but he wants to get on with it anyway, so he nods.

Dabi nearly chokes when the tip of his dick catches on Hawks’ rim; the noises pouring from the hero’s throat are like forbidden fruit, kissing Dabi’s ears and filling his chest with butterflies…or maybe it’s just the alcohol.

Hawks’ hands grip Dabi’s pecs over his thin white V-neck T-shirt, thumbs tracing over perky nipples and making Dabi groan.

Hawks sinks down until he’s sitting fully flush in Dabi’s lap, eyelids fluttering as he bites his lip to hold back a moan.

“Dabi, you feel so good ,” He cries out, voice strained and breathless as he grips at Dabi’s shoulders. Dabi stares up at him, alcohol boiling in his blood as the hero begins to ride him, rolling his hips in a way that makes his dick twitch. It’s all in his head. He knows he can’t really feel it, but… goddamn if sex with Hawks isn’t more intoxicating than the vodka. He looks like a Greek god, stripped down, heavily muscled, and haloed in the dim sunset from the window. He’s never looked more attractive; it’s too good to be true. There’s no way the number two hero is riding his dick right now, and yet, the brutal sounds of skin slapping against skin and Hawks’ needy moans suggest otherwise.

“ Hawks ,” Dabi pants, wanton and delirious, cock throbbing inside as Hawks bounces up and down and up and down. His throat feels tight…like how it used to before he would start crying before his accident. Dabi starts rolling his hips, thrusting up into Hawks, and the hero gasps, wings flaring out as his face contorts into pleasure. Curses fly from his lips, involuntary and jumbled together as his breath hitches. Dabi’s mind is on fire; desire bubbling in his lower back and making drool pool on his tongue. Heavy breaths fill the air as the bed beneath them creaks from their rampant movements. Hawks brings his own hips down with every upward rut of Dabi’s, getting as much friction for the both of them as humanly possible. Hawks doesn’t realize Dabi’s only getting off on the raw emotions and intimacy of what’s happening over any physical pleasure.

Dabi sits up, hands moving to Hawks’ hips to get a better grip when he sees the hero’s leaking cock, hard and untouched. Before Hawks can say a word, Dabi wraps a hand around it, coating his fingers in precome as he starts to jerk him off. Hawks twitches, Dabi’s name on his lips, sweat beading on his brow.

“ God ,” Dabi moans like a bitch in heat, head fuzzy and speech garbled as the high reaches an almighty climax. He can feel something happening when he watches Hawks writhe in pleasure. “Gonna come.”

“Me too,” Hawks grunts, moans pitching higher in tune with Dabi’s rasps as they both let the euphoria consume them.

Dabi comes first, completely wrecked and not even sure how it’s happening. His hips stutter, cock pulsing and balls emptying as a pathetic moan bursts from his lips. Hawks keeps riding him through it, sending sparks across Dabi’s vision as his own orgasm hits like lightning down his spine. It gets all over Dabi’s hand, but he doesn’t even hardly notice, haphazardly jerking Hawks off through every spasm.

Finally, the overstimulation is too much for them, and everything stops…stillness pollutes the bedroom, save for Dabi and Hawks’ chests heaving with each intake of breath and sigh of relief.

Dabi’s vision is blurry, the alcohol slowly leaking out of his system as his Quirk finishes processing it. He should be completely sober in a few minutes, long enough for the afterglow to wear off. He vaguely registers Hawks lifting off of him, his own dick falling limp against his thigh as Hawks crawls forward, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Dabi’s lips.

The villain’s eyes close, letting the blackness envelop him as he moves his lips to complement the hero’s. He can barely taste the sweat on Hawks, but it’s enough to confirm that this isn’t a dream. Dabi lazily wipes the come off his hand and onto the sheets beside him. He’ll worry about cleaning up tomorrow; right now, he wants to live forever in this moment. This moment of temporary bliss with someone who’s making him feel wanted … seen … loved ? That’s probably the wrong word to use, but Touya doesn’t care. The man was so touch-starved it’s a wonder the mere lack of hugs hadn’t killed him, but Dabi didn’t need to reveal that to anyone else. He didn’t need to reveal just how desperate he really was for the attention. They didn’t need to know that he clung to it like a moth to a candle. When he opens his eyes, Hawks is smiling at him.

BZZT! BZZT!

Hawks’ phone vibrates in his pants pocket, and a feather pulls it out, bringing it to Hawks, whose forehead wrinkles when he reads the message. He sighs as he pushes himself off of Dabi, getting ready to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“This was fun, Dabi, but, I’ve gotta head out-”

“Don’t leave,” The words come out as a desperate hiccup, embarrassing and full of fear that Hawks has never seen on Dabi’s face or heard on his lips before.

Hawks freezes when he sees the empty expression in Dabi’s eyes, longing for connection…for any sense of security. This wasn’t the villain he was used to spending time with. Hawks expected him to just roll over and sleep without so much as a “thank you” for everything he just did to him.

“Please, don’t leave,” Dabi repeats, eyes distant and welling with bloody tears. His mask is slipping…Hawks is seeing Touya . It puts a pit in his stomach as the alcohol starts to wear off. He’s being too vulnerable. He needs to shut up and act like none of this mattered. He grits his teeth, tongue heavy in his mouth as he blinks away the crimson beads. Silence…silence is the clearest option. If he takes it back, it’s acknowledging that it happened.

Hawks doesn’t say a word about it, letting the thoughts stew in his brain as he begrudgingly sinks back into bed beside Dabi, hating that he’s going to have to explain himself to his handler. The villain grips the sheets, staring at the ceiling as the numbness consumes his body, unable to feel the warmth of the hero snuggling next to him. It floods his veins, hardening his heart and reminding him of one simple fact. Everyone leaves him eventually…and he will never be enough for anyone to want to stick around.

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

Chapter 2: Home

It had been five years since the war ended. Five long years that Touya had spent in an asylum of a hospital, watching from the other side of a glass tube, occasionally being let out to prevent his muscles from completely atrophying once the surgeries gave him a decent range of motion…or to eat soba with his youngest brother. Once again, his body wasn’t supposed to last a month, much less years. Touya thrived on proving other people wrong…and he’d done it again.

The hospital had thoroughly milked Enji Todoroki dry. Enji Todoroki’s alleged “atonement” involved pouring money into the best doctors and researchers the world had to offer…and…with surgery after surgery, Touya began to look like himself again. Compared to the last time he’d been turned into a burning corpse, the extra two years of rehabilitation and work made a drastic difference.

Within the first year, Touya went from being able to speak only a few minutes a day to holding a conversation for a full half hour. Now, he can yap as much as he did when he was a little kid, which is unfortunate for everyone else’s ears. Shoto, however, doesn’t mind. Touya always manages to fill the silence that Shoto quietly occupies, and he’s more than happy to listen.

Natsuo was the one who had the hardest time coming around…and, after about a year and a half, Touya began to come to terms with why. The sibling that he had the closest bond with fell into the path of his anger, and Touya himself cringed when he remembered how he bragged about almost having him killed.

The rage still lurks below the surface, but Touya’s taking steps to keep his anger in check. Therapy had worked wonders. Once the doctors realized Touya wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Rei petitioned for Touya to talk to a therapist to get him to open up more.

The first session fundamentally shifted the world for Touya because, for the first time since his reveal, someone from the outside actually acknowledged that he was abused. Touya believed no one cared; the public had only given a shit because Dabi was a villain. They hadn’t cared about Endeavor’s sins against his family. To hear someone voice that his pain and anger were real and valid felt liberating.

When he finally got full control of his motor skills again, Touya wrote Natsuo a letter; he showed up to visit him a few weeks later. It was a rough reunion; there was a lot of yelling on Natsuo’s part. For once in his life, Touya kept his mouth shut.

He knew Natsuo had a right to be angry. All he could do was apologize and explain why he did what he did. Natsuo’s relationship with Touya was going to take time to be repaired; it wasn’t something he could fix overnight. Besides, he had a new life now with his wife. Touya understood.

Fuyumi always brought such a bright smile with her behind her glasses during her visits. She often came with a basket that the workers would either confiscate or sift through to pick and choose what Touya got. Touya used to see Fuyumi as just another chess piece that got in his way growing up…but…now…it’s different.

No one else brings things for him.

Touya often asks her why she decided to waste her time teaching brats, but she just brushes it off, changing the subject.

Fuyumi was the first person other than Shoto to learn that Touya had in fact come back to the house. He felt obligated to tell her. After all, he hadn't just left her with the burden of being the oldest sibling once…but twice.

Fuyumi broke down halfway through, sobbing about how she thought she was seeing things when she saw a shadow in his old room that day. One minute, Touya was standing in front of his altar, and then, he was gone in the blink of an eye. A few months later, Touya opened up even more to her.

“I’m sorry for calling you and Mom useless.” The throaty rasp echoes from the tube, reluctant and crackly. Fuyumi stands in front of the glass, peering at her older brother through the darkness.

“When did you do that?” She raises her eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden apology as she smooths her dress.

“A lot…before Sekoto,” Touya admits.

“Oh…,” His sister trails off, lips pursed.

“I don’t think that anymore. Think it was just Dad. His views. Toga and Magne weren’t useless. Changed my mind,” Touya speaks slowly, trying to articulate with his new lips. They’d finally finished the facial reconstruction surgeries, and he’d just gotten the bandages off the day before, just in time for Fuyumi’s biweekly visit.

Rei Todoroki held the record for the most visits to Touya Todoroki, the former supervillain known as Dabi. She coordinated with the rest of her children to ensure they still got their time out of the week in the early stages of Touya’s rehabilitation. She didn’t care that Touya could only speak a few sentences; seeing her eldest child alive and breathing was a blessing in disguise. Their first private meeting was tearful, but it gave Rei unimaginable hope. When she saw her son crying real tears, not blood, she knew he was going to survive, and demanded Enji to put as much money into his recovery as possible.

Not that Touya would show a shred of gratitude to his excuse for a father…too little too late. Touya didn’t want to see him, regardless of Enji’s promise to stay by his side until the end of his days. He was a coward, a fraud, and an abusive piece of shit for lack of better words. Touya would see his father in hell, just like he’d promised. Until then, he didn’t care if they breathed the same air on the same planet…at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He hated that a part of him still loved his father; he was latched on like a leech, disgusting hope bubbling in his stomach. But his memories were too powerful for him to ignore. Touya couldn’t separate himself from the neglect.

The first few times Enji showed up, Touya ignored him…and it soon became clear that he didn’t outwardly care anymore about his father’s approval. Now, Enji was living in the old Todoroki house with a caretaker where he wouldn’t be a problem, divorced from Rei and mulling over his own consequences. Truth be told, Touya still doesn’t understand why he isn’t behind bars…and he regretfully knows his questions will never be answered.

His hair had grown back to the same style from when he was thirteen; it's soft, white, fluffy, and always hanging in his face to the point where it's borderline annoying. His tear ducts were fully functioning again, which was simultaneously relieving and irritating; he could easily fall into the trap of being the crybaby of the family again.

His skin was still mismatched like it had been when he’d woken up the first time; after all, Touya doubted they could do a better cosmetic job than Ujiko. However, they had succeeded in restoring the nerve damage after several breakthroughs. Touya finally had physical feeling.

Once Touya’s doctors assured the staff he was no longer a danger, they removed the metal bindings keeping his limb strapped to his side; they couldn’t restore his right arm, so they developed a prosthetic one.

The prosthesis felt…alien. An extension of his body made up of alloys and other shit he can’t give names to. He’s gotten along just fine with it so far.

They’d been working on it since they realized Touya wasn’t keen on dying, and he’d gotten to test it out for the past year whenever he’d be released to spend time with Shoto. He’d exploded his right arm on purpose during the fight, opting to keep his dominant hand. It seemed like a fantastic idea at the time…but…then again…he hadn’t planned to survive. He hadn’t planned for anyone to survive.

Touya feels like every day is whiplash. His heart is under constant monitoring; the doctors are worried it’ll freeze solid or melt at a moment’s notice.

His body isn’t used to harboring both sides of the family Quirks, and he’s still having trouble believing that he has both. Since his Quirk Awakening, the facility kept him doped up with Quirk suppressants, for his safety and for theirs…mostly theirs.

The chest strap of the heart monitor still feels uncomfortably tight…something he’s going to have to get used to.

Feeling was something he was going to need to get used to.

…

“Todoroki Touya,” The worker’s voice bellows, and Touya steps forward, zoning into reality. He’d been lost in his own thoughts all day, mulling over the fact that he’s finally being released.

One of the first things Touya wanted to do when he got out was get new piercings… that was something the doctors hadn’t prioritized, so his helices and triple high nostril were missing from his new flesh. He’d have to find some seedy place to get them later this week; today is his coming home party that his family hasn’t been able to shut up about. Originally, it was supposed to be a surprise, but Shoto hadn’t gotten the memo.

Ker-CHICK!

Touya’s jaw drops in a silent gasp as they shoot the tracker implants into his neck. Pain was another thing he was going to have to get used to. He hadn’t felt physical pain in so long…it was weird.

“Protocol,” The guard huffs, and Touya shrugs, staring beneath thick eyelashes. He didn’t blame them. The guard nods toward the end of the hallway, and Touya walks past, still handcuffed and lucid.

Touya can’t wait to get out of these gaudy prison scrubs. Fuyumi and his mother had shown him some outfits online and let him pick out something that he could change into when he got home. He feels like it’s silly to be chomping at the bit for soft clothes, but these thin itchy scrubs have been the bane of his existence since he regained feeling in his skin.

He wonders if the others were given such a shitty wardrobe? Touya hadn’t been allowed to ask any questions about his fellow League members; he’d been answered with cold silence whenever he tried…and Shoto said he wasn’t allowed to disclose anything.

‘I just hope they fucking made it…,’ Touya thinks to himself, remembering his ragtag found family after so many years of living alone on the street. Now…he’s going to be with his blood family. He wouldn’t be lounging around a bar, drinking his troubles away while laughing about petty arson. He’d be sitting at a table, eating dinner with his mother, his youngest brother, and his little sister.

Maybe he could figure out a way to get in touch with Himiko…he finds himself worrying about her the most. She was a total psycho, but she was his total psycho, his unspoken little sister.

He’d let her paint his nails when she begged incessantly. He’d helped her draw faces and insults on the other members with lipstick while they were sleeping. He’d helped her fix her hair the way she wanted, pulling it in those tight space buns that would have been nearly impossible if Touya hadn’t been adept at dissecting YouTube tutorials. Toga was just as much his sister in his eyes as Fuyumi.

Touya waits patiently at the door at the end of the hallway, turning his wrists and wincing at the tightness of the cuffs. The green light above the door illuminates, and they slowly swing open, allowing two staff members to walk through. One stands directly in front of him, brandishing a taser. Even though they’re letting him out, they don’t trust him. Typical.

The other man walks behind Touya and begins clicking through the cuffs to unlock them.

“You’ll be able to get your belongings at the front. Remember to take the Quirk suppressants as instructed. It’s medication, so it’s important to follow the instructions. You’ll have to wean yourself off of them or you won’t be able to-”

“Control my Quirk. Yeah. Got it. As if I was good at that before anyway,” Touya scoffs sarcastically, flexing his hands once the cuffs fall free from his wrists.

The staff member falls silent, lips pulled into a thin line that proves he’s stopping himself from reprimanding Touya’s smartass comment. People are still afraid of him. Touya isn’t sure if he’s happy about that or not. It’ll mean people will leave him alone, sure…hopefully.

Touya brushes past the two workers who eye him warily, following the signs toward the discharge station. This facility had grown to replace Tartarus in the past few years, and it felt like a new maze every time he was allowed to roam the halls. It isn’t long before he stops at the final set of doors.

Touya takes a deep breath before raising his prosthetic arm. The silver glares from the overhead lights, making him squint as he pushes open the door, recoiling at the harsh lighting of the lobby area.

“Touya!”

When his eyes adjust, he comes face to face with his mother. His heart twists. This is the closest he’s seen her; he was only allowed out of his holding tank or cell when Shoto was the visitor.

Her scar is gnarly up close, slicing across her face and spreading like fire; it makes a pit hollow out in Touya’s stomach. He put that there…whether he meant to or not. The flames of his supernova-like predicament from the final fight had consumed everything…if it hadn’t been for Rei, Natsuo, and Fuyumi…he would’ve died in that explosion.

Her hair had grown back to just below her shoulders just like Fuyumi’s. Touya’s sister jumps up from her seat in the lobby and rushes forward with a bouquet of flowers to Touya’s chagrin.

“What’s with those?” Touya mutters pointedly, trying to withhold any cutting remarks. She’s trying…the fact that his family is trying speaks volumes to him. It’s no longer empty words and promises.

“Oh, I figured we’d brighten up the house! Mom and I fixed up your new room!” Fuyumi smiles before covering her mouth with her hand, “Oh, shoot! That was gonna be a surprise!”

“It’s alright, dear,” Rei smiles warmly.

“Hey.”

Touya spins around at the sound of Shoto’s voice, and notices he's holding a duffel bag.

“I got your things. I wanted to make sure they actually gave back all of your stuff,” He admits, the corners of his mouth pointing upward softly. Touya’s heart skips when he realizes Natsuo didn’t show up. It made sense.

He has his own life and his own family now. Rei, Shoto, and Fuyumi are the only ones living in the new house…and now…Touya’s going to be living there too. He’s not really sure what his next steps are going to be yet. It’s not like he can just get a normal job after being one of Japan’s most feared villains of the generation. Hell, he doesn’t even have proper education past middle school.

…

The car ride home was less than ideal, primarily due to Touya’s motion sickness. He managed to survive the car ride without incident, but only after he begged Fuyumi to drive ten under the speed limit.

Touya’s breath is taken away just by the outside of the house as they pull up to the property. Rei planted Rindou flowers all along the outside garden, creating a sea of cerulean. Fuyumi parks in the garage, and, finally, the car stops.

Shoto hops out of the car, grabbing Touya by the wrist and pulling him outside. Touya takes in his surroundings, squinting in the fading sunlight as Shoto leads him around the side of the house through a door.

The living room is enormous, and the largest television Touya’s ever laid eyes on is mounted on the wall. He doesn’t get much time to look around as Shoto continues to drag him along as soon as they kick off their shoes. Shoto opens another door, leading to a hallway with art pieces adorning the walls. The colors blur as Shoto pulls him up a staircase leading to the second floor.

“Can we slow down?” Touya blurts.

“On a schedule,” Shoto mutters, making Touya raise an eyebrow.

“Schedule?” Touya echoes, but Shoto appears to ignore him, his grip tightening on Touya’s wrist. Finally, they reach a door…with a crude sign that reads “Touya-nii” on it.

“Here,” Shoto releases his grip on Touya’s hand and unceremoniously flings the door open, stepping aside for Touya to walk in first.

He inches into the room, socks sliding against the hardwood as he takes in the space. Fuyumi and his mother set up a desk for him in the corner, decorated with an empty vase (probably to be filled with the flowers Fuyumi bought), a picture of the family from many moons ago (with their father quite obviously cropped out), and Touya’s old comics and Pro Hero books. Shoto sets the duffel bag in the middle of the desk while Touya keeps exploring. He stops when he sees the bed.

The thin mattress is covered by his baby blanket; the yellow and blue stars are faded with age. It looks incredibly tacky, but it makes warmth bloom in Touya’s chest. He can’t believe they even kept that. There’s another handmade sign leaning against the back wall that reads:

WELCOME HOME :)

The only other aspect of the room that stands out is the bookshelf littered with Touya’s old belongings…he recognizes them from his altar in their old house.

Touya flinches for a moment, the memory of praying in front of his own altar flashing across his vision.

