#because that letter and what happened after in the warehouse was sort of the 'soft' beginning of their real relationship

[pastafossa]

I'm not sure if this was already asked, but if Jane had skipped town when she had planned to, would Matt ever forgive her? How would he react?

Ooooh, now this is an interesting question.

I definitely think there's a small part of him that never would have forgiven her for it, especially since he'd already had a few vulnerable moments with her where he'd opened up and she, seemingly, had opened up with him, too. But mostly, it would have simply... broken that part of him that felt hope, that felt that maybe, just maybe he deserved to have someone care about him, or even love him one day, because he'd have read her letter - the kinder one, the gentler one, the one that said without saying, 'I could see myself loving you if I stayed.'

Ironically, despite her intentions - that she leave him a kinder letter, one that was honest and told him how much she cared for him - reading that letter after dhe left would have broken an entirely different part of him.

The loss of her, the idea that he'd been left alone again by someone who might have loved him, would have been all the proof he needed that he was a fuckup, that everyone in his life that he cared about was destined to leave him. He'd spiral, spiral right down into the decision that all he could do was leave them first before he hurt them so bad or put them in so much danger that they left him behind and, subconsciously, before they hurt him like the loss of his parents had, like Stick and Elektra and now Jane had by walking away. He'd retreat in on himself, curling up tight around that hurt and hiding behind the ferocity, darkness, and rage of the Devil because that seemed like the only way he could protect himself from being abandoned again when he wanted so, so desperately to have just ONE person who might... love him. It would have been a ticket to the S3 mindset basically, but because Karen and Foggy at that point didn't know about Daredevil, and because he hadn't met Maggie yet, no one really would have been in a decent position to help drag him up out of that spiral.

And Stick knew that, which is exactly why he tried to talk Jane into leaving, and why he gave her that letter to ensure she truly broke the more gentle, tender part of Matt. He knew this would push Matt into the mindset Stick wanted: that Matt was meant to be alone, that there was nothing for him but his 'duty', and there was certainly no room for friends, for lovers, or family.

One day it's possible he would have pulled himself out of it, and by then he likely would have forgiven her - either because he recognized she ran for fear of Cyrus, or because he simply blamed himself instead of her - but either way, if that domino had tipped, a part of him never really would have recovered or felt safe reaching for that kind of gentle connection again.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

do you have any fics of john flirting with sherlock over text? maybe sherlock being utterly clueless? thank you & and much luv ❤️

Hi Nonny!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhh AGES ago, I did an Epistolary / Texting / Letters fic rec list, back before I had A System™, so it’s a bit messy but it is there :) I don’t have a lot of new ones to add to it, BUT I decided I would pull all the Texting fics from that list since I now have neater organization with tags and Chapters, and then just add my NEW fics onto that one, how about that? Would that be okay? It wouldn’t be specifically just flirting, but I think that the list is long overdue anyway!! Hope you like something on this one, and I’ll TRY to tag the flirting fics WITH flirting so that you can pick them out :) 

And as always, add your own fics, Lovelies!! <3

TEXTING AND SEXTING (JULY 2020)

See also:

Epistolary / Texting / Letters (My List, 2017)

First Meeting Via Internet / Phone / Letters (Mine)

Phone Sex & Texting (Alexx’s List)

Wrong Number Texting (Alexx’s List)

They Met Online or Texting (Alexx’s List)

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, One-Sided Texting, Pining Sherlock) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn��t care. He just wants his tea.

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Holmes Brothers, Open Ending, Grief, Implied Bondlock) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock's death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he's not without his own grief. It ain't easy being The British Government. But at least he's got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Text Me When It's Over by immaculately-flawed  (K+, 1,937 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Post-TRF, Texting, Sort-Of Pining Sherlock) – After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them... Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2,679 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, H/C) – Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when "John went out for milk" was followed by a terse "two hours ago," Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

The Sweetest Taste In The World by crossroads (G, 3,121 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Fluff, Pining, Friends to Lovers) – The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w., 1 Ch. || Confessions, Physics, Metaphors, Texting, Pining, Christmas, Mind Palace, Sick Fic, Fluff, Humour, Praise Kink) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Come home. by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles) (E, 3,763 w., 1 Ch. || Texting / Sexting, Lonely Sherlock, Nude Photos, Pining, Fluff & Smut) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3,772 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Vulnerable Sherlock, Wedding Anniversary, Anal, Texting, Lingerie) – John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6,090 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Clueless Sherlock, Sexting/Texting) – Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John's lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to receive pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 13 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Texting, Humour, Post-TRF, Awkward Romance, Idiots in Love) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

[kamilah-the-bloodqueen]

Mafia (Part VIII/XI [Alt Endings])

Notes: Hi! So I definitely was never expecting Mafia to get popular or for anyone to enjoy it as I thought it might’ve been too violent. I also want to note, as I don’t think I was clear, that this was requested by @mrskamilxh and the original idea was not mine. I’m actually happily surprised by the positive feedback on this series because it grew on me as I wrote it, although I still think some chapters were better than others. I will post the three alternate ending either across the day tomorrow or throughout the week, once all three endings are posted I will make a masterlist for the whole series. On some unrelated notes, I strained my right shoulder/upper back today during a workout so that either means there will be lots of new fics coming in the next week and a half or I will go MIA for a while, just a heads up. I’m also not super duper proud of this chapter, I feel it was kind of rushed but again, I will reiterate, keep your expectations of me low and I mean boots with the fur low low low low. 

Pairing: Kamilah x MC (Amy Johnson)

Tags: @mrskamilxh @cheeto-choices @slytherinthoughts7 @made-me-deep-blue @scarlet-letter-a0114 @lightning-fury @uselesslesbianfr @kamilah-sayeed-let-me-love-you @bellaraines @kamilahsayeet2063 @nydeiri 

Warnings: Violence, Language (I wouldn’t recommend this series for anyone who has military PTSD or any sort of trigger from violence as this is based in a fairly violent environment)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

“We have to move locations, Darius, we’ve been compromised.” Kamilah pulled Darius aside from the rest of the members, he gave her a knowing smile.

“I saw her outside. You call that a kiss?” Darius smirked as Kamilah whacked him on the shoulder, shooting him an eye roll.

“Shut up.” They broke into laughter, as they called attention to the rest of the mafia members. 

-----FBI HQ-----

“Did you find a location, Detective Johnson?” Leo stood across from Amy, his hands folded on the desk as he held out photographs of familiar mafia members. Amy’s eyes roamed the pictures, her heart nearly stopping at the picture of Kamilah, she slowed her breathing so she wouldn’t turn pink.

“Yes, they moved back into an abandoned base. I was able to get in and out undetected.” Amy sat back in her chair triumphantly, Jackson patting her on the back firmly. 

