#as he avoids being touched/touching them which means him refusing to do training exercises or sitting near someone during movie nights

[just-fandomthings]

touch telepath au? im v curious abt that!!!

Ahhh thank you, Abby!! 💜 admittedly, I wrote a little idea for this au back in August…and then completely forgot it existed 😅 but this idea has so much potential for an angsty fic…

uhh so I initially only had a few paragraphs of notes jotted down for this au idea, but as I was transferring them here, an actual story began to take shape in my mind?? I may or may not have an actual outline for this now (thank you so much, Abby, the credit for inspiring me absolutely goes to you 💜) 

So, here’s a little something I wrote:

Tony is a touch telepath--

This leaves him touch-starved, for how can he touch anyone when doing so will mean knowing what they’re thinking/feeling? His touch telepathy is his greatest secret, has been ever since Howard and Maria realized when he was three. He grows up keeping to himself, making a show but never letting people close--

And then there’s Rhodey. Rhodey is safe. 

Tony has felt safe before - in his mother’s arms, when he was with Jarvis and Ana. Whenever Aunt Peggy came for a visit. To a somewhat lesser extent, with Obie, whenever he came over when Tony was growing up. But Rhodey...

Rhodey is safe. He is the first person Tony chooses to tell; for a long time, he is the only person Tony tells. 

Then there’s Sunset, who used him for technological advancements for her own gain. And Tiberius, who used their friendship against him, getting the media to see him as a playboy alcoholic and nothing else. 

It’s not the first time Tony heard someone’s thoughts while they were hurting him (every kidnapping let him know exactly what his captors had planned for him, which, while did help him escape, did also let him know exactly what his captors had planned for him) but it’s the first of many betrayals. 

He learns the pain of remembering is worse when the ghost of their touch to his skin brings back the force of their cruel intent.

Sex is... well. It’s easier to just have one-night stands, where people care more about how good he is in bed, than about him himself. It hurts less, in the long run. 

Or so he tells himself. 

At least it prevents him from getting betrayed again. 

And then comes Pepper. 

Pepper, he slowly comes to realize, is safe. So is Happy. 

Afghanistan is...

The phantom touch of Yinsen’s hand will haunt him every time he allows himself to shake someone’s hand for the rest of his life. Even in Afghanistan, even at their first conscious encounter, after everything Yinsen knew he was responsible for, Yinsen had cared for him when they’d shook hands. 

Rhodey is the only one he allows to treat him on the plane ride home. 

Everything else about Afghanistan is better unsaid.

Obie touches him only twice when he takes the reactor from his chest. Once, on the back of his head, as he gently guides his head to the backrest of the sofa. It’s a painfully tender gesture; the final bow. 

The second is an iron-clad grip to his chin that forces him to meet his eyes. 

That’s when he realizes Obie never cared about him at all. 

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

The Waiting Game

Warnings: tickling, fluff

Word count: 3200

I'm not as happy with how this one came out as the last two, but if I keep thinking about it I'll never post it so... hope it's alright!

* * *

You knew you shouldn’t tell anyone. You knew there would be consequences. But it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You had been taking care of your friend’s pet hamster while they were away for the weekend. For the most part, you’d kept it in your room in its cage to avoid bothering the others with all the noise it made overnight, running on its squeaky wheel at all hours. When everyone else had left the compound for the day, you decided the poor animal could use some real exercise. You had placed the critter in his little hamster ball and brought him to the common area so he could roll around freely.

Except, the little door that closed the ball wasn’t latched all the way. Oops.

Before you knew it, you were crawling around on your hands and knees trying to locate your friend’s pet. You left little snacks out around the room in hopes it would get curious and come out of hiding to munch on something. You were so focused on the task at hand you hadn’t noticed Loki had entered the room, until you heard his voice behind you.

“What in the norns are you doing?” he inquired. You turned to look at him, just as you saw a little fuzzy creature tear across the room and right in front of the dark-haired god. He let out a somewhat undignified yelp as he jumped back. Luckily, the hamster stopped at one of the treats you’d left for him, giving you ample opportunity to scoop him up in your hands. “W-what is that?”

“This is my friend’s hamster!” you explained, giggling at his reaction. “The better question is – what was that noise you made? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this little thing?”

“Of course not! It merely startled me, is all,” he quickly insisted. You held the hamster out toward him, and Loki took a nearly imperceptible step backward.

“Mmhmm, ok. Not scared. Got it.” Grinning, you moved your hand back and petted the hamster gently on the head. “What would the others think if they knew you a tiny little rodent made you freak out?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at you. “Never speak of this,” he demanded, pointing a finger firmly at you to emphasize. He quickly left the room after that, likely to regain his composure.

But you couldn’t just not tell anyone about this gold nugget of information you’d just learned. So, naturally, you told his brother. And Thor, not one for keeping secrets, told everyone else. Needless to say, there was quite a bit of teasing over the next couple of days. You steered clear of the god, knowing he would not take kindly to your having informed the rest of the team about the little incident.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, though. A couple days later, after having returned the pet to your friend, you were making breakfast for yourself in the kitchen when Loki’s voice echoed from the doorway.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated, his tone ominous. You turned from the stove to meet his eye, smiling sweetly to mask your nervousness at being confronted by the trickster.

“No, of course not! We just haven’t crossed paths,” you fibbed. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes – I suppose yesterday in the hallway you just realized you forgot something SO important you had to literally sprint in the opposite direction as you saw me approach?”

“Oh… alright, fine. Yes, I’ve been avoiding you. Wouldn’t you do the same?” Loki stepped into the kitchen, taking a few gradual steps toward you.

“You must know there are consequences when you cross me,” he warned. “You humiliated me, and so I think it only fair I do the same to you.”

“Well good luck with that, I’m an open book. There’s no secrets you can use against me,” you quipped.

“You see, I thought that may be the case, so I started querying the other Avengers,” he explained, now standing only a few feet away from you. Instinctively, you put down your half-cooked breakfast and took a step away from the advancing Asgardian. “Most of them had fairly useless information – scared of spiders, fairly standard human weakness… sleeps with a stuffed bear, which everyone already seemed to know about…”

“Please. That’s not embarrassing,” you huffed.

“…and then I spoke to the spider child. He provided me with some very interesting information about you.” Loki smirked, causing you to laugh nervously.

“Oh, do tell,” you urged, folding your arms across your chest, and trying to play it off as a laugh of disbelief. Loki had now backed you into the corner of the kitchen, which you hadn’t realized until your back met the cold plaster of the wall.

“He informed me that the only time he’s ever seen you truly flustered and embarrassed was during one of your sparring matches, when he accidentally learned about your little secret.” Realization dawned on you, and you tensed up immediately. “He described how you’d begged him not to tell anyone, and he hadn’t up until this point. Apparently he finds me threatening, so it wasn’t difficult to convince him to start talking.”

“I-I don’t know what he could possibly be talking about,” you muttered.

“I think you do,” Loki argued. He pounced at you, lunging with his hands aimed at your sides, causing you to squeak and curl into yourself. His hands stopped inches away from you, close enough that your skin tingled from sheer proximity to his fingertips. “You’re ticklish. Severely, based on that reaction.”

“Pshh, no I’m not! That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you denied, your lie exposed by your nervous giggles and blushing face.

“Mmhmm, I’m sure.” His hands darted toward your belly, again stopping right before he made contact. You yelped and whipped your arms down across your torso to protect yourself. Loki’s smirk only grew wider.

“Ok, fine. You’re right. Just… get it over with!” you begged.

“Oh no. Where would be the fun in that?” he chuckled, stepping back and allowing you space to move away from the wall. “I’ve got to build some anticipation. Catch you when you least expect it.”

“That’s just mean!” you groaned. Loki laughed again, turning around to leave the kitchen. Just before he left, he called over his shoulder.

“You’d better watch your back.”

* * *

Loki’s little game went on for days.

You were on edge at any given moment. Peeking around corners before entering rooms, listening through doors before opening them, trying to ensure your safety before making a move. You half expected him to jump out of nowhere and attack you with tickles on your way down the hallway, but it never happened. Still, you made your travel between rooms as brief as possible.

You wouldn’t say you were dreading the moment he finally did decide to pounce. In fact, in a way the idea made your heart flutter with excitement. What made you most nervous was the thought of the team figuring out you actually enjoyed being tickled, especially Loki. You were certain that that would be the embarrassing part. That, and the fact that you were already flustered by being around Loki long before he figured out this bit of information about you.

You couldn’t always avoid him. There were times that you had to be in the same room for prolonged periods, like during meetings. Loki always seemed to have things set up before you arrived so that the only seat remaining in the room was next to him. You considered sitting on the floor, once, but Steve gave you a scorning look which made you shrink down into the chair beside Loki, albeit begrudgingly. During these meetings, Loki always made sure to keep you on your toes; leaning towards you abruptly and placing his hand on the back of your chair, making you jump, only to whisper something about the meeting presentation, or some ridiculous observation about his brother.

It wasn’t just during work-related gatherings, either. One night, you joined a few of your teammates in the common room to watch a TV show together. Wanda stood up from the couch beside you to go grab a snack from the kitchen, and out of nowhere Loki swooped in and sat down in the spot she previously occupied.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, smirking as you shuffled further toward the edge of the couch to increase the distance between the two of you.

“Loki,” you grunted stiffly in reply.

“Now, y/n, that’s no way to greet your fellow team member,” he scolded tauntingly, clapping a hand on your shoulder, and causing you to flinch away reflexively. He leaned back against the couch, casually propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of you – a stark contrast from your position, huddled in the corner of the couch hugging your knees to your chest in an effort to make yourself as small as possible. “Pray tell, what are we watching?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you huffed. Maybe this whole situation was making you feel a little bratty toward the Asgardian, but in all honesty he really did deserve it.

Suddenly he lunged toward you, causing you to squeak and jolt away from his fingertips. He never touched you, though, closing his fingers around the TV remote sitting on the couch beside you with a smug grin on his face.

“My, my, aren’t we jittery this evening?” he teased, settling back into his seat as he pointed the remote toward the TV to check the guide and find out the show title you had refused to provide.

“Everything alright over there, antsy-pants?” Tony asked, having witnessed the whole interaction.

“Yup! Just peachy,” you replied quickly, shooting Loki a quick glare.

“Peachy? Uh… alright then…” Tony scrutinized you for a moment before turning his attention back to the TV screen.

Needless to say, you didn’t really remember any of the rest of the show from that evening.

Then, as if these group gatherings weren’t enough, there was also your regularly scheduled training sessions. One morning, when Nat had you practicing throwing punches at the punching bag, you sensed Loki lurking around behind you. You turned your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision standing a few feet away, observing you silently.

“Better watch yourself – I might just throw one of these punches in your direction,” you threatened, keeping your eye on him as you continued to practice.

“Such hostility,” he teased. “Surely this much stress can’t be good for a mortal such as yourself.” He quickly advanced toward you, causing you to spin around and throw your hands up in front of you in defense. A deep, throaty laugh escaped his lips at your reaction. “You’ve only proven my point. You must learn not to be so tense.” He grabbed hold of your shoulder and turned you around, kneading both shoulders with his strong hands. Under normal circumstances, you’d have melted under his touch, but you were unwilling to let your guard down even for a moment. You grabbed his wrists and turned back to face him, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“I’m not just going to let you slip past my defenses that easily,” you warned, stepping backward toward the door to leave while he smirked at you in amusement.

“Oh, don’t worry - I’m certain of that.”

* * *

After a week of this charade, you were really getting anxious. You were starting to flinch at every little sound, every rapid movement anyone made in your direction. Even when it wasn’t Loki you were interacting with, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The anticipation was literally driving you insane.

You entered the training room that morning ready to release some of your stress in your sparring session. Unfortunately, Steve had started noticing over the last few days that you and Loki were in the middle of some sort of conflict, and so he assigned the two of you as sparring partners, telling you to either fight it out or get over whatever it was. Reluctantly, you stepped out onto the sparring mat and faced your opponent, already starting to feel nervous butterflies in your stomach. Loki shot you his characteristic mischievous smirk, ducking into his fighting stance.

“I’ll do my best to make this a fair fight,” he goaded. You mimicked his stance, narrowing your eyes at him across the mat.

“Just get on with it, Loki,” you ordered. You didn’t wait around for him to make the first move, throwing a quick one-two punch which he dodged easily. He countered with a jab toward your ribs, stopping just before he made contact, but it was enough to make you flinch. You aimed a low-sweeping kick at his ankles but missed again as he hopped over your leg. Frustrated, you threw another sloppy punch toward his shoulder, but he grabbed hold of your wrist and yanked you toward him, spinning you around easily and pinning your arm behind your back, his other hand gripping your waist.

“Do you yield?” he asked, his voice low in your ear. You spun back around and yanked your wrist free in one fluid motion, driving him backward by slamming your forearm into his chest.

“Not just yet,” you grunted, grinning as he stumbled from the unexpected force. Loki quickly regained his balance, wasting no time in lunging at you again. This time, he aimed his hand toward your side, causing you to yelp and twist awkwardly to avoid his touch.

“Did Natasha teach you that move? Your form is getting sloppy.”

“You know exactly what made me move like that,” you muttered, jumping back on the offensive and landing a couple of blows to his shoulder. He retaliated with a jab straight at your stomach, stopping his own momentum early enough that he merely tapped his fist against your belly. You doubled over, wrapping both arms around your torso protectively.

“It seems your fighting skills require quite a bit of work.”

“Damnit, Loki!” you shouted, unable to take it anymore. “If you’re going to do it, just do it!”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. You’ve been finding every excuse to lean toward me or make a sudden move in my direction to make me think you’re going to do it. I can’t stand it anymore!” You didn’t quite realize how loudly you were shouting at this point, causing heads to turn in your direction without your noticing. “I know this was all part of your grand plan, to drive me insane with anticipation. You win! I give! Just… get it over with already, please!”

In one swift motion, Loki tackled you flat on your back onto the mat, arms pinned over your head. You felt your stomach somersault, partially from the sudden drop to the floor and partially from the wide smirk on Loki’s face as he hovered over you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Loki released both of your wrists and latched both hands to your sides, squeezing rapidly. You burst into uncontrollable laughter at the agonizingly ticklish sensation. Even Loki seemed somewhat taken aback by your reaction. “No wonder you were so concerned; the spider boy certainly wasn’t lying.”

“Damn you Peteheher!!!” you groaned through your laughter. At this point, everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to see what the sudden commotion was about. You could feel your face burning, knowing everyone’s eyes were on you as Loki tickled you senseless.

You couldn’t bring yourself to fight back very hard, though; after all, you’d been waiting for this to happen for an entire week. You hoped it didn’t seem too obvious. You didn’t dwell on it for long, though, as Loki’s fingers crawled up to your ribs, depriving you of all coherent thought.

“Do you regret spreading humiliating rumors about me yet?” he teased, his smirk widening.

“N-no!”

“Tsk, tsk, wrong answer, darling,” Loki shook his head in mock disappointment, his hands darting back down to your sides so he could dig his thumbs into your hips.

“Lo… Loki… wahahait!” you pleaded, shrieking at the new sensation, and swatting feebly at his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m not comprehending what you’re trying to tell me.” He was laughing now, clearly enjoying himself as he made you squirm under his torturous fingers. “Come, now, darling; I know you can fight better than that.” You shook your head rapidly, grasping weakly at his wrists. He moved to scribble lightly into your belly, trying to allow you the chance to talk while still keeping you giggling. “Use your words, love.”

“I-I cahahan’t!” you protested.

“You can’t? Or you’ve chosen not to?” Your eyes widened a bit, realizing he’d caught on to you. “Are you enjoying this?”

Blushing furiously, you rolled abruptly to the side to break his hold and scrambled to your feet, gasping for breath. Loki stood as well, staring you down for just a moment before lunging toward you. You turned and began to run, but the god easily caught up to you, grabbing hold of your arm and yanking you backward so he could trap you in what you could only describe as a bear hug.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Um…” Your heart was pounding in your chest from both exertion and embarrassment. “No? That would be… that would be weird.”

“On the contrary; I find it amusing. Dare I say… endearing, even.”

“Really..? Are you sure-” You were cut off by your own hysterical laughter as Loki dug his fingertips into your ribs, tickling you with renewed vigor. With your arms pinned to your sides and your back pressed flush against his chest, there was very little hope of you escaping this time.

“Surely you understand the implications of this newfound knowledge, dear? You’ve provided me with the perfect excuse to torment you whenever I’d like.”

“Stohohop teasing… LOKIHIHI!” you pleaded, your knees going weak as his fingers darted up and down your sides. You’d completely forgotten about everyone else in the room at this point, your mind going fuzzy. The only thing keeping you standing upright at this point was Loki holding your weight up as he tortured you.

By the time he released you from his hold, your stomach hurt from laughing so hard, and tears of mirth blurred your vision. It had been quite some time since anyone had tickled you like that. Heat still prickled in your cheeks, but you felt happy, nonetheless.

“Damn. Now I know how to cheer you up when you’re moping around the tower,” Tony quipped, walking past you and patting your shoulder as everyone finally returned to their own training exercises.

“Shut up, Tony,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. A swift poke in the sides made you jerk both arms down away from your face.

“I do believe we’re even,” Loki stated, smirking.

“Fine. We’re even. Now – can we finish our sparring match? Without cheating this time?” You shoved his shoulder playfully to emphasize your point. He only grinned wider.

“Darling, I refuse to make promises that I don’t intend to keep.”

[hoedorokishoto]

Trust - Part 2

Shoto Todoroki x Reader 

warnings - explicit sex, swearing 

previous | part | next

Todoroki had gotten taller since the last time I had been this close to him. His body also filling out and getting stronger from all the training. Changes that weren't noticeable until I was inches away from him, measuring his body for any new costume changes that might be required. From watching the training exercise I had concluded that putting a mesh suit under his current costume was the best course of action. One that was highly resistant to both hot and cold, to decrease the number of small burns and frostbite he seemed to get from using his quirk at high outputs. The same mesh being impenetrable and good if a villain ever decided to stab the future pro.

"Shinso said you are very good, and that I'm in good hands." Todoroki said, looking down at me as I continued to take his measurements.

"Were you worried beforehand?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow, and standing up. His dual-coloured eyes continued to burn holes in my back wherever I walked around the workshop.

"Is there a reason you keep staring at me?" I asked softly, not mad but uncomfortable with the constant attention.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable; I just like watching you work."

"I'm excited to see what you come up with."

Todoroki looked the part of being cool and confident but sometimes the way he spoke reminded me of what an awkward little bean he could truly be. Hitoshi stating that his social skills could still use a little work.

"Well, I'm glad you are excited. I think I could make a lot of cool improvements."

It wasn't a lie, I was excited. Any opportunity to further my career as Hero Support or be in the workshop creating new inventions was always a plus to me. It was the Hero in front of me that I had reservations about. Being with new people who I didn't really know wasn't my idea of fun. Neither was small talk. At least we had that in common, both of our silences falling over us like a heavy blanket, and it seemed that neither of us knew how to escape it.

"Are you-."

"You shou-."

You both said at the same time, looking at each other. A smile crept onto my face as Shoto's cheeks darkened with a small blush. Shoto looked down at his feet, his two-toned hair coming down to fall over his eyes.

"You were saying?" I asked, stepping closer to Todoroki, and looking up into his eyes, trying to keep him flustered, finding his awkwardness cute and endearing. He didn't step back, sizing me up.

We were so close I could feel the heat coming off his body, the proximity causing goosebumps to spread down my arms.

"I was saying you should have seen my first hero suit; it was really bad. Or as Ashido says tragic." Todoroki said, his voice low, his face still so close I could feel his breath. Todoroki was handsome, I would have to be blind to deny it. His features were sharp and prominent, his half and half colouring only adding to his air of mystery. I wanted to test the waters; see exactly how far I could push him.

"I have a feeling you could wear a sheet and still look good." I stated. Dropping back down in front of him and measuring his inseam.

"You think so?" Todoroki asked a smirk plastered across his face as he looked down at me.

"If I wanted to see you naked I think I know just how I could make that happen." I said.

Despite my brave statement I still blushed as he looked down at me still, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I bet you haven't seen anything like this." He answered quickly, leaving my mind racing. The position we were in doing nothing to help me try to get a handle on the situation.

"Are you trying to fluster me?" Todoroki asked, leaning down and putting his fingers under my chin, guiding me back up to stand with him.

"Is it working?" I asked, a similar smirk falling across my face. Leaning into his touch, his left hand warm on my skin.

"Maybe..." Is all he said, stepping off the platform and turning towards the door, picking up his bag and school uniform jacket as he went.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked, turning around one more time to look at me, my eyes wide, trying to comprehend the situation. I didn't speak, just nodded my head in his direction and spun around. Heading to the workbench to write down all the measurements I took while it was fresh in my mind. I wanted my mind to be anywhere but thoughts of Todoroki and whatever had just happened.

                                                               *

The regular noise of the 3H dorm filled my ears as we all sat down for dinner, various pots of stew and bowls of rice steaming, spread out across the table. The day had ended like any other, covered in grease and staying in the workshop at least an hour later than you intended to only coming back to the dorm when one of the teachers turned off the lights and refused to put them back on.

"Todoroki huh, that's cool. He has a really cool quirk and you're a genius so it's like a match made in Heaven." Mei stated, her hair sticking up behind her goggles and her skin looking just as grease-stained as mine.

I just nodded, scooping rice into my mouth to avoid any real conversation, wanting to be showered and in bed as soon as possible. The exchange between Todoroki and I was still fresh in my mind even now. The intensity of his dual-coloured eyes burnt into my brain.

"Y/N lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not lost for words; I just don't have anything to say..."

"So you are lost for words?" Mei laughed, swinging her arm around my shoulder, and hugging me close. I was grateful that I had found her, other than Hitoshi she was my first real friend, bonding over our love of machinery and design. She was quick to call me out on my bullshit when I needed it and quick to be a shoulder to cry on. On top of that she was a genius who always had insight into whatever project I was working on, helping, and lending advice whenever necessary. If you looked up mum friend in the dictionary she was it. If your mum stayed up all night, had big boobs, ran on coffee and had a steam punk obsession.

Ding

Sen – Hey, how was your day? You busy tonight?

Even the way he typed was perfect, down to the last comma. I wished that Sen could be anything other than someone I fucked around with but the feelings one should have just weren't there. I often wondered if I was keeping him from someone, someone who could return his feelings. Someone who deserved to receive nicely punctuated text messages over dinner wondering about how their day was.

Y/N – Your room or mine?

                                                             *

His grip on my waist was so hard I thought it might bruise, but that was an afterthought as I felt Sen thrust up into me, filling me up and hitting the spot inside me that caused a knot to grow in my stomach, a sign of my impending orgasm.

I looked down at him, his eyes closed as his head was thrown back, his face was cute in this situation. Different from the handsome angular face he usually wore. His brown hair was stuck to his temples, our bodies sweaty from the activities we were currently partaking in.

"You feel so good." Sen moaned out, his mouth starting to kiss up my neck, his handing snaking around and holding the back of my head and neck. Holding me somewhat steady as I continued to ride him.

We both picked up the pace, chasing our orgasms as the sound of skin on skin rang out throughout the room. He kissed me, hard. All teeth and tongues. Both of us coming together with a loud moan. I slumped into him, his arms circling around me pulling me closer as we both caught our breath. I wished I hated him, I wished I didn't care about his feelings. He was comforting, it was times like this that I really wished I could like him how he wanted me to. How he deserved.

I rolled off him, planting my feet on the ground, walking around the room looking for my clothes that had been thrown around the room. I heard Sen shuffle behind me, taking off the condom, tying it off, and throwing it in the trash can by the door.

He came up behind me, I could feel his presence looming over me like a ghost. He reached out and touched my side as I pulled my jeans back up and clipped my bra up.

"You don't have to go." Sen said quietly, almost a whisper. There it was, the words that had the power to cleave my heart in two. Not for my sake but for his, at every turn I was reminded how bad of a person I was, I reminded myself that no matter how nice people were to you or how good it felt when they were inside you, nothing ever really lasted, and the people who claimed to care the most were always the first ones to leave. Why couldn't Sen see that?  Romantic relationships were a distraction which I didn't want to get myself involved in and neither should he.

I turned and took the shirt from him that he held out, slipping it over my head. Collecting the last of my things like my phone and shoes and stopped in front of him once again.

"I'll text you later." I said softly, stepping up onto my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Not looking back as I left his dorm and made my way to the elevator. Praying that all his classmates and Mr. Vlad were asleep.

I made it out of the 3B dorms without any fuss, no hero students, or pro heroes in sight. Thank God. The night air was cool and made the walk back to my dorm quite pleasant, I wasn't in a rush, taking in everything around me. The students jogging around the grounds and the dorms that were lit up with life. The 1st years loudly yelling and laughing, no doubt getting used to dorm life.

I came to a stop outside the 3A dorm, contemplating visiting Hitoshi knowing that regardless of the time he would be up and if he weren't he would wake up for me. I wanted to talk to him, but I also didn't want another weird almost lecture like he gave me the other day. It was hard to talk to people who knew me better than I knew myself sometimes because there was never any hiding. There wasn't anything that I could hide from Hitoshi, even if I tried.

Just as I was about to move on the large doors of the dorm swung open, a very pissed Todoroki stepping out, being followed by an equally as pissed Momo Yaoyorozu. Without thinking I ducked behind the nearest bush and hid. Not meaning to spy on their conversation but also not wanting to look like a creep who snuck around other people's dorms at night.

"I honestly don't know why you are being like this Shoto. Just get over it and we can go back to how everything was." Yaoyorozu said in the distance.

"It was almost 2 years ago; I don't want to do anything with you. Even if I did want any form of relationship with you I definitely wouldn't want it to be like how it was back then." Todoroki replied.

Both of their voices distant, further enough away from the dorm so their classmates wouldn't hear but not close enough to me that I could hear all their conversation.

"That's a bit harsh. We should be together. Both of our fathers think it's a good idea."

"When have I ever given a fuck what my father thinks?"

"Shoto, don't be vulgar. You have been hanging out with Bakugo for too long. He has started to rub off on you."

"I don't want to have this conversation with you anymore Yaomomo, I've said what I had to say, it's you that keeps bringing it up. I won't be getting back together with you, I won't be sleeping with you anymore and I won't even consider it just because our stuck-up scum bag fathers think it's right!" Shoto yelled loudly, there was no doubt that everyone in the vicinity had heard.

Yaoyorozu stomped her foot and pouted, turning on her heels and walking away.

"Well, I still have your cashmere sweater! I'm keeping it!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah well I still have your virginity, so I guess you win some you lose some." Shoto said back, causing Momo to huff and walk back towards the large doors. I chuckled at his statement, this Shoto vastly different from 1st year Shoto, different again from the Shoto that was in your workshop earlier today.