“Do you like it?” Fuyumi’s voice sounds hopeful as Touya turns around to see them standing by the desk.

“Your new clothes are in the closet! I’ll go start dinner!” Fuyumi grins cheekily as she leaves the bedroom.

“You just get settled in, sweetheart,” Rei whispers, walking up to Touya and kissing him on the cheek before she slips out of the room, followed by Shoto, who closes the door behind them.

Touya walks to the closet, jerking it open to see a pair of black cotton drawstring pants and a simple, soft gray sweatshirt with a black cat on it. He reaches up inside the sleeves, temporarily indulging in the gentle sensation of the fabric rubbing between the pads of his fingers. It definitely is going to feel better than these stupid jailhouse scrubs.

Touya never realized how much of the world he missed when his tactile senses were numbed.

He strips out of the old clothes, tossing them into the corner of the room before he slips on the new outfit. He sighs in relief, feeling the itchiness fade before walking up to the mirror.

It fits. Good. He was worried he’d told Fuyumi the wrong sizes.

He turns his attention to the bag on his desk…his belongings from the facility.

Touya opens up the duffel bag, his heart stilling when he sees the fireproof synthetic fabric spilling out. He lifts the jacket up, examining the stitching and conductor cuffs; it’s his jacket from the first war. They must’ve raided all of the hideouts.

It’s the jacket that he was wearing during his vision…dissociation…whatever it was before he practically exploded. The image of himself as a hero with his family was burned into his brain…but…Shoto wasn’t in that fantasy.

Over the past few years, Touya had grown to realize how much he appreciated his little brother, and it made his heart pang that he directed his anger at him for so long.

Touya walks over to the closet, putting the jacket on a coat hanger before walking back to the duffel. The boots and stitched leather pants are the only other notable things in the dark void besides his clear bag of medications.

Touya pulls out the bottle of Quirk suppressants, reading the instructions on the side of the bottle.

TAKE 1 PILL EVERY 12 HOURS FOR 1 WEEK. THEN TAKE 1 PILL EVERY 24 HOURS FOR 5 DAYS. THEN TAKE AS NEEDED. REFILLED UPON REQUEST.

Touya sighs as he opens the bottle, shaking a pill out into his palm. He puts it in his mouth, letting the pill dissolve on his tongue and swallowing the bittersweet taste.

‘I should probably see if I can help with dinner…might as well make myself useful,’ Touya thinks to himself as he walks out of his room. He gets to the top of the staircase when-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound echoes through the household.

“Oh dear,” Rei’s voice sounds strained.

“He’s early!” Fuyumi gasps.

“He used to be the fastest Pro alive, and you didn’t think he’d be early ?” Shoto bluntly replies.

‘Fastest Pro alive? Wait…’

Touya’s heart races as he slowly makes his way down the staircase.

The last time he was face-to-face with Keigo Takami, he was trying to charbroil him for murdering his friend and breaking his heart…for being a lying traitor…for confirming everything Dabi already knew but didn’t want to face.

The sex meant nothing. The kisses meant nothing. Keigo was playing with him like a toy to be used and cast aside.

He’d talked to his therapist about Keigo…about how he thinks that’s the first time he felt romantic love for another person. The burning devotion turned to seething hatred the moment Hawks murdered Jin Bubaigawara.

He’d fully mourned Jin during these five years, processing the death, wondering why Keigo had chosen to target Dabi for intel.

Dabi wondered if he meant anything to Keigo, even though he knew he probably didn’t. He knew Hawks probably didn’t think about him…knew he was probably glad he was locked up for so long.

For a while, Touya wrestled with whether or not he was upset that he failed to finish Hawks off. He felt so many conflicting passionate emotions toward him. It felt chaotic…unstable…nuclear, even. Sometimes he felt consumed with regret for hurting him, and others he found himself reliving the betrayal.

When Touya finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, he sees Keigo standing in the living room. He’s wearing a suit with a katana bag strap draped across his chest.

Keigo Takami looks up…and his golden gaze meets Touya’s turquoise.

Touya’s heart monitor beeps twice, giving himself away by signaling an elevated heart rate. He needs to sit down.

For half a second, he wonders if he’ll just black out and get concussed on the stairs like an idiot. Instead, he slowly sinks to sit down on the final step, loathing how weak he must appear.

“What are you doing here?” Touya manages to squeak out, his chest feeling tight.

Keigo opens his mouth to speak, staring at Touya in disbelief. His eyes scan over the skin grafts before falling to his prosthetic arm. Touya feels naked.

“Hawks! Come help me in the kitchen!” Fuyumi materializes, whisking Hawks out of sight without a word. The heart monitor keeps beeping.

“Touya?”

His mother’s voice kisses his ears, soothing his erratic heartbeat as Touya zones back into the real world, pulling himself out of memories as she puts her hands on his knees.

“Why is he here?” Touya’s voice sounds pathetic, leaving his lips in a broken mumble. His mother seems shocked that he doesn’t sound angry. Tears well up in Touya’s eyes, and he hurriedly wipes them away.

He can’t let Keigo know he’s crying over him.

Rei’s eyebrows furrow when she notices the tears, but she chooses not to bring attention to them.

“He’s here to discuss…Hero Commission business with you, Touya.”

‘The Commission?’

“Didn’t he lose his fucking Quirk to All For One?” Touya sniffs indignantly.

“Touya! Language!” Rei hisses.

Touya mumbles a half-hearted apology.

“Hawks is the HPSC President now,” Rei explains.

Touya’s heart monitor whines again.

‘Why would he do that? After everything they put him through? Why the fuck would he ever accept that position? After they groomed him to be a glorified brainwashed soldier to do their dirty work?’

Touya shouldn’t care…he shouldn’t care what Keigo does. He shouldn’t care how it affects him or his past. Keigo has no affiliation with Touya. They had a one-night stand. He was an old situationship.

Touya swallows.

“He couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” He groans.

“He wants to talk to you about this as soon as possible, honey,” Rei sighs, “I had a long talk with him. I think…I think it’ll be good for you.”

‘Keigo talked to my mom ? What the fuck did he tell her? Did he tell her about us ? Us…what am I thinking? There was never an us…’

“Okay.”

…

“Keigo.”

“Touya.”

The two sit in tense silence on opposite sides of the table, facing one another with an unspoken uncertainty. The rest of the family remains in the kitchen, trying not to eavesdrop, but most definitely hanging on to every word the two speak.

“So…do I call you Mister President now or-”

“Keigo is fine,” He admits, straightening up in the chair. He looks tired, but he’s still as annoyingly smiley as ever.

“I’m,” Keigo takes a deliberate breath, “I’m glad you were able to recover smoothly.”

“Me too…,” Touya trails off, slightly disgusted with the awkward small talk.

“I have a proposition for you,” Keigo clears his throat, and Touya raises his eyebrow.

“Oh?” He huffs mockingly. He hates that Keigo is speaking with such formality. It’s unbecoming. It’s unlike Keigo.

It’s another mask for Keigo Takami. Touya can see right through it. They know each other more intimately than this. This is stupid.

“Well…you’re allowed to say no…you need to know you’re allowed to say no and that will be one hundred percent acceptable.”

“Spit it out,” Touya scoffs, curiosity suddenly piquing.

“I’ve consulted with a number of members of Class 2-A of UA and the higher-ups. And…you’ve shown considerable progress mentally and emotionally…and physically, obviously, but. Based on your psychological evaluations…and…and your…um…past aspirations. I’m-”

“Cut the shit, what is it?” Touya taps his foot impatiently.

“You’re eligible for the program I put together. The new villain rehabilitation program…we’re making former villains into heroes.”

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bogos-bint3d · 1 year

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I'm literally only making this so I can feel just a slight bit of order in my life

This is my YouTube channel where I try to post some stuff sometimes

Yeah its just the same as here but with way less stuff. BUT I SWEAR I'm working on it

This is my cohost! which is essentially my backup plan for if I leave tumblr.

Not much there yet since I'm still getting used to it

Hmm, I have an AO3 account I guess, but I haven't actually posted anything on it yet. Still figuring out how to customise it and stuff. Same name as all my other stuff: Bogos_Bint3d✨️

I like a lot of things, but I'd say the things that really have me in chokehold are: Undertale/Deltarune, Infinity Train, Ena, Spider-Man (just in general, but mostly spiderverse specifically), Murder Most Unladylike, Heathers, Sonic a little bit, Gorillaz, Sexyman Descendants (does that even count? Whatever I like it). So if you ever want to talk about these things know I would ABSOLUTELY love to. I especially love finding out new things about them so if you know something about these I don't I will eat that UP. So yeah you can follow if you're interested in any of these. I just KNOW there's a ton I'm missing but there's not really anything I can do about that

I am not in any way normal about Undyne from Undertale so I guess if you want to see me talk about her constantly that's a good reason to follow

I sometimes spam reblog if I see something that really makes me feel stuff I am so sorry about that so you might not want to follow if you don't like it

I tag my own art with #bogos I binted (hehe, get it? Photos I printed, bogos I binted... no? Yeah ok)

I tend to tag undertale art with #hotland art club, but I mostly only tag my own art. If I remember tho I'll tag other utdr art,, just don't count on it

Sometimes I tag art with Miles, Gwen, Hobie, and Pavitr as #these four are literally the besties ever, which I haven't actually done in a long time but, hey! Never know when I will again!

I tag my queued posts with #despite everything, its still queue. Yes I know the "its" should grammatically be "it's". No I don't have the energy to change it

🫨-> cool comma that will work normally in post tags: ‚ <-?! Yep! That comma WILL work if you use it in tags, it's very cool! I don't know why I mentioned that... I like it!

Well that's all there really is to me... I know there's stuff I'm forgetting to add but there's literally nothing I can do about that I'll just fix it later or whatever

#pinned post #a PROPER one #finally #ok bye #just noticed the image on the link to my YouTube doesn't change even if my icon has changed #well that sucks #oh well

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bloodyknucklesforme · 1 year

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Carnal Ch. V | Don't You Ever Tame Your Demon

Carnal (adjective): relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

A horror AU inspired by Bones and All and Raw among other works. TW: Blood, gore, cannibalism, smut, violence,

Masterpost | AO3

Title Credit: Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier

She didn’t make a habit of thinking about her mother. It wasn’t like they were anything more than acquaintances if that. It felt strange to even call her a mother. She died minutes after Nina lived. She had twenty-eight years before that. Twenty-eight years reduced to the five minutes it took for her to hemorrhage.

It was best not to think about her too much. It only made Nina sad. She could only imagine a much different life if she’d only had a mother. A mother to explain to her why blood spilled from between her legs and why she wanted to tear into flesh. She imagined her mother had the same affliction and it could only exist in one of them at the same time. Her father never talked about her but he also never remarried. She never asked why. Was he content in having her as his only child or did he believe his seed was tainted and it was best not to try again?

“Nina! Come up here!” Price’s voice tore her gaze from the photo on the wall. The only photo of her mother in the whole house. She looked like Nina. Blonde hair and brown eyes. She looked just as sad. Maybe there was a time when she also sat on this old couch with damp hair and blood still thick in her throat.

She stood up and headed upstairs. He’d obviously seen Arthur’s body. The stairs creaked under her as she walked to her sentencing. The hallway felt longer as she crept along. Two men left the room as she walked in. Cedar and rosemary. It made her nauseous. She didn’t like the way the masked one looked at her like she was in his house and not the other way around. The other one, with the dumb haircut, seemed avoidant all together. She could feel his gaze drift to her as she shut the door behind them.

Shame came flooding back as she saw Price. His head in his hands, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Tell me what happened Nina.” He turned to her. He’d aged too much for his age. Barely forty but greying in his hair and under his eyes. War had taken its toll but so had she.

“We had an argument, he grabbed me and was screaming. I told him to leave and he chased me up here.”

“No. What happened to him? Where’s his face, Nina?”

She felt the need to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand. She’d never lied to him, not directly. She tried to look at the floor and was met with Arthur’s feet. His shoes were still on. God, she hated he never took his fucking shoes off.

“Nina, answer me.” His hard stare dug into her chest to pull on her ribs.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.” She never should have called. There was a lake nearby. It was deep enough. She’d fill his pockets with rockets and let him sink. Tell the lie that he was suicidal, she’d broken up with him and he’d offed himself out of spite. Fewer questions.

“I thought your father was crazy.” He murmured. She flicked her eyes back to him.

“What?”

“He left me a letter when he died. Said you were sick. ” He patted the space beside him. She sat down next to him. “Used words like ravenous and cannibalistic. ”

That word made her cringe.

“He said that you would hurt someone one day.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need you to tell me if you’ve done this before.”

“Never.”

“Don’t lie.” The first time he’d ever given her an order.

“I’m not. I swear. This is the first time.”

“Okay. I’m going to fix this but it can never happen again, understand?” His hand was on the back of her neck, forcing her to make eye contact. “Never again. Nothing between us has changed. I still love you, Nina. I can’t make this disappear twice.”

“I know,” her voice cracked under the weight of his palm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to kill him. I just didn’t want him to touch me anymore.”

He pulled her into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, lamb. I got you. It’ll be okay.” She was a child again, being carried away from the horrors she helped create. “I’ll have one of the lads stay with you while we get rid of him. Is the guest room made up? Go rest, I’ll clean up.”

He patted her back as she stood back up. She was careful not to step in the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” She said again.

“If you didn’t do it, I would have.”

She had to pass the two men again on her way out. They’d probably heard everything.

“You’re bleeding,” the masked one said as she walked away. She turned to stare at him. The bite mark on her arm had stung but she robe had covered the wound and no blood was showing on her hand. Cedar and rosemary. He wouldn’t even look at her, his back against the wall staring straight ahead.

Mohawk was glaring at his friend. She felt a rush of territorialness. She wanted them out of her house. They were bigger but so was Arthur.

“Ghost, Soap, get in here.”

Mask straightened and went into her room with Mohawk close at his heels. He turned one last time and gave an apologetic look.

She was alone again.

The guest room was made, albeit dusty on every surface. She opened up a window to let the air in. It was cool but all she could smell was cedar and rosemary. No one had ever smelled like that before. It wasn’t a scent that made her mouth water, instead her skin prickled.

She laid on the bed, her feet dragging across the floor. She could hear them carry Arthur down the stairs. Improvised pallbearers taking a tarp covered body to its final resting place. The sound of a boot opening, a thud, the boot slamming shut. Two cars starting. She watched the lights dance on the ceiling as they drove away.

Her phone vibrated.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.” From Price.

She needed a smoke. The hallway was dark but from the top of the stairs she could see the dining room light was still one. Which lad was left behind?

Mohawk sat in her seat at the dining table. He was staring out the windows toward the front of the house.

“I’m gonna go smoke.” She announced. He turned to her, barely registering her presence. A quick nod before turning back to the window.

Price hadn’t reclaimed the remaining cigar in the living room. He knew she’d use it.

She always liked the garden. Her grandmother had spent most of her marriage planning it out. Pink Rose bushes, stone path ways in the perfect gray, trees and bushes trimmed to the right shape and size. She hadn’t take the care it deserved in the past couple years. Little green plants grew between the stones and the shrubs looked like actual shrubs instead of rectangles.

She sat on the carved stone wall and re lit the cigar. She needed to buy cigarettes again. Cigars were such a fucking hassel.

“I don’t know how you and Price are able to smoke those things.” He said, closing french doors behind him.

“Its not my usual but he,” she looked up to her bedroom window, “didn’t like cigarettes in the house. I just steal Price’s when I can.”

“You’re in luck.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He laid them flat in his plam as he offered it to her.

“He’ll be pissed that I wasted it but fuck it.” She stubbed the cigar out on the stone. She took two out and set them between her lips before lighting them.

“Thanks,” he chuckled, taking one from her.

“What?”

“I was gonna offer the light, is all.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Obviously.” His smile fell. “I’m sorry. You probably still upset.”

“Not really. I am but not in a ‘my boyfriend died’ way.”

“Price said he’s prick.”

“He was.”

They stood there smoking. Menthol and rosemary mixing in the night air. It was nice to have company for once. Where she didn’t feel the need to pretend or be on her best behavior. He’d already seen what she did and here he was, smoking next to her.

“You still bleeding?” He asked as they made their way back inside.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can I look?”

He rolled up the sleeve of her robe to examine the bite on her arm. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he ran his finger over her teeth marks. It wasn’t deep and the bleeding had stopped but her skin was crusted in dried and jellied blood. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub and knelt between her legs as he took a wet cloth to her arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” She’d forgotten to ask for his name.

“Did it taste good?”

Rosemary. The way her skin prickled under his touch. She felt like she could meld into him. There flesh would stick together until they were one. Because they were one, one in the same. He didn’t smell like food.

“Yes.” It did. She knew it shouldn’t have but it did. It tasted so fucking good. It didn’t matter that she through up most of it. That she sobbed as she ate. She wanted to consume and be consumed. Devour until her jaw broke and crumbled.

He held her arm delicately, locking eyes with her. She gave him a nod.

He licked her wound, gathering up any remaining blood on his tongue. She felt his teeth scrape against her flesh. She blinked and he had stood up, digging through the medicine cabinet.

“I always thought I was alone,” she said. “Didn’t think there was anyone like me.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.” He finished wrapping the bandage around her arm.

‘What about mask?’ she thought.

Pray for Price's heart rate. He needs it.

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree

Comment or DM me if you want to be added

#Carnal #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #modern warfare II #modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x oc #captain john price

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themculibrary · 1 year

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Clint & Peter Mentor/Bond Masterlist

Build you up, while fixing myself too (ao3) - marvels_blue_phoenix T, 3k

Summary: Clint let the visions of his nightmare slip away as he sat with the teen until he was done before helping him shakily get to his feet, flushing the toilet before helping Peter swill his mouth out and brush his teeth. As they turned to walk out the door Peter’s knees went weak, Clint held him and slowly lowered him to the floor feeling his heart break as Peter curled around his arm. The man held the shaking teen close to his chest. ~ After the fiasco with Mysterio, Peter is broken. Clint is there to help the kid and promises to build him back up

Hawks Are Supposed To Eat Spiders (ao3) - robin_writes minor clint/phil G, 1k

Summary: Peter’s not sure what to make of the too large, redundant air vent system at the Avengers Compound. He asked Mr Stark about it once, but then Mr Stark got a weird far-off look on his face and Peter made sure never to ask again.

Or Peter makes himself at home in the air vents and then Clint returns and they watch Star Wars movies together in the vents.

I'm your open window (just give me a call) (ao3) - ScarletPotter G, 1k

Summary: Clint finds out Peter's getting bullied.

Lake days (ao3) - y2w bucky/clint N/R, 1k

Summary: Peter needs to work on his excuses, luckily he has a quick thinking archer to help him out.

Lost and Found (ao3) - Emily_F6 G, 3k

Summary: Clint Barton just wants a hot dog. What he finds is a spider.

Managing (ao3) - ImBadWithWords T, 5k

Summary: Peter Parker is a mess. Clint Barton is too, but that doesn't mean he won't try to help.

Miscommunications (ao3) - Isnt_it_pretty_to_think_so T, 14k

Summary: Five times the Avengers learn about Peter Parker, and the one time the rest of the world does, too.

One Of Those Nights (ao3) - OofBoost T, 3k

Summary: As soon as the cold and harsh metal comes in contact with Peter's skin, let alone his flesh, he's screaming. He's screaming louder than he's ever screamed. His voice is hoarse and his throat raw. It hurts right away but he doesn't care. He would move and squirm and shake, but the human restraints wouldn't let him. Instead he shook his head back and forth while screaming, along with holding tightly on to the white sheets until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He swears he's never felt pain like this before.