“Good, we’ll send a squad in quickly to secure the area. Maybe they’ll leave a trail to their next location there.” Leo stood up, reaching out to give Amy a handshake. Amy smiled, giving a firm handshake to Leo before retreating into her office. 

She pulled out her phone, turning off wireless network connection before texting ‘Holland Jaeger.’

All clear, better get moving. 

Will do. Are you going to rendezvous with us? 

I’m not sure. I don’t want to leave a trail or blow my cover. 

A knock on the door caused Amy to nearly drop her phone, she jumped out of her seat as Jackson slowly opened the door. 

“Good work Amy. Maybe we can corner the Mafia Dealer and end her once and for all.” Jackson grabbed Amy’s shoulder firmly, causing her to suddenly flinch. “Whoa there. You seem hella tense, what’s up?” Jackson swung a wooden chair in front of Amy, sitting down while resting his hands on his quad. 

“PTSD I guess? Kamilah may not have killed me but she still dished out an ass whooping.” Amy’s voice softened, remembering how it felt to have Kamilah’s hand smack her across her face. Her mind drifted to Kamilah’s warmth, her heated gaze, her eyes, her lips, her sweet soft lips..

“Amy? Do you need a medic?” Jackson appeared next to her, concern written across his chiseled face. Amy stood up from her desk, her cheeks a faint blush as a smile creeped onto her face as she got herself a bottle of water from the mini fridge. 

“No I’m okay. I’m just excited? It seems everything is working out perfectly in our favor.” She gave him a small smile.  Jackson stood, moved towards the door, giving Amy a firm nod of approval before exiting. Amy plonked herself back into her chair as she closed her eyes. 

----Kamilah----

“I think you’ve outdone yourself Kamilah,” Darius placed a wood crate down in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse in Staten Island, he took off his jacket, placing it on a dusty table, before turning back to Kamilah who was hastily typing on her phone. “Is it her? You know...the other members...you can’t let them know. Not now at least…” Darius walked over to the crate, using a crowbar to open it. He examined the guns inside, matte black with embroidered gold initials and symbols. 

“They won’t know Darius and they answer to me, not the other way around.” Kamilah put her phone in her pocket, exchanging her M-9 for the black one with her engraved initials. She placed it in her concealed holster before walking towards Darius, “anyways we have a task at hand. We need to lie low until she gets them off our back.” 

“That won’t be easy, we’re so used to gunfights and not laying low.” Darius let out a sigh, crossing his arms as gazed to the floor. 

“Nothing is ever easy for us Darius,” Kamilah gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “nothing worth having was easy to get...don’t you want to lose the FBI?” 

“And if it’s a trap?”

“We’ll have another fight on our hands.” Kamilah had a devilish grin on her face, Darius shook his head before grinning back. 

“So we each need an alias’...cover stories..definitely some accessories…” Kamilah walked out to the truck where a few other members waited patiently for orders. They turned and nodded silently as Kamilah approached, lowering their weapons in her presence. 

“Your orders Miss Sayeed?” 

“Lie low.” A murmur arose from the mafia members, angry and confused looks written on their faces. Kamilah took a deep breath, waving her hand for their attention again. “That doesn’t mean function under the law, it just means anything that would leave an obvious trail to us. This is New York, crime happens all the time. Don’t let it get traced to us.” The members hesitated before nodding, giving Kamilah their silent approval. She pulled Darius aside, handing him a file.

“Here, can you create some alias’? I’m assuming nobody is going to remain in a legal state so we should be prepared.” Kamilah folded her hands behind her back and Darius nodded before retreating to the hideout. 

Kamilah checked her phone, wanting to text Amy, to know she was safe from the FBI. The thought danced in her mind as she resumed her normal assignments, plotting the occasional “disappearance” along with more illegal exchanges. She unloaded file after file, debriefings and mafia member profiles, among crucial government members that were high ranked. She tossed most of them aside before revealing Keeping you a Secret from the bottom. She sighed softly to herself, reminiscing on the feeling of Amy, the way she tasted, the softness in her touch. 

“God I hope I’m not wrong about you Amy..” Kamilah jumped at the sound of gunfire, screams and running. She grabbed an assault rifle and moved towards the commotion. Darius leaned against the doorframe, his hand covering his stomach as he gave Kamilah a knowing look. 

“Kamilah you have to go…” He grimaced, pain written across his face, he pulled his hand back revealing two deep bullet wounds, “there’s too many...you won’t make it out alive…” He paused, his eyes near watery, he took a deep breath before moving towards Kamilah, attempting to push her towards the back door. 

“I’m not sacrificing my team for my own life!” kamilah pulled him into the office, sitting him in the chair before rushing out, “you’re going to be okay!” Her face flared with anger, frustration. “Please don’t be Amy…” She rushed into cover, using the scope of her rifle to assess the situation. 

Mafia members dropped to the ground as what appeared to be twenty FBI agents pressed forward. She looked for Amy, hoping this hadn't been her idea, praying she wasn’t turning on her, that the kiss meant something. “I can never catch a break can I..?” She whispered before shooting, striking down 5 agents before ducking again. 

She peered over the side as she heard tires screeching and Amy’s familiar voice calling out. 

“Stop! Stop firing!” Kamilah watched as Amy ran out of the car, rushing to stand in front of the FBI members, “Kamilah? Kamilah?!” Amy rushed towards the house, Kamilah keeping her cover out of caution. She wanted to run to Amy, pull her close but she couldn’t take that risk, not now. “Kamlah come on!” Amy pleaded, her eyes near watery. Kamilah thought what did it matter, most of her team was dead or had fled, she didn’t have much to lose. 

“Here.” 

[bighero6dreams]

It's A Story About A Boy, His Brother And A Robot

Summary: Have you ever thought what the assignment Hiro wrote in "Write Turn Here" talked about? This is Hiro's story about his time with Tadashi and Baymax. 

“Ah, your assignment, Mr. Hamada”, professor Granville said surprised. She was pretty sure that she has to wait a long time before Hiro could return his assignment. “Yeah”, Hiro said turning his head, he was a little ashamed about how Granville thought he couldn’t keep his promise for returning his work. “It’s a story about a boy, his brother and a robot”, he continued while turning his head to look Granville’s face. Granville smiled.

When Hiro had left from professor Granville’s office, Granville left from an office to have some cup of coffee. She returned to the office with a coffee cup. She set the cup to the table carefully, avoiding splashing the coffee. Granville smiled when looking the assignment in front of her where “Hiro Hamada” read in front of her eyes. Granville was ready to read those assignments and decided to start with Hiro’s.