Yaoyorozu didn't look back as she entered the dorm, leaving Shoto Todoroki standing in the moonlight, looking even more ethereal than usual. If it were even possible.

And me, standing in a bush looking like a creep.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys - Chapter 8 - END

- Ao3 link -

“You’re not going to like what we’ve decided,” Lao Nie said.

Lan Qiren could have guessed that from the way that the other man had marched into the room and promptly used Lan Qiren’s thigh as a pillow, primarily, Lan Qiren suspected, because he didn’t want to have to look Lan Qiren in the face.

It was a common tactic of his these days. The Nie clan had always been inclined towards tactile behavior and a certain lack of personal boundaries – personal information was too much to share, but apparently bodies were free game – and Lao Nie had very quickly transitioned from embarrassment to taking advantage of his newfound dependency on regular physical contact with Lan Qiren. Much to Lan Qiren’s relief, they had managed, with some experimenting and considerable effort on all parts involved, for Lao Nie to form a bond directly with the jade pendant. Now, as long as he carried the pendant, he was able to be by himself for a shichen or so without experiencing any degradation in his mental state – and that, in turn, enabled them both to separate and allowed them both some measure of privacy.

Unfortunately, after that shichen was over, Lao Nie would begin to become irritable and irrational again, his eyes slowly becoming bloodshot as the rage and resentful energy contained now wholly within him, rather than in the jade – in Jiwei, rather – began to need to be excised. Exercise and cultivation with a heavy training saber helped slow the effects, as did Lan Qiren’s musical efforts to calm and clear his mind, but Lao Nie’s cultivation was simply too high for it to last for very long. It was as if half his meridians had vanished overnight and yet he continued to cultivate as he did before; it was as if his dominant arm had been abruptly cut off, and yet he instinctively continued to try to do everything he previously could. He needed his saber to complete even a standard circulation of his qi, and short of suppressing his spiritual energy entirely (another experiment that met with some limited success, getting them another two shichen of time apart if they really needed it, but which was not a long-term solution given the unfortunate side effects), he had to have access to it.

Currently, that access was through Lan Qiren.

“If you’re warning me in advance, I’m quite certain that I won’t like it,” he said mildly, continuing to play uninterrupted. He wasn’t cultivating anything at the moment – the piece he was working on was actually a refinement of the music he’d inadvertently created in his grief at Cangse Sanren’s death, the one that had made his normally very stable nephews burst into tears, and he didn’t want to add spiritual energy to it until he’d worked out exactly how he wanted it to go. He reached an appropriate stopping place, noted down a few revisions to the score, and put his guqin aside. “You should tell me about it regardless.”

Lao Nie exhaled. “Well, good news first – the smiths have finally finished conferring and they’ve concluded that they believe it’s possible to try reforging Jiwei, so they’re willing to give it a try.”

“Good,” Lan Qiren said. He hadn’t really understood the spiritual weaponsmiths’ reluctance on the subject, but he respected their expertise as craftsmen, just as they respected his as a musician. “Once the saber has been remade, I can reestablish the resonance between them and, in theory, Jiwei should be able to use that pathway to return - and with greater ease, as she would be returning to her more familiar self.”

“Not that easy, unfortunately,” Lao Nie said regretfully. “Jiwei was shattered. To remake the blade, they will need to – for want of a better explanation – melt her down and start entirely afresh. It will be like having a wholly different saber, albeit with the same metal that she’s used to.”

Lan Qiren frowned.

“There, you see the issue. If it’s a new saber, the familiarity will be absent. We will need to work on reestablishing the resonance the way we did with the pendant, and that means –”

“Slowly.” Lan Qiren’s frown deepened. It had taken him years to establish that initial resonance, and knowing how it was done could only reduce the process by so much. “That is indeed a problem. I cannot stay here as long as that would take. In all truth, I am surprised that I have not already been summoned back by my sect…”

“Oh, you have,” Lao Nie said cheerfully. “A-Jue burned the letters and told the messengers to fuck off.”

Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped. “He did what?!”

“Did we not say? You’ve officially been kidnapped! Well, no, really it’s more of a hostage exchange situation, since they have A-Sang with them…oh, don’t look so horrified, Qiren,” Lao Nie said, starting to laugh. “Your sect elders have indicated that no offense was taken, under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?!” Lan Qiren spluttered a little. “You’re not serious! What circumstances could justify one sect kidnapping another sect’s sect leader, acting or otherwise?!”

Lao Nie stopped laughing, the sound cutting off as if he’d been choked. “Yes, well,” he said, closing his eyes. “That’s the part you’re really not going to like.”

Lan Qiren determinedly prodded at Lao Nie’s shoulder until the other man, grumbling, sat up and took a proper seat so that they could have this discussion face-to-face. Their knees remained touching, which was good enough, and about all that the scoundrel deserved at the moment.

“Explain,” Lan Qiren ordered, and Lao Nie dipped his head into a nod.

“There are several relevant points,” he said crisply, dropping into the familiar pattern of a report. “First, Hanhan has clearly decided that he wants me dead –”

“Must you?” Lan Qiren interjected, even though he had not meant to interrupt.

“Oh, I must.” Lao Nie’s eyes were flinty. “He decided that if he couldn’t have me – and no one said he couldn’t, except his own paranoia – that if he couldn’t, no one could, and I’m not about to forgive him for that, don’t worry. But he’s still my Hanhan, my A-Han, underneath all his madness, and for my own sake, I’m not going to let anyone, whether him or me, forget it. No matter how necessary, some things have to hurt, and to their fullest extent...However, that’s not what’s relevant now. May I continue?”

Lan Qiren nodded.

“He wants me dead,” Lao Nie said, resuming his narrative. “Now that he tried once, he may try again, and I currently lack the capability to defend myself – the doctors, and you, have all agreed that I should avoid any excessive use of qi, and fighting a battle with a saber that isn’t Jiwei is a recipe for disaster in the best of times. I can’t exactly swing the pendant around, can I? Moreover, it may take years for us to establish the resonance, re-transfer Jiwei, and for me to re-familiarize myself with the new saber.”

Lan Qiren did not like the way this was going.

“There’s also the matter that I can’t be without physical contact with you for extended periods of time, and you of course have your responsibility to your sect,” Lao Nie continued. “Kidnapping you is, at best, a temporary fix. We will need something more permanent, and your sect elders have already indicated that they won’t let you marry out until your nephews are grown – and obviously we can’t wait that long, even assuming you’d want to marry me.”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth.

“Don’t say that you’d be willing to make the sacrifice to marry me, because even if you would, I wouldn’t. Putting aside the fact that you wouldn’t be happy leaving the Cloud Recesses and as much as I adore you, having been married before, I’m quite certain that I only want to marry my lovers, thank you.”

Lan Qiren had, in fact, been about to make an offer just like that, but he kept his mouth shut. They could discuss it at length at a later point.

“In short, the best solution to all of these problems, therefore, appears to be to allow events to play out as Hanhan would have wanted: for me to die.”

“You cannot be serious!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, abruptly furious. “After all the effort we put into saving your life, you would just throw it away?”

Lao Nie held up his hands. “Forgive me, I spoke unwisely – ‘do not take your words lightly’, right?”

Lan Qiren was usually very easily distracted by the mention of the Lan sect rules, but he resisted the temptation and glared.

“I didn’t mean I’d actually die,” Lao Nie said, and Lan Qiren’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Only that that would be the story we put out to the world. The process has already begun – that’s why your sect elders aren’t kicking up a fit about A-Jue being so rude to them about refusing to return you.”

“They think he’s in mourning,” Lan Qiren realized. “Whether actual, or merely preemptive.”

He could see how it might appear that way: Nie Mingjue showing up late in the evening, depositing a shaken and terrified Nie Huaisang, using up all the medical supplies in Lan Qiren’s personal possession, and then asking Lan Qiren to return home with him…

Due to Lan Qiren’s friendship with Lao Nie, Nie Mingjue had grown up especially close to the Lan sect; Lan Qiren had been his teacher, and in the end he was only fifteen, even if most people didn’t know that. Even in a world where Lao Nie could not have been saved, he might have refused to let Lan Qiren go home so quickly, seeking comfort from the sole familial authority, however informally constituted, that he had remaining.

“But Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren said slowly. “If you are supposedly dead, then Mingjue will need to become sect leader.”

Lao Nie grimaced, but nodded.

He’d been right about one thing, at least: Lan Qiren did not like what the Nie sect had decided.

He didn’t like it one bit.

“You know what that will do to him,” he said. He himself knew it better than anyone.

“I do,” Lao Nie confirmed, looking pained. “But it’s the best out of a short list of very bad options. If I stay on as sect leader in my current state, someone will kill me – probably Hanhan, but maybe someone else, one of the many small sects that have ambitions of taking the Nie sect’s place – and if that happens, A-Jue will have to become sect leader in truth, without my support. At least this way, I can act as an advisor, aid him with paperwork…that sort of thing.”

As much as Lan Qiren would have liked to argue, he didn’t have a good rebuttal to that.

Lao Nie’s position within the Nie sect was as secure as anything, and the Nie sect’s position as a Great Sect was nearly as unshakable, but there were always smaller sects looking to see whether that could change. If he were known to be so critically weakened...Wen Ruohan might not even need to kill him personally. He’d just need to wait.

And the rest was true, too. There were many things Lao Nie could do from a distance - his month at the Lan sect had shown that much - and having someone reliable to turn to for advice and hard choices was the ideal sort of transition for a new sect leader.

Still, the sect conferences alone would be horrifying, and those Lao Nie would not be able to aid Nie Mingjue with, even if he could help with all the rest.

He hated it.

But he couldn’t argue against it.

“Moreover, without the bulk of the responsibilities of sect leader on my shoulders, I’ll have more opportunity to focus on healing.”

That was true as well. Lao Nie had been hurt very deeply by Jiwei’s destruction. His cultivation had fallen, his usual cultivation pathway denied to him, his trust in his own mental well-being betrayed…in an ideal world, Lan Qiren would recommend seclusion for a few months, maybe even a year, for him to focus on reestablishing his connection with himself, re-centering his foundation so that he could climb up once more. But for a sect leader, that was impossible.

“Very well,” Lan Qiren said, although he made sure by his tone to make clear how much he disapproved. “I understand the basis for your decision.”

“I thought you might.”

“There’s only one flaw I see with your plan.”

“Oh?”

Lan Qiren folded his hands together in front of him. “You still need me, don’t you? Even with the excuse of mourning, Nie Mingjue can only request my presence for so long before the demands of my sect become paramount over their respect for his filial piety and grief.”

“Oh, we’ll let you go back eventually,” Lao Nie said with a shrug. “And I’d go with you.”

Lan Qiren had been expecting that. “And how exactly do you intend to keep the story of your death intact if you’re living with me at the Cloud Recesses? Even if we increase your tolerance such that you can stay home at all times, my home is often visited by my students, including those from other sects – and while there may be a rule against talking behind people’s backs, it is one of the most commonly broken.”

Lao Nie winced in a way that suggested both that he had thought of an answer to that question and also that Lan Qiren was going to hate it.

“Whatever you say, I cannot dislike it more than A-Jue becoming sect leader at fifteen,” Lan Qiren pointed out.

“I don’t know about that,” Lao Nie said. “Given that to this day you despise the smell of gentians.”

Lan Qiren’s brain came to an abrupt halt.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Qiren…”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a good solution,” Lao Nie argued. “No one in your sect goes to that house – most of them don’t even know it exists! It’s within a short walking distance of your home, protected by arrays to enhance silence and protect privacy…”

“I am not locking you in He Kexin’s place!” Lan Qiren bellowed.

“You wouldn’t be locking me anywhere,” Lao Nie said, for once the reasonable and calm one in the face of Lan Qiren’s fury. “I would be going willingly, and I would be free to leave at any time. You’re not your brother, Qiren, and I’m not He Kexin – not least of which because I’m neither capable of nor interested in bearing two sons for you as a means of passing the time.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “A bit of a pity, that. I’m sure they’d be cute.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes at him, although the reassurance and humor had helped douse the worst of his terror at the mere idea. Irritatingly, it was a good solution: he had made the trek to He Kexin’s home hundreds of times and no one had ever raised any questions. In the unlikely event that they did so now, he could claim he was merely tending to the garden to maintain it for his nephews; more likely, however, they would simply not notice – the path between the two locations was short and purposefully discrete.

“You’ll need someone to clean the place,” he pointed out. “Even He Kexin had servants, and if you don’t want anyone from the Lan sect finding out about it…”

“I have some servants that are loyal to me personally, and which are not Nie sect disciples,” Lao Nie said. “They can seek employment at the Cloud Recesses on the basis that they didn’t want to remain here after I’d gone – literally true, if you think about it in a certain light. Your sect would snatch them up in a heartbeat.”

They would, too, even without Lan Qiren interfering: properly trained servants who knew how to serve cultivators were a precious commodity that often had to be raised up from a young age or recruited with great caution from the ranks of rogue cultivators, and ones with the skills and experience that came from serving at another Great Sect were even more valued than most. And once they were part of the Cloud Recesses, there would be no difficulty in Lan Qiren adding the task of caring for He Kexin’s house to their list of duties.

“It’s a good plan,” he finally conceded, and Lao Nie sniggered.

“You look as though you’ve bitten into a lemon, Qiren. Did it hurt to say?”

“It hurt to think,” he retorted, and turned back to his guqin. “Will you visit my brother while you’re there? He might enjoy hearing your voice and knowing that you are close.”

Lao Nie had always refused in the past, and he shook his head now. “Not all of us are as forgiving as you, Qiren. Qingheng-jun made his choices.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“He makes them again every day,” Lao Nie disagreed. “He may have declared that he would stay in seclusion for the rest of his life to make amends, but that was his decision. He could break his oath and come out, do the right thing, but he doesn’t want to.”

It was an old argument, and an unproductive one. Lan Qiren shook his head, signaling that he would no longer engage.

He had other things to be concerned with, and would for some time. There was helping with Lao Nie’s recovery, creating the new resonance, playing calming music for him, keeping his secret; he would also need to help support Nie Mingjue as much as possible during his transition to sect leader, whether through correspondence and advice or through active intervention during the discussion conferences. He would need to manage his nephews, who he had taught so carefully not to lie, and yet they would need to learn to keep this secret, too.

Taking care of Lao Nie would also be an additional set of duties, on top of being sect leader and being a teacher and being himself, but Lan Qiren didn’t mind it.

It wouldn’t be so bad, actually, now that he thought of it without prejudice. To have someone close by to take tea with in the afternoons when his nephews were too busy and it wasn’t the right time of year for students, someone with whom he could speak on any range of subjects, including his occasional frustrations with his sect, stories about his students, the political troubles of the day – a friend close by, rather than at a distance. Someone who would probably encourage him to take more exercise than he usually did, to try things outside of his comfort zone, someone who would listen to his ideas on music or the rules without judgment, someone who would share his burdens and support him…it would be a little like having a wife, but without all the inconvenient aspects that he so thoroughly disliked.

“It’s not too bad, as such things go,” Lao Nie said, his thoughts clearly moving along a similar line as Lan Qiren’s. “Whatever the world thinks, I’ll be the first Nie sect leader to live to enjoy a retirement, however premature.”

This was true.

“I’ll miss my boys, of course,” Lao Nie added. “But I’ll write, and you can invite A-Sang to your lectures when he’s old enough. A-Jue can come visit you, sect leader to sect leader…I wouldn’t be the first father to only see his children a few times a year.”

“Nie Huaisang will probably fail my classes,” Lan Qiren said, having been acquainted with the individual in question for some time now. A clever child, even very clever, but he was also lazy, hated reciting facts, and was as stubborn as a rock – as stubborn as his father. “You’ll probably have the joy of him for several summers in a row.”

Lao Nie smiled.  

“Well, I can’t say this was what I expected when I wrote to you for help all those years ago,” he joked, leaning down and playing with the jade token that now hung from his belt rather than Lan Qiren’s. Wen Ruohan would probably have a fit if he ever saw it – indeed, Lan Qiren was already looking forward to that day in the future, however distant, where Lao Nie would regain his saber and his former strength and re-emerge to make his feelings on the subject of Wen Ruohan’s actions clear. “But I’m still glad you came.”

“As am I, my friend,” Lan Qiren said. “As am I.”

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH7

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 7: Resurrection Overture (VII)

You couldn't see the difference between day and night in the Village of Dusk. Qi Leren walked in the street and walked towards Dr. Lu's clinic.

After the task in the Holy City, Dr. Lu should have survived—he was still unconscious after being detoxed from ingesting the Nightmare Witch’s poison-medicine, so he was sent back to the Lord’s castle by Qi Leren, perfectly avoiding the chaos in the late hours of the night and once again winning the dangerous task. Qi Leren was convinced that his luck level was off the charts. He couldn't even envy him.

When he came to the door of Dr. Lu's clinic, Qi Leren was vaguely excited. He didn't know how Dr. Lu would react when he saw that he was still alive.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door, and there came Dr. Lu’s faint voice: "I’m going to the grave today, you can’t see the doctor."

Qi Leren kept quiet and knocked on the door.

After knocking for a while, Dr. Lu on the other side became angry and opened the door to denounce the guest who was harassing the doctor. He suddenly saw the smiling Qi Leren standing outside the door looking at him. His face went white with a scream: "Ghost!!!!”

Seeing that the door was about to be thrown closed, Qi Leren flashed sideways into the house and angrily grabbed Dr. Lu, who was about to run. "What happened to your face? Who hit you?"

Dr. Lu, who was black and blue, covered his face and refused to let him see it. Qi Leren pulled him up like a carrot and angrily demanded, "Look, I'm still alive! Come on, who bullied you?!”

Because Dr. Lu looked young, Qi Leren never regarded him as his senior. He usually took special care of him when doing tasks together. Now, he had been bullied like this in the few days that he couldn’t see him, which made him angry.

Dr. Lu completely ignored the second half of his sentence, stared at him for a moment, and then rushed to touch his neck.

It was warm and had a pulse. Dr. Lu cried with a "wow", hugging Qi Leren to death with a strength that he didn’t know he had. Qi Leren was scared by him and wanted to throw him off, but when he heard him cry he became heartbroken and softened, standing patiently as he waited for him to calm down.

When Dr. Lu finished crying, Qi Leren's shirt was soaked, and he wondered where he’d gotten so many tears.

"I saw your body with my own eyes," Dr. Lu said with a stuffed up voice, his nose and eyes still red.

On the contrary, Qi Leren poured water on him like a master: "I was dead, but I had a resurrection item that allowed me to come back after seven days. I didn't say anything about this, and I made a mess."

Dr. Lu complained bitterly: "Do you know how long I cried?! I cry when I think of it. I'm so sad. I also wanted to clean up your things for you, but there was no key to your house and the door couldn't be opened. I had to cry and go home, I was so ashamed."

Although he has known Qi Leren for a short time, it was a friendship established in a dangerous and terrifying world. Seeing his best friend die, Dr. Lu, who was already full of feelings, was very sad. After the completion of the task in the Holy City, he had followed Ning Zhou to evacuate the residents, and the Holy See’s staff took the living residents away from their hometown. He and Ning Zhou had returned to the Village of Dusk. Ning Zhou was in a bad state along the way. Dr. Lu didn’t dare to cry. When he got home, he had seen the training menu Qi Leren had before, and then got into bed and cried for a long time.

He didn't really feel the deaths he had experienced before. He only felt as if he was playing a game that was too realistic. It wasn't until he saw Qi Leren no longer breathing as he was buried in the tree tomb that Dr. Lu had realized the cruelty of the world.

"Well, don't be sad. You haven't said what happened to your face?" Qi Leren looked at Dr. Lu's face carefully. Dr. Lu's forehead was swollen and covered with an ointment, and his mouth and chin were cracked. It looked miserable.

"I... I fell..." Dr. Lu whispered.

Where would Qi Leren believe this: "You fell all over your face?"

"Really." Dr. Lu showed him his sleeves and bruises on his elbows. "I was born with an uncoordinated cerebellum, poor balance, easy to fall when running, and failed in all sports."

Qi Leren remembered that Dr. Lu mentioned it to him before. At that time, he didn't care. He thought it was an excuse to be lazy.

"Can this be cured?" Qi Leren asked seriously.

"Ah, I’ve been treated? I can just use [Doctor’s Orders], it doesn't hurt anymore, that is, the bruises haven’t returned," Dr. Lu said after a pause.

Qi Leren was distressed yet amused: "I mean, can you cure your coordination problem?"

"No, but more exercise will still improve it some... I’ve also been exercising recently, that is, the training regimen you gave me before... I just always fall, but now I’ve thought of a solution of wearing more clothes when I go running, so when I fall it doesn’t hurt. It's just too tiring, I’ve never been so active in my life," Dr. Lu complained, and secretly glanced at Qi Leren. "Anyway, I’ll work hard and won't hold you back. Oh, my [Doctor’s Orders] have also been upgraded. Now the treatment effect is better. I’ll still milk you in the future. Tanks like you who die particularly easily need a reliable healer like me."

Knowing the cause and effect, Qi Leren was really angry and amused, and lastly he was a little touched. For a long time, he had positioned Dr. Lu's role as a healer who could find 100% of the task items and counterbalance his own luck value, so he didn't expect him to help in battle. Now it seemed that his death had had such a big impact on Dr. Lu. In fact, Dr. Lu had grown a lot more than before.

The two chatted for a long time, and Dr. Lu also carefully told Qi Leren what happened after his death, especially about Ning Zhou. Dr. Lu was very happy to learn that Ning Zhou could come back in a month at most. He accepted the fact that his best friend was gay and he was eager to teach him prostate massage skills that could make even straight men fly up. After being shot down by Qi Leren, Dr. Lu gave him a look of "peerless martial arts will be lost".

Qi Leren was hungry, too. He pilfered the delicious cupcakes Dr. Lu hoarded and ate his meal under Dr. Lu's resentful gaze.

"Those are my favorite ones... I waited in line for three hours to buy them." Dr. Lu wanted to cry.

"I just died and you were in the mood to line up to buy cupcakes, confiscated!" Qi Leren ate two of them and thought they tasted really good. No wonder they were so popular.

Dr. Lu looked at the cakes with a flat mouth amid his grief: "I was going to take them to your grave to offer them to you."

"Oh, I'll take them." Qi Leren smiled and smashed half a cupcake, stuffing it into Dr. Lu's mouth. "Well, you eat it too. It tastes really good."

Dr. Lu, who is good at buying, said happily, "As long as you don't die, I’ll buy it for you every day."

"Bah, don’t say something so unlucky! I don't want to die again," Qi Leren said.

"But you always die when you use S/L Data," Dr. Lu poked a knife in his sore spot.

“……”

The two men hurt each other for a while, and Qi Leren became tired. Because Dr. Lu had no extra bed at home, he ruthlessly robbed Dr. Lu of his bed. Heedless of the fact that Dr. Lu, who had been robbed of the bed, was whining off to the side, he fell asleep rolled up in the blanket.

He had another nightmare.

In his dream, he returned to the church at the top of the old site of the Vatican and stopped in front of the huge stone door.

He held out his hand to push the door open, and his remaining reason screamed at the top of its lungs telling him to stop, but in his dream he was ignorant and fearless and bravely pushed open the door.

The deceiver is watching him with a charming smile.

Blinded by shock at that moment, Qi Leren had no time to take in the smile on Su He's face. He actually laughed with no malice, only a hint of ponder and ridicule, just like a human watching crickets fighting to the death in a jar, watching quietly, wondering which one would win.

Once upon a time, Qi Leren didn't quite understand why Su He always had a calm and casual attitude, as was the case when he first met him. While he and Dr. Lu were extremely nervous, Su He remained composed. Because for him, this was just a cricket game. How could a chess player who could overturn the chessboard at any time be afraid because of the thrills on the chessboard?

Qi Leren dreamed of his death again.

His throat’s trachea was cut, and the pain of suffocation and the weakness from blood loss brought back to him with the dream. He crawled desperately on the cold ground, every inch of distance exhausting him, and his will constantly collapsed as he was tortured by death. He couldn't persist and gave up...

"Qi Leren, Qi Leren wake up!"

Qi Leren suddenly sat up, short of breath and in a cold sweat. Dr. Lu sat by the bed and looked at him anxiously: "You asked me to wake you up at this time... You seemed to be having a nightmare."

"...I'm fine." Qi Leren wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Is there any water?"

Dr. Lu poured him a glass of water.

Qi Leren gulped, slow to come over from the nightmare. This dream reminded him that Su He might already know about his resurrection, and he might make another action. He had to be careful that Du Yue wouldn’t leak the Nightmare Game. At the end of the day, this was actually his fault. If he was making the arrangements now, his first choice would be to ask Chen Baiqi that if anything happened to him, she should give his letter to the Courthouse’s Prophet.

It was a pity that when he wrote the letter, it was during the time when he accepted the role of "Red". At that time, he and Chen Baiqi weren’t very familiar with each other, and he didn't like the Court, and he didn't even know about the Prophet. Naturally, he couldn't be as thoughtful as he was now.

He could only mend things by getting a contract from Chen Baiqi for Du Yue to sign, swearing that he would keep this secret.

His appointed time with Chen Baiqi was coming. Qi Leren got up, put himself together, and walked towards Chen Baiqi's home.

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Editor’s Notes: I love Dr. Lu so much 😭😭😭 He’s like an awkward parent who texts you about a cute cashier that he thinks is gay after you come out to him because he’s trying too hard to show that he’s supportive

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[thewatermelloncat]

Miscommunication   (part 1)

Summary: The Hargreeves siblings were made to be rivals, so Ben had never seemed to care much for Five. That is until the day he realises the rivalry was all in his head.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this - it’s probably a little rough around the edges but I just wanted to post something because I haven’t in a while.

Thoughts on continuing this? I have a few ideas, but I’m open to suggestions for continuing with the next part…

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It was pretty much set in stone that the siblings would be rivals. Luther and Diego were always at each other’s throats trying to prove who was the better leader. Allison and Klaus being the next sequential pairing, were supposed to have a rivalry but Allison would only cheat her way to the top if Klaus cared in the first place. 

Ben and Five were slightly different. Where Luther and Diego were in a battle over strength and charisma, they were in a battle over knowledge and wits.

Not to say that Ben doesn’t like Five exactly, but he sometimes doesn’t feel the need to get on with him, they are complete opposites. Where Five is outspoken and opinionated, Ben is shyer and more reserved. And where Five is better at math, Ben is better at literature.

Means to say that he doesn’t go out of his way to spend time with Five outside of their training and schooling. He figures that Five has no interest in being his friend anyway.