-/-

Peter Parker's night takes a turn when a bullet manages its way to his abdomen. Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Steve Rogers do everything in their power to help him. It's just like any other night, right?

(Featuring, Dad™ Hawkeye)

Pancakes To Cure Long Nights. (ao3) - Skeleton_Wolf T, 4k

Summary: When Clint can't sleep because her words won't leave his mind, he goes for a late-night wander to the kitchen. He doesn't expect anyone else to be awake, so he's surprised when he sees a spiderling sleeping on the ceiling. Maybe his long night can be broken up with pancakes and a friendly face.

Then...

Peter's nightmare is interrupted by games and toasties.

sight of the sun (ao3) - orphan_account N/R, 1k

Summary: Peter knew that he should currently feel bad. He had, after all, just destroyed six months of hard work in the space of about 11 minutes.

or: Peter has a bad day and needs some help coping. Clint comes round to lend a hand

sleep (is for the weak) (ao3) - angels_creative, Brentinator G, 3k

Summary: "What I'm really worried about, though, is the potential brain damage that can occur if he falls asleep, so I want to take precautions and have him stay awake for a full twelve hours to ensure nothing happens."

After Peter is injured during a drug bust, Natasha and Clint make it their mission to keep him awake.

stuck (ao3) - y2w N/R, 712

Summary: Peter Parker needs help, but there's only one person he trusts.

Target Practice (ao3) - SilverWolf3313 N/R, 2k

Summary: Clint takes some time to train Peter. However, it doesn't quite go as planned.

The Archer and the Spider (fanfiction.net) - Beauty In Her Darkness T, 12k

Summary: No one in their right mind would let Clint babysit Peter, which Clint himself would tell you. So Clint had to ask himself how on Earth he ended up sitting in the Avengers Facility, waiting for a certain web-slinging hero to climb in through the window and why he always ended up patching up reckless young heroes.

the secrets that we keep (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor ned/peter T, 10k

Summary: In which Clint has never told any of the Avengers, not even Natasha, about his son Peter. His sister Laura is the only person he’s ever told, trusted. Clint has only ever wanted to protect his son, to keep him safe from harm. But, when the accords come around, things get a little complicated. And Clint finds out that he’s not the only one keeping secrets.

The Spidey and the Hawk (ao3) - Kevy_Grayce G, 2k

Summary: A fun fight sequence and banter with a stressed out Tony, a playful Peter, and a sarcastic (comic) Clint Barton.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #clint barton #peter parker #friendship #friendship masterlist #masterlists

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edupunkn00b · 1 year

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Everyone Leaves, Ch. 4: Virgil

Colorized version of Wolf-in-front-of-Moon, Clément Bucco-Lechat CC 3.0

Prev - Virgil - Next - All - [ AO3 ] - Playlist

Virgil appears and demands to know what Remus has done to Logan. He finds Logan happily sleeping, sprawled over Remus' lap. And a frighteningly happy Remus.

CW: intrusive thoughts, wolf bite, blood, swearing, unreality A continuation of @lost-in-thought-20's incredible story for the @tsspromptmonth 🌸 Spring Cleaning 🌸 event. ---

The door rattled in its frame, chunks of cement from the walls clattering to the floor in a dusty avalanche. “Remus!”

BANG BANG BANG BANG

The wolves whimper in the corner. There’s only one Side his wolves fear.

“Open the fucking door, Remus!” Virgil’s tempest voice shakes his bones but he ignores it. Virgil was all talk. He’s the one who should be afraid. “What’d you do? Impersonate him? Got him tied up in there?”

“Oooo, kinky!” Remus cackles as he waves the door open. “And keep your voice down, Emo,” Logan slept better with the sound of his voice. “The nerd’s finally asleep.” He stares into Virgil’s shadowed eyes, the black smeared with tear tracks. Logan's presence brought company but it also brought light. Dim, but enough to relish in the fear in Virgil's eyes. “Wake him and I’ll spend every night for the next year camped out in your little brain while you try to sleep.”

“Do your worst!” Virgil’s posture stays strong but there’s a warble in his voice and Remus knows his point was made. Anxiety knows better than to take his threats as mere words. “Just put Logan back to normal! Release him from whatever you did and let him go! We need him! Thomas is in a fucking police station getting fingerprinted right now.”

Remus sucks on the tip of his middle finger. “Hmmm… yummy. I always wanted to know what that ink tasted like. Sticky, bitter, kinda like—”

“Shut up!” The tempest voice shakes through his bones and Remus shivers, staring back with green glowing eyes. Virgil takes a deep breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “Look, you can have whatever you want, Remus, just let him go so he can fix this!”

“But this is what I want. Right here, in my arms, in my room.” He smiles, mouth stretched wide enough to touch his ears. If he stretched enough, he could even drop his jaw just like Janus used to when he asked.

Back when Janus stayed. Back when Janus gave a fuck.

Virgil’s steps falter and the wolves slink out from under his bed. “See? Even they’re not afraid of you anymore,” Remus reaches out to pet the closest wolf and its ears flatten against the top of its head and it sinks its fangs into his hand.

Remus smiled as he tore his hand from the beast’s mouth. It was then that Logan woke. “Remus?” He blinked, staring into Remus’ eyes.

“Logan, you’re alright!” Virgil dropped to his knees and reached for him. “We need you, we—” The wolves snarled the moment Virgil’s hand grazed Logan’s and he drew back.

Save for a single glance, Logan ignores Virgil and sits up facing Remus. “You are injured,” he frowns and holds out his hand. A large red box appears before him and he opens the case to reveal a perfectly organized first aid kit. He takes out supplies and begins flushing Remus’ wound with sterile saline. Like tears. Remus hissed under his breath, the water sharp and biting the wound.

“Logan? Wha—How did you do that? Only Remus can conjure in his room.”

“Falsehood,” he said without looking up from his ministrations. "I obviously just did and I am not Remus.” Wound irrigated, Logan began blotting his skin with a soft cloth, pristine white and clean like his room had never seen before. He worked silently for a moment, those laser sharp eyes staring at the puncture wounds on Remus’ hand like he fucking dared them to start seeping blood again.

“I will bandage your wound now,” he said, raising his eyes up. Logan looked at him with a softness Remus hadn’t seen since… Fuck Janus. He nodded.

“Do whatcha gotta do, Nerdy Wolverine,” he grinned, a little too widely. What was the worst that could happen? The bite was already starting to burn and throb. Logan’s nursing would only help, even if it hurt like hell while he did it. “I won’t fight you.”

“Yeah, right,” Virgil scoffed. “Be careful, Logan. I’m pretty sure I still have Remus’ teeth marks from that time I tried to get a chunk of glass outta—”

“I will be careful, Remus.” Logan didn’t get that Virgil was warning the nerd against what he would do and just trained those eyes on him, holding still with Remus’ hand twitching in his palm. “Tell me if the bandage grows uncomfortable and I will adjust it.”

Remus nodded, mouth hanging open but nothing would come out. The only other person who could shut him up was Dee and that was with his powers. Even Virgil finally shut up and just watched, all tense and coiled like he expected Remus to attack their resident logician.

After his wounds were hidden under layers of gauze and those little pads you get at the hospital, Logan pressed down on each of his nail beds, Remus watched, too, as tannish pink went white and then quickly returned. “I believe this dressing adequate now. I will need to change your bandage in a few hours to guard against infection.” The nerd looked up and actually smiled. “How does it feel, Remus?”

The wolf who’d bitten him slunk out from the shadows, head hanging low and her tail between her legs. She lay down in front of Logan, whining quietly. “Better, Lo.”

“That is a relief,” Logan murmured and laid one hand on the wolf’s head, instantly turning off that high-pitched whine.

“Okay, so you fixed the nightmare’s hand.” Virgil jumped to his feet and opened the door, eyeing the wolf like it had grown tentacles. That’s an idea. Would they be slimy like her insides, intestines flopping through her pelt and hanging to the floor? Or would they match her fur, like boneless prehensile tails sprouting from her back. With teeth.

Virgil was still at the door, reaching for Logan’s hand. “Come fix this mess with the cops! You belong up there with us.”

Logan stared between them and they all stared up at him, watching the cogs in his brain whir as he tried to decide. Even the wolf knew what was what and she slid her muzzle off his lap and stood between him and Remus.

Remus reaches for Logan. He is not going to let him leave, too. He can do what he should’ve done with Virgil. What he should’ve done with Janus. As soon as he gets close to the wolf, she lets out a low growl and clamps down on his hand, teeth piercing the skin like it’s paper. His blood drips to the floor and Logan’s shadow gets longer as he follows Virgil out to the hallway and—

“I am not leaving.” Logan’s sharp voice popped the vision and Remus stared. The wolf was still curled on his lap, tail swish-swish-swishing against the cracked cement. “Nothing has changed. If I am to return, you must listen to me.” She whined again and Logan nodded, scritching her around the ears like he was a fucking puppy. “And you must listen to Remus. Not…” he raised his other hand, silencing Virgil’s protest faster than Janus ever could. “Not to do everything he says, but to listen. He is half of Thomas’ creativity. Some of his ideas are worth exploring.”

“You’ve fucking lost it, Logan! First Nico and now this?” Virgil shoved both hands in his hoodie pockets. “Fine. We’ll figure it out without you,” he muttered and backed away out of the room.

“If you choose not to see reason, then that is your best course of action,” Logan replied calmly, fingers buried in the wolf’s fur. It looked soft like that, plush and comforting like one of Pattycake’s stuffies. The door slammed and Remus looked up. He hadn’t even seen the Emo leave.

#Everyone Leaves #ts remus #ts janus #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #sanders sides fic #tss promptmonth spring cleaning event #by lost-in-thought-20 and edupunkn00b

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daydreamingfuel · 2 years

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Freak Like Me

Chapter 1

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

AO3 // next

Y/N has just moved to Hawkins from England with her parents and is starting at the high school in the final term of her senior year. Eddie immediately takes a liking to her and they become fast friends, deciding to take her under his wing and falling to her charms. This is Hawkins however and things are never quite as they seem...

WHOLE FIC TAGS & WARNINGS: gratuitous use of Y/N (I'm not sorry), friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual smut, semi-fix-it-fic, angst, injury, canon dialogue and events used, canon graphic violence, no main character death :)

Chapter Tags & Warnings: suggestive tension at most, tooth-rotting fluff at the least, supervised underage drinking??? smoking, swearing, Eddie is a sweetheart

Chapter Word Count: 6.5k

A/N - this is incredibly self-indulgent of me but I have had Eddie brainrot since he first appeared on my screen so sue me.

“Y/N! Wake up honey, you’re gonna be late.” A voice called through the door, disturbing Y/N from their slumber. Mother dearest.

God, what time is it?

Checking the little alarm clock next to her bed, that they forgot to set before going to sleep, they saw it was already eight and that her mother was right – they were going to be late if they didn’t hurry the fuck up.

“I’m up! I’m up!” She called back and heard their mothers’ footsteps retreating “Barely…”

With a huff, they pulled back the covers keeping her safe and warm in bed and forced themselves out of its confines, stumbling slightly as they tripped over a stray shoe on their way to a bag of clothes that had yet to be unpacked. Quickly rummaging through, she found an outfit that should pass the dress code – jeans, band t-shirt, slightly holey cardigan - muttering a small ‘this’ll do’ as they started to dress. Once fully clothed, an attempt was made to make their hair slightly more presentable and freshened up in the bathroom, before picking up her backpack from her room and heading to the kitchen.

“You look nice darling,” Commented her mother over a hot mug of tea, she leant against the kitchen counter watching as their child frantically found something quick to eat in a cupboard, “There are granola bars of the top shelf…”

“Thanks mum,” smiling slightly as she spoke, and reaching for the box and pulling two out, stuffing one in their backpack for later, not sure whether she could trust unknown cafeteria food to suffice getting through the day.

“Are you nervous? I understand that it’ll be a tough adjustment…” She trailed off and furrowed her brow slightly as Y/N quickly ate their small breakfast.

“Understatement,” Y/N mumbled between mouthfuls, before moving to pull on her shoes. “But I know it couldn’t be helped, this is a great opportunity for dad…my education be damned.”

“Language.” Y/N quirked an eyebrow, her mother rarely commented on their cussing, “You know I don’t mind it but the people at your new school…they might. And as for your education, you’ve always been bright, I’m sure you’ll be fine…besides from what they said of the syllabus, you already know most of it.” Y/N hummed dismissively, so her mother continued, “Y/N, you’re eighteen, you’ve already done most of the work, this last term will be a breeze and then you’re free.”

Y/N knew she was right, but she was still annoyed about the whole situation. “I gotta go, I’ll see you when I get home. Love you.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, picked up her bag and left for school. Hawkins High, last term, senior year, class of ’86. This should be interesting.

The receptionist at the front desk was kind, as she led Y/N to the principal’s office, chatting mindlessly on the walk whilst Y/N took in their new surroundings. It was so different to what she was used to, but it was only for a few months. The banners on the wall supporting the school team of whatever sport it was they played here, probably basketball if not American Football. Cheerleaders in their small uniforms dotted around made Y/N feel like she as in some kind of movie as opposed to real life. Green and yellow, the school colours, could be seen everywhere, it was an odd combination but somehow it just worked, as she noticed the green and white varsity jacket with the yellow trim. People stared as they passed - she was the shiny new toy, fresh meat - and made comments to each other, but she paid no mind to the whispers. Once they reached the office, Gladys the Receptionist knocked, and a man’s voice called to enter.

Y/N plopped down in one of the dark leather chairs in front of the desk, on older man she had met once before sat behind it, a practiced smile on his lips. Principal Higgins. He was an older gentleman, in a brown suit and starch worn shirt, the tie his wife had obviously chosen for him, sitting snug around his neck.

“Miss Y/L/N, it’s nice to see you again.” Higgins spoke calmly, “I’ve got your transcripts here, you’re all ready to go. How are you feeling?”

She knew she would be getting that question a lot, but they smiled anyway. “I’m okay, it’s all just very different.”

He chortled slightly before standing, file in hand. “I’ll take you to your homeroom, you’re with Miss O’Donnell. Here’s your schedule, and a map of the school. Come see me at lunch so we can talk over a few things and sign a few bits of extra paperwork, we could’ve signed them now but…” He trailed off, checked the clock and, as if on cue, the warning bell rung. He handed Y/N two sheets of paper, which she immediately folded in half, she would look later, as he walked over to the door before turning back to Y/N, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The walk to the classroom was quiet, allowing Y/N to focus on where she was going and try to memorise it as best as possible knowing she would have to make her way back to the office unguided. Once making it to the classroom, Higgins and O’Donnell had a quick hushed conversation and Higgins left the room as the second bell rung. Miss O’Donnell, an older looking lady with glasses and an ill-fitting shirt tucked into a lavender skirt, turned to face the horde of students in their desks. Most looked bored and uninterested but a few seemed practically enthused at the new arrival.

“Class, we have a new student, Y/N Y/L/N.” Y/N fiddled with a stray thread on her cardigan to avoid eye contact “She has just moved over from England, and will be joining us for the rest the year.”

“England?” A boy called, making Y/N’s head snap up, “So do you know the Queen?” A blond boy in a varsity jacket asked as his friends on the surrounding table smirked slightly at the question and looked at Y/N in earnest.

“You’re American. Do you know the President?” She couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of her mouth. The boy’s face dropped. She heard a muffled laugh come from the back corner and her eyes found the source immediately. An older looking boy, probably held back, sat leaning on the desk hand covering his mouth, long curly hair framing his face and brown eyes glinting with mischief. Y/N smiled to herself slightly, as she moved to her seat, ushered by Miss O’Donnell who was grumbling under her breath about being polite and welcoming.

The rest of the morning was much of the same, teachers introducing her, silly questions asked and sarcastically answered and keeping her head down in class as she slowly caught up with where they were in the syllabus, comparing it to the notes she had brought from her old school.

‘Mum’s right, this is gonna be a breeze’ Y/N thought to themselves as she read through the calculus notes and saw that she had already learned everything important. Though she was never top of her class, she had always prized herself on being intellectual, though it most came off as being a smartass to her peers and wasted potential from her teachers when she wouldn’t pay attention.

By the time lunch came she was pretty confident that educationally, she would be fine, now just came the trouble of a social life. The dry humour she was used to was lost on most American ears so talking to peers had already arisen an issue, not that she hadn’t tried. She had mostly gotten confused, but polite smiles and quirks of the head and a few people believing her when she was being sarcastic. Brushing it off, she smiled at the lunch lady, as they doled out her food onto the tray and paid quickly before turning to face the rest of the cafeteria. As her eyes scanned the room, cliques could easily be seen sat at their tables, engrossed in loud conversation – the jocks being the loudest, the blond boy from homeroom leaning against a pillar laughing boisterously - until she found a semi empty table and made their way over to it. She sat in quiet solitude at the head of the empty table for a few minutes, eating peacefully before, surprisingly, someone joined her.

“Well, look who I found,” he looked up to meet those same mischievous brown eyes from homeroom. “You’re kind of sat in my seat, but I’ll allow it cause you’re new.” His voice was playful but welcoming, immediately making her feel more at ease.

“How generous,” she replies dryly, and he snickers, taking the seat adjacent to her on the table, “I’m Y/N.”

“Eddie, Munson.” He smiles softly. Now able to actually look at him, she saw the Metallica t-shirt fitting snug to his chest under his leather jacket and denim vest, the logo slightly fading from use, heart skipping slightly at the sight of her favourite band’s logo. “You know, normally I’d say that you shouldn’t be seen with me if you wanted to have a slight chance of peace at this school but with the way you bit back at Jason this morning, I don’t think that going to be an issue.”

“What’s not gonna be an issue?” A younger voice piped up from behind them, and Y/N looked up to see that suddenly there were more boys stood around the table, some sat down quickly once Eddie’s head snapped up to look at them, but the two youngest looking still stood. They seemed surprised, like they’d never seen a girl before, or that Eddie had just grown two heads.

“Didn’t your mommy ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt, Henderson.” Eddie addressed the shorter curly headed boy, voice stern but mischievous, almost brotherly. The taller, lankier boy next to him was just staring at Y/N as Eddie and ‘Henderson’ bickered about manners.

“Are you gonna sit down or are you just gonna stand there all lunch?” Y/N asked picking at her food, which made the boy snap back into reality. Slightly shaggy black hair ruffling as he shook his head slightly and made his way around the table.

“Oh, yeah…um, hi...” the boy said as he sat down opposite Eddie, dragging the smaller boy with him, “I’m Mike, this is Dustin,”

“Hi!” Dustin chimed in, with an adorable gummy smile, bright blue eyes lighting up, “Are you the new English girl everyone’s talking about?”

“Guilty,” Y/N leaned back in her chair as the boys leaned in slightly, intrigued. “Moved over here last month,” Dustin nodded along, saying a small ‘cool’ under his breath, going to ask a question but stopping when Y/N spoke again “what were you saying before, Eddie?” Her eyes finding his again as he stopped squinting at Mike and Dustin at the call of his name.

“Oh, just that what you did the morning may get you shit from the basketball douches for the rest of the year, especially now that you’re talking to the freaks of the school, but…from the seams of things, I think you can handle it.”

“Freaks? You don’t seem like freaks to me…dorks definitely,” Y/N nodded at Dustin and Mike who gasped in mock offence, “but freaks? I don’t see it.”

“No?” Eddie said with a cock of his head, “What if I told you that this is my third attempt of finishing my senior year?”

“So you’re 20 and still in high school, because you failed a few tests?” He nodded slowly, and she scoffed, “Standardised testing a bullshit, not everyone learns the same. That doesn’t make you a freak, it just means the system sucks.”