Preface:

At first, I want to thank my big brother, Tadashi, for everything he had done for me. Without him, I wouldn’t be here at SFIT as an official SFIT student or writing this assignment.

 In San Fransokyo, 9.7.2031.

 “Dashi, what are we doing here?” I asked Tadashi. Back then I used to call Tadashi as “Dashi”. It was a nickname and a sort of a pet name for him. “Oh, buddy, I’m here, I’m here.” Tadashi was kneeling in front of me as we stood in a dark and rainy weather. Was he crying? Why was he crying? “No matter what happens, I promise you we will always be together and stick together. We will be best friends and even set up the rules that only us can know. We can go through this and be okay as a family. I will protect you, Hiro and be by your side, always. I love you, Hiro” Tadashi was smiling but I could see his face he was crying. I didn’t remember back then what day it was or why we stood there in a cold and rainy weather, I was too young to remember. It was our parent’s funeral.

Granville was crying while taking a sip from her coffee. “Oh, what this boy has gone through. I wish him well. And now he is about to face another terrible loss”, Granville thought.

Since my parents’ death, Tadashi and I moved into our Aunt Cass. We moved into San Fransokyo and lived above the “Lucky Cat Café”. Tadashi used to help our aunt while he came from school and had time, but Tadashi always made sure I was feeling fine, he kind of took care of me. Of course our Aunt Cass took care of us, too, but since our parents’ death, Tadashi took a huge step for being, not just a big brother, but also like a father to me. Tadashi was just a perfect role model for me. He was also the one who taught me how to ride a bike.

I remember the time when I was with Tadashi in our room and sat on the chair when Tadashi sat next to me while building his robot. He left to the kitchen and I was left alone and started to build the robot myself. I noticed that Tadashi had some problems building his robot while for me it only took few seconds to build the robot. Tadashi returned and he was surprised to see me with the completed robot and asked our Aunt Cass to look at the robot as well. I was only three years old.

Since then I was considered to be a “genius” and I started to building robots with my brother. We even started up “The Hamada Brothers” robot company.

Being the genius I was, I skipped a few grades but the life wasn’t too easy to me. I was bullied by other and older pupils for being the genius. Luckily for me, Tadashi always rescued me for the bullies and made sure I was fine.

I graduated from high school at the age of thirteen. Since then I started a thing I’m not so proud of: bot fighting. I kind of didn’t know what I would do for my life and I drifted bot fighting – plus: I was good at it and I earned well.

Luckily, Tadashi guided me for the better path, into the SFIT. He knew it was good for me and that I had the possibility to gain acceptance. And he was right, I made the microbots for the SFIT showcase: the tiny robots who can be controlled by the neurotransmitter. It was a success and even the tech-guru Alistair Krei wanted to buy them but professor Robert Callaghan persuaded me to abandon his offer. Professor Callaghan gave me the acceptance letter. I did it, I gained the acceptance. The night was perfect.

Granville felt a tear falling down to her face, she knew exactly where this was going to.

Now you are reading the other part of my life, the part that changed that night forever. I was at my happiest: I did it, I got the acceptance letter, how anything could go wrong? Oh, how wrong I was.

On that said night, I was talking with my brother on the SFIT campus. I could see the pride shining in his eyes and I was so happy, I made my older brother, my very best friend, to feel that such pride. But then, then everything went wrong. We heard an alarm coming from the showcase hall and we ran closer. The place was all over on flames and we heard from a survivor that professor Callaghan was still in there. Tadashi’s instincts kicked in and he rushed in to save him. I managed to stop him by holding his arm but he just looked at me into the eyes and told me “Callaghan is in there, someone has to help”. And he ran in. I was shocked, my brother ran in and he could seriously hurt himself or... I remember I glanced around, there was nobody near or nobody to help. Tadashi’s cap had fallen and I ran to it and picked it up. Then I decided; if my brother is going there, so do I, and I took my very first step to the burning building but then it exploded. After few seconds I rose up and saw what was left from the explosion. I yelled for my brother but Tadashi never came out.

Granville was seriously crying right now. “Oh Hiro, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” She swept tears coming out her face and continued reading.

Since Tadashi’s funeral I barely talked, ate or slept. I just was. I was heartbroken, my big brother, best friend and basically a father figure was gone. I felt so lonely and lost. It felt like a part of me was missing. My Aunt Cass tried to comfort me but to no avail, Tadashi was gone and nothing could fix that.

The days went on and on and then suddenly I hurt my toe when I grabbed my Megabot (my bot fighting robot) it hurt and I yelled the magical words: “Ow”. Baymax (Tadashi’s healthcare robot who was in Tadashi’s side of the room) heard my yell and came to me. I didn’t want any scanning so I said I was fine but Baymax said the otherwise and scanned me. He noticed my mood and gave me the diagnosis: the puberty. Well, I skip that part. Anyway, I really wanted Baymax to return into his luggage but I didn’t said the “magical words”: ”I’m satisfied with my care” so he didn’t gave in. I remember I tried to push he into the luggage but then I fell and saw one of my microbots. I picked it up and said to Baymax that it makes no sense since all the microbots were destroyed in the fire. Baymax heard that and said that one microbot is going somewhere. I remember sarcastically suggesting Baymax to go and find where it goes. I didn’t really mean it and then I heard loud noise from the street and when I looked at from the window, I saw Baymax wandering in the street. I rushed downstairs only to be stopped by Aunt Cass. She was happy I was up and asked where I was going to (she noticed I was going out). I lied to her that I was going to register into the school and she was overjoyed. She promised to make “a special dinner” that night: my favourite food. I hate that I lied to her but I just couldn’t tell that Baymax was wandering at the street with my microbot, so lying to her wasn’t that bad.

I ran through San Fransokyo trying to reach to Baymax and when I finally did, we were at the abandoned warehouse. I asked Baymax what he was doing because I didn’t actually mean that he was going to find the place where my microbot was trying to go since I believed it was broken but then we saw that my microbot was acting strange and was heading into the warehouse. Because the warehouse was locked, we went through by a window. At first it didn’t seem strange inside the warehouse, just an abandoned warehouse but then I saw that some machine was making my microbots and the microbot, that I was holding on, flew off. Then I noticed some masked guy with the army of my microbots attacking us and I and Baymax, who was with me, were running for our lives.

When we got out, Baymax and I went straight away to the police station. I tried to explain to the officer what had happened, but he didn’t believe me. Then suddenly Baymax was acting strange and he told me he was low on battery so I thought it was the best to heading home.

Back home, I tried to keep Baymax still and quiet but it was difficult since Baymax made some loud noises which Aunt Cass might hear. Aunt Cass would have liked to hear about my day but I (lying again) told her I was busy with my school work and I was heading to my room upstairs with the food Aunt Cass gave me.