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A couple of days ago Five started to seem a little off. Not that Ben had noticed until Allison made a passing comment and Five had brushed it off. But after then he began to notice how quiet his brother was being, sharing his opinion less and not answering as many of Pogo’s questions in their classes. Ben would normally hope that it meant that he was becoming less arrogant and egotistical, but from the way he looked with his paling face, Ben knew it was for a different reason.

Call him a bad brother or whatever, but he didn’t think much of it. People get sick from time to time, and he would enjoy the silence while he could.

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It wasn’t until the week was nearing to an end that it began to dawn on him that Five wasn’t getting any better. Granted that he was still functioning and miles away from death’s door, but surely, he should have at least started to get better by now.

One by one things started to stick out to him more, like his siblings’ passing comments. Just in the last day he’d overheard Luther ask him if he was okay after breakfast, since he’d apparently heard him coughing all through the night. He’d seen Diego unceremoniously lob a box of tissues at him while they were all in the lounge reading for their classes – they’d bounced off his shoulder and Ben can’t remember if he’d even touched them. Allison had tried to sneak a hand to his forehead only to have it batted away. Even Klaus had noticed something was amiss and had dropped a pack of painkillers on his lap after seeing him staring off into space with a pinched expression, a clear sign he had a headache. And no matter how quiet Vanya normally was, there was about a 75 percent ‘bless you’ rate each time he sneezed.

Means to say that Ben felt kind of bad about being so quick to dismiss his brother’s state of health. Then again, he wasn’t sure what to do. Five didn’t normally accept help from others and Ben was sure that he would be the last person Five would accept help from. After all, he is incredibly stubborn.

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Despite the fact that their classes are compulsory he still showed up to them. Sure, he participated less than usual but otherwise it was like nothing was wrong. Of course, aside from the way he looked and how sometimes his respiratory system failed him. In those moments when he could do nothing but shield coughs as silently as possible into his elbow, he always made sure to avoid Pogo’s concerned gaze. Though their tutor would do no more than repeat the sentence he had been saying before he had been interrupted.

Somehow with every worksheet they were given, Five still finished first. Ben couldn’t help but feel frustrated that even then he couldn’t beat Five academically. It got him in his head thinking that Five was intentionally working extra fast just to one-up him in their rivalry. To prove he was better even when he was far from his best.

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Though it was in their training that Five fell behind, and for good reason. Somehow, he always managed to drag himself from wherever he had been in the house and down to the training exercise. Force himself to stand up straight and once again pretend nothing was wrong. However, that was where the pretendences were forced to stop.

Five tired quickly in their endurance training, even more so when he had to use his power which sapped him at over twice the speed. It was a sure bet that their father noticed but he refused to say anything. Only looking down to angrily scribble something in his notebook when Five no longer had the energy to jump.

Still Five never complained and never held back. It made Ben hate him for two reasons: one being that he was stupidly pushing himself too hard when he shouldn’t, and two, because he was sure that the latter had something to do with him.

It wasn’t a secret that weakness wasn’t tolerated in their strange family, so Ben had no doubt that Five was over compensating to disguise it. Ben was just an obstacle in Five’s way to proving to their father that he is superior. That his weak brother can’t even beat him even when he’s below par. The thought almost made Ben feel sick himself.

Yet through all this, Ben begins to feel sorry for him. Sorry that he so desperately feels the need to overexert himself to hold on to their father’s approval.

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The pages of Five’s book are beginning to camouflage into the tissues scattered around his desk. Sighing deeply, he drops his pen and pulls his rubbish bin closer to his chair, figuring that he would work better with a clearer space.

Soon after his desk is cleared, he realises that isn’t the case. His eyes still won’t focus on the page and he can’t remember what to do with the math formulas in front of him, regardless of the fact he knows he’s seen them many times before.

In amidst spinning his pen between his fingers his breath hitches and he drops it to the desk in favour of reaching for a tissue from the box in front of him.

“Huht’nnTSCH!”

He groans as the sneeze loosens the congestion built in his head and surrenders to emptying it in the tissue. After coughing slightly as air gets restricted in his throat, he sniffles in vain before reaching for another tissue. The loosening pressure in his head far from done with him.

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Ben had been minding his own business for most of the afternoon. He’d sat with Klaus and Diego for a bit but had left when they had started arguing over whether noodles were a soup or pasta. Then he’d sat and listened to Vanya play her violin until she stopped to do something else. So, with nothing to do, he wondered the halls of the academy without any mind to where he was going.

As he walks past Five’s room his ears pick up on the sound of light coughing projecting through the door. Even after telling himself for days that he didn’t care about how sick his brother was, he still stops in his tracks. Retracing a few steps back to the door, Ben pulls a face at the idea of interacting with his brother which he really doesn’t want to do, although he knows he really should.

Swallowing down his apprehension, he pushes on the door and steps into the room without knocking.

“Five?” he says as half a question since he’d expected to see his brother in bed rather than at his desk with a tissue held to his nose.

“Ben, I’m kinda in the middle of something” Five’s hands steepled over his nose do no favours in helping the quality of his voice before he resumes his task.

“You’re an idiot you know” Ben accuses, stepping forward as Five drops the tissue into the bin beside him.

“I thought randomly insulting people was more Diego’s thing than yours. But if you want to take a page out of his book you can piss off, I’m not in the mood” Five counters smoothly without turning around.

Ben needs to get a better look at him, because if his voice is any indication of how he’s feeling, he is sure that he’s getting worse. “That’s not what I mean” he corrects as he invites himself further into the room, walking over to the edge of his brother’s desk. “You shouldn’t keep pushing yourself.”

Five ignores him and picks up his pen to begin his equations again.

“I get that you want to prove that you’re the best, but you don’t need to run yourself to the ground to do it.”

Five scoffs out a laugh and drops his pen back to the page. “I never cared about the rivalry.”

Ben had predicted resistance and was about to resume arguing his point before Five’s words sink into him. “Y-you don’t?”

“Of course, I don’t” Five turns slightly more towards Ben is his chair. “Everyone has something that they are good at. I’m good at academics, so I work hard at it. You’re good at it too Ben, but how well I do has nothing to do with you.”

Five pauses for Ben to say something, but for a few moments he can’t find the words. Too shocked at Five complementing him, acknowledging him in something that he’s good at.

“I-I don’t” Ben stammers out before he formulates a random sentence which he blurts out. “You never seemed to want to be friends with me.”

He’s aware that he probably sounds stupid but Five doesn’t seem to notice as he counters.

“In fairness, you never seemed to want to be friends with me either.”

Ben tips his head slightly from side-to-side in acceptance of the fair point. He doesn’t know if he expects Five to smile and make a joke about it – that would be something he could expect from Klaus – thinking that it might make the situation slightly more comfortable. But looking at his brother sitting slumped in his chair like he’s sinking under the weight of gravity, he disregards the notion of staying on the subject any longer.

“You need to get to bed” Ben’s serious tone sounds more confident than he feels about it.

Five sighs and turns back to his desk. “I’ve got homework to finish, Ben. I’d rather not have to do it over the weekend.”

“Can you even focus on it?” Ben raises an eyebrow allowing some sass into his words. A dangerous tactic to take when dealing with Five but he couldn’t help it.

“If you would stop bugging me I would” Five replicates his tone but doesn’t sound annoyed by it.

A slight smile plays at the corners of Ben’s lips, finding that Five is happy to counter back and forth with him as if they are on the same level. But it drops as soon as he sees Five pick up his pen and turn back to his book.

Driven by curiosity Ben steps behind Five’s chair to look over his shoulder as he sets about to start working again. With Five’s brain moving slow it is a fair while before he touches the pen onto the paper.

“That’s not the formula you want” Ben says flatly after reading the beginning of the writing.

Five huffs out a sigh and frustratedly drops his pen to the desk. For a moment Ben thinks he’s going to argue with him, and he might have, but instead he raises his arm to cover a few coughs that shake out of his chest.

“Come on, bed” Ben commands before tapping Five on the shoulder and stepping away. Leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly Five stands from his chair and Ben decides to push his luck in placing a hand around his back and onto his shoulder, starting to guide him over to the bed.

When his fingers touch onto his arm, Ben hears Five intake a sharp breath and begins to remove his grip, thinking it’s in objection. Instead of pulling away, Five raises his own hand to support himself against Ben’s shoulder, and leans away from him into his elbow.

“Hup'nxtch!” he sneezes congestedly and Ben feels a tug down at the force of it.

“Can you pass me a” – Five doesn’t need to finish his sentence, Ben having already reached for the tissue box before he spoke.

Holding out the box to his brother, they both turn and sit on the bed shoulder to shoulder. After Five takes a few tissues Ben moves the box onto his knees while Five blows his nose.

“Do you want me to get mum?” Ben asks after the tissue had been thrown away.

Five shakes his head before reaching for another, “Hir’shhhoo… ish’uu.”

“Yeah, you made that real convincing” Ben says sarcastically.

“It’s almost dinner, anyway” Five points out.

“Oh, right” Ben muses to himself. How long had he been wondering around for? “Are you even going to make it through it?” he asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Don’t have a choice.”

“Surely, dad wouldn’t want you down there infecting everyone.”

“Hasn’t had a problem with it the last few days” Five pauses to sniffle into the back of his hand. “Sorry if I get anyone sick by the way.”

Ben hums in dismissal before the room succumbs to silence until Five breaks it.

He manages to keep the first few coughs behind closed lips, but the rest he is forced to shield with his elbow, his body pitching forward as he tries to control them. He sounds so awful that Ben can’t help but place a hand on the back of his shoulder while they both wait for the coughs to die down.

“I don’t think you should come down” Ben tells him when Five finally gets his breath back.

“Like I told you, it’s not an option.”

“Then don’t make it an option” Ben puts simply. “If you don’t ask, they can’t say no.”

“It’ll be pretty obvious with a chair empty” Five’s voice is almost completely faded.

“It will be” Ben agrees. “But it’ll either be mum or Pogo that dad sends up to get you and either of them will take pity on you.”

“Neither of them has seemed to care when I saw them last.”

“That’s ‘cause you had a front up Five” Ben tells him honestly. “You can’t deny that.”

Ben takes it as a small victory when his brother doesn’t reply, then he adds “you can barely go a minute without coughing.”

Five sighs deeply before he says, “you should head down then.”

Something inside Ben relaxes as Five gives in. “You need anything first?”

Five shakes his head, “nah, I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“All right” Ben sighs, pushing himself up from the bed. He makes it halfway across the room before he doubles back to the desk and swipes Five’s homework off the top, not trusting his brother to get proper rest while it is in the room. He doesn’t listen out for a sound of protest as he wishes Five “goodnight” before he steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

part 2

[greenroseunderglass]

To Your Hands : Fanfic - Star Trek TOS (Gen)

@sicktember2021

@sicktember

Prompt# 14 - Aches and Pains

Summary: Jim Kirk rescues himself from a hostage situation, of course, but he doesn't do it unscathed. His friends want to catch him even if he refuses to fall.

2 Parts: Bones and Spock

Bones

They had been taken after a pitched battle in the transporter-shielded Hall of Commerce, Kirk and five junior officers from security, and one aide from the Federation Ambassador's party. They had been held three nights and well into the fourth day before Kirk led their escape into an absolute deluge. There had been so much communications interference, natural and man-made, Spock never should have beamed them aboard, not from a planet of shapeshifters, but something had made him certain of their identities, and they'd avoided imminent capture for the familiar corridors of the Enterprise. With a thousand things to do, Kirk hadn't been the most cooperative patient until Bones had nearly shouted him down in front of the main ward in Sickbay. He'd gone with what grace he could still find after that. Kirk would have admitted only if asked twice that he did feel better once he let himself change into soft, dry sweats and the nurses put warm re-hydrating fluid into his arm. But then, it took Bones about seven seconds to be back over once that was set up, so he didn’t get to enjoy the simple pleasure of it for long. McCoy was a healer, though, a real doctor when he had a real patient. Once Kirk stopped resisting he slowed down, his grumbles softening, his voice finding a quieter, deeper register that radiated authority and safety in a way that affected even someone as familiar with him as Jim Kirk. The doctor went over Kirk with his big, warm hands after he stopped whirring at him with the scanner. He was careful, and thorough. Everything hurt, either when touched or when moved, but those hands left bruises and strains feeling not only cataloged but better somehow as McCoy passed gently over them. Kirk started yawning, though, as McCoy moved over him again, this time with a protoplaser. He made himself go up on his elbows as McCoy reached his shins, and that was the end of the idyll. “You just lie right back down there and go to sleep," McCoy snapped. "All the other hostages are in for a night of observation, and it won’t hurt you for once.” Kirk just yawned again and smiled at him to prompt a suspicious look, because getting Bones annoyed early over nothing in particular was always good tactics. “Oh, I plan on being asleep, soon. I do have some things that have to be done first, though. And-“ "You are not-" Without pause, Kirk repeated himself, enunciating over McCoy’s objection, “And. It will be done sooner if you cooperate. Send Rand and Johann in here, and Sumani. “ He stretched a little and squirmed. “And another couple of pillows, so I can recline in state.” “Back still bothering you?” McCoy asked, small whirring scanner immediately back in his hand. "You never let me spend enough time with the protoplaser when you have deep bruising like this. You must still be sore all over." “Yes," Kirk said dryly. "Every thing I own is bothering me, doctor.” He huffed a laugh, dismissing it. “I am tired, and I've been told sleeping on stone floors is not good for me. But unless you plan on running one of those things over every inch of me at every depth, I think I'll just have to sleep it off.” No, sleeping on cold stone floors was not good for him, McCoy thought, or good for his aching body. Neither was three nights in clammy damp, or an hour getting soaked through during their escape, or the slight fever Kirk was running from the cold he was definitely coming down with. McCoy huffed back at him, frustrated. He would be laughed at if he suggested Kirk spend some time in one of the hot spa baths, and that was really the only prescription he had at the moment, for all his training. He couldn't give any of the hostages much in the way of pharmaceutical pain relief, not after their captors had drugged them so extensively. And Kirk was right, damnit -- he would end up resting more quickly if McCoy let him work unhindered for a little while. The doctor stiffly left the room, but he did grudgingly call the Captain’s yeoman and left her to manage the rest of it. He forbid her from giving Kirk the fresh uniform she turned up

with, but decided to look the other way on the coffee. It took less than an hour after that for Kirk to fight himself free, of the fires in his command and the solicitude of the nurses. He had a lot on his plate in about ten hours, but being involved with a planet with deeply held taboos about actions taken in the night hours, and sitting in geosynchronous orbit above its capital, had its advantages. Caught up and feeling human again, Kirk leaned against McCoy’s office door to wave his way out, but McCoy peremptorily pointed at a seat while finishing a consult with M’Benga. Finally McCoy sat behind his desk and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet behind him. Kirk took the rich brown liquid he was being offered and breathed deeply over his first sip, settling gingerly back in the hard chair. “Oh, that’s good,” he said, then set it neatly back on the desk to turn his head and sneeze lightly, twice, into the crook of his arm. McCoy tch’ed at him and tossed him a box of sickbay ‘tissues’. “I should have made you a hot toddie, if you’re going to start that. I should put you back on the biobed. ” Jim gave another of his wry, dismissive laughs at that, but his voice was probably more serious than he meant it to be. "You can't confine me for the common cold, Bones, and you can't treat it anyway." "Can't cure it. You've already had a shot to make sure you're not contagious, and one to shorten the duration. There's another one that will help stop inflammation in your sinuses and your chest, but that one makes you sleepy, so you only get that when you're actually leaving." "Which is at the bottom of this glass," Kirk told him. "And yes, I'm actually going to bed." He hesitated, and looked into his drink before taking another sip, then, "They are all going to be all right, Bones?" "Yes," McCoy said simply. "The ambassador's aide--" Kirk held up a finger and raised his voice slightly. "Ambassador Goddard, join us, please." The man had been loitering in the corridor, half eavesdropping and half nervous about disturbing them. He was there for an update on his aide, who was doing well physically but would probably need some trauma counseling. After earlier arguing on the Bridge that the Captain's party not be beamed aboard, citing security risks, Goddard did not feel he should linger around any of the officers at the moment. He drank off his whiskey like a good diplomat and was leaving as quickly as he'd come, but paused to watch when the Captain started to stand also and was pinned back into his chair by a vigorously pointed finger. "You, you wait until called for." Kirk wobbled his head in apparent amusement and eased back down. He saw Goddard watching him and grinned. "Never cross a CMO during a multiple casualty event, ambassador. Rule number three of Captaining a starship." Goddard was a beat slow, but training kicked in and he obligingly asked what the first two rules were. He couldn't believe how lightly Kirk seemed to be taking the whole situation, even his own abduction. He couldn't imagine how to talk to the man about his legitimate concerns, but agreed to join a debriefing at 0800. Kirk was 'called for' minutes later by the formidable First Officer, which made Goddard wish he hadn't dawdled. Spock arrived just as Kirk was saying something about his aide's fortitude during the escape, and Spock apparently took that to mean the ambassador was grilling Kirk. "Surely, gentleman, there is nothing about the hostages' escape or confinement that can't wait until the 0800 debriefing." His voice was even, his face was mild, and Goddard felt a wall of solid dislike hit him like a burst of steam. Vulcans were only touch-telepaths, that couldn't be a real energy he was feeling, but he exercised the better part of valor, made his goodnights, and fled anyway. He caught a glimpse of Kirk glancing after him with a look of surprise as he went. "What did he do?" Kirk asked, sliding to the edge of the chair in preparation to stand as McCoy returned and went to get the hypo on his desk. "I cannot imagine what you

mean, Captain," Spock said evenly, then offered his arm to help Kirk up. He didn't need the help -- he was sore and achy, not impaired -- but he bit down on his pride and accepted it, just to get himself on his feet. Spock needed to feel like he was doing something, too, however small the gestures. McCoy glared at them both and gave Jim the shot in the shoulder. "That's going to be a little sore, sorry, but it'll keep your cold from becoming a misery. Now you just have to get him to bed before he starts tipping over," he addressed Spock. Anger flashed and was forcibly cooled in Kirk's mind. On a normal day the two of them thought he needed a keeper, but this wasn't a normal day, and he had no right to the familiar annoyance. He'd been lost to them for almost ninety hours this time. As his friends, they had a right to manage him a little. He'd keep allowing it. Tonight.

Spock

As he and Spock walked down the corridor, Spock still in possession of his arm, Kirk began to be glad he'd been so high-minded about the whole thing, because he was definitely beginning to sway. In the turbolift he said, "McCoy wasn't kidding about that shot," just as he sneezed and his knees tried to give. Spock moved to catch him more firmly, but Kirk waved him off. "I'm all right. I only have to get to my quarters." His cabin was cozy with two in it, if luxurious for a Starship – he patted Spock away by catching hold of the screen divider and clinging. “Shower first, then bed. Despite McCoy’s solicitous comments, I will actually be all right from here.” He smiled and waved Spock back toward the door. Spock gave ground, but only to the other side of the desk. His expression was determined, yes, but mostly… unimpressed. Kirk surmised he must look about like he felt. Spock could always see through him, anyway. Before he could even plead his case, Spock said calmly, “I am aware that the only active attack on your health at the moment is from a simple cold, which is not a serious affliction. However, the depth of your exhaustion makes any further impairment concerning, and I will not feel I have complied with the Doctor’s orders until I have seen you to proper rest.” Kirk gave him a bit of a side-eye. “You’re going to stay here until I fall asleep, whether I like it or not?” “Might I suggest you allow my assistance in certain matters, strictly for the sake of expediency?” God, he was so, damn, tired. And he had spent three nights as a captive, the better part of four days slightly ill and soundly beaten and responsible for crew and civilian lives despite his helplessness to secure even his own. He had managed to get them all to safety, but he was. He was so tired, and there was a gentleness waiting in Spock’s hands if he would just give in, the expression of feelings his Vulcan friend could never express any other way. And he trusted Spock, didn't he? Spock could take the watch, he could take the burden, for a little while. When his knees wobbled this time Spock caught him and carefully peeled him off the divider to sit him on his bed. A quick hand ran through the hair of his bowed head, a gesture they would both deny. Spock helped him out of everything he could get off while sitting, then went to make sure the water shower was a good temperature. Kirk got a look when he toddled into the bathroom unassisted and naked, but Spock merely reeled him in with one long arm and made sure he was steady in the shower before turning his back to give him privacy. Kirk woke up enough to realize he really was out of it enough to be worrying the Vulcan, and regretted it. No words could fix the situation, either. Spock didn't need reassurances. He just needed to see Jim cared for and at rest. He turned his face up into the hot water and groaned with pleasure. That didn't sound like such a bad idea at the moment, at that. He washed quickly but let himself soak slowly. The steam-filled stall and hot water pouring over him reached into him, soaking out the cold of the day and easing the bone-deep ache from the creeping chill of three days in the cellars. When he shut off the spigot he still felt exhausted, he still felt slightly sick, he still ached all over, but it didn’t feel like it could take him to the floor, now, none of it. His muscles felt looser and his joints less stiff -- maybe he could actually sleep. He set the cubicle to hot air cycle, which was almost as nice as the hot water had been, as targeted forced air wicked the water from skin and hair, until some inner threshold was quite suddenly crossed and he found himself caught in a flash of over-heated ill-feeling and sudden dizziness. He shut off the dryer and cracked the door. Thankfully, the relatively cool air in the small bathroom cleared his head again. The patiently-waiting blue-clad back finally turned to offer him a towel and a promise of steadiness if he couldn’t find it himself. Kirk smiled a little, appreciative and too tired not to be warm about it,

gave his hair one last good towel and went to find sleep pants and a shirt, and an over-shirt. He made it to the over-shirt before sleepy dizziness sent him to sit on the side of his bed with the warm garment in his lap. He took a long breath, curled in on himself and shuddered, once. He let his eyes stay closed for a moment, just a moment, to clear his head and steady his breath, before straightening out very slowly. For Captain Kirk, this level of pain was a blessed relief. For exhausted, depleted, off-guard Jim who just wanted desperately to sleep it was almost more than he could handle. “Captain,” Spock said very quietly from right behind him. A gentle hand touched between his shoulders. "Jim. Allow me to help you, so you may rest.” He put his hands on Kirk’s shoulders and dug carefully into muscle with his long fingers, thumbs tracing downward in mirror arcs. “Let me help.” Spock was capable of spectacularly effective back-rubs, the kind of shock-and-awe attacks that annihilated knot after knot efficiently and then gentled it just enough before moving on. That was not what he was offering now. No painful return to function. This was an offer for comfort. Kirk’s head immediately dropped forward in pure animal desire for release from pain. “You’re needed –“ the protest was less than half-hearted. “I’ll be contacted if I’m needed, Captain. We’re in a unique position, with the Ariz’ strict adherence to daylight-only activity. We have a minimum of ten point two hours before we may expect movement from those in the capital.” Just the tips of Spock’s fingers dug in all across his back, and Kirk arched his back and tried to remember what he was saying. He mostly wanted to groan, already.

Kirk closed his eyes and gave himself up to the shoulder rub, at least, almost falling asleep within perhaps a minute before he woke himself with a light sneeze and decided to give in completely. He shifted, and Spock did most of the work in pulling back the covers and settling Jim full length on his front, hugging a pillow. Jim murmured something he knew would have embarrassed them both if they'd been face to face, but he was utterly giving his body into Spock’s hands now. God, so much strength in those hands, to be so careful with him. Jim had been trying not to be too vocal in his appreciation but he couldn’t repress a long, quiet noise as something at the base of his neck - that had been tied directly into a pounding in his temple for the last two days - let go all at once. The momentary pinch of pain in the muscle was skillfully rubbed out. He was drifting toward sleep, and closing his eyes again seemed like the natural next step. Spock had him, and the ship, and he could sleep for awhile. The occasional sharp kneading ceased. Now Spock was applying just enough pressure to keep him wanting to groan, all over him in turns, and Kirk could feel pain he’d become so accustomed to he barely noticed it rise into consciousness just long enough to be soothed away. Oh, Spock was good at this. Finally, the long-fingered hands came to rest on his near forearm, just above his hand. Spock pushed Kirk's hair back from his face and asked quietly, "Are you awake enough to eat something off your meal card? The doctor did say you should take nourishment. Then you can rest." He found one of the tissues in time to sneeze into it as he rallied on autopilot, “I refuse to accept chicken noodle soup as a prescription.” Spock ran a hand through his hair again as he stood up, plausible deniability in that it made it easier to see his face, then folded his hands behind himself and looked down on Kirk, who made some effort to look awake. He couldn’t seem to care enough to succeed under Spock's carefully stoic expression -- Jim could feel the warmth and fondness radiating out of it, in the little quirk at the corner of Spock’s lips and in the soft brown of his eyes. "Yes, Captain. Something warming, though," he hmm'd. "You've done enough for tonight, Spock." Kirk smiled at him, warm, god, how could cool Vulcan skin have gifted him with such a sense of positive warmth? "I can synthesize my own cup of soup. If I can move at all." Kirk smiled and gave a low groan as he stretched himself to feet on the floor and himself more or less sitting up. "Captain --" Spock demurred. "The doctor did insist on this." So he let Spock synthesize him a cup of soup without too much grumbling -- Vulcan aureg, thank you, not chicken noodle. And Spock did more or less end up putting Jim to bed, when he couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs anymore -- exhaustion, release of stress, sleep deprivation, ha! Jim was blaming it on McCoy's injection. The lights dimmed and he could feel Spock sitting on the side of the bed. After a moment he felt a cool hand pass through his hair again, rest for a moment at the nape of his neck, then Spock rose quietly from the bed and walked away. The moment after that, Jim was asleep. End

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

to be [a]sundered

Summary: Kugisaki Nobara is blessed. She will never know.

Relationship(s): Kugisaki Nobara & Reader, Kugisaki Nobara/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc. Oh. And the comment section.)

There’s manga spoilers in this fic alongside headcanon.

So far, out of my menial amount of JJK fics, this one has probably been the most enjoyable to write. With Nobara’s background I can play around because it’s just there.

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“I’m going to Tokyo,” she says. Come with me.

“No.” Can’t, sorry.

Mahito touches her soul.

Kugisaki Nobara is blessed.

She will never know.

The first time she introduces you to her friends, Saori nearly gouges your eye out with a sugar spoon and Fumi spills the contents of her cup across the table.

“I have cake,” you say, offering a cutesy box to Saori who’s still got the sugar spoon trained on you. “It’s baumkuchen. An old acquaintance gave it to me for free but I figured it’d be too much for just one person.”

Nobara, giggling, just offers you a seat and asks for more tea.

On the outskirts of the village there is a shrine.

