#a dash of denial to help me heal

[paperclipbean]

This is my first ever attempt at fanfic. I've got several ideas for stories; but, I'm starting with an alternate ending to the last 15 minutes. Maybe it's blasphemy. Maybe it's denial. Whatever it is, if it helps me heal, I'm here for it.

THE LAST 15 REIMAGINED

“Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever,” Aziraphale pleaded, looking longingly at Crowley’s face.

“No. I don’t suppose it does.” Crowley’s face hardened and he lifted his sunglasses. Aziraphale knew what that meant, Crowley was pulling away. What had he said wrong? His thoughts raced back over the conversation; but, he didn’t have time to ruminate. He had to do something. Now. 

“Wait!” 

Aziraphale reached out and placed his hand on Crowley’s chest to stop him from walking away. Crowley froze, glasses half up his face, eyes peering over the tops at Aziraphale, jaw clenched.

“Please wait,” Aziraphale said more softly, “What I mean to say is, nothing on Earth lasts forever. Not the Ritz, or our bench, or my waistcoat,” he chuckled, “Not even my books or this bookstore, even though I wish it could. I love this bookstore. But I…” 

Suddenly his throat was so dry. It was closing up. He tried to swallow and a small choking sound escaped. Crowley lowered his glasses and placed his hand over Aziraphale’s hand on his chest. The contact renewed Aziraphale's determination.

“I love this bookstore. But I love you more,” he blurted out.

Crowley’s eyes watered. He was vaguely aware that time was passing and that something terrible was about to happen if they didn’t act quickly. But, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from those perfect pale blue eyes.

“I— I— ghmmmmm,” a low growl blocked the words from forming. Why was this so difficult? He’d dreamt of this moment for thousands of years. Maybe that was it. It was too fragile, too precious. Releasing this dream into the waking word meant it could be broken. He must protect this dream at all costs. And, he must protect Aziraphale, his angel.

“I can’t let you walk into a trap. They will try and destroy you again. You must know that, right?”

“Possibly. Probably. Yes. Maybe. But that’s beside the point,” Aziraphale shook his head to clear his thoughts,  “I have to try.”

Crowley turned away and ran his hands through his hair. Of course Aziraphale had to try. Of course he believed he could defeat all the odds. Crowley paced. It helped him think.  Defeat the odds for what purpose? To save Earth again? He just said it won’t last forever… He spun back around to face the naive idot,

“Why? Why are you so determined to go back to that toxic place?”

“Well, I would have assumed that was obvious— “ 

A glare from Crowley caused Aziraphale to look at the floor. How did he keep choosing all the wrong words? He took a deep breath and tried again,

“I can make a difference. I can make it truly good — as it should be,” Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, “I can make it safe to ask questions. I can make it safe for you.”

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hands but Crowley stepped back.

“I thought… after all this time. Do you still not know me? I am not the angel you once knew, Aziraphale. I am something else. I had hoped…” he looked at the floor and summoned courage to finish his thought, “I had hoped you had finally accepted that. Accepted me.” 

“You may be something new; but, you are still, very much so, the angel I’ve always known. You acted like a demon because it was your job and you had to. But I’ve always seen the good inside you. You are creative, and kind, and-“

“And NOT an angel! I don’t want to be. Don’t you get that? You are the exception Aziraphale. You are different. You think for yourself and you actually care about others. Please. Please don’t go back to heaven. They will ruin you.” 

“Even if I were to stay, this wouldn’t be over. Even if we ran away…” a wistful expression crosses Aziraphale’s face then he refocuses, “They aren’t going to leave us alone. They aren’t going to leave Earth alone. I have to do something. I have to try.”

Crowley paces the floor in long cool strides. Aziraphale’s words seep into his brain. Reluctantly, he realizes Aziraphale is right. Neither side is going to let this go. 

Aziraphale has been holding his breath, glancing nervously between the window, the door, and Crowley. 

“Right. We’ll face this together,” Crowley says, still pacing. Aziraphale exhales as Crowley continues, “Just like everything else. It’s nothing new. We just have to stall long enough to come up with a plan.”

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 1

Source for the pic

Firestarter 1

Word Count: 3056

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Special Warning 2 : Below the summary is the masterlist. I advise reading the introductory chapters first, as they give a sense of the story, introduce characters and locations and, this chapter starts off immediately after the Sanji chapter.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: Here's the first chapter of Ace's story. I've been having a blast writing this, I do hope you enjoy it as well. If you want to be tagged when I post a new chapter, let me know! Also, don't be shy, I'd love to read about your thoughts! Thank you! ❤️

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

Next Chapter

After lunch you take another quick stroll through town and ask around for some part-time jobs, but nothing’s available so you return to your car, ready to go home and hoping Nami and Robin can help you find that job, like they promise they would. 

But the car doesn't start. 

You try to do what your father said, as silly and idiotic as it may seem. You pet the dash of the car and the steering wheel and coo at them in a soothing voice. 

“Hi, sweetheart. You're going to work for me now, aren't you? You're a pretty little girl, aren't you?” 

Rolling your eyes and inhaling deeply, you turn the key again and the engine sputters and chokes almost catching but it doesn't and you grunt. 

You spend the next fifteen minutes alternating between spewing pretty words at the car and shouting ugly insults, but the car is dead. Finally you give up and call your dad. 

“Dad, the stupid car won't start!” you whine like a teenager, not caring because you're annoyed and upset. 

“Have you tried-...”

“Yes!” You interrupt. “I've tried everything! I've tried being nice and petting it, and I've tried being mean and hitting it. None of it is working!”

You hear Ace's loud guffaws in the background and instantly blush. “One of those options usually gets me started!” He shouts and you ignore him. You hadn't realised you were on speaker. Shanks starts to go into detail about what you should do but you just sigh in exasperation. 

“Can you come help me, dad? Please?” You add another little whine to your voice because that might do the trick. He sighs on the other end and concedes so you tell him exactly where you are parked. 

You still try to get the car to work while you wait, but it only makes you more and more frustrated. On your last attempt, you make the engine overheat and smoke billows everywhere, so you get out of the car, open the hood and wave your hands around to disperse the smoke. 

The smell of burnt oil and smoke is overpowering, and you are soon assaulted by a coughing fit before the cloud dissipates and you manage to take a look inside. Supporting  your weight on your hands, you lean inside, certain that you can find whatever is wrong with it despite having zero knowledge of mechanics. You have absolutely no idea what you are looking for. 

“Princess, you wanna kill me?” Ace's voice is deeper than you've ever heard it, and he manages to surprise you enough to elicit a small gasp. 

“Ace!”

He's leaning against the hood of his jeep, legs crossed, a hand on his chest and a smirk on his lips as his eyes drink you in. At least he has a shirt on for once, which is a first since your reencounter. “You can't lean like that while wearing a tiny dress.” He emphasises with hand gestures so you get his point. “Someone might see more than you intended.” His smirk grows. 

Your eyes pierce his without any hint of amusement. “Are you saying that you saw my butt, Mr. Someone?”

His laugh bubbles up in a sweet sound as his freckles dance along with the vibrations and you have to force yourself not to get dragged along into laughter as well. 

“I'm not saying that. I just don't want someone else to see it.” You can't control the small blush that fills your cheeks with embarrassment. The way Ace manages to make you flustered is almost infuriating. 

“Where's my dad?” You ask, deadpan. 

“Couldn't make it.”

“Meaning?” You are proudly becoming Ace-fluent and understanding that everything he says has a double meaning. 

“I volunteered.”

“That's what I thought.” You sigh and he laughs. “Can you actually help?”

He moves away from his jeep and approaches you, supporting one hand on the hood and the other on his hip while casually glancing over the engine. “That's totally fried.” He points at the engine and shakes his head. “You'll need to come with me.” With another languid smirk he points at his jeep. 

“You're bullshitting.”

“I resent that.” His hurt-boy act almost convinces you. 

“No you don't!” 

“I don't. I just like to see you mad at me.” 

You huff and place both hands on your hips while glaring at him. “Be serious, Ace!”

He sighs and this time actually leans properly into the hood, starting to mess with some parts. You have no idea if he's just touching things for the sake of it or if he actually knows what he's doing. 

“I know what I'm doing.” Is he a mind reader? “I help Franky at the firehouse all the time. He's the mechanic, but I know a few basics.”

“Firehouse?”

“Yeah, I'm a firefighter!” He exclaims as if it's something you should've known by now. 

“I didn’t know that.”

“Luffy works with me there as well. It’s hardly a job when we have as much fun as we do.” He chuckles softly. “I guess we’re lucky firefighters since there are barely any accidents where people get hurt. It’s mostly forest fires or small car accidents.”

You nod. “The perks of a small town.” You mumble as you lean closer to see what he’s doing and your shoulders bump and brush together. He’s warm and taut but you focus your eyes on his hands, paying no mind to your closeness. You notice that he’s screwing some oily nuts. He uses just the tip of his middle finger to turn the nuts, and the precision with which he does so is insane.

And he smells nice. How can he smell so good if he’s been working with your father all morning? He smells like…  nature! Some sort of sandalwood or cedarwood with a fresh hint of pine. It’s intoxicating and you try to breathe as little as possible near him.  

“Yeah, and that’s why I have time to help your dad and learn new stuff. Franky’s the genius mechanic, but I’ve got a few tricks.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, but you don’t look at him.

You're still distracted by the nuts and the amount of oil making his fingers glisten as he twirls them. You’re not usually a very carnal girl, but Ace does things to you and your body. Uncontrollable things. Inadvertently, you wet your lower lip and let it catch between your teeth, humming at his answer, or at his actions, you can't quite tell, except that hum sounded quite close to a low grunt. “That's… interesting.” 

Wow. Awesome brain power. You almost kick yourself for that but he immediately catches on and stops his motions, his eyes looking at you hungrily as they pause on your lips and the way you're biting them. Then travel up to your eyes and it’s almost as if he leans into you, like magnets being pulled close together. So close. 

“You alright there, princess?” He exhales sultrily as his warm breath tingles near your face, and you gasp, coming out of your bliss and scratching your head with nervousness. 

“Yes, yes. I'm fine.” You train your eyes back on the car’s insides. “So, is it overheating?”

“Damn right it is.” He mumbles making you look up once more and his eyes never leave your lips. Your breath catches as you pull away from the hood to gain some distance from him. 

But as you do, you take a step back towards the open road, just as a car is going by. 

“Watch it!” He yelps as his oily hand grasps your forearm with a strong grip, that’s sure to bruise, and he pulls you towards him making you collide with his chest with a sound oomph. “That was freaking close!”

Your heart is banging against your chest in an insane rhythm, the adrenaline of almost being hit by a car making you tremble and gasp for air. Ace’s hand is still gripping your forearm tightly and it’s starting to hurt but you can’t seem to find your voice. 

“Drive slower, asshole! You’re in the city” He screams at the car, his other hand wrapping protectively around you and settling on your head, pulling you flush against him. It’s a weird dichotomy, this feeling. One hand holds you tightly with a deathly vice while the other protects and soothes you with a soft caress.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent - that strong wooden scent - trying to ground yourself and will your heart to calm down. 

“Are you alright?” He mutters your name softly, trying to shake you out of your slight shock. 

Nodding fervently you pull back, away from his warmth and his intoxicating scent. You find your voice and force it out with a shaky breath. “You’re hurting me, Ace.”

He eyes you quizzically for a moment before realising he’s still holding your arm as if you’re about to be taken away from him. His grip relaxes instantly and he raises his hands releasing a string of apologies. 

“Ah, crap, sorry. I didn’t realise I was still holding you that tightly.”

Your arm hurts and will definitely bruise, but you don’t want him to feel bad about saving you, so you give it a quick massage and dismiss the subject with a smile. “Thank you, Ace. That was quick thinking.”

His face seems deadly serious and you had yet to witness this side of him. “It shouldn’t have to be necessary. The asshole was driving way out of limits. I should’ve gotten his plate number to give to Zoro.” He sighs as his eyes leave the road and finally settle back on you. “You sure you’re alright?”

The slight edge of his voice makes you realise he was also scared, despite not showing it, and you are deeply grateful. “I really am.”

“Oh, shit. I smeared oil all over your arm, hang on.” You look at the arm he was gripping and it is, indeed, covered in greasy oil that transferred from his hand, but you’re fine with it, you’re about to go home, anyway. Yet Ace doesn’t relent, he seems to be looking for a rag or something to wipe your arm with.

“I think I have some wipes in-... no, Ace! That’s not necessary!” But you’re too late. Off with the shirt he goes and now you start to think that he might be allergic to any kind of shirt since he’s always so keen on having his torso bare. 

“I’ll clean you up in a second.” He uses his shirt to wipe your arm and you sigh, knowing full well that this is a useless fight and you can’t win, so you just let him do his thing. 

A string of giggles and high-pitched squeals makes you turn your head to the sidewalk. Sure enough there are two girls giggling in each other’s arms, ogling Ace’s form and you frown.

“Hiiiiii, Ace!” They say in unison, their voices hitting a note that would’ve been able to shatter the finest of crystal glasses. 

Ace’s job is thorough, though, and he only turns when there’s no trace of oil on your arm. But when he does turn, it’s with a cheeky smirk and a tip of his hat. “Hello, ladies!” He leans his hand back into the hood of the car so he can give his full attention to them.

They giggle some more and you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Pathetic.” Mumbling curses between your teeth, you close the hood with vigour, making Ace yelp because you almost caught his hand in the process. “Sorry.” You scorn, not sorry at all. 

Then you reach inside and take out your purse and car keys, locking it in the process, and walk towards Ace’s jeep.

“Let’s just go.” You state coldly.

Why are you acting so jealous? It’s not like Ace is anything to you. You’re not special, you’re nothing to him. 

And you don’t want to be anything to him. So maybe get a grip and stop acting bitchy?

The girls wave goodbye at Ace and one of them tells him to call her because she misses him. You’re not quite sure how your eyes don’t fall out of their sockets from the force with which you roll them. 

Acting bitchy it is, then, you decide as you settle into the passenger seat.

He finally climbs into his jeep and you’re about to ask if he’s seriously going to drive without a shirt on, when he reaches into the backseat - leaning towards your side and making you turn to the window so you don't have to face his naked chest right up your nose - and retrieves another crumpled shirt, putting it on in a swift movement. 

Your eyes follow his earlier movement, to see if there’s an infinite pile of shirts back there, and you release a light snort through your nose at the sight you discover. There’s a folded duvet and a pillow, and thinking about the size of the bed of his jeep, your head instantly makes the assumption on why he keeps that in his car. 

You don’t want to do it, you don’t want to think about it, it just happens. Your mind is stronger than your will and, in a split second, pictures of you and Ace in the back of that jeep course through your head.

The open night sky above you, shining with stars, little dots that act as sole witnesses to your acts of passion;

Languid kisses that trail from your neck, to your chest and end in your lower belly, promising more;

Feather like touches that start on your entwined hands, where he places them above your head. His fingers trace the inside of your raised forearm, tickle your armpit, and follow along your side to your ribs, settling on the bone of your hip, stealing your breath away;

His body slotted above yours, his knee between your legs, keeping them open for him as his chest lowers above you and his lips claim yours;

You shake your head vigorously, mentally chastising yourself for what your mind conjured. He’s a player! You don’t need another fuckboy in your life. Hell, you don’t need another man in your life, period!

“Do you want me to call Kid? He owns the mechanic shop and he can tow your car.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it later. Just take me home, Ace.” You realise how cold you sound and you’re pretty sure he realises that too because he keeps looking at you with his eyebrow raised.

“What happened to your mood, princess? I’m sure Kid can fix your car in a heartbeat.”

He’s seriously that clueless? Figures.

Setting your sight on the open window and the view outside as he starts the jeep, you shake your head.

“Sure. Don’t call me princess.”

Ace settles an arm behind your headrest and turns his body to look back as he reverses the jeep and you force your head to stay still and your eyes to stay glued on the post office signpost across the street.

Fuckboy, player, womaniser. Fuckboy, player, womaniser.

You keep repeating that mantra without fail until he finally faces forward and drives the car. There are few things sexier than a hot man reversing the car like that and you’re not about to add that image of Ace to your already scrambled brain. You refuse. 

“Are your panties in a twist, princess?” He chuckles.

“Two things, Ace. Three, actually.” You raise your fingers as you go and this time you actually look at him. “Don’t talk about my panties, don’t talk to me the rest of the way, and don’t call me princess!” You emphasise the last sentence and end with a hiss and a huff followed by crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the window. 

You can almost hear the cogs turning inside his head. You’re pretty sure he’s reliving every interaction with you up until this moment and why you’re acting pissed. But you’re not about to admit to him the real reason. 

It’s a freaking stupid reason!

You’re not entitled to be upset. You’re not even entitled to be jealous or pissed. Yet, here you are. So you might as well just roll with it. But you’ll never admit it. Ever.

The ride is tense and it seems longer than it actually is, so you can’t wait to jump out of the jeep as soon as he parks it outside your house, but he presses the button that locks the doors and you sigh while turning to him with a raised brow and pursed lips, waiting for him to speak.

“What did I do?”

“That’s a good start. Always admit to guilt. Men are always at fault.” You snort and try the door, even though you know it won’t budge. 

“Princess, look at me. I really don’t know what I did wrong.” The uncertainty in his voice almost makes you cave, but there’s that freaking nickname again. And it’s getting under your skin. 

“Don't. Call. Me. Princess.”

“That’s it? Is that why you’re upset? ‘Cause I can stop. I don’t want to, you’re my princess.” He jokes but you’re not in the mood for jokes. 

“You know what I think, Ace?” Your angry stare bores into his eyes as his smile suddenly dissolves. “I think you call all your girls princess, or sweetheart, or gorgeous or another stupid, infantile pet name, because you can’t be bothered to learn their actual names!” Your hand grips the handle and you try to open the door again, this time with more force, yet it still doesn’t budge. “At least that way, you’re safe when you actually forget their name because they’re just another notch in your freaking cowboy belt!”

He just stares at you, jaw slack, while his hand grips the wheel. 

“Open this door, Ace! I want to leave.”

You huff again but it takes him a moment to react. Downcasting his gaze he nods and unlocks the door without another word. 

“Thanks for the help.” You tell him before slamming the door and climbing the steps to the porch. This was not how you had envisioned the end of this afternoon. 

At all.

[glorious-sunset]

Reflections on Ep. 7 of LBFAD on rewatch

Shuyu Forest, Day 10: Xiao Lanhua (XLH) drew a possessed Yingzhao away from the other fairies but is about to become Yingzhao fodder! (where is her Xilan magic when she needs it?!) Our dashing anti-hero knocks the beast unconscious, saving both of their lives once more! DongFang QingCang (DFQC) can’t believe how close he came to dying again due to the insufferable one-heart curse and XLH’s reckless actions!! Where the hell was Shangque (SQ)?! He is about to kill Yingzhao but XLH stops him. In her gentle way, she purifies Yingzhao of evil qi, heals him, and captures him with a Demon Pill.