When I was in my room, I put Baymax into his charging station straight away. Then I remember Baymax said Tadashi. I had to tell him what had happened to Tadashi and Baymax told me that Tadashi is here. I didn’t agree with him because everyone said that Tadashi is still here as long as we still remember him, but it didn’t change the fact that my brother was gone. Baymax noticed that I was sad so he changed his diagnosis from puberty to personal loss. He even contacted to my friends even though I refused him. Then when Baymax comforted and hugged me, I recalled that said day and I realised that my microbots were stolen and the fire was set to cover the tracks. I realised someone was behind the fire, someone was responsible for my brother. I knew what I had to do.

I was going to avenge my brother and in doing so I needed help from Baymax. Because Baymax itself was too soft and basically unable to fight, I made him an armor and a battle chip and taught him some karate moves. Then, when we were ready and Baymax had practiced some karate moves in my garage, I taught him a fist bump, the one Tadashi and I used to do. Well, Baymax wasn’t able to do the “explosion” so he came with “Ba la la la”.

We were ready to get that masked man, or Yokai as he was called, and we went back to the warehouse. But he was already gone but I was holding one microbot that I still had and followed where it wanted to go. It led us to the docks and then it flew away. It was dark there but when I looked closely enough, I saw Yokai coming towards us. Baymax and I were ready to start to fight but then we saw lights coming out from the car. We saw our friends (Go Go, Wasabi, Honey Lemon and Fred) coming out from the car. They asked us what we were doing so I lied about taking a walk (I couldn’t tell them that some dangerous criminal is behind us). But then Yokai was right behind us ready to attack and we rushed into the car to safety and escaped. Yokai started to follow us. The car chase took for a while and finally we found ourselves at the bottom of the ocean. Yokai thought we were dead and left from the area. Baymax saved us from drowning and we were heading to the land.

Back at the land, we were, of course, all over wet and we were heading to Fred’s home (or should I say mansion). There, I told my friends about Yokai and how he was responsible for the fire and in that way for Tadashi. They hesitated at first (well, everyone except Fred) but when they understood how important this mission was for me and that I needed their help, they decided to help. We became superheroes.

I made all my friends’ suits plus Baymax’s and mine. They were great. Baymax turned into Baymax 2.0 and he had some cool rocket fists and was able to fly.

Baymax and I flew up in the sky and it was wonderful. For the first day since Tadashi’s death, I was happy. Baymax noticed that, too, and he asked if I was satisfied with my care (in other words, could he deactivate). I refused him to do that and asked him to scan whole San Fransokyo (I made Baymax be able to scan whole San Fransokyo).

Baymax did as I asked him to, and my friends and I flew on Baymax’s back into the Akuma Island. There we were on the abandoned portal testing facility and were ready to fight with Yokai.

The fight took for a while and finally I was able to get the mask which hid Yokai’s face. When the truth revealed, it turned out it was professor Callaghan. I couldn’t believe it, I thought he died so I asked him what happened in the SFIT fire. He admitted he stole my microbots and shielded himself from the explosion meaning he left Tadashi to die. On top of that, he claimed it was Tadashi’s fault he died. I was furious and I saw red so I took Baymax’s healthcare chip even though Baymax argued with me, but I wanted Callaghan to be dead, to avenge Tadashi.

My friends interrupted and Honey Lemon was even able to put Baymax’s healthcare chip back, and professor Callaghan managed to escape. I was furious at my friends and flew off from island with Baymax.

Back at home, I fixed Baymax’s sensor, when it had been broken, and tried to put that healthcare chip out again. But Baymax refused to open his access port so I tried and tried to open it by force and finally I broke down. I just couldn’t keep it inside me anymore, my brother was gone and his murderer was free somewhere down there. Then Baymax showed me Tadashi’s videos which he made when building Baymax. For the first day since the SFIT showcase, I saw my brother, my dear brother. Tadashi had some troubles making Baymax but when he finally got Baymax to work properly, he was overjoyed. He was so happy when he could be able to help people with Baymax and when he could show Baymax to me. Those words really touched me and I had tears in my eyes, not only because sorrow, but also because I was happy; happy to hear Tadashi’s gentle and beautiful voice again and his kind words.

Tadashi’s videos made me realise that revenge solve nothing and that Tadashi didn’t want that so I left my avenge towards Callaghan. But when my friends came they showed me the footage they found on the island. It turned out, Alistair Krei was responsible professor Callaghan’s daughter’s death and missing in the portal. Callaghan’s daughter was a pilot who went into the portal (the portal was meant to be a teleportation) but never came out. This caused professor Robert Callaghan to blame Krei for the incident. I know exactly how professor Callaghan felt, just moments ago I was doing the same thing. But I also know that revenge solve nothing, so we had to stop professor Callaghan before it was too late.

We, as a team, were heading into Krei Tech where Krei was giving his speech. Yokai was there, too. We started the battle with him and finally professor Callaghan was overpowered. When we were ready and Callaghan was left to the police to get arrested, Baymax noticed that there was an alive human inside the portal, a woman (professor Callaghan had brought the portal with him and was planning to destroy Krei Tech by using the portal who absorb things). I realised immediately that the woman had to be Callaghan’s daughter so Baymax and I flew into the portal. Krei tried to prevent us for going there but I said the exact same words Tadashi told me once: “someone has to help”, so we went in.

Inside the portal, we saw Callaghan’s daughter, Abigail, and rescued her. But then happened something really terrible. While coming back to the exit, Baymax shielded me from some piece of debris which was coming to me and he lost his armour and his ability to fly. Baymax knew he could save Abigail and I by using his rocket fist meaning he, himself, to be left inside the portal. I just couldn’t leave Baymax, my best friend and basically a surrogate brother, so I refused him to do so. Instead, Baymax told me it was the only way and I, tearfully, hugged him and said I was satisfied with my care. Baymax deactivated himself and Abigail and I went towards the exit.

Granville said by herself with tears in her eyes: “No, not this, too. The boy has lost everything, not this, too”

When Baymax was gone, I was heartbroken. It felt like I was losing Tadashi over and over again. Baymax was the last piece of Tadashi I still had with me and now he was gone. But then one day at SFIT, I found Baymax’s healthcare chip inside his rocket fist which pushed Abigail and I towards the exit. I was overjoyed, I could rebuild Baymax. My best friend was coming back. So, I rebuilt Baymax and put the healthcare chip inside him and he was exactly like he was before. My best friend and surrogate brother was back.

When Baymax was back, my friends and I (plus Baymax of course), founded Big Hero 6, the superhero team to help people in San Fransokyo to honour my big brother Tadashi and help a lot of people just like he dreamt.