They say it houses a god that blessed their lands long ago and watches over them to this very day; they hold a celebration in its honour every year, a small share of the harvest season’s best crop is offered up to appease the god.

Her grandparents say it houses a malevolent wonder-terror who feasts on the soul of its worshippers once the sun goes down; her grandparents say the aforementioned god and malevolent wonder-terror are one and the same, born from a wish made by humans.

You laugh when she tells you the crap people have come up about your home. (You appreciate the free food, though.)

You are not a god or something malevolent. You’re you.

Not quite divine but too powerful to sniff at.

Humans cannot see or sense you. Not even those who can bottle their negative energy, the ones you occasionally see passing through the village. Usually, you have to will yourself into existence. But she can regardless.

Spirits, the weak and strong, good nor bad, fear you. Your presence sets their survival instincts off, running immediately when you try to approach them. She has to give chase and incapacitate them for you when the hunger becomes agony.

You taught her well, it seems.

Too well.

Mahito touches her soul and it burns, burns, burns.

-

Kugisaki Nobara was barely old enough to be out on her own, but her grandparents trusted her to stay safe. The village was small, everyone knew each other, word spread fast, so if something happened to her on her small excursion… Well, no one would come looking for her, would they?

It was a lie when she said she was just going out to play with friends at the park.

Nobara didn’t have friends.

All the other kids were boring. She didn’t like their company. Whenever there was a big gathering, she’d try her best to avoid them and hide from the adults in bushes.

Despite knowing this, her grandmother let her go.

She hated being cooped inside with nothing to do and today was perfect! The humid air made her clothes stick to her skin but at least the wide-brimmed straw sunhat she snatched from her grandfather’s shed protected her from the sun’s wrath. It meant her peers would be over at the river halfway across the village; people wouldn’t go back to working on their fields until it cooled down a bit later in the day; they wouldn’t see her; and she’d be on her lonesome.

She wanted to laugh to herself. Everything was coming together.

Finally, she could check out that place she’s been meaning to visit ever since she first heard of it: the derelict shrine.

Her grandmother warned her to stay away from it, lest she give her name away by accident to the being living there and have her life stolen, but Nobara, inwardly, thought it was a load of cow dung. She’d die? Hah?! It was all superstition! (She would never admit it did spook her a bit.) Besides, things like vampires and witches and ghosts didn't exist in the first place. She’d be fine.

Humming with a skip in her step, Nobara made it to the shrine in due time.

“Hello?”

“Why hello there!”

She took everything back.

You had to be a ghost with the way you snuck up on her soundlessly. You kept insisting you weren’t. You glided along the floor.

You had to be a ghost. And now you were serving her snacks and tea. Inside the shrine. Inside what was, supposedly, your home.

“Why don’t I believe you?” she voiced aloud.

You stared at her, face deadpan, and poured hot water over your hand. She watched your skin scald. “Does this answer your question?”

Kugisaki Nobara at five years old was a bit of a skeptic, contrary to her personal beliefs.

“No. Not really.”

-

11:25 PM →

You emerge from the gaping hole where her left eye was blown out alongside a good chunk of her head, something writhing and fierce and oh-so familiar.

Ah. Right. This feeling; this foreign dread dawning upon him, piercing Mahito innermost; your dull but irritated eyes trained on the cursed spirit akin to a lizard eyeing up a cockroach. You’re like him, possessing a soul that absolutely cannot and should not be touched.

Shit—that means she too—

Hahahahaha.

You don’t even need to spare him another glance. You know what he’s thinking. You know what he’s done.

You won’t be as lenient with him as Sukuna was.

But here’s the thing. Although a student may surpass their teacher one day, the teacher might not relay all that they know to the next generation to ensure the safety of their student and those around them. However, Mahito is nothing to you. Itadori Yuuji, on the other hand, is important, so you grab him and throw the boy behind you.

“Reverberate,” you intone, bearing the exact same wounds as her.

His senses are heightened a thousandfold, but not nearly are they even close to yours.

You shove a nail of hers into yourself, saying, “Plunge.”

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, hurtshurtshurtshurtshurTshURtsHURTS.

“Quietus.”

“We’re soulmates, you and me.”

She bursts out laughing. “Like from those cheesy dramas?” Nobara asks. Because. She needs to know. Whenever she’s around you, everything feels… right. It’s hard to articulate. Her heart doesn’t rush when you graze her skin but the particular spot where contact was made always tingles with a reassuring warmth; you’re real, not a fabrication of her imagination. She doesn’t fantasise about you like the way her peers do with the object of their affections. Your very presence makes her comfortable. “Are you having second thoughts?” she jeers, poking you hard in the ribs. (She’s still bitter about your decision.)

The intended jab has no effect.

“No,” is your reply. “What I mean is that your soul and mine are the same. If something happens to you, I’ll know.”

“What? You think I’m gonna be some part of a demonic summoning ritual where I’ll be a human sacrifice?”

“Time and distance makes no difference.”

“So if I just say the word…?”

“That… that’s not what I…” You sigh and scrub the gunk from your eyes.

How are you supposed to explain the whole situation to her?

Oh, yeah, about a couple aeons ago there was a being who tore themself in two—one part immortal, the other mortal—in order to understand their reason for existing. Their immortal self would be stagnant and observe their mortal self who would continuously live, die and reincarnate, until the latter, under their own volition, sought the former out and then a conclusion would be made between the two on whether or not they would remain as separate entities or rejoin together as one again.

Your original self (you and her; her and you) wasn’t great at planning ahead, that is plain to see. They didn’t think about the consequences, they just wanted an out. And fast.

Well look at you now. Distorted beyond reason. You’re an exercise in self-destruction. You stopped considering it being a miracle that you could wake up every morning by yourself and do what you wanted: the novelty was short-lived. You want to die but you’re at the point where it’s easier to convince yourself you do not than to focus on how you will off yourself somewhere that no one (and nothing) can find your undecayed corpse because the company you keep will become worried if you let the happy facade slip.

“Never mind,” you mutter.

-

She was ten when she first saw the skull.

It tumbled from your billowing sleeve as you rummaged around your pockets, rolling to a stop at her feet.

She lifted it up. “Whose is this?”

It was a weird skull, not like those she’d seen in her textbooks. She thought of asking Fumi about the skull later, when school started back up, but the idea was literally snatched from her mind when you saw exactly what she was holding.

In your hands, the skull seemed smaller. Inconsequential. Another another weird quirk of yours: carrying around random things. Maybe it was a model? You told her to forget about it and stowed the skull away—back into your sleeve—and dragged her along the beaten path you insisted on walking.

The next time, she was thirteen and helping you clear up your home. Fumi was there too.

They’d been going through a closet stuffed full of old junk and out the skull tumbled, right into Fumi’s lap. Rightfully so, her friend screamed. It took you several minutes to calm the poor girl down, her view of you now askew. Nobara was on your side when Fumi tried convincing you whomever the skull belonged to deserved a proper burial out in the forest and you refused.

No matter how hard she tried, you would not budge.

And that was that.

(From then on, whenever you made yourself visible to Fumi, she regarded you warily before seeing the way you looked at Nobara like she hung the stars and the moon.)

The last time the skull made an appearance in her life, Nobara had just turned fifteen.

A strange pair of men were at her door at the crack of dawn, rousing her grandparents, which prompted them to drag Nobara out of bed at such a god-awful time of the day. They all sat at a table soberly, discussing her future while Nobara found her attention gravitating to you.

You were playing with a stray cat in the garden, its stomach presented to you eagerly so soon after it deemed you safe, and making the most disgusting cooing noises she had ever heard to it with a dopey grin.

It was only at the call of her name that her head snapped back forward.

Yaga Masamichi was a strange one, tinkering so openly with a corpse in front of her deeply superstitious grandparents, but, strangely enough, it was his companion, a shock of white hair and bandage, that caught her eye. The young man was looking your way.

Not at the cat pawing up at thin air. Oh no. The blindfolded stranger’s gaze was dead set on you; she saw his brow raise minutely as Yaga and her grandparents continued talking, her tools of trade that was cobbled together from old sheds and the local hardware store bared flat on the table; she watched him watch you rub the cat’s belly before you lifted it high into the air like a parent would to their child. It was obvious what the situation playing out was: you had caught on to the stranger’s sighting of you long before she did. To emphasise the fact, you even babbled to the cat, “Higher, higher! Oopsie-daisy!!” before letting it back down and nuzzling it against your face, affectionate and close.

Yaga only noticed the change in atmosphere when the cat’s meows suddenly went quiet. But the other one (white hair, bandages, feels wrong, rotting flesh and fresh) grinned, slapping an enrollment form on the table.

“You. Leave that thing behind when you come to our school,” said Gojou Satoru, his introduction earlier all pomp and a wellspring of positive energy memes a stark comparison to now as he continued watching you, all but ignoring her grandmother shouting up at him to stop spouting nonsense.

(“What drivel! My granddaughter surely won’t—”)

She went back to spacing out in your direction.

Without hesitation, you dropped the cat into your gaping maw and swallowed it whole in one gulp. The first cursed spirit you managed to catch by yourself. Your ability at masking your aura was improving. That was good.

The skull peeked out of your hoodie’s pocket, the many orbits winking at her.

Screw the rules, you were coming with her whether the bureaucracy liked it or not.

-

At this rate, she’s going to die for sure.

You know what to do.

You’re one and the same. If Mahito touched one half of your original self and corrupted it, reason dictates that giving her body (the container) yours will fix her. But there’s a problem.

The implosion practically ruined her chances of survival, reducing it to null.

Not even a high grade sorcerer could hope to reverse the damage. Bone is a special material. Bone takes time to be cultivated or to grow. For a jujutsu user, especially, a substitute of different material won’t cut it. Bone, like the soul, contains an essence of sorts, it’s one of the few natural conductors of negative energy humans can have.

Your point: bone is not easily replaced.

Kneeling over Nobara, you grab from the air the object you were entrusted with over a millennium ago for safekeeping.

“Oi, oi, oi, you. You. Freak-god-thing.” You regard Itadori Yuuji with disdain. Or rather, the lone eye and accompanying mouth that’s on his cheek. “Is that what I think it is.”

“What? Are you objecting? Or worse—obstructing?”

“I don’t know about you or the brat, but you’re gonna fuck up the girl if you do that.”

“And since when did the King of Curses grow a heart?”

“I fucking didn’t, you prick.” The eye manages to scowl without a brow. “I’m just saying… You are sending her to condemnation.”

“Says the finger shagger,” you retort. The mouth disappears; Itadori Yuuji has an indescribable expression on his face but you know he won’t try and stop your hare-brained idea, he wants what you want.

You know what you’re doing.

You’ve had to do this a few times before.

It will work.

“Hello?”

A child? Who in their right mind would—

You freeze in your tracks. It’s them, your mind exclaims. It’s them. Them. Them. Them.

… Her.

You walk up behind her, beaming.

“Why hello there!” you chime, so, so happy.

[visionsofus]

I suggest the song "Where the Shadow Ends" by Banners for your mixtape fic. It's beautiful and melancholic, but also hopeful. It's given me a lot of inspiration for WandaVision fics lately.

Ahh thank you so much for this song!! I totally get what you mean with it being kinda sombre but also hopeful! It’s captured so perfectly in the lyrics too. Sorry it took me a while to get around to this - but better late than never ✨

Track #12: Where The Shadow Ends by BANNERS 

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

synopsis: Wanda falls ill at the compound and Vision panics. Surprisingly, her illness gives them an opportunity to talk about their feelings. Wanda comes to terms with putting faith in her feelings and in Vision. 

All things considered; Wanda probably shouldn’t have gone to the gym when she did. But Steve had offered to help her with some of the new equipment the compound had ordered in and Wanda knew she pushed herself harder when faced with his superhuman training schedule.

She didn’t feel too bad at the beginning of the work out, going through the motions of warming up. She worked out most days because if she didn’t her body suffered after missions. So, she persisted even when she was tired and her muscles were sore, and apparently, even when it was pouring with rain. She’d quickly regretted her decision to go on a run despite the threatening grey sky. By the time the rain had started Wanda was too far into her run to turn back and had stubbornly refused to call anyone at the compound to come pick her up, instead walking all the way back as her wet shoes started to rub blisters into her heels. Thanks to an hour in sopping wet clothes, battling a harsh wind all the way home she’d woken up with a temperature the past two mornings.

But when she’d checked her temperature a few hours ago it seemed the fever had finally broken, and she was so restless that she didn’t hesitate to accept Steve’s invitation. A mistake she was going to pay for.

The warmup had her feeling a little woozy and lightheaded but not terrible. Things quickly went downhill as she started her usual activities. Just as she picked the dumbbells up to start on her triceps a sudden wave of dizziness hit her full force. Wanda vaguely remembered Steve calling her name as the dumbbells hit the floor with two resounding thuds and she promptly passed out.

Vision was stuck in a research spiral when he distantly heard the Compound AI say his name.

“Currently fetching recent message from Steve Rogers,” the robotic voice said from the speaker in the ceiling and Vision tilted his head as he listened. “Wanda has passed out in the gym, please prepare first aid.”

Vision didn’t give the AI the chance to repeat itself, launching himself out of his seat and phasing through the wall. He was used to quick thinking, easily able to make split second decisions based on a variety of possibilities, but this was something different. He didn’t thinkhe just moved. Within seconds he was phasing through the floors of the compound arriving in the basement with such force that his feet split the tiled floor on impact.

“What happened?” Vision asked with such fervour that he might have reprimanded himself for snapping, were he not so taken aback by the sight of Wanda’s limp body in the Captain’s arms.

“We were ten minutes into our workout and she just dropped to the floor,” Steve explained not hesitating to hand Wanda over to Vision’s waiting arms.

“She has a fever,” Vision said as he gathered Wanda up, holding her close so he could support her head against his chest. She was burning up, her breaths coming in short bursts that concerned him. How had her temperature gotten so high and why hadn’t any of them noticed her getting ill? Most of all, how had he let it slip his attention?

“You get her upstairs while I get a drip.”

They both started up the stairs, Vision trying not to jostle his unconscious cargo, too concerned to try phasing, even if the stairs were frustratingly slower. They parted ways at the ground floor as Steve hurried to the med bay and Vision continued to Wanda’s bedroom.

He kicked her door open with his foot and brought her over to the bed. As he set her down atop the navy covers, lifting her up to slip another pillow under her head, Vision wondered if it might have been better to just take her straight to the infirmary, or better yet, the hospital. But Wanda was notoriously unpredictable when it came to waking up in unfamiliar environments and had taken out a wall the last time she had passed out and woken up in the infirmary. Her own space was better, for now. Vision brushed her hair off her sweating forehead and Wanda groaned softly, shivering in her feverish state and reaching for the bed covers.

“No, no,” Vision murmured pulling Wanda’s hands away as she attempted to pull her covers up over her. She might be feeling cold, but Vision estimated her temperature was nearing 39C. While he waited for Cap to return with the drip Vision hurried to and from the kitchen and her bedroom, carrying with him a bowl of water and a cloth. Distracted, he managed to spill about a quarter of it along the hallway. He was just laying the cloth gently atop her forehead when Steve arrived in the doorway, IV equipment in hand.

“How did she get this fever?” Vision asked as Steve set down the mobile frame and hung the bag of liquid from the top. It was rare for illness to travel around the compound when so many of them were unable to fall sick, though there were far more serious conditions that could cause fever.

“She got caught in the rain on Wednesday, must have caught a cold from that,” Steve replied connecting the tubing and handing the other end to Vision as he prepared the needle. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t tell me,” Vision murmured, stoutly ignoring the little part of him that disliked Steve knowing something about her that he didn’t. He instead focused on finishing the IV, taking a little bit of tape from the first aid kit to secure the tubing to Wanda’s bare arm.

It wasn’t really a surprise that he hadn’t known of her rainy run. In the last week Vision had barely seen Wanda, something he found absurd because he lived just down the hall from the room they were currently in. And, well, the rest of the team often described them as being ‘attached at the hip’. Unfortunately, it seemed Wanda was excellent at making herself scarce when Vision tried to be near her these days. She was clearly trying to set a boundary, which Vision would understandably accept, if only he could understand what it was for. There had been no big change between them that he could identify, if anything they’d been getting closer, but it was as though she’d decided she didn’t like spending time with him anymore.

“I should have told her to go easy with the exercise,” Steve said, more to himself than anything, but Vision silently agreed.

Vision sighed quietly and perched himself next to the unconscious Wanda, removing the cloth from her head and submerging it in the basin once more. “She needs to look after herself,” he murmured, “or at least let someone else help her.” Vision avoided meeting Steve’s eyes following this admission, knowing that behind thissomeone else meant himself.

He wrung the cloth out and returned it to her scorching skin, delicately wiping at her cheeks and neck. Though she seemed more peaceful now and her breathing more regular, he was still on edge. Hopefully the fluids would start to do their job and her temperature would come down, but if this continued through the night, he’d call a doctor.

“And are you alright?” Steve asked, he’d retreated to the wall and was leaning against it now with his arms folded. “You were fairly shaken up down there.”

“Yes,” Vision replied quietly, not wanting to speak too loudly lest they wake her up before her body was ready. “I don’t like seeing her like this.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “And everything is alright between you two, other than this? It’s like she runs out of the room whenever she sees you these days.”

“I do not know if everything is alright, I thought things were maybe changing between us, but then she began avoiding me,” Vision sighed, tucking Wanda’s hair back from her face. As he did so she stirred slightly, her head tilting into his touch. She mumbled something incoherent.

“She’s been through a lot. A connection like the one you two seem to have,” Steve cleared his throat, “uh this intimacy I suppose, could be scary and unfamiliar. I could be wrong, of course, I’m just speaking to what I’ve seen in the last few months.”

Vision didn’t reply and continued wiping at her forehead. He often spent more time watching than talking, he spoke when it was of value and only with Wanda did he find himself speaking freely. To have Steve identify this insight about their relationship made him realise that he wasn’t the only one monitoring the interpersonal connections of his teammates.  

When he didn’t reply Steve pushed himself off the wall and headed for the door. “She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up, and you know what they say about chicken soup and the flu. I’ll go to the store.”

“Good idea,” Vision said absentmindedly.

He sat with Wanda quietly for another half hour, replacing the basin of water once and continuing to cool her forehead down. At one point he had to stand to put the blinds down as the late afternoon sun started to hit the side of the compound and streamed through her windows, casting them in a golden light. Otherwise, he was simply content to sit by her side for the first time in a week without her scurrying out of the room or pretending like he wasn’t here.

He rested his chin on his hand and gazed at Wanda’s shelves and the growing collection of items she’d collected on their travels to personalise her room. A snow globe from Atlanta, a framed picture of the team from their first big mission together, a newspaper clipping, one of the few that spoke kindly of her.

“Was I wrong,” he murmured to the air, “to think we were becoming something more?”

“Vis?” Came Wanda’s quiet voice and Vision was surprised to feel her fingers brushing his knee. He turned to her to see she was blinking blearily up at him.

“You’re ok,” Vision assured her instinctively, moving closer to lift the cloth from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” she muttered thickly. “Can I have some water?”  

“Just a moment.” Vision stood and sped out the room and to the kitchen where he hurriedly filled up a glass and was back at her side in seconds. She managed a soft smile when he reappeared, the first smile he’d seen in a week, which almost had him stumbling as he returned.

He offered his hand to steady her as she sat up a little and took the water from him. When she leant back once more, her eyes were on him darting about his face and he quickly schooled his expression to be free of the worry nagging his heart.

“Is there anything else you need?” Vision asked.

“No,” Wanda sighed sleepily, “just rest I think.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Vision nearly kicked himself for saying what he feared out loud, for providing such an easy opportunity to let her push him away again.

“No.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

In silent response Wanda turned her head away from him and bit her lip.

“You’re ill and tired, we shouldn’t have this conversation right now,” Vision said, aware of the fact that he was buying time for himself before she could give him the answer he feared.

“Please don’t be angry,” Wanda said and then so quietly, Vision thought he had imagined it, “it’s for the best.”

He’d been ready to stand and leave the room but at this took one of her hands in his, squeezing it in what he hoped she took as reassurance. “I am not angry at you, I could never be angry at you. I am worried.”

“But I’ve been avoiding you without explanation,” Wanda huffed raising her free hand to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Well, I suppose there is that,” Vision relented, “but please know I would never be angry at you for wanting space, I admit I was hurt but if you could explain things to me, if there’s anything I’ve done that you haven’t liked—”

Wanda laughed, or it sounded like something close to a laugh, coarse and cynical more than anything. Vision stopped mid-sentence and looked down at his hands. Distantly, he registered the sound of the front door opening and closing – Steve was back just in time.

“I should go,” Vision said sadly, standing up to leave, “Steve will bring you some soup.”

“Wait no,” Wanda said sitting up and her hands flying out for him. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.”

He could tell she wasn’t lying and slowly let her pull him back down to the bed. Wanda slowly leant against the pillows once more, this moment of exertion had evidently taken it out of her. She closed her eyes even as her hands remained tight on his arm. “The fact that you think you could ever do something I don’t like, is ironic, that’s why I laughed.”

“Ironic?” Vision asked.

Wanda sighed quietly and moved her hands from his arm to his hands, holding them tightly as though prepared to stop him from walking out again. “You want me to spell it out, huh?”

He said nothing.

“I owe you an explanation I suppose,” Wanda said and despite how peaky the sickness was making her look, her cheeks gained a little more colour as she spoke. “You’ve been too good to me, the best part of my days is when I’m with you, I pulled away to see if what I was feeling was real. I thought if I could go a little bit without you then maybe what I was feeling wasn’t that serious,” she jerked her chin to the IV stand next to her, “but my assumptions were correct.”  

“So,” Vision began raising his eyes to meet her unwavering gaze, “what you’re saying is…”

“I’m falling for you and I’m scared about what that means for us,” she said and took a deep breath, “and of losing you.”

“You cannot lose me if you don’t have me,” Vision replied, “and perhaps youcan put aside your feelings. I, however, cannot.” It was true, if this week had taught him anything it was that he needed her in his life, by his side and if she let him, as something more.

Wanda’s eyes shone happily for a moment before she seemed to reign herself in. “I thought I could stop how I’m feeling,” she murmured, “I thought it was for the best, I thought I could protect myself.”

“We could protect each other.”

“Until one of us isn’t there,” Wanda said cynically, “I know this isn’t the kind of job we get to retire from.”

“Is that not more reason to pursue this, while we can?” Vision asked leaning closer.

Wanda didn’t have an answer to this, and Vision felt as though he had said enough for her to think about. He stood up, keeping a hold of her hands for as long as he could before he was forced to let go, stepping away.

“I will go and see if your soup is ready.”

Steve sat with Wanda while she ate the soup, her mind doing backflips over her conversation with Vision.

She wasn’t expecting Steve to be so forthright with his questioning, but he asked her as soon as she finished eating. “Have you fixed things between you and Vision?”

Wanda tried not to let her mouth hang open in surprise. “Not yet,” she muttered letting her spoon drop against the bowl and pushing it towards him.

“I’ve never seen him scared before today, you really gave him a fright.”

Wanda didn’t reply, letting the information sit with her even as the guilt began to fester.

“I don’t say that to make you feel bad,” Steve said, as though reading her mind, “I’m telling you so you know how much he cares about you. I mean he’s a synthezoid, Wanda, we used to worry he wouldn’t feel things and now the problem is him feeling too much? Do you not feel the same?”

Wanda stealthily avoided this question, she hadn’t even confessed the full extent of her emotions to Vis, she wasn’t about to let Steve in on her closely guarded heart just yet. No matter how much his counsel usually helped her. “I just feel this great wave of darkness waiting just beyond our horizon,” she said quietly, afraid to admit the brewing shadows she’d been feeling for months now. “Like something big is on the way, something we can’t stop.”

Steve’s brows furrowed at this, but he persisted. “Wanda, you of all people know how much your own mind can be your biggest enemy,” he said, “so is that really reason enough to ignore the light? Avoiding sad emotions doesn’t necessarily make us feel happy, so what makes you think running from happiness will stop you ever being sad?”

When she was still quiet, he pushed further. “You’ve had more darkness in your life than anyone should, but here’s an opportunity to add a bit of light to those shadows, are you really going to say no?”

She opened her mouth to answer but this time didn’t have the opportunity as Vision phased through the wall, pausing when he saw he’d caught the pair deep in conversation.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said quickly, but Cap was standing up, taking the empty soup bowl with him.

“It’s ok, I was just leaving.”

Vision pressed his hands together as he walked around her bed hesitantly, keeping his distance. “I wanted to check in on you before bed, are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” Wanda said, but she still felt a little feverish and like she might need to sleep for a week.

“I am glad to hear that,” he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck, “if you need anything in the night I’m just down the hall.”

“Can’t you stay?” Wanda blurted out before she could lose her nerve again. “Please?”

“If that would help,” Vision replied, and Wanda swore he turned away to hide a smile. When he looked back at her she patted the bed, gesturing for him to join her.

He was careful not to jostle her as he laid down, and Wanda openly admired his grace even as he shyly avoided her gaze.

“I admit I probably wouldn’t have slept tonight; I’d just keep coming in to check your temperature,” Vision conceded as he lay his head against the pillow and Wanda turned to face him. Then, more hesitantly, “Please don’t push me away without warning again.”

“I promise,” she replied without hesitation. “Perhaps I wasn’t sick because of the rain, maybe it was more complicated, like my heart giving up a little when I stubbornly tried not to listen to it.”

Vision chuckled. “I think the rain definitely didn’t help, but your heart makes a good point.”

Wanda smiled tugging the pillow further under her head and placing a hand under her cheek. She scrunched her nose at Vision, unable to stop smiling and extended her hand in invitation. He accepted, bringing one of his own hands up and intertwining their fingers, kissing the back of her hand tenderly.  

“And have you decided to listen to your heart?” He murmured, kissing her hand to punctuate the question.

“I have a very stubborn heart,” she relented, “I couldn’t ignore it even if I tried.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Vision said smiling at her and shuffling closer.

Wanda pushed back against his chest and Vision immediately halted. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll get sick.”

Vision laughed. “Wanda, dear, I am a synthezoid, you couldn’t pass your illness onto me even if you wanted to.”

Wanda tilted her chin up at the challenge. “Well in that case.” She pulled him close and pressed her mouth to his as she’d wanted to hundreds of times. As though in celebration, the lights flickered out and the door slammed shut, submerging them in darkness that had Wanda laughing in embarrassment at her magic’s overreaction. Now cast in shadow, the only light was the soft glow of the mind stone atop Vision’s head, and the faint gleam of his eyes in the night. She used them as guidance to kiss him again, and again, and again. Finding no reason to stop until she felt him smile against her mouth, pulling back a little so that their noses were still brushing and the breath between them was shared. She was done with running from this, not quite sure how they had ever been able to hold themselves back from each other.  