“Well then, it looks like you chose the right table.” He grinned, before turning to the boys at the table, “So,” he spoke louder, to address the group and they all turned to face him instantly, “first meeting of Hellfire this term is on Friday night, bring snacks it’s gonna be a long one.” The boys chattered excitedly at the announcement.

“What the fuck is Hellfire?” Y/N asked incredulously, and Eddie turned to face her with a devilish grin, going to speak before Dustin’s voice piped up again.

“It’s a D&D club!” He spoke excitedly, before Eddie shot him a glare across the table.

“What did I say about interrupting Henderson?!” Eddie snapped at him, and Dustin sank into his seat a little.

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Y/N questioned slowly, with a small smirk, and they nodded “Wow…definitely dorks.”

“First you sit in my seat, now you insult me?” Eddie questioned with a slight twitch to his eye, hands flailing slightly as he gestured to Y/N, leaning into her a little, making her snicker under her breath at the boys antics and clear passion for the fantasy game.

“Who said it was an insult?” She replied with a laugh, closing some more of the distance between them “Personally I’d much rather be a dork, or a freak, than be whatever…that is.” She nodded at the group of boys in varsity jackets across that cafeteria, Jason from homeroom still in the centre of it all. Eddie laughed slightly, before Y/N continued slightly quieter, “Besides, D&D seems like fun…”

“You- You’d want to play?” Mike asked in shock, having been listening on the whole conversation “Do you know how?”

“Well, no…but I do love fantasy stories, and I’m a fast learner.” Y/N responded a little shyer, and the table erupted into what if’s and how’s, some of the boys obviously not wanting or seeing the need for a new member. Dustin on the other hand seems practically delighted by the idea and was instant that it would be a good idea and that he would teach Y/N himself if he had to.

“I could teach you.” Eddie chimed in, making the table fall silent at their leader’s remark. “If you wanted to play with us, I could show you the ropes.”

“Really?” Y/N asked as she picked at the loose thread again, suddenly feeling more anxious than they’d felt all day, “I don’t want to be any trouble if you already have an established group.”

“We’re starting a new campaign anyway, if you wanted to join the party now would actually be the perfect time.” Eddie explained, leaning on his hand and picking at a splinter in the table with the other, he looked calm and unbothered but his voice was hopeful. His words calmed her nervousness somewhat as she considered her options. She didn’t want to be a social pariah, but it was just a fantasy game, what could be the harm in that? And she definitely didn’t want to have no friends forever…

‘What the hell.’

“Okay then,” Y/N said through a sigh, and smiled as Dustin’s eyes grew wide and he drummed a small rhythm on the table in happiness, she giggled slightly and Eddie felt his heart beat a little faster at the sound, before she turned to him and almost took his breath away completely with her next words, “Are you free tonight? I want to get familiar with the rules as soon as possible.”

“Y-Yeah, should be. I think I have a erm- meeting,” Eddie stammered slightly, obviously flustered and hiding something but covering it well, “right after school but I can meet you at 4ish?”

“Great,” Y/N pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of her backpack and quickly scribbled a note, “here’s my address, I’ll see you there?” She asked sliding it across the table to Eddie who picked it up immediately and put it in his lunchbox, Mike and Dustin watched the whole interaction in awe.

“See you there.” He affirmed with a slow nod as Y/N stood to leave, “Going somewhere?”

“Almost forgot that Higgins wanted to see me at lunch, I still got time right?” She asked throwing her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, you’ve got about 15, maybe 20 minutes.”

“Cool, I’ll see you later,” she smiled at Eddie and he smiled back in response, before she turned to leave and called over her shoulder with a small wave, “bye guys!”

Eddie watched her walk away dumbfounded, until Dustin clearing his throat brought him back to the table. He found the entire group of boys staring at him like he’d completely lost his mind. They immediately bombarded him with incredulous questions about ‘what on earth just happened’ until he shut them up with a laugh.

“What just happened gentlemen, is that I think I just met my future wife.”

The second she stepped through the front door after school, her mother pottered over with a mug of tea and handed it to Y/N, asking, “So? How was your first day?”

“Can I at least sit down before you interrogate me?” Y/N replied with a laugh at their mothers familiar behaviours, and made their way over to the kitchen table and relaxing into a chair, “It was fine, I got asked if I knew the Queen like three times so that was fun.”

Her mother laughed heartily and sat opposite Y/N, her own steaming mug of tea cupped between her hands, wedding ring clinking against the ceramic, “Did you make any friends? I don’t want you being lonely.”

“Yeah, I think I did, he’s coming round at about 4-ish,” Y/N spoke carefully, watching their mothers reaction. It was all what she expected, her mother spluttered slightly on her drink as her eyes widened.

“A boy? Already?” Her mother exclaimed, hand reaching across the table to take Y/N’s in her own, “Your dad’s not gonna like this, you know how he was with-“

“Eddie, is nothing like him.” Y/N quickly interrupted, “Honestly. I know it’s only been a day but they are polar opposites, I think Eddie would despise him.” Y/N finished with a laugh, “He’s a nerd and a metalhead, he plays D&D, that’s why he’s coming round, he wants to teach me the game before I try to play with the rest of the group,” at this, her mother’s panic subsided and was replaced by a soft, knowing smile.

“Right, of course, I forget you actually have a chance to act like yourself at school now,” leaning back in her chair, and releasing Y/N’s hand, she watched as Y/N nodded in agreement, “Well, either way, if he hurts you-”

“It’s not like that…” Y/N grew flustered slightly at the thought, cheeks growing hotter by the second, “He’s just a friend, a new friend, I don’t want to fuck it up.” Her mum nodded in understanding and stood up to leave Y/N to her thoughts at the table, “Mum?”

“Yeah sweetie?”

“I won’t ruin things again, will I?”

“You didn’t ruin them the first time.”

Her mum left the room and Y/N slumped back in her chair, head tilting back with a sigh. Her mind raced with all the memories of her friends from her old school, how different they were from the people she had connected with today. How different she was. How different she had to be. Shaking the feeling off, she kicked off her shoes, grabbed her backpack and disappeared into her room, trying to neaten up around the boxes before Eddie was due to arrive. Though they had moved a month ago, Y/N still wasn’t unpacked fully. The only things cleared away and presentable was her bed and her bookcase. The doorbell sounded, and Y/N’s head snapped to the clock. Quarter to. He was early.

In a small panic, as she heard he mother answer the door and greet Eddie, she cleared some floor space and threw some of the cushions from her bed into the space to sit on later, and made their way back to the kitchen. Eddie was leaning against the kitchen counters talking animatedly to her mother about something, fluffy hair flying around and hands flailing.

“Have you ever seen them live?” Mrs Y/L/N asked, nodding to Eddies t-shirt, “You should, they’re amazing.”

“You’ve seen them-!” Eddie started before noting Y/N watching with an amused smirk in the archway, “Hey, Y/N, your mom was just telling me about-”

“Metallica?” Y/N finished for him and he nodded excitedly, “Yeah we saw them in London in 84’, best Christmas ever.”

“I’m so unbelievably jealous,” Eddie looked like he could explode with excitement, and Y/N couldn’t help but grin, as she walked over to him, “Anyway, I brought everything we need to get you started, you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N affirmed and turned to lead him out of the room, “I’ll see you later mum.”

“Have fun,” She said, smiling in approval as they walked out of the room and towards Y/N’s bedroom.

Once inside Y/N sat down on one of the cushions and patted the second for Eddie to sit on but he paid no mind it. He stood in the doorway unsure of what to do with himself now that he was there, scanning the room, seeing band posters and photographs of Y/N and their old friends and family. He could smell her perfume. It was all overwhelmingly Y/N and it stunned him. When he finally clocked Y/N again, it made his heart skip a beat seeing her sat on the floor leaning back on her hands watching him so intently, head cocked slightly, like he was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

“C’mon, sit your ass down, unless you want to teach from the doorway,” Y/N spoke, amused at his sudden lack in confidence after seeing him so exuberant in the kitchen. He cleared his throat and made his way to the floor, sitting next to her and pulling a few books, a few sheets of paper and a small metal box from the bag that he brought with him.

“Do you have a pen?” he asked suddenly, and she nodded reaching behind her and pulling a pen from her backpack, presenting it to him “Good…good. So, what do you know of the game?”

Y/N explained the little that she knew - that it was a roleplaying game, that you could make your own character and that it involved a lot of mythology and lore. He nodded along as she spoke, affirming that was she said was correct, before explaining a few of the finer points of the game. Y/N quickly found out that, as founder of the club, Eddie was ‘Dungeon Master’ and ran the whole game, planning the story and what obstacles the party would encounter. Then came how to actually play. He picked up the metal box and carefully tipped out the contents onto the floor and out rolled many dice in a dark red colour, and black embossed lettering.

“This, is a D20.” They found themselves laying on the floor facing each other, open books and many-sided di between them. He held up the small di between them with his free hand, Y/N’s eyes fixed on the icosahedron. “This is what makes the game fun, for me at least as DM, if the player rolls too low of a number, they don’t hit and it causes more chaos – fun for me to watch - and if it rolls high, more damage done to the target and one step closer to winning.”

“Right, I think I get it…I guess using the different di will mostly come with practice.” Y/N spoke and Eddie nodded, “Now I know the basics…”

“Now, we can create your character, so what’ll it be? Dwarf? Human? Elf? Princess?” He quirked an eyebrow and gaged her response, noting the slight catch in her throat at the final word.

“When you say elf, do you mean Santa’s Workshop or Lord of The Rings?” Y/N asked with a cheeky smile, already knowing the answer but wanting to see him laugh. She succeeded as Eddie snorted a laugh, rolling onto his back and looking up at her.

“Lord of the Rings,” He responded, “Is that what you want to be?” and Y/N nodded.

“I know in reality I’m more of a Hobbit by nature, but the Elves were always my favourite.” With a smile, she glanced over to her bookcase where her weathered copies of the saga sat in prized position. It was one of the only things her and her father bonded over, as he read The Hobbit to her growing up and then finishing the series herself and continued talking to her father about the stories as she grew older.

“You just keep getting better, Y/L/N,” Eddie closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, “but this is just too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch.”

Y/N watched him as thoughts of her past life and new thoughts of Eddies smile and adorable brown eyes flickered through her mind. ‘Too soon. Not yet.’

“Maybe I’m just that perfect,” she smiled and leant over him a little, reaching for the character sheets next to him. “My extensive knowledge of Middle Earth and music taste speak for themselves.”

Eddie’s eyes opened to find Y/N closer than expected and he startled. Quickly sitting up and reaching for the Starters Guide, making Y/N sit back slightly as well. She scanned the character sheet and filled in a few things herself before getting to the interesting parts that she knew she would need more help with. Time flew as they created Y/N’s character, rolling the di for each trait and smiling with each new addition, Eddie taking on his Dungeon Master role instantaneously and making her laugh as he enthusiastically read through the guide. Not realising how late it was getting until a call came from the door, Y/N and Eddie were engrossed in their own little world, now sitting shoulder to shoulder and talking animatedly as they read the guide together.

“Y/N, dinner’s ready, can you ask Eddie if he’s staying to eat?” Y/N and Eddie both laughed at the question, Mrs Y/L/N not realising that she had just asked him by proxy.

“Are you staying?” Y/N asked quietly turning her head slightly to look Eddie dead in the eye, with a soft smile on her lips.

“Only if you want me to.” He replied as his eyes flickered down to her lips and suddenly realised just how close they were.

“He’s staying!” Y/N called back without turning her head and heard her mothers’ footsteps retreating, “You hungry?”

“Starving.” He leant in a little further and their noses bumped, both of their breathing a little laboured at the proximity before Y/N pulled away and stood up, reaching a hand out to help him up as well. He took her hand, and the cold metal of his rings made her shudder a little but it went unnoticed. They walked hand in hand back to the kitchen, where the table was set with three plates of steaming food, at which Eddie sat down instantly and thanked Mrs Y/L/N for the food. But Y/N stood in the doorway, staring at the empty space.

“Where’s dad’s?” Y/N asked and saw as their mother sighed and sagged slightly at the stove.

“He called, he’s going to be working late all week.” She answered sadly but quickly brushed it off, “but that just means I get more mother-daughter time with you.”

Eddie stopped mid-mouthful then swallowed, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

“Don’t be daft, I wasn’t going to let you go home on an empty stomach.” Mrs Y/L/N replied earnestly, “What kind of host and mother would I be if I didn’t feed my guests and my daughter’s new friend?” she seemed positively offended at the idea.

“Mum’s always been a feeder, it’s how she shows her love and appreciation.” Eddie made a noise of understanding, nodded, then started eating again, “You really were starving.”

Y/N laughed at Eddie’s sheepish face but continued eating anyway. She sat next to him and dug in herself, before Mrs Y/L/N placed three glasses on the table.

“Wine?” She asked cheerily, pouring herself a drink and Eddie spluttered again when Y/N nodded and said a sweet ‘thanks mum’ when her glass was poured, “Eddie?”

“Is that a trick question?” Eddie asked cautiously, and Mrs Y/L/N cocked her head, confused, until Y/N chimed in.

“Ah! Um, the legal drinking age in the UK is 18, it’s a little hard to get used to suddenly having to be 21 to drink…” Y/N explained but Eddie still looked unsure as to whether he was allowed to except the offer so Y/N continued, “but my parents have always been pretty liberal about it, they’re not idiots and know what they were like at our age - we’re going to drink anyway so why not do it safely, where they can keep an eye out. So, wine?”

“There you go again, being too good to be real.” Eddie takes it all in then smiles at Mrs Y/L/N, “I’ve never had wine before…”

“It’s an acquired taste but it goes well with food,” She pours him a glass and smiles, starting to eat, “Eat, drink, relax, I’m not gonna call the police.”

Y/N laughs and takes a swig of her wine before digging into her food again, watching Eddie in her peripheral as he took a sip and coughed at the unfamiliar taste, making her snicker slightly. He glared at her before trying again and managing to drink without choking. Raising an eyebrow at him, as he swallowed before smiling and focusing on eating. The evening went by smoothly, Mrs Y/L/N continuing to ask Eddie questions, obviously trying to sus him out but doing it so seamlessly that he didn’t notice and answered honestly. Y/N learned that he lived in the trailer park not too far away with his uncle, that he worked part-time at the record store, that he didn’t have that much contact with his parents but didn’t really mind – he only tensed and got a little shy when Mrs Y/L/N asked about his romantic life, laughing awkwardly and muttering a small “it’s non-existent” before moving on and saying his one true love was his guitar anyway. They laughed, and ate, and finished the bottle of wine, Mrs Y/L/N muttering about how her husband wouldn’t be happy they didn’t save him any. With empty plates and full bellies, they all leant back in their seats as they let the food settle.

“Thank you again, Mrs Y/L/N, the food was delicious,” Eddie said and rubbed his belly slightly, “Best meal I’ve had in ages.”

“It was no bother,” Mrs Y/L/N shushed him and started clearing the plates, at which Eddie stood up to help, carrying the empty dishes to the sink. Y/N smiled to herself at how well Eddie fit in with her family, like he wasn’t a complete stranger that morning.

“I’ll wash up mum, you go sit and read for a bit.” Y/N said to their mum with a hug and kiss on the cheek before she pottered off to the living room.

“I love your mom.” Eddie said as soon as she was out of earshot, leaning against the counter as Y/N filled up the sink with hot soapy water and gave Eddie a tea-towel, “I don’t think an adult has ever treated me this kindly on first meeting.”

“That woman does not have a hateful bone in her body,” Y/N said with a smile, starting to clean up, handing the cleaned plates to Eddie to dry, “she’s always been like that, my gran said it got her into trouble a lot growing up, always being quick to trust people that she maybe shouldn’t but she still always see’s the best in people.”

“Must be where you got it from,” Eddie said and Y/N flicked some foam at him, he dodged it and lightly hit her with the towel making her laugh, “I’m serious, you very easily could have told me to fuck off when I interrupted your peace at lunch today, you could still tell me to leave you alone, and yet you haven’t, why?”

“Well…” Y/N started but didn’t finish, not really knowing what to say, so she sighed, focusing instead on scrubbing a glass.

“Well?” Eddie prompted, putting the towel down and folding his arms across his chest, looking at her expectantly. She could feel his gaze on the side of her head, as though he was trying to force his way inside it and figure out what she was thinking. The trouble was even Y/N didn’t know what she was thinking.

“I don’t know.” Y/N said letting the glass fall into the water with a small sploosh, and resting her hands on the sink, “What do you want me to say?” She sighed, collected her thoughts and bit the bullet, letting a stream of consciousness pour out of her mouth without really thinking about it, “I think you’re cool, we like the same things, not to mention that you were the only one who didn’t ask me a stupid question about England. Plus, you actually understand my humour - you were the only one that laughed in homeroom this morning and you’ve bitten back whenever I’ve teased you today. You’ve made me genuinely laugh for the first time in a while and I think you could be a really good friend to me…why would I tell you to leave?”

There was silence for a second before Eddie spoke.

“You think I’m cool?”

“That’s what you picked up on?!”

They laughed at each other, as equally as astonished at the other. They fell into comfortable silence for a few seconds before Y/N flicked some more water at him making him gasp as it hit him, causing Y/N to erupt into giggles.

“You did not just do that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You’re gonna regret that.” Eddie grinned, splashing water at Y/N, it hitting her décolletage and dripping down her front. She glared at him, her eye twitching slightly before she sprung into action.

“It’s on, Munson.” Y/N stated, quickly picking up the sponge she had been using to clean and squeezing it, the water spraying all over Eddie before she moved to run away, in hysterics at the fire in his eyes, and the exasperated look on his face as water clung to his curls.

“Oh no you don’t…” he murmured as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back towards him, locking her in place with her back to his chest with one arm as the other hand hit the still full sink and covered her in water, drenching her. Shrieking through the laughter, she admitted defeat.

“You win, you win!” she struggled in his arms as he leaned in to rest his head on her shoulder.

“You’re not gonna hit me with more water if I let you go?” He spoke into her ear, and he felt her tense up a little, smirking to himself as she shook her head. “Okay.”

He released her and she turned to face him immediately, almost slipping on the water and laughing even more at the site of the mess they made.

“Dad’s gonna kill me if I don’t get this cleaned up…” speaking to herself and she retrieved the mop and bucket, Y/N quickly cleaned up the puddle, then finished the dishes as Eddie pulled a cigarette from his back pocket.

“You want one?” He asked and tucked his own over his ear, Y/N thought for a moment then nodded, and he got a second from the packet. Once all the dishes were on the drying rack, they made their way out of the house and Y/N led him to a large tree at the end of the path leading to the house. Y/N had found this spot within the first few days of moving. Their house was small and didn’t have a garden, it was the only one her dad could find on short notice, so Y/N had to venture out to find a good place to rest and smoke if she wanted to. Luckily, she found the large tree with its twisting roots that made the perfect little seat, otherwise she would’ve been stuck inside with her dad complaining about work and mum cooking away the sadness. She sat on her favourite root, the perfect size to sit on and leaned back against the trunk of the tree watching as Eddie lit his cigarette in front of her then motioned for her stand up. She walked over to him bewildered, before he held up her cigarette and nodded slightly towards her. Smirking slightly as he placed the cigarette between her lips and lighting the cigarette himself, she blew the smoke in his face with a quirked eyebrow. Retreating back to her seat, she inhaled again savouring the feeling of the nicotine calming her from the inside out and blew the smoke from her lungs up into the air before looking back at Eddie who was looking at her in awe.

“Thank you for making my first day bearable.” Y/N said raising her cigarette in a small ‘cheers’, he snorted and took a seat next to her.

“Don’t thank me yet, you could still hate me,” Eddie said with a knowing, poignant smile, “I can almost guarantee that you’ll be labelled a freak like me pretty soon, and when the rest of the school looks at you the same way they look at me…I’m not sure you’ll be thanking me.”