As Dieyi lurks in the trees behind them, DFQC, barely glancing in her direction, blasts her shoulder with excruciating Hellfire. DFQC chides XLH for her soft-hearted nature which led to her placing herself in danger. “I will remove this nature from you completely so you won’t be in danger again” he says, intending to add an emotion-repressive component to their regular training sessions. In the past few days, he had spent hours with her every day trying to improve her cultivation and powers, although progress had been slow (as he complained to SQ in ep. 6).

But it is XLH who rubs off on him instead. She explains to him gently that if she and the other fairies hadn’t cared about each other and worked together, Yingzhao would have devoured them all. Placing a soft hand on his shoulder, she says that no matter how dark and painful his past was (she has no idea!), she and others are there to help him through it.

Their tender interlude is interrupted by Changheng (CH) calling for her. XLH entreats DFQC to leave. “If CH sees me with you, he’ll think that I…” “What will he think?” he taunts her with a long stare, feeling irrationally infuriated by her infatuation with CH. “That you’ve been colluding and fornicating with a criminal?” He wants CH to believe that they are lovers, that he has irrevocably claimed her for himself, and she is off-limits to CH forever. The thought is delicious…he wants to kiss her in front of CH right now…

But for now, he lets go of this fantasy and disappears. It is too early to reveal himself to his enemies. A panicked CH grabs XLH’s arms and is relieved she is unhurt (no thanks to you CH! You’re hardly ever there when she’s in danger :P ) Appearing soon after, Ronghao (RH) now knows that XLH, the target of his failed assassination attempt, is CH’s secret crush. Lady Sansheng and Supreme Liyuan (LY) also appear and LY is very suspicious of how exactly XLH managed to subdue the rabid Yingzhao. Her priority is, of course, to protect DFQC, and she refuses to mention his presence there.

But she is worried when RH retrieves the evil qi she had dispelled and LY claims that only members of the Moon Tribe or celestial criminals could have reared such an evil force! Does that mean…that Da Qiang might have been responsible? This seem unlikely to her, but then, who else here could have done it? She does not suspect RH at all – ah RH, you are too good of an actor! Nobody ever suspects you of anything!

Fountain Palace: LY and CH believe there must still be an escaped criminal from Haotian Tower at large, and LY decides to seal off the Heavenly Spirit Lock gate until they are captured. This presents a problem for RH, who is unable to return to Haishi.

Arbiter Hall: That evening, XLH receives a message from Lady Sansheng congratulating her for achieving first place in the fairies’ examination that day! She is overjoyed! :D

Due to use of the evil qi, DFQC has realised that the people of Haishi who tried to kill XLH made another attempt today, and that it is connected to Lady Chidi’s destiny leaf. XLH interrupts his talk with SQ by asking him to join her for a chat. Still suspicious of why he was in Shuyu Forest that day, she asks whether he is connected to the evil qi. DFQC never explains his actions to anyone, and so, his ambiguous denial is not enough to satisfy her. On a side note, he has this habit down to a fault! After returning to Cangyan Sea, he doesn’t explain to Xunfeng, or the elderly lady of the hunters’ camp, or to anyone, what he had been up to for the past 30,000 years. Xunfeng believes he had been living in Shiyuntian all that time, as he challenges XLH in DFQC’s body in ep. 12: “you’ve lived in Shiyuntian for 30,000 years. Have you forgotten our rules now?”

But for the first time, DFQC’s evasion backfires on him, as XLH takes him by the hand and uses the Xilan seal to make him turn himself in! He is forced to compromise his usual behaviour and explain that he had been in Shuyu forest to protect her. Yingzhao would have killed her if he hadn’t been there! “If you die, I will die too. Your life is as important to me as my own life” he tells her resentfully. Note that the value of her life to him changes over the series. At the start, it is equal to the value his life only because of the physicality of the one-heart curse. Soon after, it is equal to his life due to his growing love for her. But soon, it surpasses even that, and her life becomes much more valuable to him than his own life! In ep. 26, he tells her not to use her blood to heal or revive others, not even himself. When she dies, he cannot bear to live, despite no longer being bound by the Xilan curse. And by the end, he sacrifices all that he is…his life, his spirit, his very existence, and is prepared to sacrifice even the memory of his existence…to save her.

XLH is overwhelmed by his sweet proclamation and by the fact that he has saved her life yet again. As they sit down to tea together in their usual idyllic alcove, she reminisces about the joyful memories they have created together over the past ten days or so. Just yesterday, during one of their regular teatime chats, she had happily recounted to him how she had seen snow fall in Haishi for the first time recently. To her delight, he had created snow around Arbiter Hall for her, and a little campfire to warm themselves by as they watched the falling snowdrifts together. In this little alcove, they had eaten her flower cakes together every day, both having a fondness for sweets, and curled up with books next to each other. He had helped her with chores around Arbiter Hall whenever she had asked, folding sheets and blankets with her and even cleaning (she mentions in ep. 9 that she got him to do chores). In the lead up to the examination, he had spent hours with her every day trying to train her powers – something nobody else had ever cared enough to do. With her damaged roots, no one else had thought she could improve, except for him – he was the only one who believed in her.

Every day, Da Qiang had collected dew for her, and taken her to see the sun. Usually for the first rays of sunrise, but sometimes he let her sleep in and took her to see the late morning sun. XLH was not a fast flyer and Yunzhong Water Pavillion was a great distance away, so he would inevitably carry her there and back again ensconced in his strong arms, while she also held onto him. She enjoyed that part very much, although it made her heart race to be so close to him.

But the sweetness of these memories only made her heart ache all the more. It was bad enough that she would have to cancel her result of winning first place in the exam, as she couldn’t accept a result that wasn’t completely her own. In giving this up, she would be giving up the one dream that had kept her going over the past hundreds of years, of working at Fountain Palace. But what was even worse was the thought that one day Da Qiang might be gone. She tried to tell him how she felt, that he was like sugar to someone who was used to taking bitter medicine. She wished he could stay with her forever, that she would never have to taste bitterness again.

DFQC did not quite understand, but she had given him much to think about with her speeches on the value of emotions. As he watched her sleeping that night, a vague memory came to him once more of being tortured to the point of longing for death, to have his emotions removed so he could control Hellfire. He was not fully aware of the reasons for this, but the Moon Tribe had been facing imminent genocide at the hands of Shuiyuntian and their lethal spirit-vanishing arrow formation, to which they had no defence (mentioned in ep. 16). In the end, everything his father had done, to his father’s own unimaginable suffering, had been to save DFQC’s life, as well as the existence of their people, both of which could only be protected through his son’s control of Hellfire.

Haishi: RH, twisted as he is, is trying to remember his beloved Master by forcing another helpless woman to disguise herself as Chidi. His relationship with Chidi was not romantic; rather, he revered her as the magnificent Goddess of War that she was. He had been a blind and unwanted little flute boy, abandoned by his family and by the world, who had condemned him to a miserable death. Nobody had cared to give him a scrap of food or warm clothing against the bitter cold. Lady Chidi had given him a new life, one where he had sight, power, wealth, immortality, and most importantly, was cared for. How could any other woman even come close to his formidable Master? His guards wait in the wings to carry another corpse away the moment the maidservant slips up.

Arbiter Hall, Day 11: XLH finds a firefly in her greenhouse! Luring it with food, similar to her way with Yingzhao, she captures it in the Magical Jade Firefly stone CH had given her. She plans to return it to CH while cancelling her examination result, thus giving up her dreams of both Fountain Palace and of CH. “Everything will return to its original place,” she says sadly but with acceptance.

Yujing: Danyin, in an awesome growth arc, threatens to beat XLH into a pulp if she talks about cancelling her exam result again! As a judge, CH will not hear of it either, and persuades her to keep the Firefly stone.

Haishi: RH, having tricked XLH into purifying evil qi and resurrecting an Ice Jade plant with green Xilan energy, realises that she is the Goddess of Xishan! And also, that she is under the protection of the Moon Supreme, who had used Hellfire on Dieyi, and on inspection, has escaped from Haotian Tower. Our power couple have been discovered! Rotten friend that he is, RH does not tell CH that the woman he loves is actually his fiancée :D Instead, he tells the unconscious body of his Master that they will be reunited soon. The drama doesn’t explain well why Chidi is undergoing mortal tribulations, apart from Taisui saying it will keep her spirit alive (ep. 22). In the novel, however, they are her punishment for reviving RH through unnatural means. Despite her resounding victory over DFQC, the cruel ruler of Shuiyuntian had condemned her to live through 1,000 mortal trials, and in each one, she would be doomed to be murdered by the one she loved D:

Here is a link to my episode 8 review (contains spoilers). All of my LBFAD articles and episode reviews can be viewed with the tag #lbfad reflections (hyperlinked) and the table of contents to these is here.

[harrysmaison]

Vi's 2022 Follow Forever!

It's 2023 for me now and I wanna say thank you to all the lovely lovely people that I befriended so far who made my dash (and in case of some, my life) so much more beautiful.

Under the cut bc there messages I want to give you 💞

Unhinged gc: @dragmedown @lovelikealandslide @cowboylarries @purplepantsniall @coffeehotcoffee @surroundedbylightt @holyshit @loubbies @greeneyesfriedrice @louishandkink You people bring so much brightness and happiness to my life. Talking with you all was like, a stress reliever, you made me feel okay with being weird and unhinged and I can't thank you enough. You all were the support system I didn't know I needed in 2022. Thank you beloveds. I hope we'll stay as weird and chaotic forever as we are now ❤️

Therapy gc: @thedevilinmybrain, @larrysballetslippers @walkinginsunflowers @thechavier @finexbright @medicinelarrie @summercherrylou @amateurd18 @kadd-kadd you all have been so supportive and helpful and understanding and comforting to me in these past couple of months. Why would I need therapy when I have you all? Everyday is healing when I talk to you guys. I can't be thankful enough for all that love and support. Hope all of your year is filled with a lot more happiness than the previous one ❤️❤️

@anxiouslarrie. Cata, my love. What can I say to you. You're my bug sis. My candle in the terrifying darkness. The elder sister I never knew I needed. You're so pretty and smart and wise and understanding. All that you've done for me till now, not even my close irls could do it. Being there for me, helping me out, keeping me sane, giving me advices. I don't know what I did to deserve you. You're so nice and sweet and just amazing. I love you loads and more. Thank you so much for being ❤️❤️

@decemberries dheera meri jaan, meri dharampartner. I can't believe I have a Tumblr mutual who I had the blessing to meet IRL. It was an extremely fun experience. And I love you even more now that I know you personally. You're funny and pretty and so so lovely, but along with that, you're so talented and wise and no I'm not going to hear another word of denial. You're someone who understands me, knows me from up close, and I'm glad that I have you for real in my life now. You're just awesome. I love you so muchhh 💖

@hlkings mari, you're one of the few people on here that I trust and open up with. You're so sweet and wise. Always there for everyone, willing to help them deal with their problems, guiding them, advising them. I can't appreciate you enough. Thank you for being there for me too. I love you a lot you know that? I do. And I admire you too. Your gifs are one of my most fav things on here. Never stop being creative and fun and of course, horny as usual, my favourite whore 💞

@moonknowshome Angie my most beloved, you adorable,.sweet soul. I wish I could hug you right now. You're like a soft plushie on a hard night. Always brightening my day with your sweet messages and cute stickers. I want to squish you and never let go, will you let me do that? Thank you so much for making my days better and tolerable. I love you tons💜

Everybody else: @otbnaga @writtenalloveryourface28 @agape-28 @ladychlo @pop-punklouis @complictedfreak @itsnotreal @persephoneflouwers @perksofbeingasunflowerblog @stood-onthecliffside @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @bluewinnerangel @loulovehome @saturdaystakethepainaway-fitf @thosefookinvacados @nauticallyrics @tiredeyeslouis @mostardently @anapologethicc @kiwikiwiandkiwi @awesomefringey @louistomlinsun @harryslonecurl @itmustbefireproof @throughthedarklive @sarcastic-sue @thetriangletattoo @curlyhairedprince and all the others (bc of Tumblrs shitty url limit) thank you for making my Tumblr experience so blissful and fun, I never had a bad post on my dash because you lit it up with all the good content and happiness. Some of you who are talented creators, some who have such beautiful and wise thoughts, some who are just incredibly funny, some who are my really good friends, you all make being on Tumblr worth it. Thank you. Have a pleasant new year full of happiness and success and keep doing what you do. I love it 💞

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

Random ramble post since I’m working on things you’ll see eventually but I feel like just rambling how the bosses went for me in ultrakill. (<- because friends had drastically different experiences apparently)

Swordsmachine - I can’t remember which encounter but it was in the demo and I did so horribly iirc; I think I thought I had more room than I did and got caught on walls where I was cornered and shredded. Swordsmachine in the main game however was a bit easier because I knew what I was getting into and honestly I think they helped me develop strategies for the Gabriel fights later on.

Cerberus Duo - I think I died at least 2 times to these guys for the same reasons as above: got cornered thinking I had more room. They were fun though but as normal enemies I hate them for their knockback dash attack.

(Demo ends here, read more for what picks up after, spoilers)

Hideous Mass - The start of almost rage quitting. It was the ground slam that’d destroy me every time for multiple restarts, I don’t remember how many. I still love this thing as a creature but as a boss… horrible in my first encounter, even worse later on… experimenting in sandbox though made me learn some cool things about how you can use its armor against it by strategically placing your shots, though I only used the revolver for this.

V2 (first encounter) - Sighs so loudly. I can’t remember how many restarts it was but it was a lot, less than Gabriel first encounter though. I almost quit for this fight I think because I was getting too stressed. I didn’t know what I was doing and tried to stick with my favorite, the revolver, but eventually out of anger I tried to stay as close as possible with the shotgun mainly for heals and less about damage. Defeating them actually excited me so that was fun !! Side note: currently I’ve beaten this encounter in less than a minute BUT I had no style so no P rank for me

The Corpse of King Minos - I DIED SO MUCH. At this point it feels unfair to compare all the fights because they all have something that tests you. Part of the reason I died so much at this point is parrying is so hard for me… I feel if I at least tried to learn it then I wouldn’t have been put in the blender like I was here. Both before you meet him and after, I died a lot for similar reasons mentioned above. During the 2nd phase of the fight Id die due to being chipped away just enough to get crushed like a bug. I almost rage quit for this one too, not knowing how to heal and hating having learned you have to get as close as possible to his hands to do so.

Gabriel (first encounter) - Where the fun begins!! I restarted 37 times. I was really looking forward to this fight due to my friend telling me about him before I even got into the game. It was so nightmarish but I was too insane to just give up like that. So many times I flew off the arena, slid onto the middle and got caught in the air, too slow switching weapons, so many reasons I got severely punished for. I don’t remember how the final fight of 37 restarts played out but god I was so full of adrenaline after that. Little did I know that it’d get much worse in the second encounter. Side note: currently I’ve beaten this encounter in 2 mins 13 seconds but I didn’t have enough style so no P rank..

Sisyphean Insurrectionist - At this point, understandably, I got very angry with how badly I was beaten up. The shockwave attacks I hate so much and that’s what got me so many times. I don’t have much to say because this fight bored me as much as I’d rather not say that.

V2 (second encounter) - If I remember correctly… I think I had less restarts for when I had the first encounter. Still, I had my ass handed to me. I stuck with the same strategy as before, we kinda just danced together with shotguns in our faces. I really liked the scene when they try to escape and we pursue them. I will say that at the end when we land and they crash, I was in denial about them being gone for good and kinda just.. stood there for a moment. It felt wrong almost to continue without them.

Ferryman - Another fight with plenty of restarts up there somewhere. As cool as I think they are, this thing kicked my ass so hard I almost rage quit, again. Even when I had plenty of room, my flaw was my slow reaction timing. I could handle myself for the most part in phase 1 but phase 2 is where it got even worse. The small arena, the knockback the idol gives you, the range of it’s attacks… absolutely horrid. It was always the idol that got me stuck and cornered and turned to scrap in an instant. I relied so heavily on my railcannon here for healing and it was difficult to be patient when I had to be responsive and aware of such a small area. Overall, I enjoyed it somewhat, I like the Ferryman’s character and seeing it’s ship was quite a moment. (And the hologram room… I just had to sit there and watch)

Leviathan - They were actually pretty easy and I think I restarted less than 5 times. If it isn’t obvious, the attack that got me was it’s lunge for a short bit, otherwise then it was the tail. I really like Leviathan’s design but I feel as if the encounter was sort of just thrown in there.

Gabriel (second encounter) - I am totally normal about this guy. My first time encountering him in the story I defeated him with only 2 restarts in 6 minutes. Jesus christ. This fight was really, really fun and easy to me which still shocks me my friends thought the opposite. I was also really looking forward to this fight both because of what my friend told me and I wanted to go down the youtube rabbithole but didn't want to spoil myself. I was totally normal through this fight (and after). That was a lie because I had so, so much energy from it I had to draw the scene of him playing the organ and I had to make it pretty. Side note: currently I've beaten this encounter in 2 mins 12 seconds, a second apart from the 1st encounter, again no style because I suck ass and getting these P ranks will be the worst thing of my life

[whispertrolls-archive]

Since my dash is quiet, I have thoughts, and my corner of this rotating hellscape is sound asleep, I’m gonna go off about someone I didn’t expect to grow on me and also explain why his theme is “Addict” by Silva Hound, aka this song fits him so perfectly and you’d never know it at a glance, or even after you’ve known him for a while and it’s entirely because he doesn’t want to see it in himself, let alone show it.

Also, shoutout to @contrastparadoxx and @memurfevur for breathing actual life into this man, I owe you both my life and one of my absolutely massive candy bars that I’m self-medicating with

Also also, warnings of abuse, drug use, addiction, mentions of sexual assault allegations and a lot of other stuff being hinted at, but not explicitly mentioned below the cut

Aurumi Faurux, one of Rutaci’s thus innumerable and counting descendants, is the pinnacle of longing, lust, inability to heal, and refusal to recognize one’s true nature. This man lives with a brightness in his eyes, a fire in his heart, and a fatal flaw of self-conditioned naïveté that clouds a majority of his judgements.

He’s far from the smartest troll that I have, but, contrary to popular belief and even my own previous judgements on his character, he’s less of a fool than what most realize; in fact, it comes across as genuine because he’s so deep in denial out of fear of the truth that he’s convinced himself not to learn from his past experience.

He’s a terrible liar, but he’s an even better actor. He was a prodigy, a child of the stage who grew into a young adult that reached for the stars. He was a broadway star, on to big things, but to say that he was in control was a far cry from reality. Nope, Aurumi’s manager had a firm grip of his life in the wings, all but maneuvering him like a puppet on a string. He was trained young and bore his lessons deeply: Lowbloods and mutants speak only when they are spoken to, they do what they’re told by highbloods without question, and their rightful place is to entertain and be subservient to those above them. 

He’s tragic, a kind young man who lost everything when a hands-on gesture in fondness was mistaken for, and twisted into, something far more sinister by a colleague who envied what Aurumi had. Overday, he found his stars ripped away. He found that his name no longer shined in the glow of neon lights. He was blacklisted and cast aside, shocked, confused, and now with no direction in his life.

He eventually had a stroke of luck in finding his way to a city that, for the most part, couldn’t care less who he was or had been. He found work at a club as a performer, at least finding a silver lining where one would be hard-pressed to seek out even a glimmer. Luckily for him, his employers bore a will to help him settle in, though Aurumi carried an unexpected burden from his prior nights: The prior control that ruled his life had resulted in a sense of learned helplessness. Aurumi grew convinced and conditioned to believe that he was best leaving decisions about himself in the hands of others.