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA Headcanons : Hugs

Hug headcanons! Because we all need a little joy in our lives.

All Might – Swol

Has hugged so many people in various press events he lost count around 2 weeks in.

Very warm, the man puts off heat like a furnace. His beef makes him very pleasant to hug, imbues a great feeling of safety. Various victims of villain attacks jokingly claim that being held by All Might almost made getting half killed worth it.

While he had to do a lot of mushy press stuff, he didn’t really have anyone in his life he could actually hug until UA, so he actually ended up pretty touch starved. It was one of the things he was scared of after Kamino – that all of the kids would think he was too gross to be around in his true form. He was very wrong!

All Might – Smol

Still pumps out heat like a furnace. He might be bony but he gives very comfy hugs, but you have to be careful you don’t smash your nose into his ribcage because its very solid and your nose wont win.

He loves hugs and gives them pretty freely after he becomes more comfortable in himself, likely a holdover from Americas more liberal view of human contact.

Still does mushy press stuff as small might after Kamino, but it feels a little bit more authentic to the people he’s visiting now they know he really does understand what they are going through.

A very emotional hugger – if All Might feels a lot of emotions because of you, you’re probably getting a hug. Positive or negative.

Midoriya

Was a big fan of hugs as a kid, but after his quirk failed to come in he started to associate touch with pain and avoided it when he could. It broke his mum’s heart to see her 8 year old duck out of her arms.

It really wasn’t until the summer break that he could accept hugs without feeling trapped, oddly enough it took even longer for him to be comfortable with hugs from people his own age.

Even though the whole mess with Eri’s quirk gave him a whole new association between touch and pain he pushed past it as best he could because he never wanted to make Eri uncomfortable or upset.

It wasn’t until the joint training exercise that he actually realised he didn’t hate hugs anymore. Even though that whole ordeal was a mess, it made him feel happy.

Uraraka

Very soft, amazing hugger. Constantly smells like sweet fruity body sprays.

Got lots of hugs from her parents and wants to share the love around! She has a lot of love for her friends and wants them all to know it. Has hugged every member of 1A by the licensing arc, definitely kept a tally about it and was very proud of herself when she reached her goal. Izuku was the last one!

Todoroki

 While he’s not exactly a hug-y person, he doesn’t have any strong objections to them. Still, during temperature extremes hes had to get used to the total dog pile of students that cling to him to warm up or cool down. He likes using his quirk in non-fighting ways, so it makes him happy, even if it’s a little annoying sometimes.

The only person in his family who ever really liked hugs is Touya, and that was partly because the guy ran super cold. Also because he just liked hugs but he’d never admit that.

(Bonus: Twice is the villain Chief Hug Giver and will hug anyone he feels needs it. Has no fear, will hug Shigiraki)

Iida

Beefy boy! Hugs too strong, will squish you, and you will hurt your nose on his ridiculous pecs but don’t you dare say a word about it.

Tends to give out hugs very impulsively when he’s feeling a particularly strong positive emotion and is easily flustered about his brief lapse in decorum. Everyone knows its been a good day if Iida hugs the person next to him totally out of the blue and then pretends he didn’t do exactly that a few seconds later. He’s trying.

Deep down he knows he’s hugged Aizawa and Yamada as a child and that’s the reason he is not at all afraid of detention. He would be too powerful if he didn’t love following rules.

Tensei used to pick him up and spin him when he hugged him and it was a profoundly depressing moment when Tensei realized he couldn’t do that anymore. Tenya countered by Picking his older brother up and spinning him in a very enthusiastic hug. Tensei maybe cried.

Aizawa

On god he’ll never admit it but he loves hugs. Hes very good at them himself, beefy warm man with very soft clothes makes for a good hug giver.

Super touch-starved when he entered UA, Yamada made it his quest to fix that. Bought him the sleeping bag when they left high school to work in different agencies because he wouldn’t be around to give out as many hugs. Aizawa cried. He insists they were angry tears.

He’s actually a very easy crier. His dry-eye means he overproduces tears, they just don’t work very well. He's gotten pretty good at strategically hiding them but at various points most of 1A has brought him to tears for various reasons. He's cried tears of pure frustration over Midoriya more times than he’ll ever care to admit. A few of sadness, but mostly frustration.

If a student is upset he gets the strong urge to hug them and then kick the crap out of whatever is upsetting him. This is a new impulse and it scares him. He has totally given into it many times.

Once hugged Eri for 2 hours straight because she fell asleep and then he couldn’t move because he couldn’t wake her up. So he just stared into space for 2 hours.

Bakugo

Hug master. Hes the best at hugs and he’ll never back down from a hug challenge. Used to think hugs were lame but his mum managed to convince him they were disguised contests for dominance when he was 5 and that idea still sticks.

He’s very careful to avoid getting nitro-glycerine on people so he wont hug people when he’s hot, which has led to many a pouting Kirishima. Bakugo doesn’t care. (he totally does)

Hasn’t hugged Midoriya in 11 years and counting. They totally will when they graduate, but they don’t know that yet.

Used to get jealous of people that got hugged by All Might on TV. Now he’s gotten a patented All Might Hug ™ he believes his jealousy was totally justified because he felt like he was being hugged by the spirit of heroics and safety, even when it was small might. Imagine the raw power of a buff might hug? Unimaginable.

Kirishima

Hugs are the best thing! Making people feel safe and happy is the manliest thing someone can do, so Kirishima will give out hugs at the drop of a hat. He is very careful to ask first though and will settle for a Manly Shoulder Pat if the hug is refused.

If someone is only jokingly protesting he will totally hold them in place with his quirk, it's very effective, if uncomfortable. The addition of his sleaves to his costume has made him an even better hug-giver.

The only person outside of the big three to have hugged Amajiki. He got so flustered he manifested wings. Mirio was very impressed.

In future he will be known for hugging victims and fans constantly, actually becomes one of the things he’s best known for. “8 Amazing Red Riot Hugs and other Heroics Moments that Will Make You Cry” (‘You’re next’ is number 1, obviously.)

[lostinfic]

Hello! If you are still accepting prompts, protective!Nine x Rose would be great!

Anonymous said to lostinfic: Could be any Doctor, all the Doctors, I just want 'em to channel me and ruminate on how gorgeous Rose Tyler is, and you can plop them in any scenario you like (bonus points if it's a Doctor who's never met Rose)

She is defended

Summary: 1943. The Doctor works for MI6 and is the handler of secret agent, Rose Tyler. They meet at a dance hall to discuss her next mission, but things go awry. Just indulge yourself in angsty infatuated pining PTSD!Ninth Doctor.

Word count: 2900   |     Rating: T

A/N: Yes, another WWII AU. You can blame @kelkat9 (thank you!) who suggested this setting when I couldn’t figure out what to do with this prompt. Thank you to @goingtothetardis for the beta <3 I like my Rose Tyler being a badass, but for the purpose of this prompt, she’s not (on screen that is), still I don’t think it qualifies as whump.

Ao3  | self-indulgent prompts

 London, 1943

Agent handler, John Noble, can never be sure his asset, Miss Tyler, is still alive. Not until he sees her in the flesh, on rare encounters between missions. Every coded message she sends by telegraph from occupied France, he has to suspect could come from an enemy impersonating her to gain information. Each meeting confirms she is still alive. Each meeting, he carries orders for her next mission. Each meeting could be their last.

The rendezvous point, set by his superior, is a dance hall in the West End. It’s one of those supposedly safer, underground clubs. Strings of Union Jack pennants criss-cross the low ceiling. John doesn’t think much of it, he meets his agents in all sorts of places. But what he hasn’t foreseen is that Miss Tyler would dress up for the occasion: pink dress with black trims and buttons, fire-red lipstick, hair in soft waves. She’s cut it and dyed it blond for her next mission, and it frames her lovely face like a halo.

She smiles at him across the dance floor.

She’s alive. So alive.

He crosses the room in long strides as she bounds towards him, and they stop short of jumping in each other’s arms.

“Doctor! It’s so good to see a familiar face.” She touches his cheek briefly.

He takes off his fedora and fiddles with the brim.

She only knows him by his codename, one he inherited after his first undercover mission in 1916.

“Miss Tyler, you look… you look a picture.”

“Thank you. After five months over there I wasn’t going to miss a chance to dress up.”

But no amount of makeup, nor the dim lights and heavy cigarette smoke in the dance hall, can hide her emaciated figure and the dark circles under her eyes. Every time he sees her, she looks wiser.

At 19 (now 23), she was the youngest of his recruits. He’d doubted she would make it through his rigorous training. Week after week she’d proved her worth, although not without defying him at every turn. She was hot-headed but never foolish. If an ability to think for oneself wasn’t high on the list of qualities sought by the military, it was necessary for intelligence work. She and other girls had spent months in a manor in York, requisitioned by MI6, enduring countless drills and exercises in abhorrent conditions. Some girls quit, some failed. Rose had persevered. Her courage, he discovered on those quiet nights when they had sat alone under the stars, didn’t stem from youthful innocence, but from compassion. It’s what drove her. It’s what would cause her to suffer. He knew firsthand how war wrecks a person with good intentions. Yet he’d agreed to send her behind enemy lines.

The dance hall is packed with Canadian and American soldiers and British girls, many of them in uniforms. Between rationing, threat of air raids and intensive work shifts, dancing is one of the few escapes left, necessary to maintain morale. He could use some of that himself, but they are here to conduct important, top secret business. Rose, however, has other things in mind.

“You’ll buy me a drink, yeah?” she says. “It would look suspicious if we didn’t drink when everyone else is.”

John bows down to her logic and heads for the bar as she secures a corner table.

She drinks the watered-down beer from her pint glass until she is out of breath, then rolls her eyes in delight. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been gorging yourself on great French wines and pastries,” he says sarcastically.

“Only on weekends.”

She gives him that tongue-touched smile that reduces enemy spies to obliging puppies.

He asks her the usual questions though he’s read all the details in her report. She’d single-handedly took down Oberführer Van Statten’s operation in Poitiers. Yet, she talks more about the people who helped her along the way.

He readies himself for the transfer of documents, for the moment their legs and hands will meet under the table.

But Rose is distracted. Her gaze keeps drifting to the couples Lindy hopping on the dance floor to the jazz tunes of an energetic quartet. A mix of sweat, cheap cologne and hormones arises from them.

“Oh, won’t you dance with me, Doctor?”

“Miss Tyler, I’m trying to impart vital information to you.”

“It will look suspicious if we don’t dance in a dance hall. It’s like you taught me: blend in.”

“How many times are you going to use that excuse?”

“As often as it takes,” she says, shamelessly. “Just one song, please. Unless you’d rather I ask someone else.”

She scans the room. When her gaze lands on a group of GIs, a burning sensation radiates through his chest.

“That won’t be necessary,” he declares, promptly standing up. “Need I remind you, you’re forbidden from forming attachments?”

“Too late for that.”

He barely hears her over the music. His stomach drops.

“In France?” he asks.

She shakes her head and looks at him with something close to pleading in her eyes. For a moment he can almost believe she means— no, surely not.

The saxophonist launches into the opening arpeggio of “In the Mood”. The dancers cheer.

Rose grabs his hand. “Show me your moves, Doctor.” She pulls him towards the lively crowd.

Though stiff at first, the catchy melody and Rose’s encouragement soon loosen his limbs. They swing and jive and jitterbug, and he twirls her through a second and a third song.

She’s losing herself in the music, closing her eyes and thinking of nothing else. Carefree. Light-hearted. Brilliant.

The next song is “I don’t want to set the world on fire”, a fast-paced rendition, not the original ballad from which he would have walked away. The lyrics hit him nonetheless.

I don't want to set the world on fire I just want to start a flame in your heart In my heart I have but one desire And that one is you, no other will do I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim I just want to be the one you love And with your admission that you'd feel the same I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of, believe me

The tempo decreases, and she rests her head on his chest, just above where his heart beats wildly.

Oh, to keep Rose like this forever, safe in his arms, sheltered. Sod MI6 and the next mission. He could hide her, keep her. And then what? Wrap her in cotton wool? Tell her, “Here, I could let you fight fascism, but I’m not going to in case you get hurt? There’s so much you can do, you’re fantastic, but I want you to stay at home and work in a shop?”

He breaks their embrace abruptly.

“We have work to do.”

And he sets about following protocol, describing her next target. When he hands her the documents under the table, he doesn’t let his fingers brush hers. But Rose grabs his hand. He shakes her off and avoids her gaze full of confusion and hurt.

John’s efficiency means the meeting ends too soon.

On the pavement, in front of the dance hall, they say their goodbyes.

“I’ll see you in six months or so? If all goes well,” she says. “It will be Christmas!” She smiles, but it’s tight-lipped.

Christmas. Around them, magnolias are in bloom and a warm breeze stirs Rose’s hair. He can barely imagine what it will be like in such a long time. So many things could happen until then.

They could win the war. Tides are turning in the Allies’ favor lately.

They could win, but still lose her.

“Do you really want to go on this mission?” he asks as professionally as he can. “You could refuse, ask to stay here.”

“No. Not after everything I’ve seen.”

“Of course.” He takes in a deep ragged breath and tips his hat. “Be safe, Miss Tyler.”

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

He watches her walk away. Her arms swing at her sides, her fists are clenched and she rubs her thumb over her knuckles.

After about a minute, he follows her as he has done before. He keeps a long distance between them, longer than he would usually keep. After all, he taught her himself how to tell she’s been followed, and she’s his best student. He only wants to make sure she arrives safely at her boarding house. Of course, she faces more dangerous streets as a spy in occupied France, than at home in London, especially now they aren’t bombed every night, but here, should something happen, he can be there for her.

It’s dark outside, more so with the blackout in place. No streetlights or neons, heavy black curtains obscure windows. White paint on the curb and on top of mailboxes reflects moonlight and dots the way like Little Thumb’s rocks in the tale. They say cars driving without their headlights on has caused more fatalities than bombs.

As per official guidelines, Rose keeps her torchlight beam aimed at the ground. He follows her pink shoes.

She turns left, and he loses sight of her. He slows his pace. Footsteps that keep following when you turn onto a street is a dead giveaway. He’ll wait a beat, remove his hat, then he’ll resume walking, but with a different gait. She can’t know he’s following her, or that he’ll watch her window until he’s smoked a whole cigarette. How would he explain? What would she think of him? What would his superiors think?

“Doctor!”

Blood drains from his face. He doesn’t hesitate and dashes in the direction of her voice; she’s cried his name.

Her torchlight lies discarded on the ground.

“Rose?!”

“Doc—”

To his right, behind that shop.

He sprints across the street. Struggling noises. Silhouettes hunched behind a dumpster. A man.

“Don’t you dare touch her!”

John rages and groans, topples him over. Teeth clenched, blood boiling. He could rip the man’s head clean off.

Rose moans in pain, and John pushes off the man to rush to her side.

She’s slouched on the ground, eyes closed.

Suddenly he’s back at the Somme, half-sunk in mud, gunfire echoing around him, and Adric in his arms, dying.

A loud noise brings him back to reality. The assailant is fleeing. John stands up to run after him. He needs to know who he works for. But Rose…

He squats back beside her. A syringe sticks out of her arm, plunger depressed, barrel emptied out.

What did he give her? Drugs? Poison?

His fingertips seek her pulse on her wrist. Nothing. On her neck. Yes, there. Weak. Tears well up in his eyes.

“Miss Tyler, can you hear me?”

No answer.

In his distressed state of mind, there’s only one person he thinks of who can help. Someone he hasn’t talked to since 1918.

*

The stolen car’s brakes screech to a halt in front of a quiet herbalist shop. Adrenaline helping, John lifts Rose in his arms and runs to the front door. He knocks loudly, relentlessly.

The door cracks open, revealing a middle-aged black woman holding a cast iron pan. John pushes past her, into the front room and carefully lays Rose on the floral couch.

“Doctor?” the woman says. “Is that you? But that’s impossible.”

Kneeling beside the couch, he speaks without taking his eyes off Rose, “Jabe, I need your help. Someone injected her with this.”

Jabe takes the syringe from his hand.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. You’ve helped us with poisons before.”

“I made them. I didn’t identify them.”

“Take a shot at it.”

He gently wipes Rose’s hair away from her face. She’s still breathing. For now.

“But Doctor, poison in her food or drink, she could throw it up, but in her blood—”

John springs up and towers over Jabe menacingly.

“Help her.”

Fear spurs her into action, not her own fear, but his.

Jabe pushes on a bookcase, it slides aside, revealing a small workshop. Dried herbs, tiny brown glass bottles and antique apothecary cabinets hide lethal drugs and modern chemistry equipment.

She gets to work, to concoct a generic, broad-spectrum antidote.

“I heard about your unit. It’s remarkable that you’re even still alive. I just want to say how sorry I am.”

John swallows thickly. He doesn’t need grief on top of distress.

“I’m not losing her too,” he declares to convince himself.

Jabe stirs droplets of a pink liquid into a vial.

“Why did they attack your wife?” she asks.

“She’s not my wife.”

“Partner?”

“No.”

“Prostitute?”

He glares at her.

Rose remains unconscious.

Reluctantly, he leaves her side to fetch a flannel damp with cold water. He dabs it over her forehead and cheek.

“I promised her mother I would always keep her safe. She was just a kid. Nineteen, she was, when I met her. She was fighting off looters in a bombed-out shop.”

“Am I a ghost?” Rose mumbles.

Relief floods his veins. He engulfs her in a hug.

“You’re talking like I’m not here anymore,” she slurs.

“No, love. You’re not a ghost.” Still cradling her head, he leans back, just enough to see her face. “Rose, look at me. Talk to me.”

Her eyelids flutter open with great difficulty.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she says. “You’re so handsome. I miss you when I’m in France. Why aren’t you in France with me? I miss you.”

“Shh, I’m here now.”

He kisses her forehead, but Rose seeks his mouth. He doesn’t fight his desire. Their lips meet in a slow, desperate kiss. A sluggish kiss. She’s too limp in his arms. Her eyes have closed again.

“No!” He shakes her. “I miss you too, okay. Rose, do you hear me? I love you.”

“You’re like a storm.” Her speech is lethargic. “There was a storm when we crossed the Channel. The pilot was scared. He ate my sandwiches. I don’t want the pilot to eat my sandwiches. Tell him not to do that. Mum made those. Where’s she? I’ve to get back home before ten. Don’t go. I love you.”

John laughs through his tears. Rose babbles on, none of what she says makes sense.

“Jabe, I know what it is: sodium pentothal. It’s a barbiturate. They keep trying to use it as a truth serum.”

“Does that really work?” Jabe asks, joining him beside Rose.

“It’s not as simple as that. It reduces inhibition. People talk without thinking. The problem isn’t getting information, is you get too much of it, you can’t tell reality from imagination. Listen to her.”

Rose is talking about a boat trip that may or may not have been a dream. John smiles fondly.

“And they’re highly suggestible,” he adds. “Miss Tyler, have you ever been to Russia? When did you go to Russia?”

Her eyebrows are drawn together. “I’ve been to Russia. It was cold.”

“No you haven’t been to Russia.”

“No, I haven’t been. We went to York.”

“Yes, we did.”

“You taught me how to pick a lock. I knew how to do it, but I failed. ‘Cause when I couldn’t do it, you stood beside me. Close. To show me. I went to a castle. There were no crocodiles.”

With the new mission orders fresh in her mind, who knows what she could have revealed to their enemies? And it wouldn’t have been her fault.

“How do you know that’s what it is?” Jabe asks.

“I’ve used it.”

It’s not the whole truth.

After the Great War, psychiatrists used it to treat soldiers with acute shell shock. A lower dose than what Rose had received reduced anxiety. With a conscientious doctor, it allowed patients to talk about their trauma and eventually recover from it. He had been one such patient.

“She’ll be fine, she only needs to rest. Can we stay here?”

“Is it safe?”

“I don’t think they’ll come after her again.”

Jabe leaves them alone for a moment.

He moves, but Rose grapples blindly with his shirt. Carefully, he sits on the couch to hold her in his arms. Her pulse is still slow, but close to a normal rate. He keeps caressing and kissing her hair. He rocks her, like the slow dance he denied them earlier.

Jabe comes back with two cups of herbal tea and sets one down on the coffee table for John. She sits in the armchair and studies him. Fine wrinkles now surround her piercing almond-shaped eyes.

“You’re still working for them, aren’t you? After everything that happened,” she says accusingly.

“I couldn’t go back to a normal life. I needed… action.”

“Perhaps a man only enjoys trouble when there is nothing else left,” she says. “Although, sounds like you have Miss Tyler now. That’s good, isn’t it?”

John sighs and his gaze moves to the syringe. “A dose like that… I think they aimed to learn everything they could about her new mission, then release her. Let the mission take its course, then thwart it in the worst possible way.”

“How could they have let her go?”

“Because a dose like that, Jabe, it causes memory loss.”

“She wouldn’t have remembered being interrogated… She won’t remember any of this. Your confession…”

“Probably not.”

“Will you tell her?”

He looks down at Rose, safe in his arms as he had wished. He tightens his embrace.

“Probably not.”

“Oh, Doctor.”

“After the war. Maybe.”

#

End not: Here is a ASMR (but not really) version of “I don’t want to set the world on fire” (Spotify),  feel free to listen to it while picturing post-war Rose, signing it softly around the house where she lives with the Doctor. Maybe she’s washing the dishes, and maybe he comes in and wraps his arms around her waist from behind, and maybe they sway softly to the melody of their song.

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Whoops everyone’s poly

You guys remember that Mal/Jay/Evie/Carlos/Ben/Jane/Doug/Lonie post I made forever ago and said I probably wasn’t ever gonna write? Well. Turns out I’m gonna write it.

“You don’t have to be.” Mal says it with such conviction that Jane looks up from her shaking hands, blinking in stupid confusion at her. 

“What?”

“You don’t have to be a better daughter,” She says, firmer, and with none of the slow over-enunciation that usually accompanies her mother when Jane forces her to repeat herself. “If she refuses to be a better mother. It’s a two-way street, and since she’s the one who dragged you kicking and screaming into this world, she’s the one who owes you more.”

Oh. Oh, of course. For a second, Jane had forgotten who she was talking to, and now that she’s been reminded -- goodness, she’s so selfish, whining about such trivial problems to the isle kids. “It isn’t like that,” Jane rushes to explain. “It isn’t like --” The way Mal barely sleeps and Evie barely eats and Jay can’t stand being touched sometimes and Carlos has scars on every inch of him. “She would never hit me,” Jane says, instead of any of that. “She’s never once laid a hand on me.”

Mal breathes slowly out through her nose. Shakes her head. Meets Jane’s earnest stare with her own gaze too soft, too understanding. Says “She doesn’t have to.”

~~

Doug slams the side of his fists against the countertop, so full of rage and weariness that he’s sick with it all the way up to his lungs. It tastes like acid in his throat, spilling out past his lips. “We’re not human!” He snarls, angrier than he’s let himself be in a long, long time. “Dwarves and fairies and- and- genies and mer! We aren’t just humans with some extra pieces! We aren’t just different phenotypes, we’re completely different genotypes! It’s disgusting, the way they expect us to live!”

It isn’t fair to let this out in front of Jay. Doug feels kind of stupid about it actually, like a puppy yapping at a grizzled old police dog. His anger must look as pathetic as it feels, coming from someone like him, but -- dammit. 

“I am so goddamn tired,” He says, “Of chopping off pieces of myself so I don’t make some rich, spoiled asshole uncomfortable.”

His pitiful ranting sputters off into incoherent, angry noises. He thumps his fists against the counter a second time. A third, before he calms down enough to acknowledge that even though he’s sturdier than a human, his fists will still break before the marble does. He presses them down instead, palms flat against cold stone. Feels the hum of it under his hands like a struck anvil, ringing out.

In the sudden silence of the kitchen, he gasps “Sorry. Sorry, that -- I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

Jay doesn’t answer. For a second, Doug thinks he must have left the kitchen when Doug started throwing his little temper tantrum. Serves you right, he thinks. Other people shouldn’t have to listen to you whining.

Then he jumps a mile in the air, because without making a single sound Jay crosses the kitchen and gets close enough to reach out and tug on a lock of Doug’s hair.

Jay doesn’t laugh at him for startling and whipping around though, doesn’t even poke fun at Doug’s raised hands, like he thinks he’s tough enough to win a fight against anyone. Jay just looks at him with his easy smile and reaches up again, pushing Doug’s glasses up from where they’d slipped down his nose. “Want me to braid your hair?” Jay asks.

~~

“Hold up.” Lonnie rounds on Carlos so fast he jumps. “You’ve been holding back on me?!”

“No, no!” Carlos waves his hands in front of him like he’s trying to blow away the very idea. “It’s just, I’m used to fights where people are trying to kill each other! Like, for real kill each other? And those are really hard! But here it’s hard in a different way, because we aren’t trying to hurt anybody and there’s rules about what moves I can and can’t use and it gets kinda confusing! I guess I just… have to concentrate more on doing things differently for ROAR because I learned a totally different way, and it makes me slower and, like. Clumsier. I guess.”

Lonnie groans, bringing her hand up to her face. “Okay,” She says, after taking a minute to contemplate this new information. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get dressed, I’m gonna go get my sword, and we’re gonna meet in the training room in fifteen minutes to have a no-holds-barred, actual sword fight, and you’re gonna show me what you can really do. Got it?”

‘Uh. Now?” Carlos glances at the clock, brow furrowing. “But it’s already past curfew? And, I heard you saying you had a test tomorrow, don’t you wanna stu--”

“De Vil!” She cuts over him. It’s kind of cute, how quickly and how easily he jumps to attention when she calls on him. “Fifteen minutes. Do you need me to say it again?”

“No, Captain,” He says. When he shakeshakeshakes his head his curls go flying everywhere. That’s kinda cute, too. “I’ll be there.”

Lonnie lets her stern expression drop, grinning at him, and then grinning wider when his shoulders slump and he smiles shyly back at her. “Good,” She chirps. Then she turns on her heel and marches out of the room.

~~

It’s half past one in the morning. Ben will blame that for why he can’t seem to smile wide enough, can’t bring himself to brush off Evie’s concerns with quite enough grace. It’s half past one in the morning and Ben needs to be up in three and a half hours to meet with his financial advisors and he has two tests tomorrow that he hasn’t studied for and He’s expected to give a speech at the Gala this weekend and he’s still fighting with his counsel over housing arrangements for the new wave of isle kids even though they’ll be here in barely a month and he just. He can’t. Smile. Right now.

Weak, he thinks. You’re so weak.

Evie’s hand is small and warm and so gentle when she rests it against his arm, peering up at him with worry all over her face. “Ben?”