“Hey, don’t do that.” Y/N said sharply, turning to face him, “From where I’m standing, you have been labelled unfairly. Besides, if this,” she gestures around her, “is what makes you a freak in this town, I’ll call myself a freak with pride.”

Eddie gazes at her with wide eyes and slightly agape mouth, cigarette hanging between his fingers.

“Where have you been all my life?”

“England.”

He laughs heartily and Y/N joins in, leaning into him and resting their forehead against his shoulder. They continue talk and laugh about anything and everything, smoking until the cigarettes are dead and even then, they lay on the grass and look up at the stars for a while longer, feeling as though they had known each other for years.

“It’s getting late, I should probably be heading off.” He sighs and sits up, resting on his forearms, looking over at Y/N, “but I’ll see you tomorrow…I drove in my van but then your mom gave me alcohol so…I’ll come by in the morning and drive you to school?”

“I’d like that, but fair warning, I think you’re stuck with me now,” Y/N grins at him, happy to have made such a good friend on her first day.

“God help me.” He jokes and she pushes him slightly making him collapse back onto the grass. Eddie pulls himself back up and rises to standing before helping Y/N up as well and walking her back to the front door. They said their goodbyes, Eddie winking, before turning on his heel and walking off into the night.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #stranger things vol 2 #reader insert #freak like me #leaf writes

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Text

Jon wears a leather jacket to work. No one is immune.

Jon’s running late.

He doesn’t often run late. Ever since he got the promotion, he’s been working overtime- coming in early, staying late, sometimes not leaving at all. He had a mess on his hands, and its one he intends to fix.

So while it’s been some time since he’s seen Rosie at the front desk, it isn’t enough for her to do a double take. But that she does, her usually stoic face going red and her eyes widening in what looks like shock. That’s a bit dramatic.

“O-Oh!” She’s stuttering. Rosie never stutters. “G-Good morning, Jon. You look- you’re looking very nice today!”

That can’t be true. He slept through his alarm, something he hasn’t done in ages. He didn’t have time to comb his hair and decided to leave it in the messy bun from yesterday- at least it’s out of his way. He skipped shaving altogether and couldn’t find his usual cardigan, instead resorting to an old, beat up leather jacket from college. It’s seen better days, and it reeks of guilty cigarettes snuck in his most desperate hours. The picture of professionalism he is not.

“Um, okay,” is the only response he can think of giving, scurrying past her desk and down to the basement. He doesn’t have time to parse that interaction out, not when his assistants are probably already gathered round, gossiping about his absence. Sure enough Tim’s sitting on Sasha’s desk, smirking and whispering something as he walks through the door, keeping his head down with a grumbled “Good morning.”

The chatter instantly stops. He hazards a glance to find Tim and Sasha, open-mouthed and staring in what can only be horror or fear. He was never any good at reading people.

“Good Lord,” Tim whispers, borrowing a phrase from Jon’s book. It sounds odd coming from his mouth, and even stranger in that soft tone. Tim’s deafening on a good day, and Jon’s never seen his golden skin turn quite so red.

“Good morning, Jon,” Sasha’s smirking, her voice turning velvety and smooth. He’s heard her use that tone in bars when she wants another round for the table. Never in the Archives. And never once has it been aimed at him. Jon bristles.

“What is going on?” he asks impatiently, running a hand through messy hair. He could swear Tim gulps. “Do I have something on my-”

He’s interrupted by a loud, high-pitched squeal, followed by the shattering sound of two mugs full of hot tea hitting the tile. He jumps back to avoid the mess, scowling at the man in front of him. Martin looks like he’s having a coronary; Jon wasn’t aware faces could turn that red. And he, too, is staring.

“I’m late, I don’t have time for this,” he says, side-stepping the spreading puddle and throwing a scowl at Martin’s gaping face. “Clean this up.” He walks away to sputtered apologies and a snicker from Sasha. What’s gotten into them today?

He shuts the door with a decisive click, should anyone think of bothering him.

_________

And not an hour later, someone does.

He answers Martin’s tentative knock with a curt “Come in.” Martin’s looking at his feet as he shuffles in with a cup of tea, his face only slightly less red. He stands as far away as possible when he deposits it on his desk, refusing to meet Jon’s eyes and likely not seeing his nod of thanks. But instead of leaving, he just stands there.

“Do you need something?” Martin jumps at his voice, raising his eyes minutely before lowering them again. What in the world…?

“Y-Your jacket.” He flushes again and Jon’s starting to think he should really see a doctor about that. “You’re still wearing it.”

He is. He hadn’t given it much thought; it’s cold down in the Archives, and sometimes he’ll go all day with a jacket or cardigan over his shoulders. Still, Martin’s right- it doesn’t look very professional. He starts to shrug out of it when Martin throws his hands out in front of him, like Jon’s about to cut the wrong wire on a bomb.

“N-No!” His voice comes out high and strangled. It’s very irritating. “Don’t!”

“What on earth is going on with you-”

“It’s just- you shouldn’t! Not if you’re cold.” Martin gives him a weak smile that Jon doesn’t return. “Wouldn’t want you to get s-sick or something!”

Jon stares. “Please leave.”

“O-Okay.” Martin backs out of the room. Jon keeps the jacket on.

It is cold.

_______

Thirty minutes later, Sasha comes in with a file he doesn’t need. She lingers with some inane chatter which is very much unlike her, and her phone’s positioned awkwardly in front of her. If Jon didn’t know any better, he’d think she was taking a photo.

The last straw comes when Tim leans in the doorway, a leer on his face. That always means trouble.

“Come to drop off an unnecessary document?” he snarks, slamming a book closed. He’s tired of this game they’re playing. “Maybe finish whatever strange prank you’ve got planned? You know I don’t have time for-”

“Boss.” Tim’s face goes serious, an alarming sign for him. “I have to tell you something. And I promise I’m not making fun of you or anything. I know where your mind goes.”

Jon rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “If you insist-”

“Jon.” Tim comes closer and Jon subconsciously shifts back in his chair. “Objectively, this is the hottest you’ve ever looked.”

What?

Tim raises a finger. “Don’t give me that. I mean, did you look in the mirror today?”

Well, that’s a bit uncalled for. Jon knows he looks a bit scruffy, but this teasing has got to stop. He’s starting to feel a bit insulted. “Tim-”

“You look good. You look dangerous.”

“That’s not a compliment-!”

“Like you ride a motorcycle,” Tim continues, inching closer. His eyes are staring intently into Jon’s, but it seems like he’s lost in his own little world. “Or maybe you’re in a gang, or an underground syndicate. You’ve got a rough past but really, a heart of gold.” Perhaps Tim’s drunk. Or on drugs. He could be on drugs. It’s the only thing that would explain whatever the hell...this is.

“I meet you at a bar,” Tim’s sat down now, right in front of Jon’s desk. Instead of throwing his legs over the side of the chair he leans forward on his knees, still with that disconcerting eye contact. “You’ve stepped out for a smoke.” Oh God, can he smell it? “I’ve had a few too many. You say ‘Got a light?’ in a dark, husky voice.”

“Husky?”

“I nod, flicking my lighter on and raising the flame to your cigarette. You look me directly in the eyes as you inhale-” At this Tim does his own little breathy intake, a finger to his lips as if he’s putting on a one-man show. And Jon- well, Jon’s not immune.

Tim sighs, leaning back in his seat and letting his hands fall back into his lap. “And the rest? Is history.” He takes a moment to recover, blinking slowly. Jon stares.

“What I mean to say is-” Suddenly Tim’s back again, as if the previous minute had never happened. “-do you want to get a drink later?”

What the fuck?

Jon opens his mouth but then pauses, considers. It’s been a week. He’s tired, at the end of his rope. And maybe-

Maybe he misses Tim. Just a little. They did used to have fun, sometimes. Before all of this. Back when they were friends.

“Okay.”

Tim blinks. “What?”

“I’ll come,” Jon agrees, though the rational part of him wants to take it back. But Tim’s in front of him-ridiculous, charming, idiotic Tim- and how can he resist? “But I don’t smoke anymore, so I’m afraid I can’t quite live up to your fantasies.” Tim barks out a laugh and Jon finds himself smiling back, his face growing warm.

Perhaps he should wear this thing more often.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491015

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #jontim #jonmartin #a little bit #and mostly pining #fluff #just a ridiculous idea that wouldn't let me go im sorry

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cheesybadgers · 3 years

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 10)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 6,005

Summary: Set loosely (and I mean loosely as there is some significant canon divergence) during Our Man in Madrid and The Good, the Bad, and the Dead, Search Bloc begin to make inroads, but at what cost? Javier’s and Horacio’s unwavering trust in each other has unexpected consequences and the penny finally drops for Steve.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of a gunshot wound/being shot, brief smut but nothing explicit, discussions of sexuality and unintentionally coming out, angst, smoking, swearing.

Notes: Well, this took an absolute age to edit for a variety of reasons, so I’m not even going to guess at when chapter 11 will be ready 😂 Most of the first draft is done though at least. Also, I know it may not look like it given the way this chapter ends, but I promise this is still a fix-it fic 😉 Thanks to anyone still reading, commenting, liking/kudosing etc.!

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 10: A Leap Of Faith

When you’d been in Colombia for as long as Javier and were more at home than most in areas saturated with grey, you were bound to forge unlikely alliances. Which was why it should have been a shock to no one when a tip-off from Don Berna of all people fell into his lap. A tip-off that gave him the location of the Moncadas’ largest cocaine lab, no less.

With help from the DEA, Search Bloc raided the lab and captured its employees – including a well-known sicario named Gato – in the process.

Once back at Carlos Holguín, Gato and his accomplice were transferred to a helicopter waiting to take them to Bogotá for questioning.

“Are you coming?” Horacio asked both agents, although his eyes honed in on Javier.

Javier shook his head with a knowing look at the “Happy now?” expression Horacio carried.

“Yeah, I’m in,” Steve replied at the same time, undeterred by Javier’s refusal.

In fact, Javier was damn sure it was quite the opposite. An air of tension had lingered between them ever since the night he drove off and left Steve hanging. No more words were spoken on the subject, but sometimes silence made the loudest sound.

The way Javier and Horacio had avoided Steve’s questions of late almost felt cruel, even if it was necessary. So, giving Steve a wide berth for now and letting him go with Horacio alone was the wisest option as far as Javier was concerned. Despite not being sure any gesture other than the truth would be enough to satisfy Steve’s curiosity by this stage.

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Horacio was glad of the noise from the chopper once they were in the air, although he could feel Murphy’s gaze on him as he questioned Gato.

Holding Gato’s arms behind his back, Horacio pushed him towards the edge of the open hatch. “It’s a long way down if you can’t give us anything, Gato.”

“I’m not telling you shit, you son of a bitch!” Gato yelled back over the hum of the airflow. Although there was a distinct crack in his voice for all his bravado.

“Are you sure you don’t want to re-think that?” Horacio tried again, this time dangling the sicario’s head over the precipice as his grip on Gato’s arms tightened at his back.

“Fuck you!” came Gato’s reply through gritted teeth, grimacing at the increased force.

Horacio expertly pinned Gato to the floor with one arm, his other reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a flick knife. He released the blade before scoring it along the nape of Gato’s neck and across his cheek, denting but not breaking the skin. “Last chance, asshole,” he breathed against his ear as he jabbed the cool metal under his chin, teetering on the very brink of drawing blood.

Gato let out a shrill scream followed by a series of desperate pleas. “Alright, alright, alright! Please! I’ll talk!”

Horacio didn’t believe he would when it came to it. But he also figured Gato and his silent friend would get themselves killed by Pablo’s men if they did. Or, they’d be left to rot in jail if they kept their mouths shut. Either way, they’d be off the streets of Medellín and would no longer be his problem.

It wasn’t that his disdain towards these low lives had subsided since his return. But he was tired of carrying the responsibility for them. He wasn’t so much sparing them but rather himself by leaving their fates in someone else’s hands. They were cannon fodder, who Escobar didn’t give the time of day, so why should Horacio? It wasn’t as though most of them had anything significant to confess anyway. It had taken Javier’s C.I. to get them the lab locations, after all.

Once they had landed in Bogotá and Horacio had transferred the two men into custody, he was faced with the awkward prospect of travelling back to Medellín with Murphy. This time without the much-needed distraction of a sicario or two to threaten.

Murphy had been suspiciously quiet for the vast majority of the journey to Bogotá but had studied Horacio intently from the safety of his seat. Horacio sensed he was under forensic examination from the moment they’d taken off. To the extent that he tried to keep his mind as blank as possible just in case Murphy could read that as well.

Horacio avoided making eye contact, preferring to stare out the hatch of the chopper instead. But it only got him so far.

Steve leaned forwards in his seat, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. “So, were you on your best behaviour for my benefit, or did Javi put you up to it? I bet it was Javi, wasn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. Some might say you’ve lost your touch, Carrillo.”

Horacio fought down the temptation to wipe the arrogant smirk off Murphy’s face, settling for a stern glare instead. “A bunch of kids and a couple of sicarios who were never gonna get us close to Pablo? Why break a butterfly on a wheel, Murphy?”

“Pretty sure that’s never stopped you before,” Steve scoffed. “I guess Madrid really did soften you up, huh?” He couldn’t resist a self-satisfied chuckle at his own jibe as he leaned back again and folded his arms.

Horacio merely rolled his eyes and muttered several lesser-known expletives in Spanish loud enough for Murphy to hear but apparently not understand.

He was vaguely aware of Murphy shouting “What?!” but pretended he hadn’t heard and resisted the urge to clarify it wasn’t Madrid per se that had softened him up.

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Search Bloc continued to chip away at Escobar’s business in a string of raids, seizing or burning large quantities of coke and cash as they went. And taking down any sicarios who got in their way. Horacio may have curtailed some of his more extreme methods, but this was still a war. If someone aimed fire at him or his men, there was no moral dilemma to agonise over.

As news of the lab sieges spread, it wasn’t long before Escobar made his next move against Horacio, this time with the assistance of Valeria Vélez. A story ran on her news programme about the night Search Bloc apprehended the spotters. The boy Horacio caught on the rooftops had gone on record to allege Horacio murdered one of the spotters in cold blood and in full view of the others. An unnamed DEA agent was also reported to have been at the scene.

All it had taken was a slight twist of the truth. One simultaneously so close to what did happen and what could have happened. What almost happened. A fact Horacio was all too aware of. And one that only exacerbated the gnawing guilt that had settled in his gut since that night.

To add insult to injury, soon after the report aired, he received a phone call from one of his superiors. The higher-ups seemed to believe his version of events, much to their annoyance. If it had been their decision rather than Gaviria’s, Horacio would never have been reinstated in the first place. So, naturally, they couldn’t resist an opportunity to remind him of the consequences the last time he overstepped. Or that their reputations would be on the line if the President of all people came asking questions. And that there were other candidates they had in mind for the job if Horacio wasn’t up to the task. Never mind all the payoffs they had let fly under the radar year after year. So long as they kept their noses and uniforms clean, that was all that mattered, apparently.

After the frustrations of his phone call, Horacio was glad to blow off steam with yet another raid. And with Javier back at base afterwards. Since the night in the alleyway – or rather the conversations that followed it – they had fallen into a risky routine of dispelling any leftover adrenaline in the darkest and most deserted parts of the school. Giving in to a primal need to be as close as possible to each other after the thrill of the chase hadn’t hit the spot. Because nothing could compare to this.

It was always frantic and to the point, saving their more indulgent moments for the rare occasions when they managed to sneak back to Horacio’s apartment. Horacio’s seniority meant no one questioned his whereabouts. And it wouldn’t have taken a genius to hazard a guess where Javier might have slipped off to in the middle of the night.

This time they had wound up in an abandoned classroom, hidden by shadows but for sporadic streaks of moonlight catching on their combined silhouette. Javier’s palms were splayed across the wall, steadying his balance and grounding him whilst Horacio’s hips slammed into his own. Unleashing every ounce of pent-up energy with each controlled movement. Relentless and rough, yet somehow still tender in a way that only two people who knew each other inside out could be in such circumstances.

Their ragged breaths and muffled grunts filled the room as they hurtled over the edge almost in tandem. Horacio’s teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of Javier’s shoulder as the sweet relief of his release crashed over him. For those blissful few seconds, the tension was gone, and his mind was quiet.

Spent and out of breath, they zipped themselves up and sank to the floor, leaning back on the wall they’d just fucked against.

“Maybe your bosses should phone you more often,” Javier teased, holding out the cigarette he’d lit in his post-coital haze.

Horacio leaned closer to accept it, his lips brushing over the shell of Javier’s ear in the process. “I don’t need an excuse to do that with you.”

Javier chuckled and tilted his head, chasing the tingling rush spreading across his hypersensitive skin. “I should hope not.”

Splintered pale light filtered through the blinds, highlighting the glistening sheen of their afterglows and their playful smirks. And the way Horacio’s smile soon faded. “Has anyone said anything to you yet?”

“Messina asked a few questions, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” To say Messina was less than impressed by the news story was an understatement. Although more because it was probably giving her an administrative headache than anything else.

“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you more problems.”

“If it hadn’t been this, Escobar would’ve tried something else, and you know it.”

Horacio hummed in agreement and took a long drag on their shared smoke. He couldn’t argue with that or the unspoken fact that Escobar wouldn’t stop at this, either. The news story hadn’t gained the intended traction and would likely blow over. But then what? It was a tame move by Pablo’s standards, and there was no way this was the end of it. He couldn’t say for sure what was coming next, but he was already bracing himself for the impact.

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

After Search Bloc’s flurry of raids, all was quiet for a good week or so until Centra Spike intercepted several calls involving a known sicario, Edgar Prisco.

The transmissions led to a successful op on a pool hall in Manrique, which took out another of the Moncadas’ labs and three of the Prisco brothers.

It didn’t go without a hitch, though, when Steve disappeared by himself into the comunas on the tail of one of the surviving siblings, Ricardo.

Following a frantic few minutes after hearing gunfire over the radio, Javier tracked his partner down, who miraculously was still alive and well despite his best efforts not to be. Whilst things between them had been more strained than usual, Javier obviously didn’t wish any harm to come to Steve. No matter how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes.

“The fuck were you thinking?” Javier threw at him as soon as he’d pulled the car door shut.

“I was this fuckin’ close, Javi,” Steve replied, gesturing with his hand whilst trying to catch his breath.

Javier scoffed without looking at his partner as he navigated the car back to safer territory. “To getting what’s left of your brain blown out? Yeah, you probably were.”

“Oh, come on, I’m fine. I wasn’t even hit. But let’s not tell Connie about this when she gets here.”

“When does she get here?”

“Tomorrow. Well, to Bogotá at least. Hoping to go visit over the weekend, assuming Messina won’t have my balls for it. Or Crosby. Sounds like he’s on the warpath.”

“How d’you mean?”

“Apparently, the suits are getting jumpy about us working so closely with Search Bloc after that news story. Messina’s been holding ‘em off, but for how much longer, who knows?”

“And you know this how exactly?”

“The meeting this afternoon. Y’know, I don’t think those are supposed to be optional. Where were you anyway?”

“I was…busy.” Not entirely untrue. It was supposed to be a quick visit to Horacio’s office but descended into desperate mouthing and groping with his back shoved against the wall between the door and the corner of the room. An apparent blind spot should anyone chance a glance through the glass.

“Convenient,” Steve replied with a wry smile. He let a natural lull in their conversation fall before pressing further. “You sure nothin’ happened that night?”

“Fuck’s sake, Steve, not this again. You don’t actually believe that bullshit, do you?” Heat flooded Javier’s cheeks at Steve’s topic swerve, his shackles instantly raised.