Maybe it was by a stroke of luck that his new bosses were willing to work with him in exchange for his services. He had a way to earn a living, and they had a stunning new asset to add to their repertoire. They planned everything from his outfits to his setlist, and Aurumi took to the task like a fish to water. His skills from his former life set the stage ablaze, and Aurumi flourished. Whether it was commanding the eyes of the audience or catering to any clientele who could buy his time, life couldn’t be better.

Or so you’d think. In spite of his riveting performances and the shimmering golden silks and jewelry that adorned him, it likely doesn’t come to shock that so much of his life is a façade. He never stopped suffering from the effects of abuse, betrayal, and immeasurable loss. As with many who rose and many more who fell from fame, he, too, had fallen victim to a poor decision turned into a crippling addiction, too blinded by the lights to see his way out of the path of devastation. 

He knows how to hide, and he hides well, more often that not. He hides a life of pain and grief behind a well-placed needle and the glow of his own flames. He hides a fear of truth and a cynical dread behind such a heavy veil of foolishness that even he believes it. It is, to a point, within his nature to be too forgiving and to see the best in everyone he meets while also painfully avoiding their flaws, but it’s one of many demons that he struggles with. He reconstructs himself to be as palatable as possible to those that are, without any doubt in his eyes, better than himself. He will suffer if it means pleasing someone else, but he consistently reminds himself, wholeheartedly at that, that it’s worth it to be cherished and loved. No one will toss him aside if he’s everything that they could possibly want, and what’s it going to hurt to play another role?

The grim reality of Aurumi’s life, that which he runs from night and day, is that a boy dancing on a set of strings grew into a man who became so good at what he does that he even manages to fool himself. He’s addicted to the madness of the entertainment industry, and he’s addicted to the feeling of being seen, held, and remembered, whatever it may take to achieve those means. It’s like a high for him, one that he clings to so desperately because he doesn’t wish to turn even a blind eye on the lows in his life. While he fights the demons that could, tragically, save him by destroying the spark that he clings to with a deathly urgency, he gives in to the ones that he believe protect him.

He’s headlong and knee-deep into forces that, if he isn’t careful, could destroy him.

[starlene]

Since we’re doing Jekyll & Hyde headcanons (well, one other person on my dash is sorta doing that, but keeping in mind the size of the fandoms I gravitate towards, that’s already a crowd by my standards), and since it’s too hot to do anything except to slowly rotate your favourite characters around in your mind, I thought to write down some of my Jekyll and Utterson headcanons, anno domini 2022.

I guess these are the vibes I’d like to get from my ultimate dream musical production... and if we’re not getting that, at least this is how things are in my personal imaginary world based on the musical!

Jekyll:

First of all, man, is this character hard to make any sense of. I’ve been at it for the nine years now and I’m still struggling.

I think the musical character is, in some ways, opposite of the character in the original novel: whereas the novel character creates Hyde basically so he can do all the depraved things he wants without getting caught, I think for the musical character, Hyde is a way to overcome his own inhibitions and feelings of shame about all the depraved things he secretly wants to do. Not getting caught is a secondary issue to him. I don’t think the musical’s text 100% supports this, but for me, it’s the interpretation that makes the most sense.

Has internalized a lot of the moralizing bullshit of the Victorian era. Genuinely believes he has to act like a Proper Victorian Gentleman, 1. to be taken seriously as a scientist, and 2. so people won’t think he’s going insane like his father did before him. Probably judges himself harder than others in this respect, because he feels like he has a lot to prove.

Too bad that personality-wise, he’s a chaotic, spontaneous, passionate kind of person and finds it practically impossible to constantly keep up appearances and reign in his temper. He keeps giving into his impulses and doing less-than-respectable things that he enjoys but deeply regrets later on, way before Hyde ever steps into the picture.

The thing that hooks Jekyll to being Hyde is how Hyde has zero regrets. As Hyde, he can kill and maim and have all the kinky sex and whatever he’s ever dreamed of, without thoughts about how he’s risking his reputation ever crossing his mind. Too bad that when the effect of the potion wears off, those worries and regrets immediately come back.

A very selfish person that rarely does anything that doesn’t benefit himself somehow. Sure, his big thing is that he’s trying to heal his father and come up with this miracle medicine that removes evil from the world – but that’s hardly motivated by pure benevolence. He also thinks about the way the medicine would help him reign in his own secret desires, and all the fame and fortune that would come along with creating a breakthrough innovation. I also like the idea that a friend shared with me once, how he’s afraid of inheriting his father’s illness and even passing it on to his future children, and thus wants to come up with a cure before his marriage.

In the modern day, maybe he would identify as bisexual and be able to admit that monogamy simply isn’t his cup of tea. In canon era, however, he’s in complete denial about both of these things and tries to shut down his attraction to men and his fear of commitment. (I’m headcanoning him as sorta non-committal by nature because Emma is practically perfect for him, and still, he runs off to cheat on her with Lucy the first chance he gets. That’s something that’s always been hard for me to justify when thinking about the musical, unless it’s commitment/monogamy itself that irks him and not Emma.)

Besides loving him as a friend (and kinda taking him as granted as one), probably thinks Utterson is pretty hot and has had his share of inappropriate dreams about him. Would never consider committing to him in any romantic sense, however.

Utterson:

Has also internalized a lot of the moralizing bullshit of the Victorian era, but mostly in regards to things like gender and class relations.

A pretty non-judgemental person when it comes to personal failings, both towards himself but especially towards others. Works with the law and has a lot of respect for it, but doesn’t think it’s correct 100% of the time. Thinks everyone deserves a second chance. Judge not lest ye be judged.

Attracted to men, and all things considered, pretty chill about that. Can’t really see how it’s such a bad thing as long as everyone involved is on the same page and consents to whatever’s going on, knows that there are couples out there who have made it work and built a life together. Instead, his big crisis is that there’s only room for one man in his heart, and that man doesn’t love him back.

Has known Jekyll for a long time and has been in love with him for almost as long. Doesn’t think he has a chance with him, but at the same time, is unable to let go of a small hope that someday, somehow, they’ll be together. The kind of person who believes in soulmates, which, considering his situation, is probably not a great thing for him – he thinks Jekyll is The One for him, and the thought of pursuing a relationship with someone else doesn’t really cross his mind (or if it does, it doesn’t feel right). In modern terms, maybe he’d identify as gay and demisexual.

The way he thinks about Jekyll is very possessive, jealous and borderline obsessed. At the same time, he’s terrified of making the wrong move and alienating him, so he’s very careful in his actual words and actions.

Has very complicated feelings about Emma: hates her for taking Jekyll away from him, has a certain respect for her because of her intellect and quick-wittedness, also regards her as a delicate flower in need of masculine protection due to aforementioned internalized Victorian bullshit. On some better timeline, would be friends with her.

In general, a pretty boring/basic guy with some pretty boring/basic hobbies. Enjoys things like going to bed early on most days, traveling by train, and staying out of trouble. Has a penchant for puns and a sarcastic streak, though.

However, if he ends up sleeping with Hyde (dear Mr. Wildhorn & team: now that you’re once again reworking the musical, please consider making this canon), he’s going to find out that being with a man he knows is capable of murder turns him on like nothing he could’ve imagined.

Likes theatre but never goes to see a show again after Jekyll’s death.

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

ahdflksjaklf;jsls ok buddies - I hate talking about 14x13: Lebanon, but it has relevancy in the “John Winchester is a villain and cannot and should not be redeemed” discourse as well as being a crucial piece of finale denialist lore so I Have Been Thinking About It Too Much.

As you may recall, the Occult Object of the Week - the pearl - in Lebanon is supposed to grant Dean’s “heart’s desire.” Dean and Sam are Very Sure this means expelling Michael (the Dean Winchester Must Be Saved installment of season 14) (honestly that premise always seemed a little slim to me, I was hoping for Dean’s heart’s desire to be Cas, on Dean’s car, naked, covered in bees). 

Instead they summon Dad of the Year, which at first feels infuriating.  However after discussion with my earworms, I Have Fixed It (and also turned it into a grenade to launch at 15x20.)

Finale denialists and John Winchester derogatorians ASSEMBLE! and let’s discuss after the cut.

I’ve written in depth about Dean’s struggles with the cycle of abuse, so I won’t go too far into it here, but if you want to revisit any of that meta this is a good place to begin.  This post hinges on the same theory - that Dean’s true freedom is established in his release from that cycle - that is the logical outcome of any hero’s journey for him, and where he would finally be able to accept happiness and love.  This logically would also make release from the cycle of abuse and the feelings of self-hatred Dean struggles with his “heart’s desire” for purposes of the pearl.  When it comes to emotions, we also know Dean doesn’t deal with them well.  He punches things instead.  So odds are, Dean hasn’t really worked through these feelings.  

Dean also mentions when John returns that “it was what [Dean] wanted since he was 4″ - when they lost Mary, right before John became obsessed with revenge.  Season 12 Mary canonically remembers John as a “good dad,” so we can draw a line from that to the abuse really starting shortly after her death.  This is also corroborated by Dean himself:

DEAN: You know when you died, it changed Dad. 

(A visual of the John Mary remembers) (just my excuse to put pictures of Matt Cohen on your dash) (I shouldn’t need an excuse) (Matt Cohen hi you are on Tumblr please don’t read any of this I’m embarrassed).

So what Dean has is pre-Mary’s-death John and post-Mary’s-death John, post-Mary’s-death John being the one whose abuse created Dean’s own damaged persona.  Dean thinks the fix is to stop things on the front end (he is ignoring any process-centered solution, he just wants it to never have happened, he is in denial that he has to work through this and just wants it to be erased, etc etc etc).  

***also keep in mind that going back in time to change things on the front end as a “fix it” is a storyline SPN repeats regularly***

***and it always ends up being impossible to do*** 

Ok so for Dean, his damage/anger/brutal nature/darkness is always linked to John, and this cycle “began” for Dean once their family was torn apart by Mary’s death.  So the fix is his “blood family” together.  That’s his heart’s desire in Lebanon because Dean hasn’t really worked through any of his emotions, and it’s his very Dean way of fixing it - “oh if my family gets put back together I will be put back together too.”

***speaking of quick fixes, I’d like to note that any case in SPN that is referred to as a “milk run”  inevitably becomes complicated and messy***

***continuing the thematics of there’s no such thing as a quick fix***

This is no different.  Stopping the cycle by simply erasing it from the narrative erases anything else that happened along the way during the journey.  It erases this Mary (who they know as a person by this point and not just the mom on a pedestal) 

and (most importantly) it erases this Cas (the episode specifically replaces Cas with one who Doesn’t Know Dean).

We Emphasize This Of Course In The Dialogue In Case You Missed It

DEAN Cas, you know us. ALTERNATE CAS I don’t know you.

***Simply erasing the origin of Dean’s trauma erases all of Dean’s growth.  It erases this family that Dean is so proud to tell John he has now. It erases everything he has already overcome despite how hard it was to achieve it.

So, John goes back.  In that way, the pearl does give Dean his heart’s desire - his realization that this is not about a quick fix, it is about the journey to the good, and all you gain and become along the way (kind of similar to “Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it" eh?).  it’s the process.  It’s every moment along the way.  It’s the people who help him get there.

And then he starts the healing journey by taking control of his own life, by owning his feelings instead of displacing the blame, by recognizing he is NOT guided solely by the actions of his father and this cycle:

DEAN

And for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom, too, you know? I was angry. But say we could send Dad back knowing everything. Why stop there? Why not send him even further back and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But here’s the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Well, maybe. But I gotta be honest – I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is.

And the episode fucking ends with Cas, the Cas Who Knows Them coming into the bunker and asking them what happened, calling each of them by name just to emphasize again That He Knows Them, because Cas knowing Dean, and Cas being Dean’s family is the cornerstone of what Dean’s heart desires.

[CAS walks in from the door at the top of the stairs. SAM, DEAN and MARY walk out from the library to see him.]

CAS Mary, Sam, Dean. What happened?

So yeah, it took 14 damn seasons but Lebanon is where Dean realizes he can be defined by more than the acts of his father.  (That’s why it’s so terrifying for Dean when Chuck snatches back any control he gained in Season 15.  Because for Dean, Chuck is just John Winchester Controls My Every Action all over again, except he’s God which makes it even worse.) 

That’s also why the final blow to Chuck is not Dean killing him. 

The last stage in the journey that begins here with Dean’s “I’m good with who I am” - [I’m still bad and dark and damaged but I’m good with it]

is Dean’s “that’s not who I am.” [the most caring man on Earth; the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know]

Thats equally why 15x18 is so brilliant, 15x19 is at least acceptable, and 15x20 simply does. not. work.

Dean Winchester’s perfect heaven cannot possibly center on the blood family.  It does not have John Winchester and Mary, husband and wife, who took away his own free will.  It is THIS FAMILY.  The found family.  Cas and Jack and Sam and the Mary that was resurrected.  Dean’s entire character arc supports this journey, and to have it culminate in something that is so established in the season prior to this one as something Dean knows he no longer wants is maddening.

I’m even more mad now because I just remembered that the most prominent picture above Dying Sam’s bed was the blood family portrait from this episode; almost like they wanted us to remember this particular stupid lesson.  This show is so stupid when it could have been so so so very good.

***I want to say thanks again to all of you who read my spiraling if you got this far.  It’s therapeutic for me to do it, but it makes it all the better that people actually read it.  Seeing you in my notes MAKES my entire day****

[kinglazrus]

Deep Wounds Ch. 1 - Who's to Blame?

Phic Phight | Next | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @q-gorgeous: Identity reveal. Dash finds out Danny is Phantom. Could be swagger bishie or not, either or is okay.

Submitted by @aj-itated: Dash catches Danny changing after gym, and spots a huge (poorly stitched) wound on his side. Dash is now convinced Danny is either abused or part of a gang, and has no idea how to deal with either - or how to interact with Danny, now that he can't bully him.

Summary: Dash didn't mean to see it, not that it was his fault. If Danny didn't want anyone to notice the bloody mess on his side, then he shouldn't be checking his bandages in the middle of the boy's changing room. But it's too late, and Dash has no clue what to do now that he thinks Danny might be getting hurt at home.

Word count: 4253

“He’s gonna know.”

As Tucker's shadow falls over him, Danny starts, rudely yanked out of his daydream. The hand cradling his chin drops to his lap, fingers brushing the grass, and he fixes Tucker with a confused glare. "What?"

"You are super unsubtle," Tucker says. "He's gonna knooow."

Tucker and singsong aren’t two words Danny would normally use together, but it is the best way to describe the lyrical bounce in Tucker's voice as he drops onto the grass. Too bad his musical prowess seems limited to teasing jabs and not the screeching caterwaul Danny usually associates with Tucker and singing.

"What are you talking about?" Danny asks, his annoyance mounting.

"Oh, come on." Tucker leans back and sweeps his arm out to the field, motioning to the warm-up game some of their classmates are playing, which Danny had been watching fervently until he was interrupted. His gaze skims over the scuffle taking place over the ball, settles briefly on Dash lounging in front one of the nets, then goes back to Tucker.

"I don't know what you mean," Danny says.

"Tucker, be nice. Don't tease the oblivious," Sam cuts in. Sitting on Danny's left, she is flipping through a book rather than watches the scrimmage. How she got the book past Tetslaff, Danny has no idea. Magic, maybe. The more likely answer is that Tetsflaff saw it and just didn't care since Sam one of the best students in their class.

Danny could never get away with it, though. "Seriously. What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, poor Danny." Tucker tsks and shakes his head. "In time, you, too, shall mature enough to understand your own emotions."

"I'm mature enough to ectoblast you in the face," Danny says.

"That is literally the exact opposite of mature."

"You're the exact opposite of mature."

"Game time!" Tetslaff's bellow cuts off what surely would have been a clever retort from Tucker. Her booming voice, powerful enough to challenge Danny's father's, echoes across the field and brings the scrimmage to a halt. At the far net, Dash rises to his feet and brushes the grass from his shorts.

"Captains!" Tetslaff calls. Valerie and Dash's hands shoot into the air, faster than anyone else's. Sam, still focused on her book, raises her hand half-heartedly, then lowers it to turn the page. No one else offers to be team captain, but Tetslaff doesn't seem to mind. This is how their classes usually go when they do team sports. "You know the drill. Pick your players, take your positions, and for heaven's sake, someone take Fenton."

Snickers break out through the class. Danny drops his face into his hands, muffling a groan against his palms.

He hates gym class for a lot of reasons. For one, sports aren't really his thing. He might be strong, thanks to his ghost half, but that doesn't make him any better at sports. Because of that, he's usually the last picked when it comes to games like soccer. And then there's Dash, who sucks sometimes, but he used to suck more. A lot more. He has mellowed out since freshman year, although he's not opposed to jostling Danny in the hallway now and then.

But the absolute worst thing about gym class is playing when he's injured; it doesn't happen often. Danny's been ghost fighting for nearly three years now, and he doesn't get hurt as much as he used to. Experience has wizened him up to the wonders of dodging. His enemies still get lucky sometimes, though, and last night, Technus got him good. Hacking and slashing isn't usually Technus' thing, but the rabid dishwasher the ghost sicked on Danny was damn good at it. He has the deep slash across his left side to show it.

It's healing well, but a wound like that needs more than a few hours before he is back in peak condition. Sam, whose house was closest after the fight, stitched Danny up as best as she could. Both she and Tucker had gotten good at that over the years, but for all Sam's skill, she was still just a high schooler who learned off YouTube tutorials. Before bed, Danny bound the wound tight, took a couple of Advil, and slept with an icepack slapped against his side.

It still hurts like hell, though.

A sharp whistle pierces Danny's thoughts. He winces at the noise, along with most of the class. Dash and Valerie, the victims of Tetslaff's ire, actually flinch.

"Baxter, Grey, stop bickering," Tetslaff says.

Caught up in his thoughts, Danny hadn't noticed their argument, but it's impossible to miss the tight anger in Valerie's crossed arms or the annoyance in Dash's glare.

"Baxter, Grey made her pick. Mr. Cheong goes with her." Tetslaff points at Kwan, then jerks her thumb toward Valerie. With a despondent sigh, Dash pats Kwan on the back, watching his best friend trudge to Valerie's team as if he was going to his grave.

"They're so dramatic," Danny says.

Tucker nods in agreement. "I know, right?"

Sam lowers her book to stare at them. "You cannot be serious."

"What did we say?" Danny asks.

Sam sighs and rolls her eyes but doesn't elaborate further.

Back on the field, Valerie gestures to the dwindling number of classmates yet to be claimed. "Your next pick," she says to Dash.

Dash scans the lineup, his gaze lingering on Danny for a few moments before skipping right over Tucker to Sam. "Manson, you're with me."

"Ugh, of course." Sam marks her page and passes the book to Danny. "You gonna be okay? How's your side?"

He holds back a grimace. "I'm good. I'll tell Tetslaff I'm sick or something so I can sit out."

Sam nods, satisfied, and joins Dash's team.

"Tucker!" Valerie calls.