To his horror, he feels his eyes start to sting. He turns away from her, clenches them shut, hoping against hope that she hasn’t noticed. “I’m sorry,” He gets out through the sudden knot in his throat. “Sorry, I’m. I’m just a little over tired is all, I was just --”

“Getting coffee?” Evie accuses, not unkindly. “At almost two am?”

“I have. Paperwork.”

“Ben.” She doesn’t try to force him to look at her, which is a good thing, because his fight against the tears is a losing battle. It’s all he can do to breathe instead of break down sobbing. “Ben, sweetheart. When was the last time you slept? Or…” A thoughtful pause. A dangerous pause, because Evie is observant and she pays attention to everything and the only person better than her at noticing things Ben would rather keep hidden is Carlos, who Ben has managed to avoid.

When Evie speaks again, her voice is even softer, practically whispering to him in the low light of the kitchen. “Or ate? Or got some exercise, or did something you enjoyed?”

He can’t answer her. He’s too busy trying to stop crying. Part of him is almost grateful for it, because it means he doesn’t have to admit that he doesn’t remember.

“Oh, Ben…”

He risks a look over his shoulder. Through blurry eyes, he sees her, looking at him with such open heartbreak on her face. Whatever defenses he has, they aren’t strong enough to withstand that. He crumples forward against the table, buries his face in his hands. “I don’t--” He hiccups out. Coughs. Swallows. Tries to breathe. “I don’t know what to do.”

[amberjade-rhodes]

Making Up | | AJ + Bryce

WHEN: 1 April 2021

LOCATION: Bryce’s room

NB: After having a few drinks, AJ decides that enough is enough and goes over to Bryce’s place to talk to him; the two not having communicated since their heated argument almost a week ago. NB: this chatzy is a work in progress so will be updated as we go, however it is almost finished!

@brycecortez

It had been a few days since she and Bryce had gotten into an argument and he had sped off alone, the two not having spoken at all since that argument. AJ had called Lola to pick her up after learning that the last bus of the night was cancelled and had cried herself to sleep in the guest bedroom, having no idea whether she and Bryce were even still together. The argument itself had happened on the Saturday night and still not having answers, she had stayed back at Mars Bar on Thursday night when her shift finished, knocking back a few drinks with some of her co-workers. When she ordered an Uber to go home, she impulsively ordered it to Bryce’s apartment instead of the beach house. Once she got there, she gathered a few pebbles and stated throwing them at Bryce’s window; a decision that she would never have made whilst sober. As soon as he opened the window, she launched into the speech that she had loosely planned on the car ride over; talking quickly so that he didn’t have the opportunity to tell her to fuck off. “I don’t understand why you’re trying to push me away and I’m not going to lie and pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Hell, I’ve spent this whole week unsure if I even have a boyfriend anymore and my brain keeps telling me to cut my losses and run away before I get hurt any further but I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I refuse to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over, especially when it means possibly losing one of the best things in my life. I love you, Bryce, even when it’s not pretty. Even when you make me cry or want to scream or quit, I’m still going to love you. God, I love you in this huge, stupid all consuming-way that makes me get drunk and do dumb clichés from romantic comedies! You don’t give up on something like that. I’m not sure if you’re ready to admit it, even to yourself, but I think you need me just as much as I need you so no matter how hard you try and push me away, I’m still here and I’ll still be here when you’re ready to talk to me”, AJ yelled up at him. “... and that’s all I came to say so now I’ll call an Uber and we’ll pretend that I’m not awkwardly standing outside your apartment whilst waiting for my ride”.

Bryce had spent the last few days in a haze, in and out of his emotions. One day he was sniffing ten lines of coke to help him get rid of his thoughts, the next he was completely numb to the point he didn’t need to touch anything. He had come completely out of touch with reality, almost to the point that he was becoming not functional. Bryce finally gave his professors, job and coach some bullshit excuse about his absence, blaming it on the military. All that they knew at this point was that he was out of town for a quick training. He had just taken a few lines, feeling practically on cloud nine when he heard a noise outside. He paused everything for a few moments, assessing what was happening before he heard the noise again and again. The knocking like sound almost becoming more and more frequent. Quickly putting the plate and drugs away, he got up and walked over to the window. Shock flooded his body when he saw Amber-Jade. The two hadn’t talked in a few days, and before that in a week. If he were being honest, Bryce didn’t know where exactly he stood with his girlfriend... if they were even still together after their blowout. He hadn’t been given the chance to say anything before she began talking. With each word spoken, he could feel his heart sink further and further into his chest - feeling the same heaviness that he had spent the last month trying to push away. He didn’t realise how much he needed to hear those words, /I’m still going to love you/. “Come inside”, Bryce requested, just loud enough for her to hear. He met her downstairs at the entrance, opening the door up for her and stepping to the side to let her in. “I’m honestly not sure if Ryan’s home. I haven’t really seen much of her”, he admitted, basically verbalising how he had been isolating himself. The man grew nervous as the two stepped into his room, knowing that it had all practically changed since the last time she was there. New furniture to replace the one he destroyed. A new mirror to replace the one he also destroyed. New TV, new everything. “Make yourself comfortable... do you want anything?”

Amber-Jade wasn’t stupid. She noticed the fact that Bryce didn’t say it back, that there was no apology for his recent behaviour; nor any sort of explanation or assurance that he still loved her and that they were still together. Still, he invited her inside rather than telling her to fuck off and in her mind, that was a step in the right direction. AJ quickly made her way upstairs before he could change his mind, which is when the pieces clicked into place for her. She wasn’t sure what the cause was but she recognised the symptoms - isolating himself from the people that cared about him, pushing people away, the substance use, the fact that his entire bedroom looking different... it seemed like a trauma response, something that AJ knew well because of her own engagement in such behaviours over the years. “I don’t know if she’s home either but I’m only here to see you so it doesn’t really matter”, AJ said softly. “This is going to seem a little weird for a moment but bear with me, okay? I promise that it’ll make sense at the end. Can you please go and make us hot chocolates?” As soon as he left the room, AJ made herself busy. She cleared enough space in the wardrobe for both of them to sit in there together before dragging as many blankets and pillows inside as she could; essentially building them a little fort. By the time he returned from the kitchen, it was finished and she looked at him nervously. “When I was little, I used to hide in my wardrobe with a good book so that I didn’t have to hear my parent’s arguing. I was actually hiding in the wardrobe on that night. My mind doesn’t allow me to remember all of the details, which I think is to protect me, but I remember enough to really fuck me up. It’s hard to explain how it feels but I’m going to try...”, she trailed off for a second, collecting her thoughts. “On a good day, I can manage how I’m feeling with exercise and maybe a few drinks but even on the good days, I can feel a little emotionally detached. I almost always feel guilty for the fact that I survived, guilty for not doing more, guilty for being angry at my mom for dying. The nightmares are pretty bad too, even on a good day”, she said softly. “Bad days, though? I can’t even get out of bed without taking something for the pain. I want people to be close to me because I hate the thought of being alone but at the same time, I can’t have them /too/ close to me. I’m angry at the world, I’m so anxious that it feels like I’m drowning under it, so I take whatever I can get my hands on because feeling like that... sometimes it feels like it might actually kill me”. When she finished talking, she avoided his gaze; worried about his reaction. “I think you might be feeling some of those things too so I thought we could get in here and just shut out the rest of the world for a while”.

Bryce furrowed his brows at her request. He found it odd, but he shrugged it off and left the room to go to the kitchen. He put milk into a pot and began the process of making the two hot chocolates. As what could be expected, he spiked his with a bit of Tito’s vodka, but kept hers the same. He walked back into the room with both mugs in hand, an expression of surprise evident on his face when he noticed the set up. Bryce didn’t understand where all of this was coming from; her words continuing to surprise him as she spoke about her own experiences. His eyes remained fixated on the ground as he tried to process; the more she spoke, the quicker he could feel his high slipping away, and the quicker he felt that black hole reappearing. Still, he was too exhausted to say anything, let alone be a dick to the one person that cared about him. “Okay...” He caved in, his voice quiet and broken. “Your hot chocolate’s going to get cold.” He said as he handed over the mug, all before walking towards the wardrobe. Bryce took a seat inside, taking a sip of his drink as he made himself comfortable. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I was sober for four years, and now that’s completely down the drain.” He said simply, taking another sip of his drink.

"Thanks", AJ said softly, taking the mug of hot chocolate before taking the seat opposite him in the wardrobe and closing the door behind them. The two were thrown into relative darkness, although the pinpricks of light seeping under the door were enough to see his outline. "I'm really sorry. I've never been sober for that long so I can't even imagine how rough that must feel right now", AJ said, her voice soft but empathetic. "If you want to get sober again, I can... I can quit with you. Go to meetings with you. Support you through it all". It was a big offer from AJ, who had barely spent more than a day sober since she was around 17 and Ollie had left the group home. "If you aren't ready for those steps yet though, that's okay too. I'm still here".

Bryce allowed Amber-Jade to close the door behind her, leaving the two in almost complete darkness. The light peering in from under the closet door illuminating the closet just enough he was still able to make out his girlfriends features. “I can’t ask you to do that.” He shook his head. “I’ll stop soon. I have no choice. I can be dishonorably discharged from service for this shit.” Sighing, he took another sip of the drink before putting the mug on the floor next to him. He brought his knees up close to his chest and rested his arms on them. “I lied to everyone about what happened when I left last year. To my sister, my brothers, Oliver, Lola. Allison’s always been very worried about me, especially when I leave. She makes it a point to know absolutely everything that’s happening wherever I am, and she heard about an explosion and freaked out when she couldn’t get in contact with me. I told her that it didn’t happen at my base because I didn’t want her or anyone else to worry, but it did. I watched a friend of mine die March 11th. /I/ almost died March 11th. And part of me thinks I should’ve.” This was the first time he ever said those words out loud, the first time he ever brought up the date. Bryce felt his chest tighten at the thought of opening up about something so personal to him. He hated nothing more than being vulnerable. “Nobody knows. Nathan only knows because he used to work with one of the guys that died that day. Nobody knows about any of it, anything that has happened during my service I keep to myself. It should’ve been me that died that day.”

“Except you aren’t asking, I’m offering. If you need someone down in the trenches with you, I’m it. I know how much serving means to you so I don’t want you to lose that”. It was easier for the two to engage honestly in this environment, where it was dark and they both knew that they were safe. She listened quietly as he spoke, her heart constricting painfully in her chest and a few errant tears burning down her cheeks. It was hard listening to Bryce’s confession, to know what had been haunting him and why he had been so intent at pushing her away. “I hope your friend is resting peacefully”, she said quietly. She didn’t want to depend on the “I’m sorry” cliche because they both knew that it didn’t help anything. “Your friend, your sisters, your brothers, Ollie, Lola... there’s a reason that you survived and I think they’re a large part of it. I know that you don’t see it but so many people are better because of knowing you, because they loved you. I don’t know your friend but if he cared about you even half as much as we do... he wouldn’t this life for you. He wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life wishing that you were dead instead”. Her voice was gentle and completely non-confrontational as she really didn’t want to do anything to trigger him. “All I’ve ever known is the darkness, Bryce. I’ve come to terms with it now because I’ve always been sure that there’s no escaping it; that it’s ingrained in me and I can’t do anything about it but... sitting here with you, listening to you... I don’t want this to be your future. Our relationship is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you’re the best person to enter my life and I will do everything I can to get you through this because you deserve more than a life spent hiding in wardrobes with me”.’ AJ’s anxiety and insecurity meant that there was a part of her that worried that if Bryce got better, he would realise that he deserved more than her but she loved him enough to take that risk; all she really wanted was his happiness, even if it meant that it wasn’t with her.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready to do. I’ll get through this, I always do.” Bryce assured. If he were being honest, he had been completely thrown off by Amber-Jade’s offer. He didn’t know much about her drug use, and that was mainly because he had worked hard to stay away from environments that promoted drug use. He never had a problem with alcohol, but if there was one thing he struggled with often, it was compulsion. His head snapped up, looking at her with sad eyes when she said the comment about Eric. “Yeah, I hope is resting peacefully too. He was a good guy.” Bryce said in agreement, sighing immediately after. He nodded as she continued speaking. The man appreciated her words, it was comforting to hear, but it was still hard for him to hear. It was the same words people told him after the car accident, and when his father died; the same words he just couldn’t bring himself to believe. “I don’t want to live like this either, but I’m not your responsibility, Amber-Jade.” He said simply, his voice soft. “If this is because you’re scared of losing me, you’re not. I’m sorry for being up and down with you. Last week...you saw a side of me that I try to keep suppressed. The side that’s insecure, angry, and broken...it came out that night, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think there will ever come a time where I’m /ready/ to do it but that doesn’t mean that I don’t need to take that step. After that house party and then seeing you at that apartment... I think I’m starting to realise that I can’t keep being so self-destructive. I have people that care about me now, I have goals for the future, things I want to do and achieve... I can’t keep this up for the rest of my life”, AJ admitted, nervously rubbing at the back of her neck as she spoke. “I really hate the fact that I’ve become a stereotype”, she added. It was true — traumatic background, poor socioeconomic area and she had turned to sex work and drug use. She wanted to be better than that. “Do you want to tell me about him?” she asked. She was unsure if that would be helpful or not but she wanted to give Bryce a safe place to talk if he needed it. “You aren’t my responsibility but we’re partners, right? There’s no way in hell that you’d let me go through this shit alone. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve dropped everything to hold my hand and help me through the worst of it. I’m going to do the same for you and there’s no point arguing with me because I’m just as stubborn as you”, she pointed out, ending her sentence with a slight joke. “I’m not going to lie... I’ve spent the last week fairly certain that you had broken up with me that night and it did really hurt. Part of me just wanted to pack my bags and run away because that’s what I always do, it’s what comfortable to me. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realised that this is bigger than us. Even if you did end our relationship, I’d still be here and I’d still want to help you because I know what it’s like to be in the darkness alone. Yes, I’m scared of losing you because I always lose the people that I love but this is more than that, I promise”.

Bryce simply just nodded at her words. “I’m really glad you have people that care about you. If you feel as though you need to get clean, then do what you have to do.” In that moment, he couldn’t really say that he agreed. With his sister gone and his estranged relationship with Oliver, the man sometimes felt as though he was alone. That, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to sober up; he loved how numb the drugs made him too much so give it up. “It’s not my place to tell you about him. I just want to forget about all of it. The accident, my father, the bombing, everything. I don’t want to relive things more than I’ve already had.” He stated simply, his voice monotoned and a bit emotionless. “Do you still want to be with me?” Bryce asked suddenly, finally looking up at her. “I know I over reacted at the drug dealers house, but I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. Because I know I love you, and I do whatever the hell I have to do to make sure people respect that. I know I can’t stop people from hitting on you, but...I just need to know that this is serious. Because unlike you, I have nothing here, and I’m not afraid of packing my bags and running.”

AJ just nodded and said nothing further on the topic. She had extended the offer to help her boyfriend before he experienced any consequences, such as being discharged from active service, but it was clear that he wasn’t ready for that help. She wanted to be there for him but it felt like she was walking on eggshells; like she was just one conversational misstep away from causing their relationship to implode. Her anxiety really was sky high, her hands trembling slightly as she held her hot chocolate. “I get it. I’m the same way about my mom. I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me if you want to”. Whilst people knew that her mom was dead, no one really knew anything about who she was as a person; or the relationship they had shared before her untimely death. It was too hard to talk about. “Of course I do, I’m sorry for making you doubt that. I’ve just... I’ve been hearing comments like that since I was 15 so it just feels like white noise to be now. Sometimes it’s easier to just let the comments wash over me and just bite my tongue because the alternative isn’t always pretty. The racist and sexist verbal abuse I’ve received when I reject someone, the insistent wandering hands even after I’ve said no... those past experiences have made me wary of speaking up all the time. I just want you to know that even when I don’t push someone up against the wall and threaten them because of the comments, I always find a way to tell them that I have a boyfriend and that I’m not interested”, she told him. “This is serious for me. I didn’t flippantly make this commitment, Bryce. There is a reason why this is the first relationship that I’ve ever been in... this isn’t something that I take lightly. I know I’m not perfect. I know that you can do better. I know that it probably feels easier to just cut and run but p-please... please don’t pack your bags and run. Please don’t leave me”. Her voice broke slightly as she spoke and she placed her mug down on the ground so that she could pull her knees up against her chest; resting her head against them to conceal the raw emotion on her face.

“Thank you. I really do appreciate it.” Bryce said, his words sincere. “I understand, trust me I do. And I wouldn’t want you to do anything to jeopardize your safety, but...fuck, I don’t even know what to say right now.” His thoughts were messy, which only made his words just as messy. Hearing her voice crack the way it did...well it was a sound that Bryce never wanted to hear every again. “Hey, hey, hey...” he said quietly, immediately reaching out to grab her hand. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I don’t ever want to leave you, I love you, and if anything you’re the one that can do better. It’s just...I don’t know. I feel lost. I want to get better, but I don’t know how. I can’t bring myself to talk about anything...and I don’t want you changing yourself or feeling as though you have to look after me every second. I hate being that burden on you, I don’t want that.”

“That’s okay”, AJ said simply, allowing that part of the conversation to come to a natural conclusion. Neither of them would push the other to talk about things that they found difficult to discuss. “I meant what I said that night, Bryce. I won’t go back to that guy’s apartment again. I can’t control how other people talk to me but I can make sure that I don’t intentionally put myself in situations that make you uncomfortable”. It did hurt that Bryce didn’t fully trust her in that regard but she understood that he was in a heightened state so his ability to engage in logical and rational discussion was reduced. She started slightly when he reached out and grabbed her hand, sure that he was just trying to soften the inevitable blow he was about to deal her. When she heard his soft words instead, she slowly lifted her head, her cheeks stained with tears. “You aren’t the only one that feels like that. I spend most of my life feeling adrift and lost but somewhere along the way, you’ve started to feel like home. Being with you doesn’t magically fix all my issues but you make me feel steadier on my feet. Understood. Seen. Loved. You make me feel like maybe the rest of my life won’t be filled with bad things, that maybe I’m allowed some happiness too. I don’t think you see me as a burden, right? You don’t constantly feel the need to change yourself to be with me? Why can’t I be the same for you?”

Bryce nodded when she told him that she wouldn’t go back to the house. He felt like he was being a bit unreasonable, and he probably was, but it felt as though everything heightened. Especially emotions. “I change myself every day to be with you. Because you deserve more, deserve better.” He whispered. “I just don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this. All I can think about right now is how the coke and heroin in my drawer will help me forget about all of this. I can’t feel like this anymore…I’m scared, Amber. I don’t know how to get myself through this time.”

Amber-Jade looked at him sadly when he said that he changed himself every single day to be the person that deserved to be with her. She reached out and gently stroked his cheek, a sad smile gracing her face. “You don’t have to be perfect, Bryce. I love you exactly how you are, flaws and all. All I really need from you is to be here, to be with me, to not leave me behind”, she assured him. She didn’t need him to be trying to fit this perfect ideal of a boyfriend; she just wanted the Bryce Cortez that she had fallen head over heels in love with. She just wanted him by her side. “I know that it’s not easy to let someone see you like this but I’m not just anyone, okay? No matter what version of you I see, I’m not going anywhere. You won’t scare me away, I promise”. The one good thing about her past was that Bryce’s current presentation wouldn’t scare her away, she was able to take it in stride and focus on helping him. “Do you want me to get rid of it? I can toss it out right now if that’s what you need. If you aren’t ready for that... maybe we could go to bed? I can hold you until you fall asleep, it’s what my mom used to do for me when my father was high... before she started using herself”.

“I don’t want to leave you...you’re the best thing thing that’s ever happened to me.” Bryce spoke quietly, not being able to maintain eye contact with the other. He gave a shy smile as she stroked his cheek, finding her touch rather comforting. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this, though. It’s not fair to you, especially given your past.” He realized in that moment just how much of a monster he probably was a week ago, and just how selfish he was for forgetting the history of her parents for just a split moment. “You don’t need this in your life. You don’t need /me/ in your life.” He whispered, letting out a defeated sigh. Not saying another word, he grabbed his mug and shimmied his way out of the closet, offering her his hand to help her get up. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I don’t want to ruin any plans.”

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me too. I never thought that I'd have this with someone... I never even /wanted/ this with someone until I met you", AJ said softly. Noticing the way that he smiled for the first time all night, she kept her hand on his cheek and shifted the rest of her body a little closer to him. "I'm not letting you go through this by yourself. We're in this together so even though it's hard right now, I'm still going to be here every step of the way. You've seen me at my worst and loved me just the same and nothing is going to stop me from doing the same for you". AJ certainly hadn't entered into their relationship lightly and she was in it for the long haul, for better or worse. "I do need you, though. I wouldn't have started dating you if I didn't need you. I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I didn't need you. The way I feel about you... how much I trust you... how I can be truly myself around you... none of that comes easily for me so I'm not throwing in the towel just because you need me a little more than usual right now". She took his hand and got to her feet, the two of them leaving the closet together. "I'm not going anywhere. Could I please borrow a shirt though? Sleeping in this skirt isn't exactly comfortable", she said with a small smile, trying to lift his mood somewhat as she gestured at her leather skirt.

Bryce didn’t hesitate to pull the girl closer to him, taking full advantage of her shifting closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I love you.” He whispered, the words coming out more easily this time than other times. Those were three words he didn’t say often to anyone, but with her it seemed to come naturally. The man simply nodded at her statement, still finding it hard to believe that someone could love him as much as she did, especially in that moment. But he wasn’t going to question it; he already questioned her enough the last week or so. He picked up the two mugs from the closet and walked them over to his desk, taking another sip from his before putting it down. “I think this conversation sobered us up, but I have a confession...I may or may not have spiked my drink.” He said with a sheepish smile, sighing in relief as the words left him. Bryce chuckled softly at her request, turning to look at his girlfriend and smiling. “It’s a nice skirt, though. You look good.” With that, he pulled out a cotton shirt from the drawer and put it over his shoulder. “Hey, about what you said last week, and earlier...” He trailed off, beginning to help her get out of the tight skirt and her shirt. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, to be with someone — because it’s not easy for me either. I never want to hurt you, but I’m still not used to all of this.” He admitted as he helped strip her of her clothing, unhooking her bra before helping to put on his shirt.

"I love you too", AJ murmured in response, holding her boyfriend tightly. She had /hated/ arguing with him, hated the uncertainty as to whether they were even still together, and was incredibly relieved to know that she hadn't lost him. AJ knew that they still had a lot of things to work through, both individually and together, but at least they were still in this; at least they were still a team. "I'm kind of offended that you only spiked yours, where was my liquid courage?" she jokingly questioned, laughing softly as she noticed the sheepish smile on his face. The bigger conversation about his sobriety would happen on another day, right now she just wanted to support him through the worst of it. "I always look good, you have a very hot girlfriend". Again, another joke. She just wanted to keep that small smile, that laughter, that lightness in play for a little while longer. "I'm not used to all of this either and I know that I'm not perfect. I just... I want you to know that I would never do anything to break your heart, Bryce. I wouldn't betray you or cheat on you or disappear on you. When I made that commitment to you, I wholeheartedly meant it". She was quiet as he finished helping her change into one of his shirts before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his lips.

Bryce was still a bit in denial about the status of his mental health. A part of him knew that he was lying to himself when saying that this relapse is just a way for him to cope as he got through this tough anniversary month. But one thing he did come to realize was that this doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else in his life, so he really needed to be careful with how he treated some people — especially now that he couldn’t just run away like before. “I’m pretty sure liquid courage is what brought you here to begin with.” He joked lightly, attempting to push any dark thoughts and cravings to the back burner. “I do. I’ll never deny that.” He said lightly with a smile. Bryce sighed as she spoke, nodding his head slowly to show that he understood. “I know.” The words came out in a whisper as his head hung low, not being able to find the courage to remain eye contact with her. He gave off another shy smile when he felt her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, attempting to hide the fact that he could feel his heart beating all over his body. He /hated/ being vulnerable, and although he knew it was necessary for the two to make things right, he found himself attempting to push off his fight or flight. “There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’m drained so I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Touché. I can't believe that I actually threw pebbles at your window and then gave a big speech... I never thought I'd be recreating that cliché", AJ groaned before laughing softly at her own expense. She really had pushed herself out of her comfort zone tonight but it seemed like it was worth it because she and Bryce had actually spoken again; and patched up a few of the issues that they had been experiencing. "It's refreshing that you see me as more than just a pretty face, though", she added. In her past, she had predominantly been treated as a piece of meat so her relationship with Bryce really was refreshing in that regard. She just squeezed his hand gently when he hung his head and said that he knew, not pushing the point any further as she didn't want to make him feel any more upset or guilty over everything. "I'm not hungry, I just want to go to bed with you", she assured him. Right now, there was nothing that she wanted more than curling up with Bryce and hopefully making him feel safe and secure, at least for tonight.

“If it means anything, I’m really glad you did.” Bryce admitted, speaking in a soft tone. He didn’t want to admit it right there in the moment, but he didn’t realize just how much he needed someone; how much he needed /her/. “That’s because you are more than just a pretty face, Amber-Jade. The looks are merely just a bonus at this point.” He said in a sincere tone, giving her a shy half smile immediately after. Nodding his head, Bryce began to undo the bed; pulling the sheets out so the two could climb in together. “It’s a new bed so it should be much more comfortable than before.” He chuckled softly. He hadn’t gotten much of the chance to break in the new bed, considering he found himself to be an insomniac as of lately.

"I'm a little embarrassed but I am glad that it seemed to work". AJ had never been the type to engage in grand romantic gestures, yet Bryce was seemingly the exception to her own rules. "You know that I feel the same way about you, right? It's not just physical attraction and sexual chemistry... this is real", she said softly, the two of them climbing into bed together. "Holy shit, it feels like a cloud! I think this might just be the most comfortable mattress ever... you have good taste, Cortez". When she was sure that Bryce was comfortable, she curled up behind him; essentially taking the 'big spoon' role. "I'll be here when you wake up, I promise", she whispered, the woman holding her boyfriend until he eventually drifted off to sleep.

[chaniters]

Weakness

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When all seems lost, the Rangers are forced to make their last stand against  Reaper and Catastrofiend to prevent the impending doom. 

@kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac next part. 

Hope you enjoy! 

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The blade cuts the air almost at the same time as you react, leaving only a split second to wonder if you still have your whole nose. 

It missed, but the creature knows all too well it just has to keep trying, It’s blades spinning madly from side to side, murder in it’s maddened eyes. Your mind is the only thing keeping you barely ahead, and even then, the blades swing so abruptly that you can feel the cuts in the air even trough your suit.