“No, ‘course not! I’m fully fuckin’ aware of what Escobar’s capable of, and lying is the least of it. It’s just, don’t you think Carrillo seems…different these days?”

“Different? How so?” Javier tried to keep his tone casual this time but had no idea if he’d succeeded as all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest.

“I dunno, less ruthless, I guess.”

Javier gulped and would have been amazed if Steve hadn’t heard it too. “Probably wants to keep his job this time,” he eventually offered, although his words stuck like sawdust in the back of his throat.

“Hmm maybe.”

Much to Javier’s relief, the subject was dropped, and the rest of the journey back to base was quiet, even if their minds weren’t.

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

Steve’s doubts over how long Messina could hold Crosby at arm’s length rang true in the following days when the DEA was told in no uncertain terms that they weren’t to leave base. An instruction that went out the window after Javier received an unexpected call from Gabriela of all people. She didn’t elaborate on the phone, but the urgency in her voice indicated it must be something serious for her to call him at work.

When he arrived at her apartment, it took him a while to notice the young brunette woman sitting on the bed. Her back was hunched, and her head hung low as though she was trying to make herself appear smaller. It was body language he came across often in his line of work. Especially amongst those who were in so deep, he was their last resort.

“She’s a friend of a friend. Please just hear her out, Javi. She’s in trouble,” Gabriela confirmed in response to Javier’s quizzical look. “Maritza, this is Javier.”

Javier looked between the two women, scrubbing his hand back and forth across his upper lip. He was caught between his reluctance to get involved and the fact he had said Gabriela could call him if she ever needed anything. She was only doing as he’d said she could, which was why he sat down in a chair next to the bed and lit up a cigarette. “Who are you in trouble with, Maritza?”

“La Quica.” There was no need for Maritza to elaborate, given the history La Quica had with the DEA. With Steve in particular.

“La Quica? You know him?”

“He wants to kill me.”

Javier did his best to bite back the laugh bubbling in his chest, sensing this might be a waste of his time. “I think you’ll find you’re in good company there. Why does he want to kill you?”

“Because I can tell you where Pablo Escobar is.”

On second thoughts, now she had his attention. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“I know exactly where and when he’ll be tomorrow.”

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

Javier didn’t waste any time heading back to base with Maritza’s story, including the detail she was childhood friends with Escobar’s chauffeur, Limón. She had served as a cover in the back seat of Limón’s taxi whilst he drove Escobar around Medellín in the trunk. So that was how the fucker had been getting about town unnoticed.

“And this Maritza girl just came to you with this?” Steve queried once Javier and Horacio had joined him and Trujillo.

“Yeah, erm, well, through a friend.”

“A friend?” Trujillo gently mocked with a sceptical brow.

“Fuck off, it wasn’t like that,” Javier snorted, hoping his sudden discomfort wasn’t detectable beneath the friendly banter. “It was strictly business.” Despite the fact he was responding to Trujillo, his eyes fell heavily on Horacio.

Horacio got the message, although soon averted his gaze at the unshakeable feeling they were being watched. “I just need to know whether you trust the information, that’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

There was little certainty to be found in their day-to-day lives, but each other’s word was an unwavering constant. In so many ways, it was illogical and a blind leap of faith. But Horacio had made up his mind as soon as Javier spoke.

“Okay then. When Maritza gives us Pablo’s location, I want Centra Spike up in the air to confirm.”

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

Javier returned to his desk, waiting with bated breath for his phone to ring. The longer he stared into space with a neglected cigarette burning between his thumb and forefinger, the more his mind spiralled.

This could be it after all these years. After everything they’d been through. After everything they’d lost – and gained. It was almost too surreal to believe after so many near-misses. But in a few hours’ time, it could all be over, and they’d finally be free. To do what, Javier had no fucking clue, though.

He and Horacio hadn’t exactly got to discussing life after Escobar yet. Part of that was fear of tempting fate as much as anything else. Sometimes even just thinking such thoughts was akin to jinxing themselves, so talk of the future had remained the elephant in the room whilst Pablo was still around. But if they pulled this off, they could start to look ahead for the first time. If being the operative word. He couldn’t let himself get carried away at this stage. Anything could happen, and that wasn’t being pessimistic; it was a sobering fact.

He couldn’t say how long he’d been sitting lost in his head when his phone rang. “Peña.”

“9th Street, 98-3.”

“Okay. Got it.”

Javier took the address straight to Centra Spike before stopping by Horacio’s office.

Horacio stood with his back to the door, his attention focused on the wall of awards above him. Even with this limited view, Javier could see how tightly drawn every muscle in his body was. From the rigid hold of his spine to the way his fists clenched at his sides. Not surprising for a man carrying the weight and expectations of his country on his bruised and weary shoulders.

Familiar arms slotted around Horacio from behind, large palms enveloping his waist. Strong, steady and anchoring. They were the still waters to the turbulent riptide surging through his veins, threatening to break him apart from the inside out.

Javier nuzzled himself against Horacio’s shoulder, placing the barest trace of kisses along his neck. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Those whispered words of comfort dripped into Horacio’s ear like warm panela, and he reflexively leaned into Javier with a deep exhale as their fingers entwined across his stomach. Even though this had to be a fleeting moment of calm amid the chaos of war, he could already feel his heart rate beginning to level out. Home.

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

By the time Centra Spike obtained the recordings they were waiting for, Messina had arrived from Bogotá. She was soon crammed into a meeting room with Javier, Steve, Horacio, Jacoby and a tape player.

A deathly silence fell over the room as Jacoby pressed play on the tape. Tensions ramped up higher when it initially was too distorted to decipher. But after some minor tweaks, there was no mistaking whose voice it was.

“We have to move now,” Horacio stated.

However, before Javier and Steve could take more than a step, Messina made her presence known. “You two are staying here.”

Javier shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. “No, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“If Crosby finds out you went on another raid, we all get a ticket home.”

“Crosby doesn’t have to know shit!” Steve interjected, his temper already fraying at the edges.

Messina was unaffected by their objections, not even rising from her seat. It was clear her mind was already made up, and she wasn’t going to be persuaded otherwise. “I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. It’s not negotiable.”

Javier and Steve seethed in silence and shared a look of absolute incredulity. At being mollycoddled like children. At being denied what they had worked towards for fucking years. At being little more than cogs in the machine of American bureaucracy and public relations.

Horacio had kept quiet up until now. There was no point trying to interfere with gringo politics. It was fruitless enough trying to reason with his own government, let alone Uncle Sam. But he wrestled with whether he’d want to even if he could. Whilst he understood the injustice and everything Javier had given to his job, there was no getting around the fact this was going to be a dangerous mission. He’d never voice it, and he hated how selfish it was, but frankly, the decision made the load on his shoulders a hell of a lot lighter.

“We’ll be in radio contact,” he settled for in the end, his gaze landing squarely on Javier. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

Once Horacio had left the room, Javier paced like a caged tiger, hands twitching and his jaw in danger of shattering if he clenched it any tighter. Heated conversations continued around him between Messina and Steve, whose anger was less restrained than his own.

No fucking way was this how it was going down. After everything. They wouldn’t even have this intel if it weren’t for him. He couldn’t let Horacio go out there without him. The countless times they’d fought side-by-side, and now this could be the final showdown, Horacio would have to do it without him. All because of red tape that cared more about the reputation of U.S. officials than it ever had done about the people of Colombia. No, he couldn’t let this go. He had to do something.

Steve and Messina were still at loggerheads whilst Jacoby had excused himself to make a fresh pot of coffee – or possibly something stronger. This was his best chance if he was quick about it, so without a backward glance, Javier let himself out of the room.

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

By some miracle, it seemed as though Javier had escaped undetected, but as he neared the end of the corridor, he was halted by a voice behind him.

“I hope he’s fuckin’ worth it.”

Those six small words hit Javier like a freight train. Whilst he was frozen to the spot, it allowed Steve to catch up in no time with long, purposeful strides.

“Steve, I—what are you—?”

“Oh, come on, Javi. I’m not fuckin’ stupid.”

The echo of Steve’s voice was distant and faint despite its proximity, but Javier’s pulse roared in his ears and galloped in his chest. A vice-like grip had taken hold of his lungs, squeezing each breath of oxygen out of him as if it was his last. No amount of deflection or playing dumb could help him now. The game was up, and there was no way out.

Undeterred by Javier’s ongoing silence, Steve continued where he’d left off. “I didn’t think you were either but guess I was wrong. Him of all people, Javi?!”

Steve was much too close, in all respects. It was suffocating, and without realising what he was doing, Javier grabbed Steve by the collar and pushed him against the wall. “You don’t know the first fucking thing about him!” he hissed out of the side of his mouth.

They stared each other down, breathing hard and neither showing signs of conceding. “Maybe not, but I know you. I know you’ll always follow him and damn the fuckin’ consequences.”

“And you wouldn’t do the same for Connie?”

Javier hadn’t meant to say that. He should have asked how Steve knew. That was the logical train of thought right now. Along with why it seemed Steve’s main issue with this revelation was Javier’s taste in men rather than his interest in them in general. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want answers to these questions, but an entirely different one tumbled out instead.

Steve was on the cusp of retaliating for Javier bringing Connie into this. But he paused with a complicated expression that Javier couldn’t quite decipher. There was confusion, followed by a slight softening of his features that morphed into something else Javier couldn’t put his finger on. But it made him let go of Steve’s shirt and back away.

“I’m not gonna change your mind.” Steve wasn’t asking or attempting to reignite their argument; he was stating a fact. A realisation that he finally understood everything for what it really was. For what it always had been.

Javier didn’t say a word but looked Steve in the eye and firmly shook his head.

“Shit, Javi.” Steve looked back at the meeting room, then ahead towards the swing doors to the main entrance. “Come on, we haven’t got much time.”

“What? Steve – wait – you know what this means?”

“Of course, I fuckin’ know! But isn’t that why we’re here? This could finally be it, Javi. If we catch Pablo tonight, we’ll be going home anyway, right?”

Javier’s hand cradled the base of his neck and rubbed along the band of tense muscles at the apex of his shoulder. “You sure?” He had to be certain just in case the shit did hit the fan afterwards.

“Look, I – I get it – about the other times – now I know – but you ain’t icing me outta this one, Javi. No fuckin’ way.”

Steve was right. Javier had no right to deny his partner this. This wasn’t about him and Horacio. This was their job and their mission. The whole reason they were even in Colombia in the first place. Steve deserved to see it through as much as he did. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

They made a break for the front entrance, although it was deserted when they arrived.

“We’ll take my Jeep,” Steve said, fumbling with the set of keys in his pocket whilst they hurried across the parking lot. “They won’t have got far.”

It wasn’t long before they had sped out of Carlos Holguín, hot on the tail of Search Bloc and closer than they’d ever been to putting a bullet in Escobar once and for all.

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

It was nightfall by the time their convoy left base. Passing street lights popped against the ebony of Horacio’s irises, giving them a fierce wolfish glow. The swooping knot in the pit of his stomach was starting to give way to laser-sharp focus, strategies and tactics. This was where his years of training and experience kicked in. When he had to leave Horacio to one side and embody Colonel Carrillo. When he and his men might end Escobar’s stranglehold on Colombia and finally stop the bleeding.

“We’re on San Juan,” Trujillo confirmed over the radio after they’d travelled in silence for a short while.

“Copy that,” came Steve’s reply. “And we’re approximately 5 minutes behind you, maybe less.”

Trujillo’s head darted round to Horacio in the back seat. “What the hell?! I thought you said they weren’t coming, Colonel?”

Before Horacio had a chance to answer, another voice crackled through the airwaves. “Slight change of plan. I’ll explain later, but let’s get this motherfucker first.”

The knot in Horacio’s stomach re-emerged, pulling and twisting until he feared he was going to vomit. This wasn’t supposed to happen, yet he wasn’t surprised it had. Murphy’s warning was spot-on. Panic rose in his chest at the memory of his dream, even though the rational side of him knew that was all it was. But still, how could he not fret?

He signalled to Trujillo to pass him the radio. “Keep safe,” was all he said in the end. A standard well-wish to anyone else, but he hoped Javier remembered those were the words he’d used the day Diana Turbay died. A day that still haunted Horacio, but he’d never forgotten the warmth of Javier’s voice.

“You too,” came Javier’s immediate reply. And Horacio needn’t have worried, because of course, Javier remembered.

“Murphy, you’re buying the drinks tonight,” Trujillo joked after Horacio handed back the radio.

“Only if you pick us up some cigars on the way, you cheap bastards.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

No sooner had the words left Trujillo’s mouth than a blinding flash of heat and rush of compressed air consumed them as they came to an abrupt standstill.

It took several seconds for it to register in Horacio’s brain that a car parked to the side of the road had exploded, raining fire and debris down on their convoy. Whilst he tried to gain his bearings and survey the damage, two large trucks pulled up at either end of the street, blocking their way out behind and ahead.

The apartment block on one side of the road was now alive with activity. Several floors up, the windows flew open in unison to reveal a team of men armed to the hilt.

“It’s an ambush!” Trujillo shouted over the radio, although a shower of bullets was already hailing down on them.

The glass next to Horacio shattered, spraying jagged shards over him as he ducked down in his seat.

“Reverse!” he yelled but looked up to see their driver, a young recruit named Rodriguez, was lifeless over the steering wheel.

“Colonel, we need to move!” Trujillo cried over the thunderous and relentless gunfire that had already punctured their tyres and blown out several windows.

Horacio glanced over his shoulder at the carnage of the other CNP vehicles. “My men, I can’t leave them.”

“With all due respect, Colonel, you’re not gonna be much use to them if we stay here. Peña and Murphy will have called for backup. We can’t do much ‘til they arrive.”

Javier. He and Murphy were a few minutes behind them, and there was no way they wouldn’t attempt to intervene, with or without backup. If the roles were reversed, nothing on this earth would stop Horacio from diving in headfirst if he thought Javier’s life was in danger.

Horacio tried to regain focus and steady his breathing amid the chaos thrust upon them out of nowhere. There was no room for panicking or making a wrong move.

The vehicles had thankfully been restocked with supplies that morning. Horacio just needed to be able to reach behind the back seats into the trunk to access them.

He made his move, bullets still flying around them and the tirade only pausing whilst their attackers reloaded.

His hand fell upon several stun grenades, which he divvied up between them. Ideally, he would have grabbed a lot more, but the gunfire had resumed.

“On my cue, follow me. Stay low to the ground at all times, clear?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Horacio managed to slide across the seats to the side furthest from the apartment block. He opened the door as slowly as he could before lowering himself to the floor.

Trujillo made his way from the front to the back of the car and copied Horacio’s movements.

They caught their breath whilst Horacio communicated his plan to Trujillo in a series of well-rehearsed hand signals. This was far from their first shootout, not to mention the countless training drills Horacio had insisted his men run through. Trujillo had never been more thankful for serving under a Colonel who didn’t care if it was pouring down with rain. Or if your unit had stayed up drinking into the early hours celebrating a successful raid. They were put through their paces no matter what.

When the time was right, they launched the grenades behind them and ahead in the path of the truck. Flares of flashing lights and bangs erupted as the canisters hit the ground. It wasn’t enough to harm any potential survivors in the vehicles behind them. But it was enough to throw the snipers off their stride.

During the enforced ceasefire, they made a break for it. Through the haze of acrid smog, Horacio faintly discerned a gap between the wall and the truck. All they had to do was keep going, one step in front of the other. That was until his body jerked forward as though he was winded, a searing burn radiating across his right shoulder.

Prickling heat branched down his arm, splintering electric shocks like forked lightning striking a tree. It wasn’t his first run-in with a bullet, although those had been superficial wounds. Whilst he was no medical expert, something told him he wasn’t so lucky this time.

“Colonel! Are you alright?”

The discombobulating part of it was Horacio knew that he wasn’t, but adrenaline masked the pain. A fact he needed to take advantage of whilst he was still conscious and could stand. “I don’t know, but we’ve got to keep moving,” he rasped.

Trujillo flung his arm around Horacio’s left side, alarmed by how little resistance his Colonel put up as Trujillo bore his entire weight.

It was only then that Horacio clocked the smear of blood above Trujillo’s eye. “Your head.” His breathing was more laboured as he spoke, and his vision was blurrier than even a minute ago.

“It’s just a scratch, Colonel. We’re nearly there now. Stay with me!” Their movement was hampered by Horacio’s rapidly deteriorating condition, as Trujillo was all but carrying him along.

Horacio was alert enough to make out the screech of brakes ahead, more shouting and gunfire, a familiar presence appearing at his other side.

A loud whooshing noise filled his ears like his head had been plunged underwater. Nothing around him had any solid form. His body was floating and weightless, but his limbs were heavy, stiff and dragging him under. Down, down, down he fell into an impenetrable blackness. An icy darkness he’d never known. Darker than night, darker than any deed he’d committed and darker than the deep crimson currently saturating his uniform sleeve.

He lay at the bottom of a chasm, staring up at what appeared to be an endless murky sky, but faint traces of fireflies blinked in the distance. As they drew nearer, they were more like reflections on the water, a delicate light dancing across precious metal, precious in every sense of the word.

Memories swirled around him and were accompanied by two voices he recognised even though he couldn’t name them. The second voice brought about a fond warmth. Reliable, loyal, old before its time and wiser beyond its years. The first voice, however, wasn’t so much a warmth but a blazing heat. Passionate, enduring and grounding. Home.

The combination of the two kept him conscious long enough to be hoisted off the ground into the waiting car. But then followed a cry of pain nearby that wasn’t his own, and all fell dark once more.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

A Gift from Mr. Blanc

Marinette's worst nightmares were of Chat Blanc. But that's all they were: nightmares. Until one day where in the stone cold light of day, Chat Blanc walked into the classroom, with a gift in hand. "This will make you love me again, My Lady."

Ao3 | FF.net

Everyone is on this Chat Blanc train, so I bought a ticket and got a window seat.

“Yes, Timestreamer, find me the best Akuma ever created!” Shadowmoth raised a manic fist as the images appeared before him.

The woman who was once Nathalie Sancoeur stood next to him, now transformed into an Akuma with thick glasses, which almost looked like VR goggles.

In a fit of artist’s block, Gabriel Agreste had vented that he had run out of ideas for Akuma. He had to keep going, and the villains couldn’t slack less Ladybug and Chat Noir get the upper hand.

To which Nathalie had said, “well, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel.”

She had meant it to be cheeky, but he took inspiration from it in a whole new way. Why invent a new villain when one from a different time is sure to work? Timetagger, an Akuma from the future, had seemed to almost win. Perhaps there were more like him out there.

He only needed someone to see the timelines so he could pick his champion.

So here they were, scanning through endless time streams, looking at massive successes, and massive failures. There really was no telling which one would do the job, but unless Timestreamer’s Akuma was taken or, heaven forbid, the Butterfly was taken, they could send villain after villain after villain.

Yes, this was a good plan!

“That one!” Shadowmoth pointed, the stark white catching his gaze.

“That one?” Timestreamer asked, feeling unease looking into his soulless blue eyes.

“That has to be Chat Noir’s akumatized form. He’s perfect.”

Following orders, Timestreamer summoned the Akuma forward.

From the static images appeared a grainy figure, slowly solidifying into a solid white boy. His expression was one of confusion and disorientation.

“Chat Blanc, I am Shadowmoth,” he began.

Immediately, Chat Blanc snarled. “You! You monster!” And he leapt.

Suffice to say, neither Timestreamer or Shadowmoth were prepared for a full on fight this early in the conversation.

Shadowmoth did have training in fighting, and successfully blocked the incoming swipe at his throat with his arm. However, the claws cut right through his suit and into his flesh, making him cry out in pain.