"Good luck, dude." Tucker gently pats Danny's shoulder before stepping onto the field.

With his friends gone, and the rest of the class distracted by the team pick, Danny shuffles over to Tetslaff. "I don't really feel good. Can I sit out?"

Tetslaff looks him up and down. "You gonna throw up?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"You got a fever?" Before Danny can even answer, Tetslaff slaps her hand against his forehead. He flinches back, wanting nothing more than to peel her warm palm off his skin. She holds it there for a few seconds before finally drawing away. "No fever. got a doctor's note?"

"Uh... no? I've been at school all morning."

"If you feel like you're about to throw up, book it off the field. Otherwise, you're playing."

"But—"

"Fenton, do you really want to be the only kid in Casper High history to fail gym class?" Tetslaff asks.

The threat might have been more effective if Danny hadn't spent half his high school career one bad grade away from flunking out, but he doesn't have the energy to fight her on it. "Okay, Coach."

"That's the spirit! Now get out there and show me some hustle!" Tetslaff slaps Danny on the back. He bites back a cry of pain as he stumbles forward, one hand shooting to cradle his side. Tetslaff's hand, though broad, missed the actual injury, but the sheer impact made his bones rattle and his wound flair with pain.

"Okay," Danny mutters. Just stay out of Dash's way and move enough to escape Tetslaff ire. It can't be that hard. He presses a hand to his side, feeling the thick gauze through his shirt. Closing eyes so that no one sees them glow, he phases his palm through his shirt and ices over his injury. The numbing cold helps, somewhat, and it should hold up for the whole class.

"I can do this." He falters when he steps toward the field. It looks like Valerie and Dash finished picking their teams while he was busy with Tetslaff and the game is already underway. He hovers on the sideline, unsure where to go.

"Getting worked up already?" Valerie's voice startles him.

Danny flinches and twists toward her, sending a sharp twinge across his ribs. He hisses, regretting the sudden move, and squeezes his side once more.

"You okay?" Valerie asks.

"Just fine. Sorry, what did you say?"

"You look like you're stressed out already. It's just soccer."

Danny rolls his eyes and nudges her arm. "Sure. Tell me that when Dash's team is up by five and I have stop you from kicking his kneecaps in."

Valerie laughs, no denial falling from her lips. "Oh, please. We both know I'd go for the throat. You're with me, by the way."

"Oh, thank God."

"Don't kid yourself, Danny. We both know you'd love to be on Dash's team."

Danny's mind blanks for a moment, his cheeks growing hot against his will. "Uh... what? He literally used to beat me up every day."

"Keyword, 'used to.' And I never said you had good taste." Valerie shrugs. "Except for me, at least. But don't worry about it. Now come on; I want you on defence. You suck at scoring, but at least you can take a hit."

Danny hopes he doesn't need to.

—

No hits come his way, to Danny's immense relief. At least they are playing soccer and not football. Or floor hockey, God forbid. Danny's ankles still smart from the last time they played that. With soccer, there's not a whole lot of opportunity for Danny to get knocked around. Stuck on defence, he even has an excuse to hang back, hold off on all that "hustle" Tetslaff wanted to see. His teammates charge up and down the field, shouting and jeering as they fight over the ball, and Danny gets to trail behind, halfway between the throng and his team's net. He spends most of his time watching Dash. Purely so that he's ready if Dash decides to go after him, not for any other reasons.

"Suuure that's the reason," Tucker says when he notices Danny staring.

"It is!" Danny's protest falls on deaf ears.

Dash catches Danny's gaze more than once. Rather than looking away, Danny can't resist offering a shit-eating grin and a friendly wave every time. If he had any self-preservation skills, he would stop immediately. But there's a reason he's half-ghost now, and it's definitely not because of his critical thinking skills.

He manages to stay out of the action, for the most part, only rushing in when the ball comes close to him. Otherwise, Tucker and Elliot handle the rest. Tucker knowingly spares him the pain of ripping his stitches. Elliot, meanwhile, likes to swoop in at every opportunity to show Danny up. It might have gotten a rise out of Danny any other day, but right now, when his side throbs every time he takes a step, Elliot is welcome to do whatever he wants.

When they have class outside, Danny can't tell how much time is left. He guesses they are about halfway through, and nothing bad has happened yet. Maybe he can get through this, after all.

That's when he jinxes himself.

"Heads up!" Valerie's warning shout comes just in time. Danny ducks instinctively, hissing when his injury pulls. The soccer ball flies over his head, skimming the top of his hair. Then, Dash collides with Danny, his shoulder digging into Danny's side. He cries out as he goes sprawling, hands shooting to his side. It burns, searing across his ribs, almost as bad as when he first got the wound. The pain makes his head spin and his breath ragged.

He must blackout for a moment, because one second his face is pressed against the cool grass, and then suddenly he's staring up into Tetsalff's concerned face, Valerie, Sam, and Tucker hovering behind her.

"Deep breaths, Fenton," Tetslaff says.

It would be great advice if breathing didn't make his chest expand, and his chest expanding didn't make the gash on his side strain against the few stitches that hadn't popped when Dash rammed into him at full speed. What the hell. That was such a dick move.

"Okay, Fenton. You're out for the rest of the class. Go to the nurse if you need to," Tetslaff says.

He nods but makes no move to get up. He doesn't know if he can.

Tetslaff sees his plight, whether she understands the reason for it or not, and barks over her shoulder. "Baxter! Your fault, your problem. Help Fenton inside."

"We can take him," Tucker says. At the same time, Dash whines, "Come on, Coach. There's no way I hit him that hard."

Tetslaff sticks out an arm, holding Sam and Tucker back. "Get to it, Baxter."

Dash groans but relents and steps into Danny's field of view. Rather than kneeling, or doing anything actually helpful, he bends down a little and sticks out his hand.

Danny stares at it.

"Well? You're holding up the game, Fenton."

Danny almost gets up on his own, just to spite Dash, but the second he tries to lever himself up, his side screams, and Danny has to bite back another cry of pain. Reluctantly, he grabs Dash's hand. Dash hauls him upright, far from gentle, and sets Danny down on his feet. Dash starts forward, but Danny hangs back.

"Hurry up," Dash says.

"Just... hold on a second." Danny squeezes his eyes shuts and clamps his hands against his side. The pressure helps, a little. If he's bleeding, it'll at least hide the evidence. He really hopes he put enough gauze on the wound. He didn't exactly think he'd be dealing with this today when he wrapped it.

"Dude, we can take you," Tucker says. He and Sam haven't moved away. Even Valerie still hovers close by, giving Danny a concerned look over his friends' shoulders.

"Manson, you're team captain until Dash gets back. Foley." Tetslaff shakes her head. "Your grades aren't much better than Fenton's here. Let's go, back on the field. It's game time.

"But—"

"It's fine, guys." Danny tries to smile, but he is sure it comes out like a grimace instead. Neither of them look like they believe him.

"Ms. Tetslaff!" Valerie steps in front of the teacher. "Danny's on my team. I want to make sure he's okay. Kwan can take over as captain for me."

"Okay, fine. Now let's get back to the game, people!" Tetslaff puts a hand on Sam and Tucker's shoulder each and pushes them toward the field. Over her shoulder, Sam mouths "Thank you" at Valerie.

"Can we just hurry up?" Dash says. Before Danny is ready, Dash's hand clamps down his shoulder and starts driving him forward. Danny stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and is forced to open his eyes or else go tumbling all over again. Valerie appears on his injured side, walking fast to keep up with Dash's pace.

"Are you okay?" she asks. She reaches toward Danny, but holds back, her gaze flitting down to the hand over his ribs.

"Yeah, totally fine. I, uh, got caught up in that ghost fight yesterday, got a little bruised," he says.

"You should have told Tetslaff. She would have let you sit out," Valerie says.

"Yeah, I should have." Too bad Danny hadn't thought of that lie before. And it wasn't even a lie, technically.

The walk to the gym doors feels much farther than it did at the start of class. Dash yanks the door open once they're close enough and deposits Danny on the nearest bench. "There, you're fine. Whatever."

"Don't be such a dick, Dash," Valerie says.

Danny wobbles, bracing himself against the wall as he sits down. While Valerie helps, grabbing his arm and keeping him steady, Dash doesn't make a move.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna sit for a bit."

"If you say so." With one last concerned glance, Valerie leaves the gym.

Danny sits, one hand pressed against his side, feeling the deep, pulsing ache that won't leave. The ice he applied earlier hasn't faded yet, but if Danny's stitches are ripped as he suspects, a little numbing cold won't help for much longer.

Dash clears his throat, reminding Danny that he hasn't left yet.

"What?" Danny glares at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry, or whatever. I thought you were gonna move, okay?"

"You sure sound sorry."

Dash bristles. "Whatever, Fenton. I was trying to be nice, but I guess I'll just fuck off then."

"Yeah, you do that."

Dash stomps out of the gym without looking back, slamming the door behind him. The bang echoes through the empty room. Alone at last, a whimper slips through Danny's lips. You would think that, over the years, he would get used to getting injured so much, learn to adjust to the pain. Whoever first said that was such a liar. It never stops hurting. Dizzying pain is dizzying pain no matter how often you experience it.

Danny sits for a few minutes, breathing slow and even, bracing himself for what he knows is coming. Peeling his hand away from his side, he checks his shirt. Faint pink splotches greet his eyes, not a lot, but enough to make him groan. He reaches under his shirt, slipping his fingers underneath the bandages, and probes the tender skin. His fingers come away slick and red.

"Shit." He applies a fresh coat of ice, enough to seal over the wound, and pushes himself off the bet, slick hand sliding against the wood. The entrance to the boys' changeroom lies only a few feet away, but it feels farther. He shuffles inside, bracing one hand against the wall. The hall leading in stretches for a good ten feet before cutting into a sharp right angle and opening into the main room.

The silence inside is just as oppressive as the quiet of the gym. Even though it's the middle of the school day, being here without the chatter of other boys as they change feels odd.

Danny lets himself slump onto the bench, breathing heavily

"I'm gonna kill Dash," he says to the empty room. But knowing his luck, Dash would come back as a ghost and haunt the hell out of him. It seems like the kind of asshole thing he would do

Danny fumbles for his bag, hooking his finger around the strap and dragging it close. It takes him a minute of digging to find his phone, which he stuffed inside at the start of class. He quickly checks the time. There are ten minutes left of class. More than enough time to check his side and get patched up before Tetslaff dismisses everyone to get changed.

The smart thing would be to go into one of the showers, make sure he has complete privacy, but he doesn't want to put in the effort of walking that far.

"It'll be fine," Danny says and gets to work

—

Dash doesn't return to the game. As the gym door slams beside him, he leans against the wall and stares down at his shoes. Outside, he looks composed, but in his head, his thoughts tumble about. He can't shake the image of Valerie's glare. Fenton couldn't take a hit, so what? It's not like Dash actually didanything. He's gotten Fenton a lot worse than that before. It's not his fault the guy was already banged up from some dumb ghost fight. Not his problem.

And yet, the pained cry as Dash bowled Danny over, the sight of his crumpled body on the grass... it makes Dash shudder.

"I apologized," he says. There's no one around to hear it, to justify him. He wonders what his therapist will say about this, if Dash bothers mentioning it at their next appointment.

Valerie's glare flashes through his mind again.

"Okay, fine!" He throws his arms up and shoves away from the wall. One quick moment to check on Danny, then he'll return to the game. He's only doing this so that his therapist doesn't give him that look on Monday; the look that isn't quite disappointed, because she could never be disappointed in one of her clients, but comes pretty damn close.

Dash only receives that look when he does something dumb, like shoving nerds in lockers or taking his anger out on someone else.

Dash eases the door to the gym back open and peeks inside. The bench he left Danny on is empty. A smear of red stands out against the pale wood. Dash creeps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His heart sinks as he nears the bench, and comes to the unmistakable conclusion: blood.

Not my fault, Dash reminds himself. It does little in the way of reassurance. Walking briskly, he heads for the doors leading further into the school. If Danny is bleeding, he must have gone to the nurse. Which means he will be fine, but Dash needs to be sure.

A low groan stops him in his tracks.

For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, but then it comes again, accompanied by a pained hiss. The sound comes from the changing room. Holding his breath, he turns from the door and enters the changeroom.

Short, sharp breaths greet him, growing louder as he nears the main room. A shaky whimper cuts through, followed by a gasp.

Dash peeks around the corner. He sees Danny's shirt first, discarded on the bench. Next to it is a pile of wrappings. It looks like the ace bandages Dash uses whenever he gets a sprain, although he doesn't remember seeing Danny wearing any. And then, he looks to Danny himself and pales.

One arm drawn back, head tilted forward to see his side, Danny peels a stained gauze pad away from his bloody ribs. Suddenly, Dash can't breathe. His throat feels clogged. His heart hammers in his ear. The gash in Danny's side is easily the length of Dash's hand. It rips across his ribs and curves up toward his armpit, ending just under his arm. Dash doesn't know much about first aid, but the stitches holding the wound together look sloppy. They pull in different directions, turning what appears to be a clean cut into a wobbly mess. Around it, Danny's skin is stained red. Blood seeps between the stitches.

A few small drops slide down Danny's exposed skin as Dash watches, pooling briefly against the waistband of his gym shorts before they are absorbed

"Fuck," Dash whispers.

Danny jumps back, spinning mid-air to face Dash. In his horror, Dash doesn't think to question the impossibility of that action. Danny drops the gauze pad, which lands bloody side down on the floor, and clamps his arm down over the injury.

"What are you doing?" Danny's voice hitches, caught between an accusing growl and a startled squeak.

Dash gapes, mouth opening and closing as he searches for something to say. His mind comes up blank. "Danny, what... what the hell? What happened to you?"

Dash's voice seems to snap Danny out of his shock. All at once, his body goes rigid and his expression turns cold. "Get out."

"You need to go to the nurse!"

"DASH!" Danny bellows.

Dash stumbles back, falling against the wall. Tetslaff's laugh voice is loud. Jack Fenton's voice booms. But just now, Dash felt the floor shake under his feet. Danny's voice rumbled in Dash's chest, knocked him off his feet. The whole school must have heard it, they had to.

"I won't say it again. Get the hell out right now," Danny says.

Dash obeys. Whether it's out of fear or a genuine desire to follow Danny's will, he can't tell. He books it out of the changeroom, across the gym, and bursts outside, only to come face to face with Kwan and the rest of the class.

"Whoa!" Kwan reels back in surprise. "You missed the rest of the game. Val's team won."

"Oh, the game. Right." Dash takes a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control.

"So... you gonna let us in?"

Dash doesn't move.

"Get out of the way, Dash," Valerie says. Pushing to the front of the group, she tries to shove past him.

Dash leaps in front of her. "No!" He can't let anyone else see Danny.

"Dude, not cool. We want to check on Danny," Tucker says.

Dash wavers. Danny's friends have to know what's up with him, right? There is no way he could have stitched that up himself, not with how much struggle it took to even look at the injury. When Tucker and Sam slip by Dash, he makes no move to stop them. Their entrance opens the floodway, and soon enough everyone is pushing past Dash into the gym.

"Wait!" He latches on to Kwan's arm as his best friend passes.

"Did something happen?" Kwan asks.

Dash swallows, unsure how to answer. "Sort of?" Now isn't the right time to tell Kwan, though, not with their classmates around them, and the rest of their friends absent.

"Let's go get changed." Kwan pats Dash's shoulder and guides him forward. Every step closer to the change room, Dash's anxiety mounts. Danny reacted so poorly to one person finding him. Dash can only imagine what will happen—what stricken look Danny will wear—when half their class walks in on his shirtless and bloody.

Except, when they turn the corner into the change room proper, Danny isn't there. His stuff is gone, too. Tucker's crumpled gym shirt covers the spot where the gauze pad landed. There are no signs Danny was there at all.

Next

[oldsouldreamer85]

So, um, for those of you who don’t know? That scene between EddieA*a in the kitchen, specifically when she puts her hands all over him when he clearly doesn’t want her too? The first time I saw it live on television it made me VERY uncomfortable. And ever since then seeing it pop up on my dash in gif form, same feeling. Although, the other night? I had a panic attack as a result when I saw it.

In contrast, I absolutely empathized with Eddie during his panic attack at the store. But it didn’t have the effect that the kitchen scene did. And considering how deeply I identify with Buck, earlier I was confused why this particular interaction with EddieA*a has hit me so hard, and I’m still just indifferent over the BT stuff. The only conclusion I managed to come up with is that despite whatever Buck may be feeling in terms of his relationship with her we haven’t yet seen a point where he definitively doesn’t want to be with her anymore.

But to circle back to the kitchen scene and put it in terms of my own experience, something clicked into place and I was almost sobbing as a result this morning. Back in high school everyone around me wanted me and my male best friend to date. I cared for him as a friend but that was as deep as my feelings went. And despite both of us continually telling others ‘NO’ we were somehow convinced to go ahead with it. So the summer before our Junior year we began our version of a ‘whirlwind romance’. Essentially everything we’d seen in Het rom-coms. I very much felt like I was play-acting the entire time. Every touch, hand-hold, romantic gesture felt very forced and over the top. It was only when I was alone, away from him, our friends and families that I felt like I could breathe. That I was me again. I was still in the closet at the time on several levels, including to myself. I just knew things felt off, that they felt wrong being with him in this particular way.

And then near the end of our Senior year a surge of people accusing him of being gay occurred. I have no doubt it’d been happening earlier prior to my knowledge, but at that point I was in denial over so many things. I hadn’t even come out to myself as bisexual. I couldn’t process him being gay too. Once I couldn’t deny who he was anymore. instead of feeling relief that I could let him go romantically, I began to panic and held on all the tighter. Letting him go meant I had to face who I really was. And I wasn’t prepared for that. But with us graduating and moving on in terms of college it had to happen.

And looking back I’m very glad it did. We’re still close. He and his husband are without a doubt family at this point. But at the same time I’m realizing I still have a lot of work to do in terms of letting go and forgiving that young girl who at her core only wanted to help her friend and find someone to love.

So, yeah. Long story short, that EddieA*a scene was very triggering for me apparently because I’ve been there. In a situation I did NOT want to be in ultimately. And it is absolutely 100% okay to say ‘No’, mean it and have that be the end of it. But as intense as it’s been I’m loving being in my 30s because I’m uncovering all sorts of ‘buried treasure’ so I can truly begin to heal.💜  Tagging a couple mutuals who might be interested in this... @elvensorceress @shaneo693061

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

the fall of the red king

again, not a request. just an idea that intrigued me

what if, instead of charging into the crastle and dying, Skizz had stayed outside and Ren had been the Dogwarts red to die instead?

no i’m not in denial about Skizz’s death idk why you’d think that

…

  “I’m going in!” Skizz roars, charging for the crastle door. 

  Ducking under a flaming arrow, Martyn pursues him and catches his wrist by the door. “No! They’ll slaughter you!”

  Skizz tries to pull his wrist free. “Let go of me, Martyn! My bloodlust is HUNGRY!” 

  “We can’t afford to lose you, Skizz!” Martyn says pleadingly. “You’ve already taken two lives today; that’s enough for now!”

  After a moment, Skizz growls and nods. “Fine. But I wanna shoot someone.”