Each failure hast it swinging faster, and faster. Your allies are trying to help, but the two of you are moving so quickly that they’re afraid of taking you down instead. All you can do is keep going and try to draw it away from the civilians.

 Many of them are just watching your coordinated movements in awe, thinking that you’re somehow impossible to hit and that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one that’s going to take this thing out and save the day. That is a very dangerous and wrong assumption.  

You’re the mouse in this game, but still, you refuse to lose. Every move it makes determines your next three. Adrenaline rushes, and you feel yourself quickly reaching the “Zone” where lay the limits of your abilities, and then… And then It just keeps going faster, harder, impossible to evade. It doesn’t matter how much you know what it’s going to do if your body can’t move fast enough to compensate. A man gets slashed over the chest and falls to the side. A couple goes next, and soon your suit is drenched by the sprays of blood, not your own, but those of everyone around. Even if the thing is but a blur you still know it is smiling. It knows you don’t want it to harm civilians, and It’s deeply enjoying your reaction. 

Your brain keeps looking for a way out, anything... and then it happens. One bad move and you get a nasty cut on your side, sending you down on your ass. It lunges with a guttural roar of triumph. 

You force your legs to split he sides and pull back just in time to see it’s blades sinking deep on the ground, barely an inch in front of your crotch. Cold sweat runs trough your back, as the fiend roars again, raising it’s left claw, ready to finish you off, but someone yanks your shoulders backward taking you away from it. The fiend tries to follow but is stopped by Anathema jumping out of nowhere to take hold of the raised claw, followed by Steel pulling from the right side. 

“Hold it!” Sunstream says doing finger guns at the beast, pure light streams coming out of their tips. Annie and Steel force the beast to stand, and two beams begin burning it’s exposed chest.  as it screams and curses. 

“Stand up, quickly!”  Charge asks helping you up. “Are you ok?”  

You pat yourself now, only now considering that perhaps you are not ok.

“No.. I mean… yes. I think I’m ok.” the wound stings, but it seems superficial and there’s no blood coming out from the suit. It will probably leave a heck of a scar. 

“That was pretty amazing… but stand down for now, ok? You did good holding it up, we’ll take care of it” he says giving you that confident smile he puts on camera, the one that’s just so full of bullshit. 

As he heads off you realize just how exhausted you are and how out of rhythm your breath is. You were never designed for this kind of exercise. You need to get back there, but then again you are not sure what could your martial arts and cheap gun do to tip the scales. 

Catastrofiend is now on fire and shrieking in pain as Sunstream keeps shooting light at it’s exposed chest. 

“Keep it there just a minute longer! It’s working!” he says, with a strained voice.  Yeah, no, It’s not working. 

“WATCH OUT!” you scream, noticing the claws on its legs dig deep into the ground. “IT’S GOING TO SPIN!”

“What?” Annie says looking your way. 

“ITS GOING TO SPIN!!!” You repeat, wishing you knew better words to describe what you know it’s going to do. 

Shit. Too late. 

With a single movement, the thing spins its chest several times while its feet remain firm on the floor, almost if it was made of rubber. The arms circle wildly like whips in the air, sending both Anathema and Steel flying away, until it stops still, looking like a wrung-out rubber doll that someone squeezed too many times, the face distorted in anger, as most of the flames have been put out by the sudden shifting. 

The light beams die out, and you don’t need to look at Sunstream to realize he’s terrified of the thing, as it slowly straightens it’ self, spinning its chest three times, before jumping to the ceiling, taking hold with its claws like a spider and moving towards Sunstream, ready to jump down on him. Luckily Sentinel is there to block the thing away, sending the darkened smog in the room at it, and throwing it off its mark.  

A slight push from your mind clears Sunstreams doubts, and he manages to start shooting at it again, as it tries to get out of his reach. 

Things are not looking good on the other side. Reaper is taking on Elyise and Ashfall, and it looks like they’ve not been able to do any damage. Its scythe seems to extend the range of his death-touch, as it goes to everything when he’s solid. It’s not just affecting people. Wood splinters and turns to dust, steel rustles and turns brittle and fabric loses it’s color and unravels to pieces.

In your mind, It’s looking less like a life-energy leecher power which you have experience with and more like a sort form of time manipulation, which is just great news, because who wouldn’t want a death-touch that’s even deadlier than the usual brand? 

Charge takes point against Reaper and manages to land a few punches before the villain pushes him away going intangible again, the lightning bolt that would have been Ortega’s finisher move going through him without effect. 

“Well done Marshall. But let’s see how much did Hood really teach you” he adds going into a defensive stance, taunting Charge to come closer.

“Oh, I’ve some tricks of my own, skull-face” Ortega answers, waiting for Elyise and Ashfall to get to his flanks.

“Mr. Skullface to you, kiddo” Reaper adds going translucent once more and jumping in the air, falling in the middle of them with a strike that miraculously they all manage to avoid.  

Time manipulation death touch. How do you stop it? Even metal rusts in moments, like centuries, had passed and…

...and there is a pile of plastic chairs, the cheapest kind, pilled near one of the doors… 

“ELYSE! Block him with that!” you say in her mind. 

She seems confused for a moment, but you send a pretty clear mental picture of your plan, and she smiles, the chairs suddenly flung in their direction. 

Reaper’s cloak throws Ashfall off-mark as the villain evades his sand-fist, moving to the side and kicking him down, Scythe ready to finish him off. 

“Such a waste, that you would protect these corporate criminals. At least this won’t hurt… it’ll be five centuries in one second,” he says with fiery eyes, the weapon coming down… getting stuck into the thick pile of plastic seats that Elyise holds to block the strike.

He seems puzzled for a brief moment, as the Scythe doesn’t budge, unable to go through plastic.

“Oh… shit” he says realizing he’s been outsmarted.

Charge doesn’t stay idle, going for a swift kick that forces his hands off the handle, and Ashfall causes a sand explosion from the ground, sending him flying off onto the stage. 

“... there always has to be a smartass, right?” he says standing up, painedly. 

Catastrofiend falls by its side, roaring at you all as the heroes converge on them. 

“Well then, perhaps I’ve underestimated how many of you would be here tonight? No matter. We can still even the odds. Charon, if you will…?”

“Servomechanic protocols breached. Full access to defense armor squadrons available.” the genderless voice declares.

“Good. Take control over all available units, and take out the trash” Reaper orders.

All around you, the sound of powering batteries echoes, and the fallen armored carapaces of the company’s security forces stand up, back online. Most of the soldiers inside are out of the things, but you can sense a few that get trapped inside as the armors seal themselves and start walking in your direction, their energy rifles buzzing with renewed power. 

“Any last words, rangers? Perhaps if you surrender right now, I could still let you go. There’s no need for a repeat of the Phoenix team, you know…”

Only one thought as the armors surround you, some with the muffled sounds of the soldiers trapped inside, trying to get out. 

Reaper won.

He has all the pieces of the puzzle to take down GeniTech and the whole city. The villains he manipulated are outside preventing escape, he now controls of an army inside, a monster to protect him from you and an improvised weapon of mass destruction by overloading the core. He’s even poisoned the air for everyone in the building. 

“We are not surrendering!” Charge bites back, defiant. Several of the guards turn their weapons on him.

He’s going to fight… and then he’s going to get killed. If it’s not the guards, then it’ll be Catastrofiend, and reaper’s still got his touch even if he lost the scythe. Or it could be the power core blowing up. 

But Charge is right. You can’t let him win. You can’t let him take out the whole city. You’re going to do what you were trained for… look for the weakness… strike with all your strength… and then twist the knife. 

Time seems to slow down as you go through everyone’s minds, looking for something, anything, that can help prevent this disaster. 

Everyone’s got a weakness… what is Reaper’s?

He’s too arrogant. He thinks none of you young heroes can ever come close to being what he’s become. He’s drugged, and reckless… And he wants revenge above all. He thinks his plan is perfect, and it seems that way… but what if it wasn’t?

Reckless people like yourself don’t often consider all the consequences of your actions. What did Reaper miss? What is the wrench that you can throw to break down the cogs in his plan?

The answer comes to you in a flash, and you know there’s only one shot at it, so you better pull on some good acting. 

“Hey assholes!” you shout, emerging from a group of terrified party survivors.

The thing looks at you with a smile, as does Reaper. 

“Yes Sidestep? Ready to surrender?”

“Maybe we should… but there one thing that keeps me wondering about your plan”

“Wondering what?” Reaper asks, his patience thinning.

“I just find it funny, you think you’ve got Catastrofiend totally under your control, only it’s the other way around. The fiend’s the mastermind in all of this”

“What do you mean?” Reaper asks besides himself, his pride unable to pass the chance to let you make a fool of yourself and tell you how wrong you are. Catastrofiend just seems confused, which is more than you could have hoped for.  

“Well, you think Catastrofiend works for you as long as you provide it with Hero drugs, right? That’s why you led it to all of the dealer’s hideouts.” 

“Very astute Sidestep. I still don’t see any mistakes. Just a lot of capitalist vampires about to die. And you along with them”

“Well, I see one big mistake. Catastrofiend was just playing along, waiting for the endgame, which is you overloading the core. You see, that was Catastrofiend’s plan all along… goading you into it!” you say trying to sound convincing

“What?” he asks, angered, about to order his troops to shoot you all down.  

“Hey hey… I’m just saying… The bio core is creating the largest concentration of drugs ever seen, you said so yourself right?. Enough to contaminate half the city?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, a bit uncertain. Catastrofiend’s gaze fixes on you. You certainly have it’s full attention now.

“That’s the largest stash of drugs that’s ever existed. The moment you made that happen, the fiend didn’t need you anymore. I bet it’s going to go and consume the bio core right now, become the perfect being it always wanted to be? You know, because it has this insatiable hunger and that thing is the ultimate meal? There’s not going to be a meltdown, just one, big, super boosted monster”

“THat’s… No, I’m the one in control” Reaper says, now a bit uncertain.

Catastrofiend’s gaze turns and meets’s Reaper in what becomes the tensest two and a half seconds in your life… Reaper’s hand reaches for a controller that’s surely linked to the Fiend’s implant… but the Fiend rips it out in a single movement, roaring in pain. 

The guards try to stop it, but it all goes down too fast. 

The fiend leaps onto Reaper, who deflects with his cloak, going intangible once more and using kung-fu to lightly tap lightly at one of the claws, that dissolves into goo within seconds. Reaper goes intangible, avoiding other strikes, as the fiend keeps trying to take him out. 

Waiting for the right time, Reaper finally goes solid again, hand-stretched to get a grip on the fiend’s neck… causing the monster’s body to start convulsing in agony, letting out a pained shriek. The pain is so intense that you shield shatter to pieces, and you fall down holding your head, unable to stop watching. 

The fiend’s left arm, the human one falls off and turns to dust, as it’s regenerating body begins to lose the fight against Reaper’s power. You’ve never seen anything like this… The tissue can’t decide whether disintegrate or reform. Reaper screams, the skull opening its jaw wide, as the fiend curses… and the fiend’s remaining claw finally comes down, sinking deep trough Reaper’s chest. 

Reaper looks down at his chest, shocked, his hand letting go before he falls to the ground.  The fiend stumbles backward, the claw cracking and breaking off its arm, still stuck to Reaper’s chest. 

Your eyes focus on Reaper, who tries to sit, his body shifting rapidly… his face covering itself with muscles, skin… and blood.

A freckled old black man with silver-white hair and deep brown eyes looking down at the wound on his chest. He raises his gaze towards you all, taking off his glove to reveal a hand covered win skin. There is a brief hint of a smile upon seeing the curse lifted… before he falls down, shattering as he falls. The armor disintegrates around him, his whole body, leaving only an empty cloak in the end.

“Master’s termination indicates the end of my programming. Terminating all ongoing processes, erasing all files and backups” Charon’s voice sounds, almost melancholic but still genderless and impersonal. 

The vents on the ceiling close up, and the toxic gas starts getting sucked in, as the air purifiers go back online. All lights go back on, and the guards stumble, back in control of their armors. 

The surviving monster turns to you all, before shaking and falling again. Its face looks like a broken mask fragile, and weak. It stumbles and falls down, as it’s regeneration struggles to keep up with this punishment.

It stands again and heads over to one of the elevators. There is only one thought in its mind, beyond the pain.

“It wants to consume the core” you sentence, watching it walk. 

Elyise extends her hand, her powers pulling it back as it struggles forward. 

“What are you doing? Let the monster go!” Dr. Laverne says, still pale. 

“Shut up. I can’t let her go in there”

“It’s our only chance! If that thing can stop the fungi’s growth, we have to try, or everyone still dies!”

“I can’t!” Elyise says holding on. It’s still her mother. “There must be some other way to...”

Slowly, Ortega’s hand pulls her arm down. 

“What are you doing...?”

“I’m sorry,” Ortega says.

“Stop it! You can’t use her like that! Just let me...”

“I’m Sorry” he repeats, pulling her back. 

Catastrofiend enters the elevator, giving you a wide smile, before punching the button to the deepest basement. It doesn’t need directions... It can now smell the drug overload from here. 

“There is no other way,” Ortega says finally, as Elyise struggles and screams at him. 

“You really think that thing can save this place?” Sunstream asks you. 

You gaze at Dr. Laverne, passing on the question to her. 

“I don’t know. But it’s our only chance... now let’s go to the control room. If it works, I’m opening the doors for the people outside”

“You can’t do that!” one of the executives interrupts. “We’ve got our soldiers again, now we can hold them back and...” but he doesn’t get to finish the sentence, as Lavern’s knee sinks in his crotch, relegating him to silent pain on the floor. 

“Yeah, fuck you, there’s been enough bloodbaths for one day. All tech’s and guards, follow me to the control room, we’ve got to figure out how to make this work so we don’t get poisoned and let the people in until this fucking cloud clears up.” She says heading for another elevator, followed by a thick crew of guards and technicians, leaving the man alone. 

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My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[dallanebbia]

blooming (3/6);

fandom: bnha pairing: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 6353 warnings: mentions of violence inspiration: [link] synopsis: 

Ochako doesn’t understand much about the world outside the limits of her village, but she does know this: She loves her family, and at the end of the day, she’ll do anything to keep them safe – even if it means sacrificing herself to do it.

When she runs away to join the army in her father’s place, the only thing she leaves behind is an untouched cup of tea, and a whispered apology nobody is awake to hear.(or, in which an attempt is made to write a kacchako mulan au)

parts: [1] [2] [3] || AO3: [link]

Life continues on, a cycle of dreaming and sparring and sleeping, over and over – until time seems to slip away.

It feels odd, but Ochako has always found it satisfying when things so easily fall into a routine. The day to day monotony is something she’s accustomed to – she’s used to waking before dawn to work in the fields, something soothing about the repetition of movement – but what’s different is the relief that settles into her bones, soothing itself into her skin deeper and deeper as the days pass.

The difference is that she can run and smile and breathe in a way she never could at home. It’s that she’s respected, seen as reliable and capable and strong – worth more than the value of her body or her potential as a bride. It’s the fact that she’s finally tasted freedom, finally understood what she’s spent her whole life missing, and it makes her heart feel warm and full.

She belongs here, more comfortable amongst virtual strangers than she ever did in her village, and it’s telling. She misses home – aches, whenever she thinks of her mother and father – but she can’t bring herself to feel guilty. At the end of all this, even if she doesn’t make it back, Ochako knows she will never regret taking her father’s place.

It would’ve been easy to stay – to spend her entire life knowing only the tiny world of her village, unhappy and miserable. She would’ve never known how it feels to be broken and remade, pushing beyond her own limits and proving that she’s more than what her gender says she should be. She would have ended up married off to be someone’s quiet, submissive, dutiful wife – and thinking back on it now, the very idea of it fills her with dread.

Part of her wonders if this is why she gravitates towards Bakugou. Ochako is used to men like Monoma – men who believe in their own self-importance and disregard anyone they deem inferior, their wives included. The other recruits at camp – Koda, with his quiet, patient humility; Tokoyami, with his dark and dry humor; even Kirishima, with his effortless, sunshine-bright personality – are good and kind, men who most women would happily marry, but even as she gets to know everyone, something always brings her back to the blonde-haired captain.  

She has never met someone like Bakugou, a raw mix of aggressive intensity and fierce determination and unwavering conviction - someone who has so much faith in her, who pushes her to the edge and still dares to ask her for more. It goes beyond the way he makes her ache with longing – it’s about the way he looks at her, respect and pride and challenge all rolled into one, and as much as Ochako dreams about his touch, her heart soars whenever she finds herself standing across from him in the sparring ring, a promise and a dare lurking behind his sharp gaze.

It’s easy, being swept up into Bakugou’s strange, dangerous charisma. With Monoma gone, everyone watches as the captain slowly relaxes, his shoulders easing without the threat of eyes constantly scrutinizing his every move. He seems almost … softer, for lack of a better word – his scowls lose their harsh edge, his usual insults lack the same bite, and his newfound attitude has the entire camp in a jovial mood. The recruits start asking Bakugou to join them at mealtimes, or to participate in whatever hair-brained bonding activity Kaminari dreams up, and Ochako can see the way he tries to hold back a smile when he thinks nobody sees.  

At first, she doesn’t even realize that she’s staring until he looks back at her with a quirked eyebrow, and she has to avert her eyes in embarrassment. But then – sometimes, she catches herself tracking him as he spars with other people, memorizing the way he flows sinuously between blows. Sometimes, she watches him smirk at her frustrated face when she can’t pin him in a spar, and wonders what it’d be like to tell him the truth, hoping that he’d let her stay. Bakugou seems to blossom away from Monoma's overbearing shadow, unfurling ever so slowly, and she can't help but savor every little fragment he lays bare for the world to see.

No matter what she does, Ochako's eyes are drawn back in his direction, like a flower straining towards the sun.

At one point, Bakugou gruffly tells them to stop calling him by his title and to use his name instead. Some, like Kirishima and Kaminari, jump on the opportunity; others, like Ojiro, respectfully decline and continue to call him “captain.” She can’t decide what to do – it’s a terrible idea, especially when she considers her traitorous, fluttering heart, but the temptation is too much to resist. She wants to feel the shape of his name in her mouth, tasting the sounds on her tongue, even if it's not in the context that she dreams of.

It takes her days to work up the courage. When she finally manages to do it - a bright smile, paired with a heartfelt "thanks, Bakugou!" - all he does is blink at her for an unbearably long moment before turning away with a muttered, “tch.”

It stings for some reason, more than it should – and as it lingers for the rest of the day, she stubbornly pretends like she doesn't know why until she's alone in her tent that night.

Hurt settles heavy in her throat, the cloying pressure of rejection and disappointment pooling in her chest, and it feels like the world’s worst practical joke as Ochako realizes that she’s managed to develop feelings for the one man she absolutely cannot have.

It’s a wake-up call, reality stabbing into the irrational, tiny ball of girlish hope that she'd carefully buried deep into her heart, and as she lies on her sleeping mat, all she can feel is shame. Here she is, pining and sighing about something that she knows can never happen – letting herself get caught up in distractions and daydreams when there are far more important things at stake. She isn’t here for romance, and she isn’t here for love - Ochako is here for her parents, and she needs to get her head on straight before it's too late.

The next day, she wakes up with the lingering guilt as a reminder, and gives up her slot for her usual extra sparring session with Bakugou. The swords in her tent isn’t worth much collecting dust, and Ochako needs something to ground her - it’s time that she gets serious about learning how to use her father’s nodachi.

__

Days later, she’s practicing with a weighted bokken when she spots Bakugou pause next to the small training area, a deep scowl carved into his expression as he stops to watch. Ochako determinedly avoids the piercing red gaze boring into her cheek, focusing on keeping her movements steady even as her arms ache – the weight of the training sword is heavy to the point of being nearly too much, but she refuses to give up. 

She deliberately blocks out the tiny voice in her head, one that sounds a lot like Bakugou, telling her that she's being a stubborn idiot.

It takes a herculean amount of effort to move through the last rep of the kata sequence she’s practicing, her entire body trembling with exertion, and after pausing in the final stance, she lets the wooden sword drop limp at her side.

“How’d it look?” she pants, wiping at her dripping forehead with her sleeve. Off to the side, Kirishima grins at her with a thumbs up, a gesture that she quickly recognizes as one he uses when he’s trying to be reassuring.

“Way better, Uraraka!” he says earnestly. “You looked real manly, with that scary face you’ve got going on!” He mimics a serious grimace, and she sighs heavily.

“Thanks, Kirishima,” she says tiredly, offering him a small smile. “Are my strikes improving?” He falters for a moment before his shoulders slump.

“Ah – I wasn’t lying when I said you were better.” He rubs the back of his head. “But… if I’m being honest, bro? It looks like you’re using most of your strength on keeping your arms in position instead of putting power behind your movements. And… you don’t really swing? If that makes sense? You just kinda let the sword fall into position, especially during downward slashes.”

“So basically, I’m still terrible.”

Kirishima winces, then says, “Uh, well – yeah. Kinda.”

“Great.” Ochako exhales roughly, placing the bokken back on the weaponry rack, and bites back the urge to lash out at the redhead. It wouldn’t be fair to get mad at Kirishima for something that isn’t in his control, especially after he graciously agreed to show her the exercises in the first place.

She slumps heavily against one of the trees littered around the clearing and closes her eyes, sensing the redhead settling next to her, and the cool shade makes her feel a little better. "Maybe this was a dumb idea," she mutters.

"Hey, don't say that!" She lets her eyes flutter open, and Kirishima is studying her with a frown. "I'm serious when I said you're getting better, bro. You could barely lift one of these things when we first started training, and now look at where you are! You'll get there, you just gotta keep up the hard work." 

Ochako can't help but return his earnest smile. "Thanks Kirishima. That means a lot."

" I'm just calling it how I see it," he says, beaming. A comfortable silence falls over them, Ochako savoring the quiet, but after a moment, Kirishima clears his throat. “Um, Uraraka – if you don't mind me asking... why’re you so interested in using a nodachi anyways?”

“What do you mean?”

“I … well, don’t take this the wrong way? But usually, it’s easier to use one if you’re… taller,” he says awkwardly, shuffling his feet, before his head whips up in wide-eyed mortification. “NOT to say you can’t do it! Like I said, you're totally already improving a ton, and I’m sure you’d be awesome at it, but – I mean, you’re scary good with a tanto already, and you're good with a staff too, so it’s not like you really need a weapon with reach, so…I’m confused, I guess.”

Ochako frowns, but doesn't say anything as Kirishima continues to stumble over his words.

“… Ugh, it sounds creepy now that I’m saying it, but I just wanna… understand? If that makes sense? I mean, we’ve been here for so long and I noticed you’re always kinda by yourself, and we’re all supposed to be comrades, so I figure…” His voice trails off, face flushing in embarrassment. “You know what – never mind, totally ignore the last five minutes. My ma always told me I’m too nosy for my own good and – ”

“Kirishima.” She waits for him to stop talking, and then punches him good-naturedly in the shoulder. “You’re fine. I was the one who asked you for help, so…”

Ochako purses her mouth, stretching her aching arms as she looks through the tree canopy up at the sky – it’s cloudy, a little overcast, and there’s a distinct smell in the air she recognizes as one that always comes before rain. “It’s kind of a long story, but… my father was the one who got drafted,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not an officer or anything, but he got some kind of military award in a war from when I was a child. I guess the shogun assumed he’d be fine with fighting again.”

“Oh,” Kirishima says quietly. “Is he not … ?”

“Mmhm.” She lets her arms drop to her sides. “He has a bad leg – an old wound that never really healed right. He can barely walk without a cane, and they still wanted him to come out here? I… I couldn’t just let him go, even though he wanted to fight, so I came in his place.”

There's a distinct note of understanding in his tone as he says, quietly, “You’re doing this for your dad, huh?”

“I want to honor him, and my mother,” she says simply, and goes to pick up the bokken once more. “I’m the only child of my family, and I… I helped where I could, but my father – he’s always put his duty first, over his own life sometimes. And I feel like if I’m here in his place, I should at least uphold his values for him and honor his sacrifices."

Ochako shrugs, feeling a little sheepish, but she figures she might as finish after saying so much already. "Learning how to use his sword seems like the least I can do, even if I’m not all that great at it. I know I’m probably never going to be able to use it in a fight, but it can always be a backup, right?”

There's a loud, wet sniffing sound, and she turns to see Kirishima staring at her with tears brimming in his eyes. “That’s so manly, Uraraka,” he says, choking a little, and all she can do is yelp when the redhead sweeps her up into a spine-cracking hug. “I’m so glad that you asked me to help you!”

“Urk – ” Ochako gasps against the solid wall of Kirishima’s chest, her face squished flat. “Erm, no problem, do you think you can – ”

"Oi, shitheads! This is a training camp, not a fucking sentou!" Bakugou’s voice cuts sharp in the air, and Ochako feels Kirishima mutter, “oh, shit.” She’s promptly dropped to the ground, left to stumble as she tries to find her footing, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Bakugou stalking towards them, mouth twisted into a snarl. “Fuck around somewhere else, nobody needs to see that bullshit."

“Ah, sorry, Bakugou!” Kirishima apologizes cheerfully, a grin on his face, and Ochako stiffens when Bakugou’s gaze slides from the redhead to her. “Just taking a quick break – Uraraka asked for some pointers, so I’m just helping him out, y’know?”

“Tch.” There’s something dark written into the lines of his expression when his gaze flickers towards her, his mouth tightening when he spots the wooden bokken in her hand. “You’re still wasting your time on that shit?”

Ochako bristles at the scorn in his tone. “It’s not shit,” she says, her voice hard – she doesn’t know why he looks so angry, but she’s tired and achy and doesn’t have the patience to deal with his rudeness. “Did you need something, captain?”

Bakugou stills, staring at her for a moment, and then his nostrils flare. “If you’re so fucking set on using a nodachi, at least do yourself a favor and ask a fucking expert.”

"I don’t need an expert," she says, emphasizing each word, and leans forward challengingly. “Besides, last time I checked, someone - ”

Kirishima takes a step back, eyes nervously darting between Bakugou’s face and hers. “Uh, guys – ”

“ - Shitty Hair, out of all – ”

“ – you wouldn’t bother – ”

“ – didn’t even fucking ask – ”

“OI!” Kirishima whistles sharply, arms folded disapprovingly across his chest as he stares at both of them. “You both need to calm down. Yelling at each other isn’t manly at all!”

“Hah?” Bakugou growls, taking a menacing step forward. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

He’s a few inches shorter than the redhead, a little leaner too – but Kirishima actually squeaks, and then immediately shrinks under the force of Bakugou’s glare. “I mean – I just remembered, I promised I’d spar with – uh, Sero! Yeah, um – I’m – I’m just …gonnagonowbye!”