Granville was smiling. She had just finished Hiro’s story and said by herself: “You are going to help a lot of people, Hiro. I’m sure Tadashi is so proud of you”. And then Granville took another assignment and started reading.

  Author’s note:

This was it, my first Big Hero 6 fanfiction :D. Note, that English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for possible grammar mistakes. I would also like to thank Big Hero 6 wiki for the information I got there. Review! 😊

[ashes-and-ashes]

18-I can’t breathe please, btw your fanfics are amazing.

Thanks anon! I’ve had a pretty stressful week, so this is totally not based off of my horrendous study experiences at all.

I just wish I had an amazing person like Sirius who could actually help me understand math...

Stressed Out

~

Remus stares down at his parchment. The words swim together, a formless mass of darkness and he curses under his breath.

It’s quiet, the only sound being his quill against the paper, the soft rustling of pages as he stretched his legs out. Everyone was studying frantically- Exams were 2 days away after all, and no one felt prepared.

Remus takes a deep breath as he goes back to his notes. He flips through the pages - he still can’t figure out how to calculate magical energy and the effects on spell work. He prays he’s written it down somewhere - he can’t ever remember learning it. With a sigh he starts sorting through the pages, wishing not for the first time that he had neater writing.

He can’t stop himself from smiling, though, as he turns the pages. He can recognize his own writing well enough - thin and looping, though every now and then he’d find pages written in a different hand; James’ scratchy shorthand, Peter’s even print, Lily’s cursive.

And Sirius. His writing was everywhere, that elegant, bold scrawl, covering the tops of Remus’ notes and curling around to the other sides. Remus chuckles as he holds a sheet up to the light.

How to recognize Bowtruckles, it read. Underneath it was a few lines of scribbled text. If it tries to bite you as you’re shoving it up your boyfriend’s beautful arse then it’s a bowtruckle. If nothing happens, it’s a dildo.

Remus laughs to himself, then sets the page aside. He glances at the grandfather clock in the corner - it’s almost 2 in the morning and he’s exhausted. Gritting his teeth, he sorts through the rest of the notes, finally pulling out a sheaf of paper. How to calculate magical bullshit, it reads, and he smiles, recognizing Peter’s writing.

An hour later, Remus wants to stab something. His fingers are covered in black from the ink leaking out of his crappy quill. Crumpled bits of parchment litter the ground around him - he still has no fucking idea how to do the stupid formula, and he has less then a day to learn it.

With a groan, Remus stares back down at the paper, scratches at his arm. There are still scabs there - the full moon was only 5 days ago, and he scratches even harder as he reads Peter’s notes.

Enter in the exact positioning of the planet. If an even month, calculate Venus and Uranus. If an odd month, calculate Saturn and Pluto. If a leap year, factorize Mercury and divide by hours lost.

Carefully, Remus writes down the question, puts in each number, each letter so carefully that the ink bleeds through the paper. With a sigh, he checks his answer.

Remus hisses through clenched teeth, his fingers pressing down into his arm as he stares down at his page. “How the hell is it less then 2739?” He goes through the problem again - he gets a different answer, but is still no closer to being right.

He scratches harder, until he’s torn off some of the scabs, fingers digging into skin. He wants to scream, wants to hurl his books out of the window, wants to find a broom and go flying off into the night. He tightens his grip on his quill; there’s a snap and he realizes that he’s torn the feather in half.

“Fuck,” Remus says again, burying his head in his hands. He feels almost nauseous, everything whirling together and he wants to sleep but he knows he can’t -

Someone’s fingers wrap around his wrist; dimly, Remus is aware that he was scratching his arm again, blood running down from the half-healed cuts. He looks up - Sirius gaze was gentle, though his grip was tight. “Hey. You good?”

Remus shakes his head, huffs a laugh. His arm starts to sting; he swears as he sees his hands, the fingernails red from ripping the scabs off. “No. I’m going to fucking fail this exam.”

Sirius slides into his seat, halfway on his lap. He leans forwards; his hair is wet, tied up in a messy bun and Remus can smell his shampoo. He takes a deep breath, burying his face into Sirius, the junction where his neck meets his shoulders, breathes him in. Sirius makes a soft, pleased noise - his hand reaches down to brush Remus’ as he turns the page of notes.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, first of all this isn’t a great way to apply Morgana’s theory. You can do it, but it’s just not going to work out. Plus, it’s fucking confusing.”

“Everything’s fucking confusing,” Remus mumbles, his face still pressed against Sirius’ neck, lips against his skin. Sirius ignores him.

“Okay, well this is how you do it.” He shows Remus, all the diagrams and calculations and carry overs then flips the quill around in his hand and presses it into Remus’ palm. “Your turn.”

Remus stares down at the paper. The words all blur together, his eyes sliding out of focus. With a groan, he shakes his head, letting it drop into his hands. “I can’t.”

There’s a shifting sound beside him; he’s aware of Sirius, on his knees, his fingers dancing across Remus’ aching back. Remus lets out a quiet noise as Sirius presses his finger into an aching spot, right along his shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he whispers, unwilling to look Sirius in the eyes. “I just...I can’t. I’m going to fail this fucking exam. I’m going to fail it, and that will be that I guess. No one’s going to hire me anyways, because I happen to be a fucking monster. The most I can do is probably lift boxes in some warehouse somewhere - even if I get all ‘Outstandings’ on my NEWTS because who else would hire me? My life is going down the fucking drain, and I can’t - I can’t - “

He chokes back a sob. Sirius’ fingers are still steady against his shoulders, the warmth from his palm leaking through Remus’ shirt and into his skin. “I’m falling apart and...God. I can’t breath. I can’t fucking breath.”

He feels Sirius’s arm, snaking around his waist, feels his lips on the back of his neck. Sirius’ breath is warm against his skin, sending shivers down his spine as he whispers, “You can, Re. You’re going to ace this test. You’re the best student I know - “

“Bullshit,” Remus says. “Sure - I’m not horrible, but I’m not like you.”

He can feel Sirius’ frown against his skin. “Like me?”

“All you need to do is flip through the textbook a few times and you’ve got it,” Remus says bitterly. “You can learn what takes me the entire year to master by going through your notes once.”

Sirius lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Though I’m not sure if that’s natural. Mother had a nasty habit of carving lines into you if you forgot something.”

“Shit,” Remus says; his guy twists painfully, heart aching for all of Sirius’ trauma. “God, I’m sorry.”

Sirius gives him a small smile. “It’s fine.”