  He and Martyn rush back out to join the others and both start firing arrows up at the crastle. 

  Within seconds, a flaming arrow hits Ren in the shoulder, causing him to yell out and stagger back a few steps. 

  “The golden apple, Ren!” Etho yells at him. “Eat it, quick!”

  After yanking out the arrow, Ren scoffs down the golden apple, which heals him a fair amount. But he’s still dangerously exposed. 

  “Look, Impulse is up there!” calls Martyn suddenly. “He’s with them!”

  Skizz stares up at the crastle in horror. Sure enough, he can see Impulse through one of the slit windows, firing arrows down on them alongside Tango, Grian, and Bdubs. 

  “Impulse, what are you doing?!” Skizz bellows.

  “I’ve chosen my side!” Impulse’s voice yells back over the noise of battle. “This is where my allegiance lies now! Sorry, Skizz!”

  Skizz’s eyes flash red, red hot fury surging through his whole body. “I’m gonna kill you!”

  “Don’t fight angry, Skizzle,” Ren snaps at him, momentarily distracting himself from the fight. “Don’t let-!”

  He breaks off with a yell of pain as a second arrow strikes him in the chest. 

  “REN!” Skizz screams in horror, watching Ren fall. 

  Martyn immediately dashes towards his king but now he’s distracted too and an arrow hits him in the side, sending him down. 

  As Skizz freezes in horror, Etho springs into action and dashes towards Martyn, using his shield to protect him from further arrows. “Skizzle, go to Ren!”

  Managing to shake himself out of his stupor, Skizz rushes to Ren’s side and hurriedly drags him behind one of the stone hiding spots Etho made on the battlefield. Ren’s skin was already grey but it seems even more so now, so pale that it’s almost snow white. His hands go to the arrow in Ren’s chest, ready to pull it out, but something stops him. 

  Ren’s eyes are closed, his chest still. But it’s not until his communicator buzzes violently that Skizz realises what’s happened. The shot went straight through Ren’s heart. On his lowered health, he never stood a chance. 

Renthedog was shot by Grian

  Skizz’s stomach drops. His king is dead. Forever. He’s never coming back. 

  And it’s all Skizz’s fault. 

  “We gotta get Martyn back to Dogwarts!” calls Etho suddenly. “Skizzle, leave Ren for now and help me with Martyn.”

  “I-I can’t just leave Ren’s body behind!” cries Skizz. 

  “We can come back for it, Skizzle. If we try to take it now, we’re gonna lose more lives!”

  Skizz knows that Etho is right. Reluctantly rising to his feet, he dashes over to Etho, who’s still angling his shield over Martyn. “Get Martyn back to Dogwarts,” he says urgently. “I’ll cover you.”

  “Okay.” Skizz nods shakily but determinedly. “Stay safe.”

  “You too.” 

  Skizz carefully lifts Martyn to his feet and slings Martyn’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him. Martyn’s face is pale and his breathing shallow. Skizz doesn’t know if he’s even registered Ren’s death. 

  “I got you, buddy,” he murmurs, starting the journey back to Dogwarts. “I got you.”

  Thankfully, Etho’s cover gets them out of range of the crastle, so they’re able to speed up and get back to Dogwarts within minutes. Skizz and Etho take Martyn down to the underground area and lie him down on his bed. 

  “What do we do now?” Skizz asks nervously. “Do we need to take the arrow out?”

  Etho nods. “Yes. Go get something to stop the bleeding or he’ll bleed out as soon as we take it out.”

  Together, Skizz and Etho manage to remove the arrow from Martyn’s side and immediately begin treating the wound, preventing any major blood loss. Apart from a sudden and terrifying scream when the arrow was wrenched out of his body, Martyn doesn’t react to anything they do. He remains semi-conscious and feverish throughout their treatment of him, constantly stirring as if about to wake up.

  This makes Skizz very nervous. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, as Etho is finishing winding the bandage around Martyn’s side. “I mean… he’s… he’s really out of it. Is this normally how people react when they get an arrow yanked out of them?”

  “Honestly, I don’t really know. But his wound seems to be healing already and his skin is less pale, so those are good signs. I think he just needs to rest and he should be fine.”

  “Good.” Skizz exhales in relief. “Good. Is it okay if I stay with him?”

  “Absolutely,” Etho replies. “I was gonna suggest that, actually. I’ll keep watch outside.” 

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  Etho nods back to him and, after briefly washing his hands, leaves the room. 

  Skizz pulls up a chair beside the bed and sits down in it. Martyn seems to be asleep now, to his relief. It was far more scary when he was semi-conscious and restlessly twitching. Now at least he’s getting some rest. 

  He wishes he could get some rest too. He’s exhausted, physically and mentally. But he can’t. All he can think about is Ren, and how he died right in front of him. How Ren’s body is still out there by the enemy base, all alone. The crastle people might have taken it and hung it up on the outside of the castle as a symbol of triumph or revenge. 

  Skizz knows he let Ren down badly. And that guilt will keep him up at night for a long time to come. 

  Finally, after what feels like days, Martyn stirs and lets out a soft groan. 

  Smiling with relief, Skizz watches his eyes slowly open and register him. “Hey,” he says gently. “How you feeling?” 

  Martyn gazes back at him with hollow eyes, and instead of answering Skizz’s question, after a pause, he asks one of his own. “Ren’s dead, isn’t he.”

  Except it’s not really a question. 

  Skizz’s soft smile falls and he gives a sombre nod. “I’m sorry. I-I was too slow.”

  Martyn leans back and squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, before letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not your fault. We were always going to lose someone in that battle.”

  “It should have been me, though. I should have-.”

  “No.” Martyn sits up again, wincing quietly as he does, and shakes his head firmly. “Don’t do that to yourself, Skizz. Ren made his choice to fight alongside us right in the line of fire, despite knowing there was a chance he would die, because he valued our lives just as much as he valued his own. He wouldn’t want you to wish you’d died instead.”

  Skizz hangs his head and says nothing.

  After a moment, Martyn reaches out and pats his shoulder. “Has he been buried yet?”

  “No, I… I had to leave his body behind to get you outta there alive,” Skizz replies quietly. 

  “Then as soon as I’ve recovered, we’ll go get it together,” Martyn says. “We’ll give him a proper funeral and say our goodbyes, just the three of us. Okay?”

  Skizz nods slowly and grasps Martyn’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re alive, buddy. When I saw that arrow hit you, I… I was so scared that I’d lost you too.” 

  “Hey, it’ll take more than just a little arrow to take me down.”

  “You literally lost your first life to an arrow.”

  “After it took THREE players to get me down to half a heart,” complains Martyn mildly. “I was about twenty blocks from Dogwarts when I died. If it wasn’t nighttime, I would’ve made it.”

  Skizz grins weakly. “Uh huh, sure.”

  The two chuckle but quickly fall silent at the same time, their thoughts travelling back to their fallen friend. 

  “What do we do now?” Skizz asks quietly. “We don’t have a leader.”

  “We’ll be our own leader,” says Martyn. “You, me, and Etho will make one hell of a team. We’ll avenge our king, no matter what it takes. But until then, we carry on as normal, make them think they’ve defeated us.”

  Skizz nods firmly. “Alright, yes. Anyway, I should let you get some rest. I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Skizz.”

  Skizz gets up and heads to the door but pauses and glances back at his friend. “I just want you to know that the loyalty I have for you is just as strong as the loyalty I had for Ren. I’m with you ‘til the end, okay? No matter what.”

  Martyn gives him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m with you too.” 

  After a moment, Skizz leaves and shuts the door behind him. He sits down on the other side, leaning against it, and buries his face in his hands and cries. His grief for Ren is finally pouring out. 

  Unbeknownst to him, Martyn has lain back down in his bed and closed his eyes, crying quietly for his fallen king. He can see that Skizz is suffering just as much as he is but he knows that they’ll get through this. 

  Their grief may be strong but their loyalty is stronger. 

[krappykawa]

ಌ i mildly like you more than like (p.2)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more. 

warnings. language

word count. 3.6k

oikawa x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

It’s just really bad timing for Oikawa that the day after is the day in which the Aoba Johsai third-years planned their monthly hangout. 

He’s rocking back and forth in front of your house, trying not to let the weird feeling in his stomach eat at him. He hasn’t seen you since you both walked home the day before when he was secretly cursing the sun because “did you always look like you were heaven-sent or was it just the lighting?”

In his head, he’s trying to convince himself that he didn’t avoid you this morning - that the reason he didn’t spend the day over at your house before your hangout like he’d always done was because he would see you later anyways. He tries to say that it's because he just needed some time to recharge, which isn’t necessarily false, but it’s a half-truth all the same. 

“Hey.” His head turns to where you’re standing in your doorway, already smiling up at him. “Where’s that outfit from? Iwaizumi’s closet?”

Oikawa looks down at himself. He’s wearing one of the hoodies he did indeed steal from Iwaizumi a few months ago, and he had also opted for a pair of grey sweats that he haphazardly picked out without notice. He did have to admit that it was a very Iwaizumi-style outfit.  “Only the sweatshirt, Y/N-chan. Don’t tease,” he says with his usual chipper voice. 

You shake your head at him, and the small movement draws his gaze to the small alien earrings that dangle from your ears. He wants to ask if you could help him find a plush-sized version of that alien to add to his own plushie collection (that only you and Iwaizumi know about), but by the time he’s opened his mouth, you’re already turning to lock your door. 

You hand him a piece of candy that you had in your pocket and you both begin to walk in a slightly off silence to Iwaizumi’s house. There isn’t necessarily anything uncomfortable about it, but Oikawa’s blinking to himself because you don’t seem to be fazed in the slightest about the happenings of yesterday. Best friends must kiss their best friends all the time don’t they? That’s why you don’t seem to care. He doesn’t care. No, he doesn’t. 

Oikawa practically breathes a sigh of relief when Iwaizumi joins you two. He knows that if you were alone for even a moment longer, you would’ve picked up on his odd mood and asked him what was wrong. He wouldn’t have an answer to that. Not that there was anything wrong. There wasn’t.

Once Iwaizumi joins you two, Oikawa doesn’t have much time to be within his own thoughts because he and Iwaizumi quickly engage in a friendly teasing argument about the day before. You simply walk between them, piping up at times to tease Oikawa for some reason or another. It feels entirely too normal, and Oikawa isn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“My legs are killing me,” you say after walking for about two miles, mostly due to the fact that Oikawa and Iwaizumi were having another back-and-forth that was slowly getting out of hand. “Did Matsukawa and Hanamaki really have to choose a place so far away? Actually, scratch that. Did you two really have to make us walk?”

“Suck it up, my darling Y/N-chan, we’ve only got a few more blocks to go,” Oikawa says. He notices a soft redness on your cheeks. 

“You’re one to talk,” you mumble. “You were complaining just ten minutes ago,” 

“I’m allowed to be whiny.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“But Y/N-channn.” He makes sure to really draw out the latter half chan, his grin widening when he sees a slight pout form at your lips. 

“Don’t Y/N-chan me when you’re being a baby.”

“You can’t call me a baby! I’m practically a tree next to you!”

You cross your arms, and look defiantly up at him. “I’ll call you a baby if I want to.”

“I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder if you don’t take that back.”

“God you two are insufferable,” Iwaizumi mumbles from besides you two, but the small smile on his face betrays his attempt at strictness. You playfully roll your eyes at him and Oikawa is unfazed, much too used to Iwaizumi’s gruff exterior by now. “I’ll just carry her if it makes you two shut the hell up.”

At the same time that you shout “Really?”, Oikawa shouts “No!”

Both you and Iwaizumi turn to stare at Oikawa, who seems to lose his composure just ever so slightly. 

“Shittykawa, for the last time. I’m not going to carry you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Iwa-chan.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ll carry Y/N-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze focuses just a beat too long on Oikawa, and it’s all Oikawa needs to see to know that Iwaizumi will probably be watching him a little extra tonight. He always does that when he feels like there’s something off. 

Whatever he must’ve seen on Oikawa’s face was either satisfactory or something that puzzled him because he repents instead of interrogating him. “Fine. Carry her if it’ll heal your ego or whatever. Just don’t do shit to your knee or I’ll actually murder you.”

“Guys, it’s fine. I was only joking.” You pipe up, clearly confused at the interaction between Oikawa and Iwaizumi just now. Oikawa can feel something else in your gaze too, but he’s afraid he won’t be able to look away if he attempts to analyze what it means. 

Something in Oikawa deflates a little at your words though. You seemed all but ready to let yourself be carried by Iwaizumi, but the moment he suggested doing the exact same thing, you shied away. “Well the offer still stands,” he says, despite the minor sting of rejection. “Besides it’ll make up for the practice I was forced to miss yesterday.” 

“Really, it’s fine. I don’t want you to hurt your knee,” you reply. This time, he can practically hear the odd something in your voice. The fact that he can’t pinpoint what it is irritates him to no end. 

The rest of the walk to the karaoke place goes relatively quiet. Quiet in the sense that Iwaizumi and Oikawa don’t squabble, but rather all three of you have small minor conversations about anything and everything. 

Oikawa’s mood turns mildly sour when you tell him and Iwaizumi that by some unfortunate luck, you’d crossed paths with your ex-boyfriend while on a walk that morning. He wishes that he would’ve just sucked up his thoughts and just spent the day at your house so that maybe by some weird string of fate, you wouldn’t have seen the tall, brown-haired baseball captain while on a walk. Oikawa didn’t realize he was scowling until you poked a finger at his cheek and told him that he “had to stop thinking about Kageyama and Ushijima because they would only cause premature wrinkles and ruin his pretty face.” He doesn’t tell you that his two most bitter rivals were far, far away from the forefront of his mind at the moment. 

“Took you three long enough,” Hanamaki practically yells when he spots you three from across the street. 

You beam and yell, “Don’t yell, Maki. It’s unbecoming!”

“And you call me a hypocrite, Y/N-chan?” Oikawa nudges your side, smiling down at you. 

The feeling he gets when you stick your tongue out at him and dash across the street is familiar, which he’s thankful for. It’s the sort of feeling that makes him smile softly at your retreating figure, a feeling that he’s felt toward you for as long as he can remember. He’s happy for the familiarity of it because it gives him a sense of normalcy that perhaps the thoughts he’s been feeling are familiar thoughts that were probably just jumbled up because of his fatigue. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway. 

Oikawa’s about to run after you when Iwaizumi asks a question from beside him. “Did something happen between you two?”

Oikawa turns to look at his best friend then back to where you’re standing with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. We kissed, he thinks. But Oikawa knows that telling Iwaizumi that might be more trouble than he’s looking for right now because he’ll surely start asking questions that Oikawa can’t even begin to find an answer for. 

“No,” he tries to say in his most convincing voice. “Why?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Y/N just seems sadder today.” His words almost make Oikawa stop midway on the street. He knows that Iwaizumi notices, but instead of calling him out on it, Iwaizumi says, “Probably just because she saw Kaoru-san this morning.”

That’s when Oikawa realizes that the odd tone he heard in your voice earlier was sadness. He isn’t sure why exactly that was and why it was directed towards him. He can’t remember you saying anything out of the ordinary. All your texts to him that morning were of nothing new, and nothing seemed wrong the day before (except for the way that you were equally as quiet as he was during the walk home after your kiss). Surely, it wasn’t because of the stupid baseball player that barely lit a flame next to you.

He doesn’t know what he hates more - the possibility that it was him himself that was the cause of your sadness, or the possibility that you were sad after seeing your ex-boyfriend, which could possibly mean that you might still harbor feelings for him (which, Oikawa decides is something he never wants to think about again because he’s always disliked Kaoru, so he really can’t see why you’d still have feelings for him). Surely, you weren’t still hung up on a boy that you had broken up with? 

That’s what break-ups are for. They’re for when you no longer have love for the other person, or with Oikawa’s history of dating, when you find that the other person’s demanding schedule is something that becomes a wedge. 

It’s odd, but for the first time in their long friendship, Oikawa wants to punch Iwaizumi for making him think so indepthly about it. Instead, he walks quicker. He makes sure that his signature chipper smile is on his lips when he greets Hanamaki and Matsukawa. 

“What do you two have lined up for us today then?”

“We’re hoping that you’ll embarrass yourself with some karaoke, and then we figured we’d look through some of the shops around here. That may or not be because my mother’s birthday is in two days and I have yet to get a present.”

You shake your head at the taller male. “Makki!”

“Don’t Makki me! It’s Mattsun’s fault anyway. Don’t ask me why. It’s just always Mattsun’s fault.”

Matsukawa looks anything but pleased. “One more word out of you and I’m leaving your ass here and you’ll have to ride home by yourself.”

The only response Hanamaki has is a scowl in Matsukawa’s direction. 

By the time you five are seated in a booth, Oikawa feels the most normal he’s felt all day. Hanamaki managed to offend an older lady walking down the street by saying something loudly obnoxious, Iwaizumi yelled at Hanamaki for being so stupid, Matsukawa almost choked on a mint he had taken fron the front desk, and you had accidentally almost broken a vase because you pushed Oikawa a little too roughly. Oikawa would say that all that was pretty normal. 

It’s also normal for Hanamaki to suggest that you and Oikawa sing a duet because despite it all, you two have incredible voices. He used to try and convince Iwaizumi too, but when almost all his pleas were met with rejections, he’d eventually stopped asking. 

But Oikawa doesn’t feel any sort of normalcy when he smiles to himself as you shake your head and begrudgingly accept. He doesn’t feel any sense of normalcy as you take his hand and tug him upwards to the karaoke machine. Instead of the normal carefree environment he usually feels, he’s feeling something brew inside of him because everything he’d just described as feeling abnormal, used to be perfectly normal. 

It irritates him to no end because his feelings don’t feel any different, but at the same time his feelings feel so incredibly foreign that he wishes he could just pause time and just sit down to figure out whatever the hell is going on. 

But he doesn’t have the ability to pause time, and he doesn’t have any time to figure out anything before you start to sing and he feels his breath catch the way it always does. 

He’s always told you that your voice was angelic. He’s been saying it ever since he came over to play at your house when he was 10 years old and he overheard you singing as you doodled on a piece of paper. He’s told you all of this before - how beautiful your voice is, how you’re wasting your talent by not letting others see it. He even remembers begging you to sing him to sleep when he would sleep over at your house after particularly crushing losses. 

What he doesn’t understand is why he’s so very aware of the fact that your voice sounds like it descends from above. Before, the feeling was there like a natural instinct to hearing your singing voice. But now, he’s so very aware. 

It’s because of this thought process that he almost misses his cue to enter. Luckily, he feels a foot kick at his ankle just before he embarasses himself. Oikawa has a gut feeling that it was Iwaizumi who did so. 

Once he starts singing the lyrics, Oikawa has the thought to just murder Hanamaki on the spot because of all the duets he could’ve chosen, he had to choose a love song. 

He keeps his eyes glued to the words flashing on the screen despite having memorized every lyric of this song after singing it multiple times while taking a shower. He tries to ignore your voice and instead focus on the teasing remarks slipping from his teammates’ lips. For a second, he’s successful in doing so. 