All Ochako can do is gape as Kirishima flashes her an apologetic wince over his shoulder before literally running out of the training area, and rounds on Bakugou as soon as the redhead is out of sight. “What is your problem?”

“You seriously cancelled on me for this?!” Bakugou demands, red eyes boring into hers as he looms over her, and she can’t understand why he’s being so belligerent. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why are you getting angry at me?” She flushes, not sure if the heat in her cheeks is from exertion or anger or embarrassment at how close he’s standing to her. “I needed someone to show me some katas – ”

“Again - you decided to ask Shitty Hair?”

“Who else was I supposed to ask?” she blurts out, and he stops short, staring back at her like he can’t quite believe what she just said. Ochako knows that she’s crossing the blurred line drawn in the sand – she knows that despite Bakugou’s casual carelessness about ranks and titles, she’s being deliberately insubordinate to someone who has the power to make her life miserable, but the words are already falling out of her mouth before she can swallow them back. “You’ve made it pretty clear how you feel about this - every time I asked, all you say is that I’m wasting my time... so I went to someone who was actually willing to help me.”

Bakugou is silent for a few moments, and then exhales with a slow hiss. There’s still frustration present in his eyes, but his tone is less aggressive as he says, “I’ve seen that nodachi of yours, Round Face – it’s literally as tall as you are. You seriously think using a sword like that is fucking practical?”

Ochako grits her teeth, ignoring the way her ears turn hot. “See, this is why I – ”

“Nuh uh, shut up and listen to me.” Bakugou grabs the bokken from her hand, hefting it with an ease that makes her green with envy. “Nobody with any sense uses a nodachi for actual combat – it’s too cumbersome to carry around, not to mention that even fully grown men need two fucking hands to use it. I had to learn the damn thing as part of my training, but it’s a fucking formality. Everyone knows that the extra reach isn’t worth two hands when you get the same effect out of a katana or wakizashi.”

Ochako glowered back at him, refusing to back down. “But my father – ”

Bakugou doesn’t bother to let her finish. “I can bet you that the last time your old man used that damn sword was at least ten years ago, Round Face,” he cuts her off, ignoring her sputtering, and continues, “Nodachi haven’t been seriously used in combat since the last war – anyone who had one would’ve, at the fucking minimum, gotten the blades cut down to katana length by now. Nobody with any goddamn sense would try waving around a sword as big as the one you have – something that big is ornamental or purely for religious use, not for actual combat.”

She’s stunned silent, her mind frantically processing Bakugou’s words. What he’s saying makes sense – and the last time her father had actually been called to serve had been fifteen years ago, when she was little more than a child – but her pride burns at the thought of being wrong about the entire situation. “You say that, but then what about Kirishima, or Shoji? You taught them both – ”

“They’re twice your fucking size, Round Face!” Bakugou bellows, looking like he wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “You- fuck, Shitty Hair and Squid Arms can wave a nodachi around with one fucking hand like it’s a goddamn kunai, while you can barely hold a training sword up long enough to get through a fucking kata. You wanna learn the kaiken, or the yari, or the kusarigama? I’ll get you good enough to whip anyone’s fucking ass, but I ain’t wasting my time or yours on something that you’re not even gonna be able to use to keep your dumb self alive.”

The longer he speaks, the more Ochako realizes that he’s right – when he finally spits out the last words, she doesn’t know what to say. There’s a hollow feeling in her chest, a realization that settles heavily in her heart as the words sink in, and she feels a little like a ship drifting at sea. “Then why didn’t you just say that? Instead of just yelling at me about wasting time?”

He falters, looking suddenly unsure, and grumbles, “I… I didn’t realize I had to fucking spell it out for you.” The blonde runs a restless hand through his hair. “You’re not a complete idiot. You were supposed to figure it out eventually.”

She rolls her eyes at the backhanded compliment. “One, I’m not a mind reader. Two, my parents are farmers. How am I supposed to know anything about weapons?”

Bakugou levels a deadpan look in her direction. “You’re telling me that you don’t have the common sense to realize that you shouldn’t use a sword you can barely lift above your head?”

“…” She can’t say anything in her defense because he’s right – she’d admitted as much to Kirishima earlier, out loud even. Ochako averts her eyes at his expectant expression, frustration and humiliation swirling in her belly as she stares at her feet.

“Oi.” A fist brushes against the side of her head, gentle yet forceful enough to make her look up. Bakugou still looks mad, but there’s something understanding in his eyes as he says, “Look – I heard your little heart to heart with Shitty Hair, and I get it. You wanna do right by your old man, but honor and duty ain’t worth shit if you end up dead. You’re out here, fighting for him – that’s as honorable as it gets. Don’t sabotage yourself by being a stubborn idiot.”

He claps her reassuringly on the shoulder, heat bleeding through the thin cloth of her training top for a moment before Bakugou draws his hand back. “Drop the hero worship you’ve got going on and get your shit together. Got it?”

“… Yeah.” She shifts her weight bashfully, her earlier embarrassment slowly giving way to a warmth that spreads through her body at the gruff yet comforting words. “Could… could you help me pick something then, captain?”

For some reason, he scowls at that. “Tch, save that shit for when it matters, Round Face. Just call me Bakugou.” Butterflies erupt in her stomach against her will, and despite every rational voice screaming in her brain, Ochako hopes that she’s not imagining the pink tint to his ears when he looks determinedly at a spot over her head. “You’d be fucking badass with a naginata.”

She freezes, the fluttering in the stomach suddenly replaced with panic as she feels the blood rush out of her face. Ochako is a farmer’s daughter, but she’s heard enough to know that polearms are only used by women, particularly female samurai. She can’t tell if Bakugou is trying to hint that he knows her secret, or if it’s just a coincidence, but it takes everything in her to hide her terror as she stammers, “A – a naginata? Isn’t t-that a woman’s weapon?”

Bakugou pauses, staring her as she tries not to fidget under his gaze, and it feels like hours have passed when he finally opens his mouth.

“A weapon’s a weapon – doesn’t matter what’s between a person’s legs, if they know how to use it then you’re dead either way,” he says, still eyeing her as he returns the wooden training sword back into its place. “My hag of a mother beat that lesson into me when I was a bratty little kid, and she’s one of the best fighters I know. If you actually believe in that traditionalist bullshit, I’ll make her to come down here and teach you that lesson herself – she isn’t as fucking nice as I am.”

Another person who could possibly figure out her secret? Nope, no thank you.

“A-ah – no, I’m good.” Her stomach unclenches, the blind fear slowly dissipating into a careful suspicion. She watches as Bakugou grabs a tall wood staff, curved and flat at the end, and tests the weight of it in his palm.

“Naginatajutsu builds on all the same basics of a staff.” Bakugou backs up, demonstrating a series of movements that she recalls learning weeks earlier. “You’re taking the defense of a bo and adding the stabbing and slicing potential of a kodachi onto it. A lot of what you know from the staff applies, but your offense depends on attacking while deflecting or redirecting blows.”

He tosses the staff at her, and as Ochako catches it, she can’t help but notice that it’s just as heavy as the nodachi bokken – only this time the weight, is comfortably balanced in her hands. She takes a few practice swings, the half-hearted actions quickly sliding into familiar stances as she twirls and twists. “Oh. Oh, this feels – ”

“Fucking knew it,” Bakugou mutters smugly. Ochako falls out of the kata, smiling down at the polearm as she relaxes. “Same time as our usual spars, Round Face – you’re going to be a fucking force of nature when I’m done with you.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she says teasingly, and when she looks up, he’s watching her with an almost fond smirk curling at his mouth. The look on his face makes her stomach jump, her heartbeat faltering for a moment, and she tucks the memory of his expression away to remember for another day. No, Ochako. “I – thank you, Bakugou.”

“Just don’t fucking bail on me, Round Face.” He rolls his eyes, turning away and making his way out of the training area. She hums in agreement, and watches as Bakugou quickly disappears around a copse of trees, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

A force of nature.

Ochako grins – she likes the sound of that.

__

As expected, Bakugou turns out to be absolutely, 100% right.

Ochako takes to the naginata like a duck to water, picking up the footwork and stances with an ease that feels almost scary. After only a week and a half of instruction, Bakugou puts her into the sparring ring, and proceeds to send her smug, satisfied looks each time she disarms or defeats another recruit. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so exhilarating to win, so all Ochako does is roll her eyes in response.

She makes sure to immediately tell Kirishima about her change of heart, and he’s understanding about it, encouraging even – but it’s an offhand comment he makes later that leaves her flustered.

“You must’ve impressed him a lot, Uraraka,” he says after a particularly long spar. She lost, but considering Kirishima’s ability to tank anything short of a literal stab to the gut, she’s taking it as a win. “From what I can tell, Bakugou’s pretty invested in your training.”

Ochako’s eyebrows rise at that, feeling unsettled. She knows Kirishima is too kind for him to be implying anything, but for some reason it makes her a little uncomfortable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he’s been hard on all of us, y’know? But he’s been pretty much riding your ass into the ground since day one.” Kirishima doesn’t seem to notice her uneasiness as he continues on thoughtfully, head cocked to one side. “He probably saw some hidden potential in you! How manly is that?”

Ochako only smiles nervously, doing everything in her power to ignore the unintentional innuendo, and quickly changes the subject. Still, Kirishima’s words stay with her for days after, leaving her wondering.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a chance to ask Bakugou about it, because Monoma finally returns to the camp, and things take a quick turn for the worse.

Bakugou’s temper returns with a vengeance alongside the nobleman’s snippety comments, and everything contines to go downhill from there. The only positive of the situation is that Ochako isn’t dead last anymore, her improvement no longer leaving her in a position to be singled out, but in a way, it’s worse. Monoma resorts to sullenly glaring at everyone who dares to cross his path, but more often than not, ends up making borderline malicious comments meant to both criticize and undermine Bakugou’s position at camp.

The cheerful, casual atmosphere of the past month quickly disintegrates like smoke in the wind. A tenseness settles over the camp, and everyone starts tiptoeing around carefully, trying to avoid triggering the short fuse that is Bakugou’s sanity. Ochako hates it – she can’t stand the oppressive silences, the stiffness and her growing anxiety, but most of all, she hates that Bakugou looks more and more exhausted as the days pass, his features fixed permanently into a furious, bitter scowl. He’s shifting back to the man she met when she first arrived, closed off and angry and uncompromising, and the only time she sees the tension ease from his shoulders is during her naginata lessons.

“If… if you need someone to talk to,” Ochako says quietly, one night as they are walking back to the tents together, “I’m happy to listen.”

“M’fine.” Bakugou looks tired, scrubbing at his face as he sighs. “Worry about yourself; I can deal with the bastard.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though.” She stops, letting the frustration seep into her voice. “Bakugou, I – we all can see what Monoma’s doing. Can’t we report him, or file a complaint?”

“Believe me, if that had any chance in hell of doing shit, he wouldn’t have been here in the first place.” He snorts. “He’s got the favor of the shogun, Round Face. We just have to tough it out.”

She hums. “Do I need to climb another dead tree and play fetch?”

That earns her a genuine bark of laughter and a half-smirk, the stress falling away from his face for a moment. “Fuck, I wish.”

Her heart flutters at the glimpse of the Bakugou from the past month – the Bakugou who’d worked past her stubbornness and talked sense into her, who’d had enough faith in her to bet on her strength… the Bakugou who, despite her best efforts, she still has feelings for. Something lightens in her chest, her lips curling into a smile, but her thoughts are suddenly cut off by a familiar, low growl.

“Can’t even get a fucking moment of peace,” he mutters, glaring, and Ochako follows his gaze, her heart sinking. Standing in front of Bakugou’s tent is Monoma, eyeing their approach condescendingly with an official-looking scroll in his hand, and at her side, Bakugou sighs. “Get outta here, Round Face. Y’don’t need to stick around for this bullshit.”

She can’t even offer a response before Bakugou strides forward, shoulders set and a dark glower on his face as he calls out to Monoma. Dismayed, she watches as the two of them disappear into Bakugou’s tent, light blooming as a candle is lit inside, and she reluctantly moves on. Ochako only glances back once, seeing the two shadows cast on the canvas, before sighing and continuing to her tent.

__

Later, as she’s coming back from bathing in the river, Ochako deliberately sets her path to pass by Bakugou’s tent. It feels silly, but part of her hopes that she’ll run into him again – the sound of Bakugou’s laughter felt like the taste of water after a drought, and she selfishly wants to hear it again.

What she doesn’t expect is Monoma’s shadow, still moving wildly inside the captain’s tent, hours after she’d parted ways with Bakugou earlier. As she creeps closer, the conversation becomes clearer and clearer, and it’s not that she means to listen, but Monoma isn’t exactly trying to keep quiet.

“Those peasants are no more fit to be soldiers than you are to be captain,” she overhears, the cruel words said with the finality of a finishing blow, and the silence that follows Monoma’s proclamation is only punctuated by a low growl.

“Is that so?” There’s a soft, ominous quality to Bakugou’s voice, and Ochako has to bite down a shiver at the danger that lurks beneath the words. “Might wanna be careful what you say, fuckface.”

“Maybe take your own advice, Bakugou? You can strut around all you want, but at the end of the day you’re a nothing more than the bastard worth less than the clothes on your back.” Monoma either doesn’t have working ears, or any sense of self preservation, and continues talking. “You might have the general convinced, but you and your pathetic little troop will never see battle – not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Funny, then, that Hakamata’s asking me and my shitty little soldiers to join him,” Bakugou says, and through the illuminated tent, Ochako sees that he’s tossing a scroll between his hands tauntingly. “Keep being petty, fuckface – I can’t wait to report your ass to –  ”

“Pft, you and I both know that’s an empty threat,” Monoma scoffs, and she can hear the scorn in his voice. “Your word is utterly worthless, especially after the general comes around to the shogun’s point of view.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bakugou demands.

“Don’t tell me – you didn’t even notice?” Monoma laughs meanly. “I’m not here for the recruits – I’m here for you. Did you seriously believe the shogun would let you take command again without supervision, after you sacrificed your entire company just to save your own skin?”

Ochako swallows back the gasp that gets stuck in her throat, her heart pounding. Fury and sadness and rage boil together in her gut, and she’s struck by the sudden, desperate urge to stab Monoma with a dull, rusty knife. Bakugou sounds like he feels the same way, and his voice is dangerously level as he says, “You played good little messenger pigeon. Now, get the fuck out.”

She ducks behind a tree as Monoma haughtily slips into the night air, radiating smug contentment as he trudges off in the direction of his own tent. Ochako slowly looks around, hoping the coast is clear, but darts back when Bakugou stomps out of his tent, fatigue visible in his weary expression. He stops only a few paces away from where she’s hiding, head tilted up to the sky, and she slowly starts to back away to give him some privacy.

Of course, that’s when she steps on a twig, and she flinches at the snapping sound that echoes in the quiet night.

“Whoever is sneaking around like a goddamn rat has two fucking seconds to show their shitty face.”

Wincing, Ochako steps out, eyes averted, and Bakugou eyes her for a tense moment before exhales heavily. “Of-fucking-course it’s you,” he mutters, grimacing. “Scram, round face.”

She bites her lip. Ochako knows that she should go, especially considering what she’d overheard, but she still asks, “We’re being deployed?”

“Tch, were you eavesdropping the whole fucking time?” Bakugou’s glare forceful enough that she shrinks back a little.

“Just the end,” she admits guiltily, and it’s a miracle when he doesn’t say more. She doesn’t know much about Bakugou’s history, but Monoma’s words are damning, even to her ears. Ochako tries to hide her apprehension as she says, gently, “If… if you still need to talk? The offer from earlier still stands, Bakugou.”

“I’m fucking fine,” he snaps, and she can’t help the way she flinches as he rounds on her. His eyes look glassy and unfocused, reliving a memory from the past, and he snarls, “I don’t need you to play mother hen and coddle me like I’m some kid, but in case you’re still not getting the message? Fuck. Off.”

Ochako takes a half step back, swallowing the thickness that suddenly appears in her throat. It feels a lot like he’s just driven a knife into her chest, punching through her lungs as she exhales in a slow, single breath. Bakugou has already turned away, head bowed as she curls into herself, but just as she’s about to leave, she hesitates.

She glances back at him over her shoulder. It’s clear, just by looking at Bakugou, that Monoma’s words had gone straight through all of his bravado, hitting exactly where they were meant to. There’s a weight to his shoulders that she’s never seen before, a weariness written into the curve of his neck and back, and the vulnerability seems so out of place on him that she can’t help the words that fall from her mouth.

“I know my opinion isn’t worth much,” she says softly, and hopes that he’s listening. “But for what it’s worth – I trust you. And I know everyone here does too.”

Ochako doesn’t wait for a reply, instead ducking her head and quickly making her way to her tent. She forces herself to keep her eyes forward as she walks, no matter how badly she wants to look back.

__

The next morning, Kirishima breaks the news to her as she slips into the mess tent for breakfast: they’re marching to Kamino Pass to meet with the 4th regiment of the shogun’s army, led by the Bakugou’s old mentor, General Hakamata. Kirishima is too enthusiastic to notice her uneasy expression, but she’s quietly grateful – her mind is still reeling from what happened the night before, and she ignores her porridge in favor of searching the crowd for a familiar head of spiky blonde hair.

Everyone is busy packing, loading up the caravans and organizing marching orders, and despite her best efforts, Ochako is quickly swept up into the chaos. At one point, she spots Bakugou as she’s running supplies back and forth – he’s wearing a tired scowl, his otherwise normal appearance marred by the dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t look her way once throughout the entire morning, even as she deliberately crosses paths with him, and she pushes on through the hurt that steadily simmers in her chest as the day goes on.

When the camp is packed and everyone finally sets off, she keeps her head and eyes down, quiet even as the other recruits around her whisper excitedly. She doesn’t notice Bakugou glancing back at her, and as they start marching, Ochako silently berates herself for being a silly, hopeful fool.

[sithroyal]

MODERN VERSE

VERSE TAG: ;;modern: i look to the stars and it feels like something is missing LOCATION: Varies [thread dependent] AGE: Default is 30 [otherwise, thread dependent]

Basic Information

X. Ben was born to Senator Leia Organa and high profile actor and model Han Solo. Due to their high activity schedules, Ben was left with various babysitters for much of his childhood.  X. When he was ten, he was kidnapped by one of those babysitters and held for ransom. Ben has blocked out much of what happened while he was held by Snoke. Shortly after rescue, Ben was sent to live with his Uncle Luke in New York. (Note: While these memories are repressed, they are responsible for a later depersonalization disorder on top of various anger issues and chronic depression.) X. Growing up after Snoke’s kidnapping was difficult for Ben. He often felt different than his classmates and it was hard for him to make friends. His uncle caught on to this and tries enrolling him into various after school programs. He was often asked not to return due to his anger issues. X. As he got older, Ben expressed a deep desire to move out of his uncle’s house despite having nowhere to go. Seeing his father on television and in movies knowing that he wasn’t around was enough to make him irritable the rest of the day. Sharing his name and being stopped on the street by fans looking for photos only made things worse. X. In order to find something to get his attention, Ben took to technology and developed a fascination with graphics and coding. In freshman year, he started taking band classes. He can play trumpet, piano, and guitar. X. He tried getting in contact with his mother for a good part of his senior year of high school. When neither of his parents showed up for his graduation, he enlisted in the marines. 

X. He tried getting in contact with his mother for a good part of his senior year of high school. When neither of his parents showed up for his graduation, he enlisted in the marines.

X. The day he left for basic training, Ben and Luke had an argument. Luke blamed him for taking off just as Han did and felt that the military wasn’t where Ben should have been going, that he was running away. Ben did nothing to him but he did become quiet enough to absorb what was said. The argument escalated and Ben threw terrible things at his uncle.  It was nothing new. In the process, he shut down and focused on his basic training - started 2008. 

X. Thirteen weeks basic training and no contact with his uncle made Ben flourish. He was one of the top recruits at the time, specializing in ballistic weaponry with melee and hand-to-hand combat as close seconds. While the training was exhausting, he began finding his confidence and backbone. At the same time, he was starkly reminded that he had little to no place in the slowly crafted groups of various other marines. This distance was justified for him in the way that distance would make loss easier later on. He started college soon after. 

X. 2008, E1. Started college in New York as a reserve - two-day monthly and two weeks of annual training.

X. 2010, E3. During a training exercise, he engaged in unusual  tactics to protect him and his men during a mock shoot out where they were pinned on location. First emergence of Kylo Ren in a non combat situation. Due to his quick decisions, Ben was commended by the officers overlooking his training.

X. 2011, E3 (Age 20). Grandmother died. Ben attended the funeral but didn’t speak to his family. All of his belongings were moved from the home and straight to a storage facility in Queens. Ben pays monthly for storage.

X. 2012, E-3 to O-1 (Age 22). Graduated fluent in Arabic and Urdu. Attended a ten week officer training class in Quantico, Virginia. Deployed on active duty near December. Ben was involved in protecting and evacuating civilians during a battle in an Iraqi city. Afterward, he was part of a search and rescue team to recover the injured and the dead.

X. 2014, O-1 (Age 24). From 2014 onward, Ben was deployed to Iran for multiple operations. At one point, he started to rethink his goals. Beginning of Kylo Ren starting to emerge, started brutal interrogation tactics of captured prisoners.

X. 2015, O-1 TO O-2 (Age 25). Promoted from rank O-1 to O-2.

X. Bought his own home and vehicle in New York state. Found out through his uncle that his father knew of him and was keeping an eye on him. Ben didn’t tell his mother but she informed him months later that she already knew. Most of the Solo family knows who he is and what he does. While he doesn’t have a target on his back, they do keep tabs on him. 

X. 2015. Ben was employed by his mother mainly because he was needed for translation assistance as well as his unique but effective interrogation techniques. He was given full reports and was only allowed to translate small pieces at a time for confidentiality sake, but what information was given to him via questioning was unfiltered.

X. 2015-2017. (Verse dependent) 

     (Option 1) - multiple failed attempts at dating men and women alike. Very few could handle his constantly shifting lifestyle. Two girlfriends cheated on him, three boyfriends ghosted him.

     (Option 2) - multiple PTSD induced nightly issues. Sleeps away from his partner to keep them from having to deal with his inability to sleep at normal hours and/or long periods of time. Snappy, irritable, and quite easy to set off. Would never hit his partner conscious but he does have issues where waking may cause him to choke them. Attempts many different therapists and rarely sticks to a single one until the end of 2016 - failed by mid 2017, Kylo Ren scared the therapist by revealing her address, phone number, and threatened to skin her family alive.

X. 2017 O-2 (Age 28). Early in the year, January through May. Ben began making efforts to finish his education on Spanish and Russian, and finished Spanish. Listed the course completion on his files. He went from performing operations to preventing loss of life on the ground by translating messages sent from opposing forces. Begins to feel he has his issue with Kylo under control (except he doesn’t). 

X. 2017 O-2 to O-3 (Age 28). Late in the year, May until early 2018. Promoted to O-3 mid-May. Deployed to Afghanistan again. Captured by enemy forces in early June. Ben remained with them for almost a year before he was freed by a US Air Force pilot (Verse Dependent - Could be any SW Resistance or First Order Pilot.)

X. 2018 (Age 29). Ben spent the majority of the year in recovery. The first few weeks was touch and go but he was allowed out of the hospital within two months time. Because of the various injuries, he not only had to have physical therapy to recover (which he took on easily) but narcotic painkillers to manage his chronic pain. He didn’t allow many people to see him while he was recovering and took to staying at home alone unless friends showed up without mention. Partners were automatically allowed near him but instructed, by him, not to try to coddle him. 

X. His injuries include; the long scar down his face, a bullet wound to his left shoulder, and a near fatal wound to his abdomen.

X. Late 2018. Leia has him reassigned to a position in intelligence.

X. 2019 O-3 to O-4 (Age 29-30). Officially diagnosed with PTSD, depression, and general anxiety disorders. He refused additional  therapy and any medications prescribed to him. Managed to pay his home and vehicle off, does freelance translations in his spare time. He remains at home for the most part and works on his abilities in the backyard, surrounded by a privacy fence. Chewbacca (gift from vuuelo and service dog in training), his dog, remains with him for the most part along with any romantic partners. 

X. As a safety measure, Chewbacca will alert anyone in the home to Ben’s depersonalization disorder acting up. He will bark and growl, then attempt to put himself between the other person and Ben in order to keep Ben from harming them.

X. He has a home in New York City and another in D.C. and frequently travels between the two. Because of his position, he often sees his mother and works with her but rarely speaks to her on a personal level. He hasn’t seen Han much at all since he was young and he actively avoids Luke if he can help it.

Important Note: Due to Ben’s high amount of emotional and mental instability after spending a year as a POW, any romantic relationships may be highly toxic. He does not take medication for his mental conditions and can endanger himself and anyone in his home with him. While Chewbacca will growl at him if ‘Kylo Ren’ is at the forefront, this does not mean that other people in the house will be safe. 

Simplified Military Timeline

Joined up in '08, completed training & was actively a RESERVE by mid-'08

O-1 promotion in 2012; Active Duty, commissioned December O-2 promotion in 2015 O-3 promotion in 2017 O-4 promotion in 2019 Currently Reassigned As: O-4 (Major); MOS 0211 CI/HUMINT or Counter Intelligence and Human Intelligence Specialist

Yearly Salary: $89,524 Monthly: (Before Taxes) $7,460; (After Taxes) $5,068 Vehicle: Jeep Wrangler TJ Sport 03

$2100 monthly bills: electric, internet, cable, water, waste management 50 (every three months), car insurance, car payment, house payment (including insurance) $2968 left || $2568 after food ($100 per week)

Option 1: Possibility of meeting him somewhere in town, likely a coffee shop, grocery store, or walking to and from his office in either area.  Option 2: Working with him or around him. Ben will visibly flinch if called ‘Kylo Ren’ by anyone other than his old unit mates.

Fandoms/AUs that use this verse as a base:

The Walking Dead: ;;twd: until the light finally dies // Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change aside from dates. Given the length of the series itself and the numerous ways Ben could come into the main group, this will require plotting on a person-by-person basis. Resident Evil: ;;RE: this is how you rot // Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change. After hearing that the Umbrella Corporation is reportedly at the root of all issues, Senator Leia Organa petitions for her son to go undercover for them. Plotting available on a person-by-person basis. Day After Tomorrow: ;;DAT: it ended in ice //  Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change. The Silence: ;;the silence: sometimes silence is the best answer // Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change.  Birdbox: ;;birdbox: seeing shouldn't be believing //  Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change. Jurassic Park/World: ;;jurassic: of teeth and scales //  Fully Customizable - above backstory does not change. Movie information only. Ben is hired by the owners of the park to stand in as security detail for the island and the owners themselves.