“I just...” Remus trails off. “I feel like I’m representing them. You know? I’m the first werewolf at Hogwarts, and it’s just...if I fuck up, that’s a reflection on all werewolves. I could be damning students, just by doing one stupid, idiotic - “

“Hey.” Sirius’ eyes are firm. “You are you, Remus. You’re not a - a representative of werewolves or some shit. You’re you. That’s all you can really ask for, anyways.”

Remus lets out a shaking breath. “I guess so.”

Sirius smiles. “Now stop whining and let me help you do this.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but bends down over his work.

[boku-no-loveletters]

Hello!! Could I get a match up with the league villains?🥺 I’m 170cm tall, I’m skinny (sadly I’m shaped like the letter I and rll self conscious ab it) I have shoulder length brown hair with two blonde stripes in the front, grey eyes. I’m a mix of a calm and logical person and a childish person with dumb jokes who can’t even sit still. I luv playing video games, reading, drawing. I usually wear dark oversized clothes or baggy pants with small tops. I’m european so my accent is rll thicc.Thank u!

Hey, what’s up? Hope you enjoy your match-up!

I matched you up with…

Shigaraki!

He's feral but I loved him since the beginning

-Now there are actually multiple reasons as to why I matched you up with Shigaraki, one of them being the fact that you are calm and logical but still allowing yourself to be loose and crack a few jokes sometimes. I think Shigaraki would respect that and probably admire your humor.

-Being calm and logical around Shigaraki is important, because he has very heavy mood-swings and being able to keep your composure if he switches dispositions will earn his approval. And while that is important, Shigaraki would probably also enjoy a carefree soul, so if you have the tendency to slip a dirty joke in on a conversation and make him crack a smile then you’re on the right path.

-The chances of you and him running into each other would either be by pure chance or an unintended every day occurrence. He could be a casual looking citizen who you have no idea is walking around in the streets with other people or he could be the one who was responsible for holding you captive. In an accident.

Well shit.

This is how it ends, huh? Being restrained in a villain warehouse where nobody will find you after they strip you of your skin and throw you out the door faster than you could say ‘sorry’?

Not to mention, earlier you kept thinking that nothing bad was going to happen today. That everything was going to be sugar and rainbows, that it was all going to be fine. But you were oh, so wrong.

"You fucking jinxed it, you idiot," you growled to yourself before attempting to slam the large and heavy cuffs on your wrist down on the metal chains dangling from your ankle.

But it didn’t budge, you reeled back the both of your wrists and tried again, still to no avail.

To be honest, you had absolutely no idea as to why you were being held here in this crappy makeshift hideout against your will. One minute, you were simply walking out of your apartment going to get some much-needed groceries from the store, and the next thing you know, you're being stabbed with a needle in your neck before blacking out completely.

Snarling in disappointment, you took a deep breath and then slumped down to your knees with your back facing the wall. After your little endeavor at trying to break free, your body temperature flared up and made you more heated up than normal. You must be getting sick or something because it was either you or the bands on your wrist making you burn up!

But the metal of the room surrounding you was unusually cold and so you used that to your advantage and turned gently, making sure to press as much skin to the wall as you could. The chilled and smooth surface helped immensely as you felt the searing hot sensation fade away.

You sat for a moment, feeling a wave of drowsiness hit your senses as you continued to be still.

How long have you been out? Would it be appropriate if you were to fall asleep again? Well, it's not like you were going anywhere soon and it certainly didn't feel like it was going to harm you if you got any sleep.

So you did. You closed your eyes deliberately before shifting into a more comfortable position and getting some well-earned sleep, hoping to have some sort of good dream before dwelling into your death.

But unfortunately, your time had come sooner than expected. Because as immediately as you tried to gain some repose, a soft click could be heard echoing across the room as the door unlocked to reveal a pale hand lightly opening the large ingot door leading to the entrance.

The pale hand followed up to unveil the shape of a man dressed in a plain black trench coat and tacky dress pants with multiple detached hands on different parts of his clothed limbs. Three were seated on each arm and his shoulders had one individually while his neck and the back of his head had one apiece. The most interesting one, however, was the single hand obscuring his identity from your view.

You could see he was dangerous. Not just because of the limbs, but rather the ominous demeanor he held over his presence and the fact that he seems fully aware of your current situation.

Not long after he had walked in was he followed by two other figures. One was a male with jet-black hair in another simple black jacket and matching pants with various amounts of marks and staples decorating his scarred body and the other was a shorter female. Her ash-blonde hair was loosely wrapped in twin buns, strands of wild stray hairs centering in different angles as two fringes on each side of her face framed her oddly innocent looking appearance as she donned a plain seifuku with a regular Kansai collar.

The greyish-blueish haired male mentioned beforehand was staged in the center of the room and the two other people, which you assumed to be his associates, positioned themselves each on one side of him.

Silence enveloped the room, the heavy steps of their shoes coming to a stop as they gained sight of your poor, slightly hunched figure.

He then clasped his hands behind his back before turning, what you thought to be, his gaze to the other walls. His back faced you as his accomplices kept their eyes fixed on you, watching your every movement so that you didn’t aim to escape.

“So, ” he began, “Do you know why you were brought here for?”

You shook your head no as you tried to keep your cool, already feeling the tension in the room rise by the minute. The burning sensation from a while ago returned and grew from warm to nauseating as it quickly surrounded your senses. Sweat began dripping down your forehead as your stomach did reoccurring backflips.

You could almost feel the other two burn their eyes into your torso, internally gnawing at your emotions despite their placid expressions.

He simply hummed before returning his sight on you, his hands still not leaving their positions as he took a few strides in your direction and stopped a couple of centimeters away from your feet.

You lifted your head to gape directly at the hand covering his face and from the side of your perception, you could make out a pair of piercing blood-red orbs. The wicked glint in his eyes threatening to make you lose your composure, as he then backed away to give you some space. Much to your relief as you released a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

You internally quivered as you let your gaze drop to the floor before hearing a heavy sigh of what appeared to be..frustration?

"There has appeared to have been a mistake made. You are not whom I intended to be after." he finally spoke, the stillness after was deafening.

"The idiots out there must have grabbed the wrong woman," he emphasized, " A woman with brunette hair, just like you."

You raised your head and suddenly put up the largest grin you could muster at the moment. Your whole dampened attitude instantly lighting up at the possibility to live another day and forget all about this encounter.

"But, another problem strikes the current situation at hand. We simply can't let you free and go off telling another hero about our location, " he defined as your smile began to falter.

"So we'll give you three options. We'll let you go scot-free and you keep your mouth shut while my subordinates check in on you from time to time, you join the league free of surveillance and a life free of heroes, or you die at the hands of my comrades?"

"Wait...You're giving me a choice? For real?" you questioned, "You're not just going to kill me?