But luck doesn’t seem to be on his side tonight. Eventually, you hit a very impressive high note and Oikawa thinks he might just lose his mind because he hears you laugh afterwards and say a breathy “sorry,” that’s so mesmerizing that he turns his head. You’re already smiling up at him in that way that you always smile at him and he can’t help but feel his own lips tug widely upwards. He thinks he imagines how your own smile widens after that. 

After you two finish your duet and Hanamaki is up and belting out all the wrong notes, you nudge Oikawa. “A little off considering how good I can hear you singing it in the shower.”

“Keep your voice down, Y/N-chan. One word out of you and I won’t speak to you for a week,” Oikawa says with the familiar grin on his face. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” you dramatically gasp, which momentarily catches Iwaizumi’s attention. He turns away once he realizes that you were looking at Oikawa and nothing of importance. 

“Oh, but I would.”

“You wouldn’t last a day.”

“Yes I would.”

“You used to cry whenever Iwaizumi or I went on vacation. You’d come whining to me before the day is even over.”

He’s about to retort a reply, but Hanamaki’s return to the table catches both of your attention. “Man, my voice sounds like sandpaper.”

“More like a dying baby bird but I’ll let you think what you want,” Matsukawa snorts from his seat. 

“Mattsun, what did the baby bird ever do to you?”

After a few more rounds of karaoke (in which Matsukawa and Hanamaki serenaded the other and Iwaizumi agreed to sing for the first time in months) you all find yourself at the head of a row of shops that go down a few miles. 

“Do you think my mom would like a necklace? Maybe I’ll buy her a book.”

“Hanamaki, you are aware that we aren’t acquainted with your mother right?”

“Matsukawa is! Mattsun, help me out here.”

“Makki, she’s your mom man.”

After a few more rounds of bickering, Hanamaki and Matsukawa finally decide to just head into the bookstore. You, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa decide to visit the small trinkets store with the twinkling light up sign. 

Oikawa gets the urge to rip his hair out once he sees who the person behind the cashier is. 

“Kaoru! I didn’t know you worked here,” you say entirely too nicely. Oikawa hates how perfect you look at the moment because he’s almost certain that your ex-boyfriend notices it too.

“Ease up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says from beside him. 

“I am at ease,” he says, but he can’t even convince himself. 

Iwaizumi snorts and shakes his head. “Sure you are. Unclench your jaw and stop looking at him like you want to stuff him in a bag first, then I’ll believe you.”

Oikawa turns his head to look back to where you’re leaning against the counter. He doesn't miss the way that Kaoru purposefully left his hand idly on the counter so that his fingers come just short of touching your arm. Oikawa feels his annoyance spike when he hears the man in question laugh at something you say. 

After glaring what felt like forever, Oikawa turns back to Iwaizumi, letting out an annoyed huff. “I just don’t understand why he of all people had to be the one working here.”

“The world doesn’t cater to whether or not the person working at a store is going to make you jealous,” Iwaizumi says as he shuffles through a rack of plain-looking hoodies. 

“I’m not jealous!”

Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa and deadpans at him, raising a brow as a challenge. 

Oikawa looks away from his gaze and crosses his arms. “I’m not,” he grumbles. “I just don’t particularly like his face or his voice or his stupid personality or really anything about him because really what’s there to like? It’s nothing new.”

Oikawa expects a retort or an insult, but to his surprise, Iwaizumi lets out a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?”

Iwaizumi continues to shake his head as he moves to walk down another aisle. Oikawa follows aimlessly behind him. “You’re so, so stupid. I cannot believe you’re one of the best volleyball players I know. There’s no way you’re the same person I play with on the court.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.”

Before Oikawa can question him any further, he hears your voice from somewhere across the shop. You pop your head out from behind a shelf and say, “Hey ‘Kawa! Come here for a second.”

Oikawa looks to Iwaizumi. 

“Go ahead. I’m gonna look through their collection of posters and see if I can find one for the monster movie I watched yesterday.”

When Oikawa gets to the shelf that you’re staring intently at, he’s mildly surprised. You’re crouched down and scrutinizing a row of alien plushies. More specifically, they’re the very same alien plushies that he had hoped to ask you about when he first picked you up from your house.

You grin up at him excitedly and Oikawa wishes he could take a picture. “Look what I found!” Oikawa walks closer and crouches down besides you. You turn to look at him again. “I noticed that you were staring at my earrings a lot tonight, and I know that you absolutely cherish your little alien collection, so I asked Kaoru if they had them as plushies and they did!”

Oikawa feels a warmness bloom in his chest at your excitement. He doesn’t tell you that he wasn’t staring at your earrings. He doesn’t tell you that he was always staring at you.

“You did that for me?”

“Of course I did. We always do things like this, don’t get all sappy now.”

He has the sudden thought to just pull you upwards and crash his lips into yours. He knows that he can’t necessarily do so, so he just stares at you instead and contemplates to himself if it really would be so bad if he just kissed you again right then and there. 

“Is everything okay? Do you not like it? We don’t have to get it if you don’t like it.” The smile falls off your lips, and he can hear that familiar sadness in your voice once again. It sends a spark of pain through him. 

“No!” He yells a little too loudly. “No, of course I love it. Thank you.” He reaches out and clasps his hand over your smaller one. 

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t make any move to push his hand away. “You’re blushing! Don’t blush! You might make me think that you’re in love with me, and we can’t have that can we?”

Oikawa tries to shake his head. He doesn’t point out that there’s a little dusting of red on your own cheeks. 

He only speaks again after you pick an alien off of the shelf and stand up. He stands with you. “I only very mildly like you more than like. None of that in love stuff, don’t worry.”

You elbow him and shoot him a glance. “Don’t steal my lines, Oikawa.” 

You smile as you say it. A simple smile. A smile that has practically been ingrained into his head after so many years of seeing that same smile thrown in his direction. But what scares him is the way that it sends a pleasant feeling to his stomach. 

It’s then that Oikawa realizes that there is indeed something that’s wrong - that there’s something very, very wrong. Something is very wrong because everything he’s feeling at the moment makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he’s the biggest liar in the world for claiming that he wasn’t in love with you.

i know that some people won’t be able to relate to the “angelic singing” part (i most definitely don’t have an angelic singing voice either lol don’t worry) but lets all just pretend that we can all sing ok thanku

[arvandus]

Touch (Pt 6)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker​ who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all.  This chapter is LONG.  Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option).  Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels.  Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse

Part 1  Part 5

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 6 - The Long Night

After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room.  You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton.  It would keep the pills from rattling.  You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.

You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand.  Sleep was elusive, however.  You stared at the ceiling pensively.  Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was.  You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute.  It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.

By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed.  Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.

Realization hit.  You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter.  You counted the amount and your breath stopped.

No.

You counted again.

FUCK.

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap.  Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet.  You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones.  You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school.  But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you.  This wasn’t hypothetical.  This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself.  And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them?  How long ago did he leave your room?  Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time.  Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it.  You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead.  You didn’t care.  In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.  He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed.  His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed.  “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing!  Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were.  “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back.  “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  “I already took them.  And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped.  “What the fuck, Dabi??  Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face.  He was barely keeping himself together as it was.  His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake.  His head felt filled with cotton.  And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast.  He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not.  The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet.  He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea.  He didn’t need this right now.  Not with you here.  Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak? 

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell.  He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option.  Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before.  I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread.  Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched.  He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach.  It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet.  A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks.  His breaths were ragged and heavy.  “Fuck.” He muttered.  He should have eaten the stupid crackers.  What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves.  He threw up what he took.  That was good.  Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket.  You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed.  “He probably wants to be left alone.  Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice.  You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial.  Why did it have to be Toga of all people?  She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome.  The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet.  They’d probably barge in without permission.  You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this?  He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door.  You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns.  Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile.  “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi?  About him taking your drugs?  You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier.  There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment.  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.  I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily.  “Is Dabi hungover?  He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised.  You hoped they believed it.  If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation.  Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions.  “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked.  “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated.  Something easy on the stomach, like crackers.  And bananas if we have any left.  I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented.  Then, you remembered - Shit.  Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent.  “Come on, Twice.  You can help me carry stuff.”  Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto.   Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall.  “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded.  “Drugs are the last thing you need.  Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back.  “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest.  But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched.  You furrowed your brow.  His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t.  Not for this.  If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop.  Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon.  You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far.  Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away.  You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them.  That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had.  You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter.  It was better than using his arm again.  He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen.  No one ever does.  You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you.  How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night? 

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door.  You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles.  Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk.  You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want.  We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin.  You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand.  You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help.  Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile.  But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing.  You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt.  His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him.  You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him.  He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly.  “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it.  His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.”  You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes.  You didn’t want to leave him.  Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat.  He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go?  He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone.  Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself.  He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills.  But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns?  Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips.  “Get the fuck out, Y/N.” 

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat.  You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face.  He said your name.  He had never said it before.  You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy.  This wasn’t that at all.  Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here.  Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him.  He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal.  You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave.  You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears.  Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess.  Yes, he stole from you.  It still angered you.  But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him.  Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door. 

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi?  Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water.  The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes.  You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode.  You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??”  You called.  No response.  You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek.  He didn’t respond.  His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths.  He was breathing.  You checked his pupils – dilated.  He definitely still had your drugs in his system.  How much, you weren’t sure.  Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe.  A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes.   They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy.  Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height.  It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs.  You left his boxers on.  You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious.  His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze.  His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw.  The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side.  You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again.  Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly.  It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver.  Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed.  There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed.  You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall.  It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side.  It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now.  Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him.  There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek.  His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again.  You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature.  It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising.  You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time.  Definitely quirk related.  You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin.  You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall.  You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything.  For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down.  The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day.  Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature.  He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you.  You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus.  The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck.  The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes.  You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed.  What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet.  The rush of time slowed down.  Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag.  The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off.  You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor.  You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly.  Could he even do that on his own right now?  He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it.  You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet.  His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently.  He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered.  “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you.  I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak.  As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this.  Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing?  Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment?  You hoped it was the latter. 

“I won’t look.” You promised.  You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet.  With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet.  You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom.  Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees.  His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on.  A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered.  You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders.  By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room.  It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was.  3:30am?  4?  You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room.  With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop.  Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered.  You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going. 

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face.  “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied.  “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment.  He was placid now, almost childlike.  You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip.  He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?”  You hoped he understood.

He seemed to.  He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch.  Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching.  His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling.  He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated.  Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles?  Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete.  Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away.  If you pushed any further, it’d be too much.  He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening.  Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you.  You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand.  “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it.  You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it.  The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon.  He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time.  If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay.  And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could.  Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening.  By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room.  Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you.  Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before.  The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now. 

A sense of trepidation filled you.  You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again.  Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side.  His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not.  Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed.  Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort.  If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you.  The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up.  The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing.  It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.  Something cool and wet passed across his forehead.  Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly.  Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red.  His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words.  He couldn’t breathe.  His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds.  The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air.  He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms.  Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her.  She sang. “My little Shouto.  My sweet, little Shouto…”  A baby cooed.  Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams.  She reached out a long, slender hand.  “Come here, Touya.  Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender.  The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters.  He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings.  She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash.  A cold dread filled him.  Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames.  The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face.  The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs.  Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear.  He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice.  The smell of cigarette smoke choked him.  “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi.  Dabi!” you called.  You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness.  “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears.  His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room.  A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door.   The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly.  “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake.  Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince.  “I need some water.”  An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking.  “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended.  But he wasn’t fine.  Everything hurt.  His head was pounding.  His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair.  Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face.   Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.”  The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them.  You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose. 

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short.  If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself.  So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently.  He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground.  His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell.  He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire.  He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight.  It was short-lived though.  Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand.  You opened the packaging and handed him one.  “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care.  You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you.  Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it.  There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker.  “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist.  He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.”  You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you.  It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath.  The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest.  There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering.    Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake.  Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination.  It didn’t seem like it belonged to him.  His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone.  The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called.  Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him.  It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.”  A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look.  “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful.  Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders.  While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain.  His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why.  Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far.  You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips.  You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish.  But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.  

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow.  The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form.  A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast.  Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside.  The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands.  Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation.  It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach. 

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds.  They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through.  Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway.  Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs.  Something about our next mission, I guess.  Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed.  “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty.  A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you.  The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell.  His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly.  He sat there as if waiting.  Waiting for you?  Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts.  This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system.  You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most.  What if it wasn’t enough?  It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry.  You had to try. 

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said.  “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing. 

The friend wrinkled in disgust.  “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called.  He turned and saw his sister.  His brow furrowed.  Something wasn’t right.  The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused.  “Hm?”

“Your shirt.  We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry.  It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening.  He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts.  You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast.  All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk.  His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt.  It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves.  Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself.  It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself.  You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice.  If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control.  Your hands were on his legs now.  You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds.  Everything else you could handle on your own.  But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind.  And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills.  And you couldn’t cry.  Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond.  You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey.  Your touches were done, your quirk spent.  Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention.  His body no longer shook.  But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain?  Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over.  His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness.  But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper.  “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.  

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions.  Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks.  Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality.  It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal.  Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected.  Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders.  He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants.  He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t. 

This was hell. He was in hell.  He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear.  He was cornered, with no way out. 

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in.  If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away.  It was his only option.  Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned.  He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay.  He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.” 

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.”  More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up.  I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory.  No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process. 

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor.  Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter.  You winced.  He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded.  His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave.  You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door.  Fear coursed through you.  Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously.  “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out.  You’ve already been through so much.  Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic.  Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.  

He couldn’t.  He couldn’t fight this.  The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs.  His survival depended on it.  Without them, he would go insane.  Hadn’t he suffered enough?  He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself.  But he didn’t.  Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him.  Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit.  He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk?  He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it.  You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested.  “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged.  “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you!  I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE!  A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head.  He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path.  You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried. 

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind.  He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear. 

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step.  He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving.  He’d grabbed you.  Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life.  He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher.  They were his father’s hands.  And as he looked up, he no longer saw you.  Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children.  Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness.  Did he even deserve such a thing?  He fell to his knees with a choked sob.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips.  You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in.  You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul.  He was falling and no longer knew where he was.  He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him.  It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it.  He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this.  All you could do was be here for him.  You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands.  His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal.  A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain.  Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack.  He was unconscious. 

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing.  It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears.  The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away.  It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.  You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath.  It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder.  The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you.  As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source. 

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up.  Your body and soul were spent.  They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep.  Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor.  There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable.  Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness.  You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents.  You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier.  When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom.  As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it.  The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing.  Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body.  You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor.  Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation.  Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation.  A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy.  But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant.  Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive.  You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind?  You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will.  You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait.  Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed.  Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass.  But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback.  Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

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[raelly-writing]

Frozen Affright

Ryne & WoL with Thancred/WoL, post-Eden8.

Pretty much just me wanting to go “nah” at there not being any injuries or somesuch after Eden 8, which prompted the thought that Ryne would be left a bit rattled by it all. So yeah, this fic happened.

There’s some brief referencing of events from a fic I wrote last year where Viana and Thancred bumped into her childhood friend while in Ul’dah investigating the Griffin’s activities post patch 3.4.

----

 “The Light… it’s too much for her to bear! She won’t last much longer!”

 “Then help her!”

---

“Seven swiving Hells, Thancred!”

Several more curses that could make a Limsan dockworker blush like a Ishgardian maiden were right at the tip of her tongue, but Viana clenched her teeth together when the sharp pricks that shot up from the side of her waist caused her to reflexively jerk her body to the side. Another sharp lance of pain followed when she, in doing so, jostled her broken arm in its makeshift sling. Groaning, she nearly wrenched her leg out of Urianger’s careful grip in the process. The pain twined together with her exhaustion, forming into a roiling sense of nausea.

Urianger glanced up at her with a concerned furrow between his brow, before securing his hold on her leg once more.

Before she had a chance to apologise to him, a firm hand landed on her uninjured shoulder, fingers digging into her skin. “Stay still,” Thancred bit out.

Unease instantly bristled in her chest at his rough tone. Rather than snapping back at him, she screwed her eyes shut and bit out another muffled curse while trying to sit still once more. Evidently satisfied, Thancred returned to applying the healing ointment to the burn on her waist. Despite his less than happy tone, his touch felt gentle as he worked - not that it prevented the salve from prickling and stinging at her raw skin.

“Prevail for just a few more moments, my friend,” Urianger’s soothing voice chimed in as he continued wrapping bandages around her injured ankle.

Viana made a noise at the back of her throat, brow knitted together in a frown, while worrying the edge of the blanket pooled around her waist with her one good hand. A few bruised ribs, several burns and some cuts, a broken arm and sprained ankle had been the final tally of this adventure.

Normally, she could deal with pain fairly well - but between her aether being utterly spent in that desperate dash to weaken Shiva so Gaia could help Ryne regain control, the primal’s unnatural chill that still wrecked her body, and the emotional fatigue, she just felt tired and all too sensitive to every twinge and jolt of pain. Lingering out here in the Empty, even now with the aether starting to rebalance itself, was draining as it were. Her head throbbed and all she really wanted to do was to sleep. Preferably in a warm bed, and not the uncomfortable cots they had out here in the Empty.

An irrational twinge of annoyance at herself made her grit her teeth once more. Seven Hells, she’d gotten soft over the years since joining the Scions - sleeping off injuries in a proper bed had been the very rarest of luxuries for most of her life. Ten-fifteen years ago, when she’d been a young mercenary fresh off the unforgiving streets of Ul’dah, a cot would have been more than fine for her.

Perhaps prodded by the unwanted memories of nurturing one wound or another while on the road, Viana’s attention drifted towards the tent where Ryne lay resting under Gaia’s watchful eye. Worry instantly rose like bile in her throat, and with it an unpleasant, heavy weight over her chest. It’d scared her half to death when Ryne had passed out in Thancred’s arms before they’d even made it back to camp, clearly having spent herself utterly on struggling to control Shiva and the Light.

What a reckless idea this had all been. She should have followed her gut, put her foot down and refused to go ahead with it. Surely it hadn’t been necessary to replicate Ysayle’s summoning method so precisely as they had.

Though they were all used to close calls by now, this had all been too close for comfort - not just for them personally, but for the rest of the First as well. Viana swallowed around the lump in her throat and stared out over the sparse greenery that had sprouted around their campsite. Done was done but… it was hard to shake off the dread of what could have happened. Hopefully, Ryne would regain consciousness soon and be able to see the fruit of their efforts. No doubt she’d be pleased to see that their efforts had not been in vain.

Viana could only hope that seeing that joy might scatter the clouds of turmoil raging in her chest.

“Raise your arm.”

Thancred’s gruff command stirred her from her thoughts. Silently, she did as he asked. He was careful not to jostle her broken arm where it was secured against her chest as he wrapped bandages around her midsection to hold the medical dressing over the burn in place.

Another sharp lance of pain made her bite back a wince and screw her eyes out. But slowly, the pressure from the bandages evened out and the stinging from the salve mulled into a dull but not outright painful throb.

The silence hung heavy over all three of them, until Urianger gently set down her securely bandaged foot. “I do not fear thy injury to be severe,” he spoke, “though I wouldst ask thee to abstain from any and all attempts to move without sufficient support to keep thy weight of thy injured foot, lest you may exacerbate it for thy efforts.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t do any merry jigs then,” Viana drawled.