The next swipe hit true, and knocked the butterfly Miraculous from its place on his collar.

Chat Blanc then plucked the Peacock from his lapel while Gabriel Agreste tried to put pressure on his grievous wounds.

“Why?” Asked Gabriel, “don’t you know I made you? Don’t you know I can give you everything you want?”

Chat Blanc didn’t respond, only snapped the goggles off of a shell shocked Timestreamer. He then touched the black butterfly with his claw, and it crumbled into dust.

Nathalie ran to Gabriel and looked at his wounds. “You need to go to a hospital.”

“No!” He protested, pushing her away. “Answer me, boy! You’re easily the most powerful Akuma ever made. Once you get the Miraculous of Ladybug and this timeline’s Chat Noir, we can make the ultimate wish! Whatever your heart’s desire, it’s yours!” He reached a hand out to the boy.

Chat Blanc, who Gabriel knew as the exuberant and emotional Chat Noir, just looked at him with a sharp, emotionless stare.

“You already took everything from me, Father. This is my one chance to get things back to where they are supposed to be.”

“Adrien?”

The gaze didn’t change, but he did raise an eyebrow. “In my timeline you knew. You knew, and you still hurt me. You hurt her. You turned me, and you forced me to kill. You left me alone in that world for months. Left me to mourn. Cursed me to this form—“ he snarled. “That can’t starve, that can’t sleep, that can’t thirst or drown—“ a tear fell down his cheek. “You left me in a prison where I couldn’t die, and would continue to suffer because of your mistakes.” He gave a hint of a bitter smile. “Does that answer your question, old man?”

Maybe it was just the blood loss, but Gabriel felt some remorse. “I’m sorry, son. Give me back the Butterfly, and I’ll set you free.”

“Not a chance. Ladybug will fix me. And when I give her these, she’ll love me again. And I’ll have all the family I ever need.” With that, he summoned his baton to break through the window, and launched out into Paris.

Gabriel laid still on the ground, holding his chest with one hand while Nathalie gripped his wrist with the other.

“I…what am I going to do?”

“Well, you know Adrien has the ring—“

“No doubt Chat Blanc will tell him everything before we can get to him. I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

“Then…what would you like to do?”

He spent a long time just breathing and thinking.

Choosing.

“I guess, apologize. And then hope that I haven’t done enough damage to lose the only family I have left.”

“Maybe, if he is Chat Noir, and you explain the truth to him…he’ll tell Ladybug. Maybe she’d help.”

“I doubt she’d do anything to help me, after all I’ve done.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I could just bleed out here. Save him the pain.”

“I won’t let you do that, Sir. As upset Adrien will be, he still loves you.”

“But for how long?”

“I think you should live and find out.”

—

Chat Blanc had never been so happy. He should be upset, angry, sobbing even, but he wasn’t.

He was getting his second chance. Paris was full, alive, teeming with traffic and swearing and smoking and everything foul that wasn’t there in his wastelands.

Hawkmoth was gone, and he was on his way to Marinette. With these, she had to love him, she just had to.

Francois DuPont never looked so pretty. The windows showed bored expressions of dozens of students.

Students that were alive and not submerged under water.

He dropped down in the courtyard, letting muscle memory take him up the stairs to his old classroom. The door was closed, but not locked.

Did he knock? Or did he just walk in? It had been so long…did he introduce himself? Did he apologize for interrupting?

He decided to forgo knocking, and pushed the door open on his own.

All eyes turned to look at him, but his attention was only on her.

Though he did get a glimpse of his own horrified face.

“Chat Noir?” The teacher asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He never stopped looking right at Marinette.

“I must be dreaming,” the girl in question said aloud. “I must have fallen asleep, and now I’m having a nightmare.” Tears were filling her eyes as her voice crumbled. “Please tell me you’re a nightmare, Chat.”

“No, My Lady. I’m real.” Did she know him from somewhere? Or was she just assuming he was an akumatized Chat Noir? “But this shouldn’t be a nightmare, Marinette.” His steps were slow and soft, trying not to spook her. “I’m your dream come true. Because it’s over now, and we can be together.”

She stood abruptly, smacking her knees on the desk and almost tumbling. “What are you talking about?”

He placed the Miraculous on the desk. “It’s over now. I won. Hawkmoth is no more, and there’s nothing that can hurt us. This will make you love me again!”

“Holy shit…” Said Alya.

Marinette just stared at them, and then at Chat. “How—?”

“He brought me here. Somehow, an Akuma I guess. He plucked me out of my time, and brought me here. This is my chance to start again, you know.” He grabbed her wrist. “Now our love won’t ruin the world! We can be happy again, My Lady! We can be happy and nothing will tear us apart!”

Adrien, who had up until very recently, by reveal of a certain nickname, thought that Marinette was only just Marinette, grabbed Chat Blanc and yanked him back, forcing him to let go of Marinette.

“Don’t touch her!” He snapped.

“And you—“ Chat Blanc grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. “A little liar with too much self preservation! Why didn’t you act sooner?! Why couldn’t you save her?!”

Adrien clawed at the hand on his throat. “I don’t—know what the hell—you’re talking about!”

“Don’t play stupid, Adrien! It’s not going to work on me, and you know that!”

His voice was just a whisper now, as he attempted to meet Chat Blanc’s gaze. “Whatever, man. But you think outing her is smart? You think that’ll make her like you?”

Chat Blanc crushed harder, suffocating him. “It doesn’t matter with Hawkmoth out of the way! And once I kill you, there will be no competition! She’ll love me for sure!”

Marinette had stashed the Miraculous in her purse once Chat Blanc had turned his back. She was going to attempt to talk him down, but at his threat on Adrien’s life, she realized he was beyond talking.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

Chat Blanc whirled back around, only to get a fist to the face.

Adrien fell on the floor, gasping.

“Are you alright?” She asked, helping him up.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he nodded. He knew she was Marinette, but the mask still turned his legs to jelly.

“Why do you protect him, Ladybug? Don’t you know you can just be happy with me?”

Marinette pushed Adrien behind her. “I might be able to be happy with my Chat Noir, but never with you. I love Adrien, and I’ll fight to protect him, even if he doesn’t love me back.” Though it was a brave declaration, she still blushed.

“Ugh, don’t you get it? I am him!”

“What?”

“I’m Adrien! Adrien is Chat Noir! We’re supposed to be together! And we were! We were happy, Marinette! And then—and then you told me you didn’t love me anymore. You almost got akumatized over that…but I saved you.” He snarled. “But he kept us apart. My father knew who I was, and he turned me into this…”

“Wait,” Adrien rasped. “Father turned you into…an akuma?”

“Because he’s Hawkmoth, Adrien. He always has been. Mother is alive, in a coma, in the basement. And he never let you see her, because he doesn’t trust you.”

“Shut up!” Ladybug shouted.

“Even after he knew who I was, he still hit me. He beat me, Adrien, because he doesn’t love us!”

Adrien held a hand over his face, willing his sobs to stay silent.

“We’re just a pawn for him. But…I can make it better. Let me destroy you, and everything will stop hurting. I’ll take care of Marinette, I promise!”

“That’s enough!” Ladybug lashed out and snagged his bell, ripped it from his throat, and smashed it on the floor.

Then she caught the butterfly as it emerged, purified it, and let it go. But she didn’t call for a cure, not yet.

Chat Noir, sans bell, glanced around the room in confusion. “Ladybug? What’s going on? Why are we here? Where’s Hawkmoth?”

She met him with tear streaked cheeks. “You’re in the wrong timeline, Chat Noir.”

His eyes flicked to Adrien, who was clearly shell shocked. “That would make…some sense.”

“You were akumatized, and our Hawkmoth brought you here…probably to recruit you.”

“Did I hurt anyone?”

“You beat him. You beat Hawkmoth.”

“And you tried to take my place,” Adrien hissed, showing his bruised throat.

Chat Noir gripped his hair fiercely. “Oh crap! Oh crap crap crap! I’m so sorry! He’ll be all better once you do the cure, right Bug?”

“Yeah. Physically, at least…but you did say some things that will hurt for a long time.”

“I didn’t mean any of it! I was an Akuma, they lie and say all sorts of things—“

“You told me about Father. And mother.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s too fresh in my mind to be a lie. I saw mom. He wanted to use the Miraculous to bring her back, but he was so unwilling to listen to me, to even think about working with us—that’s how it happened. He got me.”

“I’m so sorry, Kitty.” Ladybug lamented. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He shook his head. “It’s over now. If I defeated him, then you don’t have to be subjected to it,” he told Adrien. “I don’t mind taking one for the team.”

“Did you kill him?” Adrien asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Even if he did, casting cure would fix it.” Said Ladybug. “There might be hope for a happy ending.”

Chat Noir took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “My Lady, will you send me back? I have to see her again. My Marinette. I have to see her and make up with her.”

Ladybug patted his cheek fondly. “Knowing me, she probably still loves you. But something happened to make her put distance between you.”

“You’ll be happy together, right?” He asked, pouting.

Adrien slipped an arm around her waist and held her. “I think we’ll manage.”

Ladybug hugged Chat briefly. “Thank you. For all your trauma and suffering, you helped us.”

“You also revealed both of our identities to the class, but that’s the kind of mistake I would make as an Akuma…” Adrien winced.

Chat Noir looked at all the shocked and concerned faces around him. “Wow, look at all these comforting, understanding, and loyal friends you have. Where’s Lila?”

“Out sick today,” provided Sabrina.

“Perfect! Don’t ever ever tell her what happened here. She’s a liar and would tell our identities in a heartbeat for a chance for fame.”

“Not a problem, Kitty Cat,” said Alya, with a wink. “Some of us are pretty good secret keepers.”

“You knew!?” Adrien cried, with betrayal in his voice.

Alya winced. “Ah, yeah…”

“Adrien.” Ladybug took his face and held it with trembling hands. “My kitty, my partner, my best friend, what I’m about to tell you is going to suck and you’re going to hate it, and that’s why I haven’t told you.”

“I’ve already had a lot of bad news dropped on me today, lay it on me.”

She glanced at the rest of the class and then Chat Noir. “Let me send him home, and then we’ll talk in privacy.”

He nodded, not really fond of how much the class had already learned about him today.

Ladybug threw her yo-yo up in the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

In a wave of fluttering red, Chat Noir was gone, and so were the bruises on Adrien’s neck.

“Spots off.”

Now, the class started whispering. Up until that moment, shock held them in silence. After all, it's not everyday you find out your classmates are superheroes.

“Miss Bustier, are you okay if we leave for a while?”

The teacher stammered a second, unfreezing from her complete and total shock. “I think it would be a crime to make you stay here today.”

Marinette smiled gratefully, before taking Adrien’s hand and leading him out into the hall. He was silent, rightfully so, and Marinette could only be happy there was no chance of him getting akumatized.

Finally, they took a seat on a bench, and waited for the other to speak.

“I…didn’t think this was how our identities would be revealed,” he breathed.

“I always wanted to tell you.” Marinette insisted, “even though I said otherwise. Tikki and Master Fu were so adamant that I not tell a soul.”

“So why does Alya know?”

She rested a hand on his. “I’ll get to that. But first…Chat Blanc.”

Adrien sat attentive and quiet, holding his accusations for later.

“It started about three months ago, when I gave you that Beret.”

“Beret? The one from the Brazilian fan club?”

“Yeah…except it wasn’t. It was from me. Originally, I left it in your room, with my name on it. My real name. A little while after I left, Bunnix came to me, and explained that she needed my help. She took me into her burrow, and led me to the future…the future where you were akumatized.”

“As Chat Blanc.”

“Yes.”

“That same akuma, that same Chat Noir?”

“I assume so. The moon was destroyed, the city flooded. You were all alone, everyone was gone.”

“Where…where was that Ladybug?”

She hesitated to say it, but admitted, “I found her underwater…cataclysmed.”

“No…I wouldn’t have—“

“I know, Adrien. Chat Blanc was upset about it too. He cried. He wanted my Miraculous to make the wish and fix it.”

“Sounds like an Akuma alright,” he said bitterly.

“At the time, all I knew was that you knew my identity, and you said that our love destroyed the world. So…I assumed that you became akumatized by finding out who I was…and that the beret had something to do with it. So I erased my name.”

“Oh…but Chat Blanc said he was akumatized because of my parents.”

“I didn’t know that back then. I wish I had. As it stood, I was certain an identity reveal would end up with an Akuma.”

“I understand your reasoning…but what about Alya?”

She sighed, the guilt toiling around inside her. “That wasn’t…it was a spur of the moment thing. I was back into a corner and people were getting really worried about me. Worried and nosey…and so I told Alya. Rena Rouge.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I should have told you. I should have told you so you could have told someone. It’s not fair to think I was the only one that needed a confident.”

“If I had to pick someone that wasn’t you, it would have been Nino. So I get it. Really, I do.”

Tears welled up in her eyes regardless. He was hurting so badly, but what could she even do to help?

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes! Yes I do! Adrien, you’re my partner. Yes, keeping secrets can keep us safe for a while, but eventually we’ll run out of trust and then we’ll be in danger again. I don’t want to lose you!”

He gave her a little smile. “I might be upset, but you aren’t going to lose me. I promise.”

She squeezed his hand. “No more secrets. We train as guardians together. I’ll tell you all the auxiliary heroes, and all the formulas and—“ she stopped, blushing.

“What?”

“Ugh…I have to tell you something, since I said no more secrets.”

“Is it bad?”

“…no?”

He turned his hand to squeeze her back. “Okay. Well then, let’s hear it.”

She looked away, too nervous to look at his face. “Gah! This is just as hard as it’s always been!”

“I’m not going to judge you.”

“I know! I know!”

Pretend this is just Chat. She goaded herself.

“I…I’m in…love with you?” She squeaked out. There. The deed was done. She shyly turned to look at him.

Wide, sparkling eyes full of tears, but a big smile on his face. “You mean it? You said as much to Chat Blanc, but I didn’t know for sure…”

“Ugh, right. That.” She nodded. “You were the boy I kept turning…well, you down for. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not!” He chirped. “Marinette, if anyone was going to have a crush on me as Adrien, I’m so glad it’s you. You really know me! You’re special to me, and I always considered you as a friend.”

She sighed, hearing the magic words. “As I’ve heard.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She blushed again. “It’s just…whenever we had a moment, or I tried to do something special for you, you always remind me that you feel…nothing for me.”

“Wait, what? That’s what you got out of that?”

“That you want me as a friend and just a friend?”

He actually laughed at her and pulled her into a hug. “Marinette, I thought you were nervous around me because you were uncomfortable. I said that stuff to let you know I treasured our friendship. I love you so so much, My Lady. I was deeply in love with Ladybug, and completely in denial with Marinette.”

“Can confirm!” Shouted Plagg from inside his jacket.

“So having you be the same? I’m…I’m so happy!” He hugged her tightly. “Today has thrown a lot of bad things at me, and I’m so worried about what comes next. But with you, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He pulled away slightly. “You…will stay with me for whatever happens, right? I know Hawkmoth being my dad is kind of a deal breaker…”

Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up into him, kissing him right on the mouth.

He stiffened briefly, before melting against her and pulling her tighter into the hug.

The kiss was perfect, not in execution or performance, but because of the love they felt. Adrien nipped at her lip, and Marinette hummed as she twined her fingers into his hair.

They pulled away begrudgingly.

“You and me against the world, right Kitty?”

“You know exactly what to say to make my heart swoon, my lady love.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Kiss me and I’ll get over it.”

“I’m serious, Kitty.” She touched his cheek. “I knew it was going to hurt, and I foolishly and cowardly put it off, hoping it would go away.”

“Marinette, from what you said…it wasn’t just painful for me. It scared you, didn’t it? You said…when Chat Blanc appeared, that you thought you were having a nightmare. Do you dream of him?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Adrien.”

He considered his next move, and decided to scoop her up into his lap. “So, here’s my idea. If you have another nightmare about him, you call me, and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“And do what?”

“Hold you. Kiss you. Reassure you. Cuddle with you until you fall asleep. Whatever you need.”

She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too, bugaboo.”

Silence lapsed between for a while, as they just sat together, enjoying the warmth of their bodies, and the open air between them.

Marinette sighed. “We should probably go confront your father.”

“Yeah. We should…”

“Could…I offer you a reward if we go through with it?”

“What could possibly motivate me?”

“Once we’re done, and everything is put away…we can find a random, secluded rooftop and…make out for a while.”

Adrien stood, with Marinette still in his arms. “You know how to motivate a man.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just think about later.”

“One peck for the road?”

“One.”

Adrien held her tightly before dipping her and pressing a sinful, toe-curling kiss to her lips. When he finished a few minutes later, she breathlessly huffed, “that was not a peck.”

“No, but I need the strength.”

“Somehow, it’s a lot harder to stay mad at you. You can put me down now.”

“Nah. Plagg, Claws out!”

“Tikki, Spots on!”

The closer they got to the mansion, the faster Chat’s mood tanked. All the surface level happy feelings had bubbled away, and now he was filled with dread and apprehension.

“I…I don’t want to send my dad to jail,” he said, as they landed inside the walls.

“I know Kitty. I can do the talking.”

“You’re so good at it, Princess.”

She knocked twice, but didn’t wait for an answer before entering.

It didn’t matter. Gabriel and Nathalie were sitting in the lobby, waiting, as it appeared.

“Hello son,” said Gabriel, with not a trace of malice in his voice.

Chat halted, paling considerably. “You know?”

“Chat Blanc revealed as much. What did he tell you?”

“He said that…mom was still alive. You wanted the Miraculous to wake her up.”

“That’s right. But…” he sighed. “Can I humble myself and ask for your help, Ladybug? Can you look at her? Can you see if there’s any hope?”

“I would love to.”

#miraculous #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrien agreste #chat blanc #ladynoir #identity reveal

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sunnysviolin · 3 years

Text

Omotober Day Two- Faraway

You can also read it here on ao3

In a small town like Faraway, gossip is a ritual. The intricate ways of being nosey and knowing everything about your neighbors must be carefully taught to all new inhabitants.

“No matter what you do, someone always knew you would.” ― Ami McKay

“Country folk talked, that was all. Whether in the borderlands or the baronies, gossip was ever the chief sport.” ― Stephen King

Faraway is a town with only two thousand seven hundred and fourteen people. It just barely crosses the threshold of rural to suburban, and despite what the mayor promised with all of the new construction plans, the people of the town didn’t expect that there would be many more people coming anytime soon.

Faraway was perpetually sleepy, and when you combined that with how much it lived up to its name in being far from any city, most newcomers either left quickly or never stayed in the first place. Everything closed at nightfall, and the worst crime was high school ruffians who occasionally spraypainted a wall or smashed in a mailbox or two. The town was little, but the residents liked it that way. They liked not having to worry about locking their doors or watching their backs as they walked around. They liked being able to poke their heads into each others backyards and always being invited to every party and outing.

But Faraway did have one detraction. As with pretty much every small town, most of the residents were terrible gossips. Such was the fate of a place without much to do, neighbors found their entertainment in one another.

“Did you hear Perdita’s husband finally got sick of her and left? It was only a matter of time, she’s a complete alchie”

“Greg finally found out that Emily was cheating on him and now they’re getting divorced. It is going to be meeeeessy. They’re fighting over the house and the kids!”

But the biggest piece of gossip was what happened to Sharon.

Anyone who moved into the town learned the story quickly. Once the new neighbors had a chance to settle in, a group would come over with a plate of cookies or a casserole after church, and wait until they were offered a cup of coffee and a chat. It was the neighborly thing to do after all, and it was important that anyone coming into their world know what they were getting into. Once the coffee was poured and the trivial compliments about the layout of the house were given, then it would start.