"No, I am not, " he answered, "Why would I? It'd be a waste and sweeping up the ashes of another dead person and concealing the evidence is enough work already."

You shivered in fear but still hummed in agreement, yet slightly suspicious of this man's intentions but not willing or bold enough to question his motives. So you went with the safest alternative, they let you go and kept an eye on you while you continued to live out your daily life in semi-peace.

"The first choice," you replied confidently. "I don't want to be involved in you guy's problem and I'm sure the other option is self-explanatory, Mr. Handyman."

He simply chuckled dryly in response to your joke before looking at you once more and snapping his fingers, then everything went black.

-You were knocked out, again. Though the next time you woke up, you found yourself in your living room laying on the couch unharmed. You checked you wrists to find that the cuffs of your restraints left a mark deep in your skin as it burned a bright sweltering red. You didn’t notice a bright piece of yellow paper sticking to your chest until you brushed your fingers over your collarbone. A neon lemon sticky note was attached to your shirt, you ripped it off and examined it closely. It said…

-Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, we’ll be watching you.

-And so you didn’t really sleep that night because of both the LOV and the fact that you had taken more than the usual amounts of naps you were prone to take during your free time. But other than that you continued on with your life and moved on, almost forgetting your previous encounter with the S rank villain.

-The next time you had met him was when he arrived about a month later and by that time you had nearly forgotten all about what happened back there. So when he came to check up on your status and making sure you weren’t attempting to leave the country, he was surprised to find you living comfortably with no sign of your apartment faltering and in poor conditions.

-He knocked and waited patiently, his casual black hood and oddly bright red sneakers helped concealed his identity as he stood still. He had imagined that you thought that you were being left along, that you would trembled beneath his gaze again. But when you opened the door to reveal yourself, you just stared at him.

-You stood there trying to remember who this man was, but he didn’t say anything and instead pushed you aside and made himself at home. He walked to your living room and plopped himself on the couch before removing the hood from his head.

- “Oh, yeah Mr.Handyman”

-You didn’t say anything and instead switched the TV on. You sat down next to him as you felt his eyes burn holes into your back.

-And that’s how it went on for weeks, Shigaraki would always come up to your place to ‘Check and make sure you’re not alerting anyone’ and basically just hang out. The probability of him actually getting comfortable would take somewhere around 2-3 months once he realizes you’re not a threat.

-He won’t even do that much except lounge around and play video games with you, it’s not that villainous except for when he threatens you.

-I think that Shigaraki would enjoy playing video games with you as long as you let him win sometimes. He’s extremely petty so if you won three times in a row and haven't let him get in on a victory , he’ll probably make a fuss about it and not play for awhile. If you’re drawing or reading and not paying attention to him, that’ll probably get on his nerves a little bit too.

-He’s a dick. And yes, that’s something to worry about.

-Love…what is that? Sounds disgusting. Shigaraki is not that emotionally intelligent due to the fact that he had been deprived of tenderness the majority of his childhood so having someone act normal around him and unintentionally be kind to him makes him feel…weird. He doesn’t understand what the warm feeling in his chest is and why it makes him stir.

-You can make him crack a smile. You can make him laugh with your corny jokes and lift up his spirit after a bad day. He doesn’t know what it is, but he likes it and wants all of it.

-So the next time he had come in, he had told you about what kind of odd effect you had on him as he described it in the most surreal way he could say it. When you explained the feelings to him, you had also suggested dating to which he agreed after he had a proper grip on what he had just been told.

-Now Shigaraki has not received a lot of affection from his family during his childhood, only his mother and sister has provided him with physical endearment so that will obviously have an impact on his behavior now that he realizes how touch-starved he’s been.

-He will not however, under no circumstances, put his hands on you unless the situation calls for it or you gave him permission to. He does not want the same incident to happen to his significant other as it did his family. That’s the reason why he starts slightly trembling, which could be indicating a panic attack (as I imagined him to have a handful of episodes already.

-So If that happens, then you’d have to use your rationality and be careful. Get his special gloves and calm him down through the emotional episodes.

-I don't think the rest of LOV would mind you, Dabi wouldn't care about you at all but would still keep an eye on you while Toga and Twice ;-; would make small talk with you.

-So Shigaraki and you are more than a perfect fit, your personality traits don’t exactly clash but instead pick up where another one falls down! Your decisiveness and rationality along with your humor and liveliness helps balance you on the scale whereas Shigaraki’s standoffish and aloof position keep you both on your feet.

So I hope you liked this match-up! Writing the clip for this one was fun!

@idontknowuwu3

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Two

The memory of Julian tore Emily out of the here and now. Time stood still as their shared past flashed back to her.

Julian was the once in a lifetime kind of blend of genius, compassion, and peak physical perfection, all rolled into one incredible package.

Emily had known him from high school, though they were only loosely acquainted in those more innocent years. It wasn’t until much later, right when she had graduated from Berkeley, that she bumped into him again. Similar to how she remembered him from high school years—when he was basically the football jock who also happened to have his head screwed on right and was writing good grades as well—he was now a successful plastic surgeon in L.A. and had stayed in shape.

She was in the middle of getting her feet wet in the journalistic field, and drinking in a hotel bar to get over the rejection letter she had received from the Los Angeles Times. He exited from a doctor’s convention that he was attending there and instantly recognized her, even after all those years. They chatted, hit it off big time, and kicked off a turbulent phase of dating each other, filled with a lot of laughter and fiery passion.

Now he was dead. A ghost in her mind.

Julian was a generous guy, affluent due to both his work and his wealthy parents, well-connected—he had it all. His family didn’t like Emily, but it didn’t matter to either of them. He was a gentleman, vowed to have her back, and always lived up to his word.

Four months in, she decided that she wanted to surprise him by asking him to get engaged. But he didn’t show up for dinner. Or come home that night. Or arrive at work the next day. He had just vanished from the face of the earth. Nobody knew why, though worries grew amongst everybody close to Julian.

Even while she was worried sick, Emily was one of the prime suspects once enough time had passed and cops had gotten in on the case. She did her own part to find him, flexing her reporter muscles, but to no avail. Nothing added up and not a single clue pointed to his whereabouts.

Eventually, Julian’s body showed up. His parents and Emily identified his remains. Cops found the right culprit, too. A real whackjob D-list celebrity whom Julian had refused to operate any more on—she freaked out, murdered him, and kept him in her trunk for the whole week.

Even though the circumstances of his death were a major cogwheel in the chaos machine of what jaded Emily over the course of her life, she refused to let Julian’s horrible death ever overshadow the time they had shared together. She really loved Julian, because he was the only person who ever appreciated her—all edges and flaws and everything. He really got her—her strange sense of humor, how she only acted mean to keep people at an arm’s length—and they would laugh about inside jokes that nobody else in the world could ever even hope to understand.