Urianger made a soft sound of amusement. “As formidable as thou are my friend, I wouldst advice against such endeavours. A few days of rest wouldst be preferred.”

She cracked her eyes open and gave him a halfhearted smile. “Thank you Urianger, I’ll try to.” There was a careful tug on her raised arm, and she obediently lowered it once more.

As he rose back up from his crouch, accompanied by the melodic tinkle of his jewellery, Urianger’s golden gaze softened a little, and briefly flickered past her shoulder, over to Thancred. “I imagine thou shall not be left for want of assistance whilst thou recuperate.”

Viana followed his line of sight to glance over her shoulder. Thancred’s brow was furrowed, eyes focused on where he was securing the bandages. “Indeed not,” he replied firmly. “Can’t have the Warrior of Darkness tripping and falling in front of half the Crystarium while trying to make it to her room, can we.” Satisfied with his work, he carefully pulled her shirt back down over the bandages.

“That’s a bit dramatic, love.”

Finally, he looked up. There was heavy tension around his eyes, a storm of emotions still raging in them, his jawline hard.

Mustering a hopefully comforting smile despite her fatigue, she tilted her head to the side. “I’m fine.”

The hard lines in Thancred’s expression softened a little, but before he had a chance to reply, a muffled shout made their attentions snap to the tents.

“She’s awake!” Gaia declared as she burst through the tent flap. For a moment, she frantically looked around for something, until she snatched up a spare blanket and water bottle from atop the supply crate where Thancred had left them before.

“Gaia, I’m fine, I-”

Ryne, with Thancred’s coat still hanging off her shoulders, pushed aside the tent flap. Even the brief appearance of her, before Gaia promptly shooed her back into the tent with a series of stern admonishments and gripes about how troublesome she was being, was enough for some of the tension to seep out of Viana’s back and her breaths come a little bit easier, her shoulders drooping with relief.

Thancred stood up. Viana looked back to him, but to her surprise, he merely kicked the crate he’d been sitting on over to her left side, sat down and grabbed a towel and water bottle from the supplies strewn about.

“Wilt thou not rush to her aid?” Urianger asked.

She watched silently as Thancred wet a corner of the towel, then took her uninjured hand and set about cleaning away traces of blood that still lingered after that Urianger had healed the shallow cuts and bruises. “Perhaps I’m getting slow in my old age,” he replied casually, “because it would seem Gaia’s beaten me to it.”

The voices of the two young girls, though muffled from within the tent, were still audible from where the three of them were sitting, and the air felt a little less still and suffocating with that quiet murmur to fill the void.

“To think that she would be the one to break the ice,” he muttered under his breath.

Pain and fatigue momentarily forgotten, Viana carefully leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He grew still for a moment, then sighed and looked up at her and then Urianger with a faint smile on his lips. “They may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I think they’ll make quite the pair, if given a bit more time.”

“Is that a hint of melancholy I detect in thy voice?” Urianger mused, his deep voice warm with gentle amusement. “Something akin to a pining mother bird whose chicks have flown the nest…?”

Thancred’s eyes went wide at the teasing accusation, and Viana failed to contain a smile at the sight. Just then, the soft peal of Ryne’s laughter and Gaia’s flustered and fervent denial about something drifted over. His gaze flickered towards the sound, then his expression softened with resignation and fondness. “Father bird, if you don’t mind.”

Warm affection prompted Viana to lace her cold fingers with his and gave his hand a weak squeeze. He quickly bent his neck to press a kiss to the back of her hand, thumb rubbing alongside it as he folded his other hand over her fingers, lending some of his warmth to chase away the chill.

“But aye, you’re not entirely wrong,” Thancred continued, eyes downcast and a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “When the day finally comes to say goodbye, it heartens me to know she won’t be alone.”

Despite his soft tone, it was hard not to notice the sorrow that laced his words. Viana swallowed thickly. Not for the first time since Emet-Selch’s defeat, she felt her chest grow tight with anguish for Thancred and Ryne’s unavoidable separation. The sharp, dark feeling clashed with her own yearning to see their souls safely returned to the Source, tangling into a thorny ball of guilt for wanting her family back at the cost of what they’d all gained here at the First.

“Thancred-” she began, and without thinking, twisted her body towards him. A searing hot flash of pain instantly made her freeze up with a groan, her words of reassurance catching in her throat.

Thancred’s head immediately shot up, his gaze narrowed with worry. Exhaustion came crashing back down over her, no longer content to be held at bay with discussions of things that still lay in the future.

Grimacing at a sudden wave of vertigo, she slipped her hand from his and rubbed at her eyes. “‘S fine,” she mumbled. “Forgive me.”

“Perhaps, we ought to make an expeditious return to Amh Araeng,” Urianger spoke up. “Though the area is stabilizing, lingering wouldst be unwise.”

She felt Thancred pull up the blanket around her shoulders, wrapping it tightly around her. “That may be for the best, yes.”

Despite her quiet attempt to convince him to go check on Ryne, Thancred picked her up, blanket and all, and carried her the short distance to their transportation, with Urianger following close behind to assist if needed. Shivering, Viana briefly rested her head on Thancred’s shoulder, her eyes feeling too heavy to keep open. The leather of his cuirass was cold against her cheek, and a distant, half-formed thought flitted through her mind - a yearning to just lie curled up next to him, to bask in the comforting warmth of his body pressed against hers.

With her injuries it was a little awkward to get into the skyslipper, but with some help from Thancred and Urianger she was soon able to hop over and sink down into the back seat. Exhaling slowly, Viana leaned her head back, her eyes closed. “Thank you,” she murmured. Twelve, she hadn’t felt this worn out since her near fatal tussle with Zenos. Even expelling the Light against Emet-Selch had left her feeling less sore than this.

Or maybe it was less physical exhaustion and more emotional.

“I’ll join you soon, Urianger,” Thancred said, and there was a soft affirmative followed by Urianger’s footsteps retreating back to the camp.

Carefully, she tried to pull the blanket back up over her shoulders, only for Thancred to do it instead. With a quiet sigh, she caught his hand and opened her eyes.

Thancred immediately froze, meeting her gaze. His jaw was still tense and his brow furrowed in a clearly unhappy expression. It was an unpleasant reminder of his tense demeanour when they’d ventured down into the depths of the sea to search for Emet-Selch.

Mustering a tired smile, Viana squeezed his hand. “I will be fine, Thancred; go to her.”

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Yell if you need something.”

“Will do, love.”

-----

Despite the aches in her body, she managed to doze off into a fitful sleep that was light enough that she was distantly aware of the comforting murmurs of other’s voices, and the occasional footsteps of someone carrying something to the storage at the rear of the skyslipper.

“Viana?”

The soft, worried voice made her blink her eyes open. Ryne met her gaze, grey eyes wide with concern. Thancred’s coat was still draped over her shoulders, her smaller frame drowning in it. Mustering a smile, Viana carefully sat up a little straighter. “Something wrong, Ryne?”

Ryne held out a mug towards her. “Urianger prepared this for you.”

Gingerly, she worked free her arm from the blankets and accepted the mug from her. Steam rose from the ruby red liquid within. “Thank you.” A sweet, tart scent filled her nose when she carefully took a sip of the drink. It tasted much the same, clearly masking the taste of something herbal. The warmth from it settled in her stomach, chasing away some traces of the chill. “Tastes like pixieberries,” she mused.

Ryne sat down at the other end of the seat and drew Thancred’s coat close around herself. She was carrying a blanket in her arms as well, but made no move to wrap herself in it. Instead, she picked at the sleeve of the coat that hung well down to her forearm. “He said it’d help rejuvenate your aether,” she replied softly.

Glancing at her, Viana took another mouthful of the beverage, observing her hunched up shoulders and downcast gaze. It was a stark reminder of how she’d carried herself just a short while ago, when she’d still walked in the shadow of Minfilia’s memory and image. A prickle of concern rose in her chest, and she slowly lowered the mug to rest it in her lap. “How are you feeling?” Viana asked gently. “You gave me quite a scare back there.”

She immediately flinched and pressed her lips together. “I’m fine! But…” Pausing abruptly, she pulled at an errant thread coming loose from the coat sleeve, before she looked back up, eyes wide and face grim. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle it,” she blurted out, her voice sharp with anguish. “I thought I could control Shiva, like Ysayle did.” Bowing her head once more, she looked like she wanted to curl up and hide herself away from the rest of the world in Thancred’s coat. “I thought I was strong enough. And because I wasn’t, you got hurt.”

The anguish and distress in her soft voice made Viana’s heart clench. It was swiftly followed by a sense of unease as she was all too aware that Ryne was, in some regards, still younger than her counted years, having missed out on so much growing up in that cell in Eulmore, and only now finding her own two feet in the world.

Taking a deep breath, Viana gave a small, thoughtful hum. “Perhaps you bit off more than you could chew,” she began, keeping her voice even and calm - the last thing she wanted was for Ryne to think she placed any blame on her. “And perhaps it was reckless, and I should have been firmer with my disagreement with your plan.” Carefully, she balanced the mug between her knees, freeing up her hand to reach out and put it on Ryne’s back. “But that is part of growing up - I’m just glad that we were all here, Gaia included, to help when it went sideways.”

Slowly, uncertainly, Ryne looked back up. Apprehension and a fear of rejection was so evident in her eyes. “You’re not angry with me? Even though I talked you into this?”

Shaking her head, she gave her a soft smile. “Gods no, I’m not. I’m just glad you’re unharmed.” Raising her eyebrows, she fixed her with a discerning look. “You are unharmed, right?”

Ryne’s shoulders drooped slightly with a relieved exhale and she hugged the blanket closer to her chest while giving a small nod. “I am. Thancred... told me to go here and rest while they pack up the tents.”

Something about the hesitation in her voice made Viana frown in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… worried that... he’s upset with me.”

By reflex, her gaze flickered towards the campsite. “He’s not, I’m sure of it.”

Ryne was chewing on her bottom lip when she looked back up. “He seemed unhappy.”

Without thinking of it, Viana gently pulled at her shoulder, and Ryne shuffled closer, seemingly by instinct, until she was curled up against her side. “Thancred isn’t angry at you,” Viana spoke quietly while absently stroking a hand over Ryne’s hair.

“How can you be so sure?” She asked softly. “He was even more against this idea than you were.”

A small smile quirked the corner of Viana’s mouth. “Because I’ve known him long enough by now.” Letting her arm settle around Ryne’s shoulders, she gave her the best version of a hug that she could muster at that time. “What did he say to you after you’d woken up?”

“He asked if I was uninjured, and seemed relieved when I said I was not,” Ryne responded slowly. “But he never seemed to relax, even as I told him I was fine. I… I was worried about you too.” She trailed off, and even with his coat around her smaller frame, Viana could feel her tremble. “He seemed so… closed off.”

Mentally, Viana sighed. Twelve, perhaps she should have done more to try and ease him out of that state of mind. If only she hadn’t been so exhausted and raw with the injuries she’d sustained. “He’s upset with himself - not you,” she said gently, “because what could have happened scared him, and made him fear that he’d lose you too. Give him a few more hours, and he’ll have calmed down.”

“Oh…” With that quiet exhale, Viana felt Ryne’s entire body relax, the weight settling against her side as her head came to rest on her shoulder.

It was then that she felt how she was trembling. Concern instantly shot through her, and she gave Ryne a careful look. “You’re still shivering.”

She looked up, expression relaxed and void of the turmoil and anguish of mere moments ago, and gave a tired smile, looking for all the world like the exhaustion had finally caught back up with her. “It’s just the cold.”

“Here, help me with the blankets.”

Ryne did as she asked, and soon they were both huddled beneath them, sharing the warmth.

“Thank you, this is nice.”

Ryne’s quiet murmur and the earnest tone, made Viana smile to herself. A familiar sort of fond contentment, one she often felt around the twins, warmed her chest. “Anytime,” she replied softly. For all that Ryne had come into her own and acted with much more confidence, it was hard to forget how much of her life had been void of much personal contact. In the back of her head she heard Thancred’s quiet musings about how neither he nor Ryne had any experience with family, and despite it they’d managed to work things out relatively well.

Taking a slow breath, Viana looked out towards the campsite. Somehow, the small area looked even more chaotic, with parts of tents, cots and supply crates strewn about while the other three worked on their respective tasks. She had no knowledge of how it was to grow up with a family either - for all her childhood and teens the prospect of a family, where people cared for and supported each other, had been used as a toxic web by her supposed friend to control and manipulate those around her.

Even now with the time that had passed since then, recalling the last time she’d seen Aisthal still left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was a memory with two sides to it - the bitterness of facing her old friend once more and being reminded of the vicious criminal life that’d caused her to leave Ul’dah in her late teens, contrasted with Thancred’s steadfast and comforting presence that night.

Remembering how he’d distracted her with lighthearted tales and conversations about their friends until she’d calmed down, Viana cast a quick glance down at Ryne. “How do you think this place will look once it’s fully recovered?”

Ryne made a quiet, thoughtful sound, her head still resting against her shoulder. “I can’t help but hope that there’ll be plenty of flowers,” she replied, reverence and wonder so clear in her voice. “Bright, colourful ones, like in Il Mheg.”

Viana nodded slowly while looking out over the still desolate white hills in the distance. It was easy to picture them covered in high green grass and flowers in all the colours of the rainbow. “Yes, that sounds nice.” Looking back to Ryne, she smiled and tensed the arm around her smaller frame in a slightly awkward hug. “Maybe you could show the sights of Il Mheg to Gaia? Pack those coffee biscuits and other snacks, and enjoy them outside in the sun on one of those hills by Urianger’s house?”

An endearing look of embarrassment flickered across Ryne’s features. “Oh, I’m not sure... “ Slowly, her gaze drifted over towards the camp while her expression softened into something thoughtful. “Do you think she’d like that?”

Shrugging with one shoulder, Viana made a thoughtful noise at the back of her throat. “Maybe? Won’t know until you ask her.”

“It would be fun, I think…” When their eyes met again, there was a contemplative look on Ryne’s face before she smiled. “Yes, it's worth asking, I suppose.”

“After this, I think you’ve both earned yourself a bit of fun,” Viana hummed in response. Twelve, both them and the twins deserved every minute of carefree, lighthearted fun. They were still teenagers, too young to weighted down by all the burdens of adulthood - the weariness, the cynicism, the scars that never went away.

Sitting up a little straighter, Ryne fixed her with a firm and determined look. “So have you!”

Surprised, Viana blinked at her, then smiled sheepishly. “Alright, alright, no need to look like that,” she replied, and only just managed to bite back the reply that her injuries would keep her confined to her room for a few days anyhow. “I promise I’ll do so if a chance presents itself in the near future.”

Ryne settled back down again. “Good. You’re all always working so terribly hard.” There was a brief pause, before she quietly, under her breath, continued, “I don’t want any of you to wear yourself out.” Suddenly, she failed to stifle a yawn.

Smiling fondly, Viana gave her another one-armed hug. “Perhaps we should rest, before Thancred gets his feathers in a ruffle because of us.”

Her only response was another quiet hum. With a slow exhale, Viana relaxed back against the seat. Somehow, despite the dull aches in her body, the weight of Ryne against her side was oddly comforting, as the exhaustion crept up over her once more.

----

Thancred frowned as he turned over Viana’s cuirass in his hands. A sour taste rose in his mouth as he brushed his fingers over the scuffed and battered surface where one of Shiva’s light aspected attacks had burned her. The section would need to be replaced, along with a few others that had been too damaged by sword slashes or magical attacks. Quickly, he stuffed the cuirass on top of the rest of her gear in her customary travelling satchel, and with it, the dark thoughts that kept skulking at the edges of his mind. Closing up the satchel with brisk movements, he rose to his feet and hefted up the bag onto his shoulder.

Picking up the slim belt with Ryne’s daggers - undamaged, despite that she had been wearing it at the time of the summoning - he put it too over his shoulder, then retrieved Viana’s gunblade from where Gaia had been quick to discard it upon their arrival at camp, far more concerned with Ryne as she had been.

His scowl deepened when he gave it a critical onceover, his mouth suddenly dry. “Seven Hells,” he muttered. Scorch marks stained the steel near the cartridge chamber. A disconcerting sight, for sure. Had she overloaded it when breaking the ice around Shiva so Gaia could get to her?

Whichever way, he’d best disassemble it when they got back to the Crystarium and better judge the internal damage before he delivered it to the craftswoman at the Means who usually oversaw their gunblade and armour repairs. And, he could ask Viana later what she’d done - sometime when he didn’t feel like turmoil still rested in his chest like a ball of thorns. With a deep sigh, Thancred walked back to where the last few of their things were being packed up by Urianger.

“I’ll take these up to the skyslipper,” Thancred said as he picked up his own gunblade where it was leaning against a crate.

Urianger gave a small nod in reply. “It shan’t be much longer before we can depart.”

The sooner the better, Thancred felt as he began walking.

Gaia was hurrying back from the skyslipper with a look of determination on her face. She paid him no mind as they passed by each other - clearly she was eager to get out of the Empty as well.

A shiver crept down Thancred’s spine. Despite his inability to channel aether anymore, there was still something disconcerting about being out in the Empty for too long, even now with the immediate area’s aether rebalanced towards something more natural. Like something was slowly draining him of energy, flaking off his hold on his corporeal form. It made his skin crawl.

Or maybe he was just tired.

As he approached the skyslipper to set down the gear inside it, he looked towards the backseat to make sure Ryne and Viana were all right.

Except, Ryne was nowhere in sight. Confusion jolted through his mind, with the reflexive fear he’d fostered over the three years they’d spent being pursued by Eulmore’s forces following hot on its heels.

But before he had time to do much more than register the feeling, it vanished and a warm fondness bloomed in its stead as he paused to take in the sight. Viana was deep asleep, expression finally relaxed and void of pain, her chest rising and falling slowly with each shallow breath. In her lap, the top of a head with familiar red hair poked out from beneath the blankets, nearly obscured due to how she had one arm protectively draped over Ryne’s sleeping form.

His breath rushed out of his lungs in a deep exhale, and with it, the turmoil of dark emotions in his heart scattered like dust. He was used to close shaves but this… this had been a bit too close for comfort. Silently, he offered a prayer of thanks to the Twelve, whether they could hear him or not in this world.

They were both safe and alive. He hadn’t lost them.

Quietly, Thancred climbed into the skyslipper and deposited the items he carried on the floor, to the side where they wouldn’t be in the way. Despite his logical side urging him to the contrary, he leaned down over Viana and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

“What’s..? Thancred?” she murmured, her voice coming out rough and weary, while turning her head towards him enough that their noses bumped together in the process.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve nearly packed up and will be heading back soon,” he said quietly as to not wake Ryne. “You still okay? Need anything?”

“Mhm,” she replied with a small nod while drowsily blinking up at him. “Just fine. So’s Ryne. She fell asleep pretty quickly. Don't need anything.”

Cradling her jaw, he brushed another kiss to her lips, relieved that her skin no longer felt as cold to the touch as though she’d just walked in from a blizzard. Viana made a soft, pleased noise in turn, the sound so familiar to him by now that he felt his chest grow tight with affection.