First with some simple things- who was going behind whos back, which couple was doomed to get a divorce before too long. It was important to gauge here if this new neighbor would be one of them or not. If the new arrival seemed put off or uncomfortable, a few feelers would be put out. They might just be new to small town life and not aware of the importance of knowing all of this. If all attempts to chat were rebuffed, then the rest of the town knew that this person wouldn’t last long among them.

But sometimes a new neighbor showed potential, promise in their willingness to listen and participate. If that happened, then it was time to move onto the main story that plagued the town even four years after it had happened. No one ever meant to talk about it, but it was inevitable that it would be brought up. It wasn’t every day that one of the darlings of the town ended up dead after all.

“A tragedy, such a shame.”

“Hung herself! Poor thing,”

“The girl had been only fourteen- oh wait fifteen. Yes Mari had been fifteen.”

“No, she hadn’t left a note, but everyone could guess. Her parents were always such strange people, so strict and demanding of their children. It was inevitable that one of them would snap, but no one expected it to be Mari. She seemed so happy, so above it all.”

“She was in a relationship with Teresa’s boy. Not the one still here, of course, but the one who’s in college now, studying to be a doctor. All the way on the other side of the country if you can believe it!”

“It only got worse from there though. Sharon’s husband had left her afterwards, and she never told anyone why...He probably blamed her for it. Men can be that way, can’t they?”

“Now she goes around acting like nothing happened at all. It’s bizarre. If I lost my daughter you wouldn’t catch me acting like she never existed.”

“I hear she’s moving. Yes I’m sure, the manager over at Fix-Its told me that she asked him for a moving company reference,”

“I saw a For Sale sign in the front yard. It make sense though, I have no idea how she could have possibly lived in that house for the last four years, knowing what her child did there,”

“‘How could she live in that house’? What I want to know is how could she let her son stay in there day in day out! After what happened to him,”

“Oh, sorry honey, let us explain. So Sharon has, well had, two children. Mari, her daughter and Sunny, her son. I can’t for the life of me remember how old he is. High school age now I suppose...but no one has seen him in years,”

“ Years . We’re completely serious. Sharon does errands and goes to work in an office nearby as a secretary, and she shows up sometimes for a cup of coffee or the occasional church meeting, but no one has seen Sunny since his sister died. He’s the one that found her, and he completely lost his mind. He’s psychotic now,”

“Now that isn’t fair. That child went through something no person should ever have to, and at such a young age. It’s no wonder the boy has issues, but Sharon should have done something. At least forced him to keep going to school,”

“You can’t deny that the child is strange, Margaret. He was strange before he found his sister hanging from a tree. My Ethan was in classes with him, and he said he used to see Sunny staring out the window for the entire class period without blinking. Like he was possessed,”

“He was friends with Perdita’s girl, and we all know how that child turned out. She’s going to end up making license plates and eating gruel before she turns twenty, mark my words,”

“And what about what happened to the cat? You can’t deny that’s strange,”

“Oh that’s just a rumor. I don’t believe it,”

“Rumors, but no ones seen it since she died. Lacey swears that she saw a dead cat in their trash bin only a week after Mari’s funeral. Don’t look at me that way, I’m just saying. I certainly don’t have any plans to let my children near that house,”

“Even if you did, they wouldn’t let you in! Teresa’s boy goes there every afternoon, and no one ever answers the door. He’s such a sweetheart, you should introduce your kids to him. Kel’s always been a rather lonely boy for some reason, even though he’s such a nice child. He’s been practically distraught since his brother left for school, the one we told you is going to be a doctor?”

“Oh by the way, make sure you don’t say any of this to Teresa or her husband. She’s still very close with Sharon and views Sunny like one of her own. If only Kel had rubbed off a little more on him,”

“I’m just glad that Kel got out of that group of kids before it completely devolved. Teresa’s boys are far to good to be around children like Sunny and Aubrey,”

#omori #omotober #omori sunnys mom #omori sunnys dad #omori mari #omori sunny #omori aubrey #omori kel #omori hero #omori fic #omori faraway #faraway town #bitchy smalll town life is intricate

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mnictasbcl · 2 years

Text

A little pocket of the universe (just for us)

FANDOM: THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

Relationships: Viktor Hargreeves/Sissy Cooper

Characters: Viktor Hargreeves, Sissy Cooper, Harlan Cooper

Tags: Violence, Canon fix-it scene, Canon divergence, Hurt, Swearing

Summary: Season 2, episode 7, but Viktor gets to be a lot more violent.

Read it on AO3! Or, read below

“I left a note.”

For the first time in his short, amnesiac life, Viktor felt angry. Truly angry. No, not at Sissy—it wasn’t her fault she’d felt she had to leave a note to say goodbye to the man she’d been married to for years. He was angry at the situation. At the police officers blocking the road, preventing their escape.

Anger was hot and white, and it was burning in his chest, struggling like a caged bird who wanted to burst free. He clutched the steering wheel in his hands, reigning it in, slowing the car to a stop. Tie a noose around the bird’s neck; he couldn’t let it escape. Sudden images flicked into his mind; white, searing power. Destruction. He took in a breath and rolled the car window down.

“The hell you doing here, Jerry?”

“Carl was mighty worried about his son. Where you off to?”

Viktor closed his eyes, willing the officer to go away. The bird was struggling against its restraints, noosed neck bulging with a shrill scream building in its throat. It was high-pitched and droning like the whistle of a kettle about to boil over. He tried not to look at Jerry, reminding himself that he couldn’t do what that little boy—Five—had said he’d done before: ended the world. Apparently, his emotions had torn the moon in two and caused the apocalypse. He wasn’t allowed to be angry.

“Sir, ma’am? Get out of the car.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong.” Sissy pleaded, but the officer was insistent.

“Except kidnap a child.”

“He’s my baby, Jerry.”

“That’s between you and Carl.”

Viktor clenched the steering wheel tighter, feeling the leather bending beneath his fingers. He shouldn’t be angry, but he was. He held a great power inside him, crackling white like the sting of electricity buzzing in the air. He should be angry. This wasn’t fair.

“Get out. I ain’t askin’ you a third time.”

Sissy turned to the side, presumably to pull open the door, but Viktor stopped her with a raise of his hand.

“I’ll do it, Sissy.”

“Viktor, we’ve both got to go…”

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He looked to her, feeling the energy pooling within him beginning to glow.

“Your eyes—” She gasped, “Your eyes, Viktor, they’re—”

“We’re getting out of here.” He said with no room for argument, turning and opening the car door. Before he stepped outside, he glanced to the backseat. “Close your eyes, Harlan, okay?”

The boy nodded slowly, and when that was done, Viktor left the vehicle.

Outside, the officers were waiting, circling the car like birds of prey, but suddenly their formation was broken when they saw Viktor.

“What the fuck—” Was all Jerry managed to get out before he was thrown backward by a great force that emerged from Viktor. The white was spreading out from his eyes to his skin, giving him an ethereal glow, and he held his arms out to the sides as if he were about to take flight.

“Get him, get—” The next officer’s sentence was cut off as Viktor raised his left arm, holding up his hand, fingers curling upwards as if he were holding a violin. He began to pluck at invisible strings, and with each silent note he played, the officer’s body contorted. First his legs left the ground, then his back arched, further and further until it snapped and the man hung limp in the air. With a flick of his wrist, Viktor sent his body tumbling away.

Nodding, he looked around, unsure where the third officer had gone. But suddenly he heard an intake of breath behind him, and he raised his other hand and threw away the man. He turned on his heel, seeing the crumpled figure smashed against the hood of the police car, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He brought his hands down, letting the invisible violin rest, before placing his hands onto the man’s chest and smiling.

“Tell them not to follow us.” He tapped his fingers in a steady beat, this time imitating a piano, but the keys were the fragile bones of the man’s ribcage. He wheezed and groaned but the words couldn’t get out.

Viktor pulled his hands away for one brief moment, before making one sweeping motion across his neck, effectively shutting the man up. And suddenly, the whistling was gone. The hot white energy still buzzed at his fingertips, but… they were safe. It wasn’t anger anymore he felt, but determination. He brought his hands to his sides, and turned back to the car.

Harlan still had his eyes closed, but Sissy was staring at him as he got back in the vehicle, eyes bright and wide.

“Viktor, I… what in god’s name was that?”

He smiled, pulling his seatbelt back on, feeling the energy begin to dim. “What we deserve, Sissy. We can go, now. Anywhere we want.”

He let the moment hang in the air for a second longer before turning on the car engine, driving forwards, barely comprehending the soft thump beneath the wheels; he’d accidentally driven over one of the bodies of the officers.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #viktor hargreeves #sissy cooper #tua viktor hargreeves

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unbound-space-trash · 3 years

Text

Stars

summary: the mandalorian comes back from a hunt, but you’re not quite ready to go from being cooped up on the ship planetside, to being cooped up on the ship in space [ao3]

words: 2.3k

warnings: none except for some swearing and fluff about idiots in love

a/n: I really wasn’t expecting this to be longer than a thousand words, but more words kept happening and it just... kept going... so, have some words

✰ ✰ ✰

The Child babbled and waved his arms animatedly at you as the two of you played on the floor of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold.

It was closing in on the fourth day since the Mandalorian had left to go chase down a bounty, and you and the Child were both getting a little restless from being cooped up on the ship.

You were also starting to feel a desperate need for adult interaction, because while the Child had no problem holding up a side of a conversation, it wasn’t exactly intelligible. And sure, Mando wasn’t the most talkative of beings (if you were being honest, sometimes you felt like you were talking to an empty helmet for all he held up his end), at least conversations between the two of you revolved around topics other than food and naps.

You stretched your arms above your head before gathering up the pile of scattered blocks again. “Alright little one, I’ll cut you a deal,” you said as you fixed the Child with a mock-stern look. “I’ll help you build one more tower, and then you help me tidy up and put together some dinner, yeah?”

The Child tilted his head at you before reaching out and patting the palm of the hand you offered him, an excited look in his eyes at the promise of minor destruction and food.

You laughed. “Excellent. Now hand me that green one and we can-“

thumpthump thump thumpthump

The sound of someone hitting the outer hull of the Crest cut you off, and at the recognition of the familiar pattern, you quickly shoved the colourful blocks behind a crate before scooping up the Child and rushing up the ladder to close the two of you in the cockpit.

More than used to the routine by now, the Child was quiet in your arms as you got yourself settled in the co-pilots seat. His large ears perked up at the sound of the rear hatches ramp descending, and then you found yourself hurriedly covering said ears at the sudden onslaught of curses and insults.

“-iece of shit! Take these fuckin’ cuffs off me so I c’n knock th’t shitty fuckin’ helmet off your fuckin’ head, you stupid shiny moth-FUCK!”

The familiar hiss of the carbonite freezer cut off the swearing of the pissed off bounty and the Crest fell mostly silent again, until the sound of someone climbing the ladder drifted into the cockpit.

The cockpit doors opened and you shot an unimpressed look at the Mandalorian standing in the doorway, your hands still covering the Child’s ears.

“You know, I really won’t be surprised if the kid’s first word in Basic is ‘fuck’,” you said, before lowering your hands.

Mando made his way into the cockpit and turned the pilot’s seat around to face you before sitting down. “Neither would I,” he huffed, leaning forward to take the Child who had started squirming with a vengeance the second his beskar-clad guardian had appeared. Mando turned his attention to the kid. “You behave while I was gone, ad’ika?”

The Child babbled and waved his hands animatedly.

“Eh, about as well as can be expected, all things considered,” you said as you made a see-saw motion with your hand. “On a totally unrelated note, if you find food stuck to anything high up, I’ll let you use your imagination as to how it got there.”

Mando shook his head. “Womp rat,” he grumbled, and you could hear the accompanying eyeroll. His helmet looked back in your direction. “Sorry it took so long. Bastard was smarter than I thought he’d be. But we should have a clear run back to Nevarro for a couple rest days before heading back out again.”

You couldn’t help the look of displeasure that crossed your face at the thought of being cooped up on the Razor Crest for even longer.

“What is it?” Mando asked.

You moved to stand up, “I- nothing.”

Mando’s head tilted at your hesitation. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” You dropped back down into the co-pilots seat with a sigh. “The kid and I have been inside the Crest the whole time you were gone, and I just…” You sighed again, looking down as you picked at a loose thread on your shirt. “I was kind of hoping that we could, you know, stay a bit longer and just… get some fresh air and let the kid chase bugs or roll in the grass or whatever.” You raised your head back up to look at the Mandalorian who was just looking back at you. Probably. He was facing you at least. “O-only if it’s safe! That’s… that’s why we didn’t go outside while you were gone. I mean, I know you taught me to shoot so I can help protect the kid if I need to, but-”

“Cyar’ika, stop.” The Mandalorian cut you off.

You looked back down at your lap again. “‘M sorry, I knew it was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Mando said and he shifted the Child to one arm as he stood, offering you a hand.

You relished the feel of the worn leather in your hand as he pulled you up, a bright smile lighting up your features. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“C’mon mesh’la, I’ll start a fire and we can eat outside.”

You followed Mando out of the cockpit. He still hadn’t explained his nicknames for you, but they sound somewhat affectionate at least, so you guess you don’t mind.

✰ ✰ ✰

After he set up a small area and built up a fire just outside the cover of the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian disappeared back inside to clean up in the ‘fresher, while the Child “helped” you put together a quick stew for dinner.

As it cooked, you kept a close eye on the Child as he toddled through the grass and chased bugs in dying sunlight. When the Mandalorian returned, he took over so that you could take your own turn to wash up in the ‘fresher.

Once the food was ready, the Mandalorian went back up to the cockpit to eat, while you and the Child ate next to the fire.

You watched the Child’s eyes drooping closed more and more near the end of the meal, eventually retrieving his bowl before the poor kid could fall asleep in what little was left of his stew. Picking him and taking him inside, the combination of a full belly and running off all his excess energy had the Child asleep almost as soon as he was tucked into his little hammock.

The Mandalorian made his way back outside after you’d settled back next to the fire, leaning back a bit to look up at the stars.

“Where’s the kid?” He asked as he walked down the ramp.

You gestured in the direction of the bunk. “Comatose. I think that’s the easiest time I’ve ever had putting him down to sleep,” you said, a fond smile on your face.

Your gaze was still fixed on the stars above you, so you didn’t really notice the Mandalorian watching you. Not that you would have been able to see the way he looked at you, drinking in your features; the soft smile on your face, the way the stars reflected in your eyes. His adoration for you hidden behind a mask of beskar.

A gloved hand entered your line of sight. “Stand up.”

Your eyes flickered suspiciously between his visor and his hand, thinking back to the last time he’d done this, and the bruised ass and ego that had resulted from the self-defence lesson. “Mando, if you’re seriously thinking about another punching lesson, I’m going to politely tell you to fuck off.”

He said nothing, hand still held out waiting to help you up.

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he wouldn’t back down. “Fine, but just know, if I end up puking, I’ll be aiming directly for your boots,” you grouched as you took his hand and were pulled to your feet.

An amused snort made its way through the modulator of the helmet as he led you by the hand to the side of the Crest, nodding to the handholds on the outer hull that led to the top of the ship. “Up.”

“Oh, hell no!” You looked at him in disbelief. “Nu-uh, I am not climbing up there so you can teach me a lesson in watching where I put my feet! Because when I fall off-“

“I won’t let you fall off, cyare, just climb up the damn ladder,” he said gruffly.

“Fine,” you said with a frown as you took your hand out of his (somewhat reluctantly) and climbed up the side of the ship.

You heard him begin his own ascent as you neared the top, and after you reached the roof of the Crest, you took up what you hoped was a solid stance. “I hope you’re prepared to explain to the kid why I have a broken arm tomorrow, Mando,” you told him.

His helmet tilted slightly. “You don’t trust me, cyare?”

You raised an eyebrow at him in response. “Mando, I trust you with my life. I don’t trust myself not to topple my ass off- … wh-what’re you doing?” You stuttered to a halt as he sat down on the roof.

The Mandalorian shrugged what would have been nonchalantly if you hadn’t picked up on the slightly nervous quality of his voice. “You can get a better view of the stars from up here.”

“I- you… I thought... s-stars?” All of your higher brain function seemed to have deserted you at the sight of your Mandalorian looking up at you, leaning back on one hand while the other rested on his knee.

He chuckled at the combination of confusion and appreciation on your face. “Yes mesh’la, stars.” He leaned forward to take his weight off his arm. “Are you going to stand there staring all night, or are you going to come sit down?”

You startled at the gentle teasing tone in his voice. “Oh, yeah- I… o-okay,” you stuttered out as you made your way over to him. You sat down next to him, leaving a foot of space between the two of you, only to let out a squeak of surprise as his arm came around your back and tugged you so that you were flush against his side.

There was another tug at your shoulder, this time directing you backwards. “Lie down, cyare,” he murmured next to your ear as he gently guided you to lay down with your head on his bicep.

A cool breeze drew you out of the shock of being pulled into such an intimate position with the Mandalorian, and you hesitantly wriggled a bit closer into his warmth. The arm curled around you tightened slightly and his thumb hesitantly began to rub gentle circles on your own arm. “Is… is this okay, mesh’la?”

You smiled at the question. “Yes Mando, this is more than okay,” you said, before turning your head to look back up at the stars.

The two of you had been laying there for a while, silently watching the moon as it made its slow march across the sky before you spoke up. “Are you ever going to tell me what they mean?”

The Mandalorian turned his head to you. “... the stars?”

You snorted out a laugh, “no, you overgrown tin can. What you call me, you know, the nicknames in what I’m going to assume is Mando’a.” His thumb stopped rubbing circles and you lifted yourself up on one elbow to look at him with a small frown. “None of them mean ‘asshole’, right?”

He huffs out a surprised laugh and pushes himself up to lean back on his elbows too. “No, none of them mean asshole,” he said as he turned his head back to the sky.

“Then what-”

“Beautiful.” His helmet tilted back towards you.

“I- what?” You were sure you hadn’t heard him properly.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat a little. “Mesh’la. It means ‘beautiful’.” He reached up and poked at the frown line between your eyebrows when you stayed silent, your mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, and then his hand moved to cup your cheek. “You are beautiful.”

You turned your face into his hand and pressed a shy kiss into the palm of his glove even as you felt your face heating up. “Mando-” you began, but he shook his head and pulled you towards him to rest your forehead on his.

“Din,” his voice was soft and low, the single syllable barely picked up by the modulator. “Din Djarin. Not Mando, not to you.”

His name.

You pulled back to look at him, eyes tearing up a little even as your lips quirked into a smile at the trust he had in you to give you his name. “Din Djarin,” you murmured, testing out his name for yourself.

A low noise rumbled in his chest. Fuck, but he liked how his name fell from your lips. “Can I hold you again, ner kar’ta?”

“Of course,” you smiled and the two of you lay back down, Man- Din pillowing his head on his arm while you tucked yourself back into his side. “So, does this mean you’re going to tell me what the other ones mean?”

Din chuckled and you enjoyed how it sounded directly under your ear. “Not just yet, mesh’la. But maybe…” he broke off as if thinking about something.

“Maybe?” you questioned, perking up at the idea of possibly learning what another one meant.

“Shabuir,” he spoke up after a moment.

“You haven’t called me that before. What’s it mean?”

Din chuckled again. “That one means asshole.”

You huffed a laugh of your own and poked him in an unarmored section of his side in retaliation. “Shut up and watch the stars with me, smartass.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x gn!reader #the mandalorian x reader #gender neutral reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfic

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sidespart · 4 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building. Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room. Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone, presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack. Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow. Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #creativitwins #this chapter is just #roman having an extended panic and making piss poor decisions #but also having great friends #alas #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

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