“Do you feel better?” she asked quietly.

With a quiet sigh, he rested his forehead against hers and let his hand drop to gently touch the top of Ryne’s head. “Yes, I do.”

---

Sort of headcanon, in that “I am not sure if this works with the lore” sort of way, that she tried to use a samurai LB3 to break the ice, but since the gunblade and gunbreaker armour isn’t quite as aether conductive as samurai gear, it was more just a brute force expulsion of aether.

[lokisimps]

A Promise (Jean)

 TW:!! THIS FANFIC HAS SELF HARM, AND BLOOD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Request: Can I ask for Jean x fem reader? angst(self-harm-reader) to fluff?

A/N: sorry this turned out shorter than i expected! 

Jean sighed, tapping her fingers against her desk. Her eyes moved down to watch the clock laying on her desk, before flicking back up to the door of her office. Normally she wasn't one to nitpick details, but when you started being more tired, not around as much, she got worried. You usually weren’t one to make her wait for long which only made your lack of presence worse. She let out another exhale and stood up to her full height, letting her heels clack against the floor slightly. She was going to go find you and ask you what was wrong. Jean was prone to worrying even if you asked her not to, its just in her nature. Jean began a brisk pace out of her office. She found herself walking towards the library instead of the door.

“Ah Jean, won’t you be a dear and help me bring all these books down to Kaeyas office?” Lisa asked, not even bothering to turn around and meet the blonde's eyes, if she had she would’ve been able to pick up on Jean's distress. Jean found herself smiling a bit in Lisa’s presence, her friend was always there for her no matter the trouble. 

“Oh, i actually had a question for you…” Jean said, her thoughts trailing off at the end as she stared at the pile of books Lisa was working on. She wasn’t interested in the books, Kaeyas business was his own after all, she was just thinking on how to word what she wanted to ask. Lisa spun and upon meeting Jean’s thinking face let out an amused puff of air. “Looking for Y/n?” Lisa smiled and quirked an eyebrow at the Acting grandmaster. The slight blush that crept on Jean’s face and the way her gaze snapped up from the books infront of her to meet Lisa’s was enough to give the mage her answer. “Well actually..” Lisa started, her brows furrowing as she thought back on the strange girl. “I haven’t seen her around much recently. The cutie came over to give Klee her hat back and then left and I haven't seen her since.” Lisa shrugged. It really wasn’t her business to keep track of Y/n, Though she did note that the young girl hadn’t been coming by to visit Jean, or Klee, nearly as often as normal. Jean sighed and gave Lisa a slight bow. “I’d love to help you with your books but-” The electro mage cut her companion off with a wave of the hand and a snort. “Go on now, I'm sure she will be thrilled to see you stop by.” Jean smiled and let out a quick thank you before dashing out of the library.

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

Jean arrived at your house’s door. She smiled at the small place, She had helped you pick it after all, and even saved with you to make the downpayment on the place. Her and you had such sweet memories there, Cooking, dancing together to silly songs, you braiding her hair in different patterns before work, watching klee- well maybe the last one wouldn’t exactly be sweet. Jean lightly knocked on the front door trying not to anxiously rock on her heels. 

“Y/n?? It’s me, Jean. We were supposed to meet today?” She tried not to call it a date, though it really was. After a few moments of no response she knocked again. “Y/n??” her voice was gradually getting more distressed. The idea that you weren’t home briefly crossed her mind. “Better be safe than sorry…” she mumbled to herself already thinking of places to check after. “I’m coming in!” She announced to the door. While Jean was more than ready to go grab the spare key you kept hidden for her, what she wasn’t ready for was the door being unlocked, and what she was even less ready for was the smell of iron, the smell of blood hitting her. The familiar smell brought back images of battles, images of wounds. The din of the streets behind her was suddenly overpowered by her heart pounding in her ears. What if you were hurt? Did somebody attack you? Did you get hurt in battle and not tell her? Should she get the healers now or later? A single sound broke through her thoughts. It was shuffling from the other room.

Jean rushed to the other room, her body kicking into overdrive. She didn’t even bother closing the front door behind her, anyone who would try and do anything shady would pay later. As soon as Jean turned the corner her eyes widened at what she saw. Your room was a mess, bottles of cider or even a few of wine littered on the floor. Tissues everywhere, there were cups and plates stacked to the roof of your room. The most concerning sight was you sitting on your bed, holding a small cloth to your arm, the cloth was a dark grey, but it had visible dark red stains blotting it. Next to you on a different small cloth was a square sharpened piece of metal, what to her dismay looked like an arrowhead turned more into a blade on one end. Your eyes flashed up to meet hers, she looked so scared. Jean was scared, she was terrified. 

While Jean may be one to push herself into denial, she knew exactly what was happening here. The way you looked at her in shame and shock, eyes wide and watery with clear tear stains running down your face. She wanted to hold you, kiss you and tell you’d it’d be okay, to cradle you in her arms and never let you go again, but she also wanted to yell, to ask you what the hell you were doing, why you would hurt yourself, why didn't you tell her, did you not trust her? This wasn’t about her however, Jean took in a shaky breath and extended her arms in front of her passively.

“Hey there darling….” her voice was soft and calm. She sounded comforting and warm, like she had it under control despite the slight shake in her slow steps towards you. Warm tears started to stream down your face as you watched the way she looked at you. You never wanted to make her sad, or worried, but here she was in front of you, concerned and almost crying. You pushed the towel a little harder against your wrist without thinking about it, the push caused you to flinch at the pain. Jean made her way to the edge of the bed and knelt slightly in front of it. You watched her with curious and guarded eyes. Why wasn't she yelling at you? You deserved to be yelled at. Jean reached out a tentative hand to your wrist, causing you to instinctively pull away from her. She grimaced at this, as if your denial of her caused her physical pain. 

“...Can i please heal it? It will do much better than the rag…” Jean asked, her voice soft and barely above a whisper. You looked at her almost suspiciously. The blonde watched with bated breath as you mumbled

“I…...i don’t want you to see it…” you swallowed after you finished. Your throat was dry and aching at you to drink water, it caused your voice to come out low and horace. Just hearing you talk seemed to put a crack in Jeans composure, she knew she shouldn’t, but she was blaming herself for letting this happen. Jean looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“I want to help you, Y/n… please” The last word left the knights voice weakly, a gentle plea. The look of sadness in her eyes made your heart ache and caused you more pain then anything you had done to your body. Drawing in a breath of air and turning your head you removed the cloth from your wrist, wincing as it caused the cuts to begin to ooze again. Nothing could compare to the way your entire body tried to retreat at the gasp that left Jeans mouth. You felt so ashamed, so… dirty, so gross. You closed your eyes not wanting to see it yourself. After a moment a warm hand moved to gently touch the bottom of your arm, the injured part. You could feel it trembling as it tried to steady your arm. Jean gently guided your arm forward to rest on your leg, and moved her hand to hover above the injury. The sensation of flowing cool air surrounded the top of your arm, creating a tingling sensation you recognized as the wound slowly closing. 

Jean's other hand, still gloved, reached out and took the Bloody towel from you, setting it down on the floor next to you. What shocked you was when she grabbed your uninjured arm and started guiding it somewhere. A sob found its way rising to your throat when your free hand connected with Jean's face, it was wet, she had been crying. 

“Y/n…..” her voice cracked. Archons that hurt. You opened your eyes and shifted them down to look at her, and what you saw will be forever burned into your brain. One of jeans hands had created a bubble of ameno slowly healing your arm, her other was holding your hand to her cheek, her lips were trembling, her eyes were streaming tears that now made your hand wet. She looked so sad…. Had you really done this? “...why” was all she asked. She was shaking but trying her best to conceal it. You opened your mouth to talk, to say anything, to give her a reason why. She was sitting inches away in front of you, staring up with pleading eyes. 

“I-.... i don’t…” you trailed off. How were you supposed to think when all you wanted to do was comfort her, tell her you were okay even if you weren’t, even if that was what got you into this mess, you didn’t want her to worry or cry over you. Jeans head fell forward and met your lap, her body shaking into sobs she couldn’t control anymore. The hand that was once on her face left suspended in air. 

“I was so worried-” she choked out. The hand that was with yours left to fall forward and hold onto the leg of your pants, to hold onto you. “You didn’t come by- and when i got here and smelt the blood i-” she got cut off from her own cries. Your injured arm had stopped bleeding by now, but would still need time to fully heal or you would re-open the wounds. Your free arm reached down and pushed its way into her hair, hoping the simple familiar gesture would comfort her in someway. You watched her shoulders shake as she held onto you and cried. Small “im sorrys, im so sorry” was all you could muster out, you were now crying too. The two of you stayed like that, her head hidden in your lap, clutching your clothes as if you’d vanish in front of her if you didn't. After moments of silence, only filled with quiet sobs and whispered apologies, Jean raised her face to look at you.

“Promise me.” her voice came out clearer than it had since she entered the building. Her bright blue eyes piercing yours in a resolute. “Promise me you won’t….” the words hurt her too much to say, her quick glance at your injured wrist told you enough about what she was referring to. “Promise me you won’t. Promise me you will talk to me, or someone….please” the grip she had on your clothes squeezed, you couldn’t tell if it was to emphasize what she had asked of you, or if it was unintentional. You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you lightly tapped your forehead to hers.

“I promise you.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste, ch. 14

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Kagami Tsurugi, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Luka Couffaine, Lila Rossi/karma, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/aneurism, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Plagg & Tikki

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Jagged Stone, Plagg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, Anarka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Nadja Chamack, Nathalie Sancoeur, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Tikki, Fang, Principal Damocles, Caline Bustier, Ms. Mendeleiev, original minor character, Alec Cataldi, Lila Rossi’s Mother, Sabrina Raincomprix, Roger Raincomprix, Mylène Haprèle, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste’s Bodyguard, Nino Lahiffe, Nooroo

Tags: Lila Rossi salt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Swearing, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Crack Treated Seriously, Lila Rossi’s Lies Are Exposed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Luka Couffaine Needs a Hug, Paparazzi, Parentification, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Gabriel Agreste Needs an Aneurism, Uncle Jagged Stone, we’re all queer here, the spirit of punk is sometimes just being allowed to be yourself, Kagami Finds Her Groove, punk rock fashion, Savage Kagami, Marinette protection squad, Good Parent Sabine Cheng, Good Parent Tom Dupain, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Protective Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pansexual Luka Couffaine, Sharing a Bed, Pet Names, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Instagram, Bullying, Social Media, Anxiety, Makeover, Hugs, will cure your acne, Face Punching, Bad Ass Juleka Couffaine, Rumors, Protective Juleka Couffaine, Protective Adrien Agreste, Lawyers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, accountability, mental health, Jagged Stone’s well-paid pet shark, How to Make the Evening News, Sexy eyeliner for days, one fish two fish Lila is a screwed fish, How to have fun and piss Gabriel off, Fuckery, sweet litigious karma, Alya sugar, lawyer shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, Schadenfreude, Bad Ass Alya Césaire, Gaslighting, abuse denormalization, Jagged likes his lawyers like he likes his pets: toothy af, Blood in the Water, Everything you didn’t know you wanted and some things you did, Gabriel Agreste is shark bait, Denial, Consequences, Principal Damocles salt, caline bustier salt, the impotence of Gabriel Agreste, snarky Nooroo, lies and the lying liars who tell them, Lila’s brain is a narcissistic hellscape, Lila’s mind is built like an Escher piece, Alec Cataldi salt, Adrien Sugar, wholesome salt, Fu Salt, Kwami Shenanigans, Nooroo is a little shit

Summary: Jagged's Shark! Doo doo doo doo doo doo!

Notes: Jagged’s shark! Doo doo doo doo doo doo! (@norakwami​ fault, there.) For real, though. Look up the lawyer’s first and last name for extra lulz. I research too much. And also I love puns. Also researched diplomatic immunity—Lila’s mom could refuse to waive it only for her bosses to override her and waive it anyway. And for serious crimes that’s sometimes the case. I wanted some Alya sugar here; yeah, she and multiple other people believed Lila and dismissed Marinette's concerns. The adults are the ones who deserve salt, though. Not a 14-year-old.

AO3 link

Chapters 1-2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

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They were still waiting for M. Damocles to finish contacting Mme. Rossi, Marinette having fallen asleep against Sabine and Adrien tempted to follow suit, when a commotion caught their attention. Marinette blinked awake at the shouting.

Curious, Adrien got up to peer around the corner. What he saw left him gaping.

Mme. Bustier’s class had spilled out of the classroom, and were watching as Lila and her mother yelled at each other in rapid-fire Italian, both red-faced. It was almost shocking how they met the stereotype of the hot-blooded Italian in their fervor.

Adrien watched, captivated, only vaguely aware when he was joined by the others, and when the lawyer knocked on the principal’s door and let him know about the “spectacle,” as she called it.

Marinette cried out, her face pale, pointing at a butterfly hovering near the scene. Alya took out her phone to record it, her face a mix of horror and excitement, as though she wasn’t sure she wanted an Akuma just now. Mylène started crying. Juleka moved protectively in front of Rose. Other classroom doors were opening as teachers and students alike came to investigate the commotion.

The Akuma hovered, seemingly uncertain as to which of the Rossis it wanted to go after. Unfortunately, Lila saw it, her expression brightening as she dashed toward it.

“I’ll show you all!”

Adrien gasped as the girl touched her pendant to the Akuma and a familiar butterfly-shaped mask appeared over her face. She would come after him and Marinette, and probably Luka and Kagami. And Jagged and Penny and the lawyer and Tom and Sabine… They were all defenseless. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get away quick enough to protect them.

As he stood there, frozen, Alya dropped her phone, rushed forward, and clocked Lila in the face. Once she was on the ground, she ripped the necklace from her neck. Mme. Mendeleiev rushed forward with a large beaker from her chemistry lab as Alya broke the pendant, capturing it and covering the opening with a book.

Marinette rushing past him unfroze Adrien, and he ran after her as she hugged a pale, panting Alya.

“Alya, that was amazing,” she breathed. “You saved everyone.”

“Mari— Oh, god, Mari. She wanted to be Akumatized. She was going to go after you and hurt you, and I just couldn’t—” Alya was sobbing in her arms, babbling. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’ve been a terrible friend! You tried to tell me, and p-protect me and instead I believed someone I barely knew instead of you. I c-couldn’t let her hurt you!”

As Marinette reassured her, Mme. Mendeleiev told a pallid and shaking M. Damocles that she would put the Akuma somewhere Lila couldn’t reach it for Ladybug and Chat Noir to deal with later.

Lila was keening softly on the ground, her nose obviously broken with this punch, and Adrien couldn’t help but feel a bit of schadenfreude at the sight. Her mother seemed frozen in shock, not even moving forward to comfort her daughter.

“Alya got the Akuma on video,” he murmured, thinking aloud. “So there’s video of Lila going after it to be voluntarily Akumatized.”

Nino picked up Alya’s phone, checking to see that nothing was broken. He pressed the screen to stop the recording. “Yeah, dude. She totally did. Sabrina, you might wanna call your dad. This is big.”

Sabrina immediately pulled out her phone and retreated into the classroom; Chloé blocked the door to make sure Lila didn’t try to stop her, though it seemed unnecessary—the girl gave no indication she’d heard.

M. Damocles stepped forward toward Mme. Rossi. “We will need to have a conversation about your daughter, but perhaps that will need to wait until after her arrest.”

Mme. Rossi turned white, eyes wide. “A-arrest?!”

“Your daughter just knowingly and willingly attempted to aid and abet a terrorist, Mme. Rossi,” the lawyer said, not unkindly. “She will face far more than just the lawsuits by M. Stone, M. Dupain, and Mme. Cheng.”

She stared at the lawyer as though uncomprehending.

“Of course, you could claim diplomatic immunity for your daughter, but it is likely she will at least be expelled from France, though France may choose to refer this matter to the Court of Justice of the European Union, as anti-terrorism laws extend beyond our borders.”

“Who are you?” Mme. Rossi finally demanded.

The lawyer smiled her best shark smile. “I am the head of M. Stone’s legal team, Maître Eulalie Reschignier.”

Adrien tried not to smile when he realized her name was almost a pun.

“My daughter has diplomatic immunity from all lawsuits, as I’m sure you are aware.”

The shark smile became a bit toothy. “We’re aware of that, but also aware that she can be expelled from France at the discretion of the French government.”

Whatever response Lila’s mother intended to give was interrupted by the arrival of Lieutenant Raincomprix and a retinue of other officers.

Nino stepped forward and played the video for the officers. Afterward, Roger approached the still-crying Alya to explain they’d have to take in her phone as evidence until the file could be processed. She just nodded, accepting the temporary loss; she hadn’t let go of Marinette yet.

Then he turned to Mme. Rossi. “We’ll have her injuries checked at the station, but it appears your daughter was attempting to voluntarily become an Akuma. While Akuma victims are never prosecuted, this is a very different issue.”

Mme. Rossi balked. “My daughter has diplomatic immunity!”

“We’re aware,” Officer Raincomprix said with a nod. “Since she has diplomatic immunity, she’ll be moved to a facility outside of Paris pending her likely expulsion back to Italy. Since she attempted to aid and abet a terrorist, your home country will decide whether to waive her diplomatic immunity, but regardless she is too dangerous to keep in Paris.”

That silenced Mme. Rossi, as she realized the limits of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations.

Several officers helped Lila off the ground and led her down the stairs toward the school entrance, followed closely by Mme. Rossi.

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief at their exit. He doubted they’d ever have to deal with Lila again—at least not in person. And he was willing to bet Italy would take a long hard look at her. Meeting Marinette’s eyes, he could see she was having similar balming thoughts; it’d take them all a while to heal from this—especially if the tears still streaming down Alya’s cheeks and the guilt in her eyes were any indication—but they’d move past this somehow, and hopefully their relationships would all be strengthened.

M. Damocles cleared his throat. “Are we finished here?”

Jagged’s smile was almost malicious. “I don’t think so. Eulalie?”

Maître Reschignier turned to the principal. “It seems Mlle. Rossi’s removal from class will no longer be necessary. Instead, we seek anti-bullying and anti-harassment training for all school personnel in addition to the investigation into the treatment of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien couldn’t help but notice the elated smile that graced Mme. Mendeleiev’s face briefly, taking years off her appearance, before disappearing under her usual scowl. She, at least, was clearly not opposed to any of that. Mme. Bustier, however, looked displeased—and given that she’d rolled over multiple times to enable both Chloé and Lila, he wasn’t surprised.

The lawyer smiled, this time sincerely, at Adrien and Marinette. “I believe M. Agreste and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng would be best served returning to their class while M. Stone, Mme. Rolling, M. Dupain, and Mme. Cheng iron out the specifics with you in your office, M. Damocles.”

“Ah… Of course, Maître Reschignier.” The principal pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow. “That seems best.”

Mme. Bustier gestured to enter the classroom. As Adrien moved past the lawyer, she murmured, “I do hope your father will present more of a challenge, M. Agreste.”

He couldn’t hold in his laughter—oh, Adrien hoped she wrecked Gabriel Agreste.

And that he had a front-row seat when she did. And maybe some popcorn.