She quit smoking for him. He always said that he didn’t like seeing her smoke because he thought the vice would make her leave this world sooner, and he couldn’t bear that thought. She started smoking again soon after he died, but she always refused to think about the why.

Julian was one of several people who shaped who she became—a driven woman, an unstoppable force of nature. One of the many undeserving, innocent victims mangled in the meat-grinder of a shitty, merciless world. But he was the one she cherished the most.

No partner before Julian was ever comparable, and she hadn’t been on the lookout ever since. Emily was convinced that it was the once in a lifetime thing. That she would never find such love ever again.

That bubble of time burst. Just popped back out of existence.

Here she was, still in front of that security guard whose frame reminded her of Julian.

Tall, broad-shouldered, probably worked out every day. Jawline that could cut glass. Definitely some eerily reminiscent facial features, too.

Part of it made her feel soft. It helped fuel that smile she flashed at the guard to the back entrance of the Estoria Pacific; helped conceal the things lurking underneath her facade—the darkness she harbored in her soul. Then she remembered what she was here to do.

The gears went off, grinding furiously behind her head, and she was grounded in reality once more. She pushed the memories back—both the pleasant and the unpleasant ones.

No more Julian. No more Vicky, Hal, Gloria. No more Tran—the hazy, drunken memory from the previous night returned to her in a flash. How many more times did she have to visit a morgue and ID a corpse? No more.

No more.

The guard gave no response to Emily’s query. He simply opened the door, stepped aside, and let her in. Another guard awaited her inside. Latino fellow; dressed similarly but shorter and much less handsome, equally silently—he nodded to her and motioned to follow him.

She caught a glimpse of a beautiful hall through kitchen corridors, being prepared for a party to come some time later. Exquisite meals were being prepared, crates loaded, waffles and cream made from scratch for cakes. Nobody here spat in the food, everyone wore a hair net and gloves. People paid well for the grub, and the patrons received quality service.

Who owned this place? That was one thing that eluded Emily’s investigation. Estoria Pacific never published any articles that would interview the club owners. It was common knowledge that there was a board of directors, a sort of a group of elite founders—likely wealthy investors. But they stayed out of newspapers and issued statements through the Club’s spokesman; some PR monkey who wasn’t in the savvy of anything.

Emily tensed up, and remembered one of her most valuable lessons: breathe. She let her eyes do the sweeping, not the head. The reporter found her steady rhythm in breathing, in a swaying stride filled with swagger.

She followed the second guard down corridor after corridor. She knew she was out of place. But she belonged here, now; more than anybody else.

She held her chin up high, burning inside—a cocktail of a hangover countered with pain medications and cheap booze, blending with excitement over the case finally going somewhere, anywhere—and the sweet, sweet cherry of impending victory sitting on top.

But something else, too. Something familiar, something she had to fight back. Something she hadn’t felt since the trafficking story. Something that made her think of Tran again. The pale corpse of Tran on the cold slab in the morgue.

That something she felt was fear.

The guard led Emily all the way down to storage warehouses, where she was handed off to yet another guard. This one took her under the mezzanine down into the freezers. Things looked less and less like a club and more and more like a cold and unforgiving facility. The doors started looking less polished, more metal, rustic, bulletproof—until eventually things became seedy enough to send a chill down her spine.

The guard was joined by another guard, deeper in the underbelly of the facility—a big bald giant of a man, this one without a club uniform suit, looking more like an actual gangster. His gun’s grip stood out from a chest holster in plain view. Just like the previous guys, he didn’t spare a single word for Emily, nor did he react to her in any way, merely doing his job of showing her to where she belonged.

They led her down another flight of stairs, and the gangster-looking fellow opened a double-lock and then removed a chain off of a steel cage door. This portal separated whatever this was where she was, from whatever lay hidden within. Likely an increased security facility.

A sinking suspicion filled Emily’s mind, giving her the impression that she had wound up somewhere completely different in the city—somewhere not even under the club anymore.

At one point, she registered a little sting of pain and found that she had dug her own fingernails deep enough into her palms to leave visible pink impressions.

She flashed a smile at the next guard as well. It was only honest—timid, clipped, and fading quickly from her lips—because she needed it more for herself. She needed it more to support her own confidence than she did to keep up any veneer of belonging.

Cages, cages, and cages of various sizes. Some were large enough to stand in, while others were obviously dog cages in which an adult human being could only be inside of them on all fours. Leashes with collars hung inside the cages. Dog bowls for food and water were set into every one of them. However, all cages were empty.

The whole place smelled of sweat and waste. A black man in a white wife beater was washing the floor, pushing murky mucky fluid down the many floor drains. There were hints of yellow and pink slop on the mop.

This was it.

The razor’s edge.

Just like when Emily walked into the trafficker dungeons. An icy cold gauntlet gripped her heart.

Like then, just like with the hit man in the Mancini mansion, she realized how she straddled the razor’s edge, balancing along that dangerously thin line between life and death.

Was the camera working? Would the government spooks be here in time to help her if and when anything went south? There was no telling and Emily felt more alone than ever before.

The lifeless body of Tran returned, creeping up on her in the back in her mind, haunting her through her inner eye. This time, however, it ignited something unfamiliar.

This was for her. This was for them. This was for all the victims, both the ones she knew and the ones she’d never know. This was bigger than herself. This was what she was meant to do; where she was meant to be.

Emily inhaled sharply but quietly and her nostrils flared.

A door on the other end of the room of cages was so thick that it could be rightfully called a vault door. It bore the makings of something made up to submarine standards. At least six inches thick, and looking heavy by the body language of another guard opening it with a grunt. He struggled to release the locks, and a familiar hiss of military grade machinery released the hydraulics.

The door was insulated, possibly pressurized. Small round window set into it, nautical in appearance. Through it, Emily perceived the silhouettes of people standing in near darkness. The door opened fully, and the big bald guard admitted her inside with a sweeping hand gesture.

She discovered a well decorated room, more in line with the poker rooms up in the club; centered around a wooden stage. Carpet floors, curtains, candles, tables. No foul smell here, which helped explain the unusual door.

This was an auction stage, clear as day. Around it, men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses were assembled in the dark. Everybody wore masks befitting a crowd at a Venetian carnival party or a certain movie by Stanley Kubrick.

A live classical band performed in the auction hall, humming away with their cello, bass, and two violins; orchestrating this odd event with quiet and non-intrusive live music. A few of the masked figures nearby looked back at Emily and the guards with her—more reactively, because the sound of the door’s hiss had distracted them from their subdued conversations.

The auctioneer, dressed in a red tux with a grinning devil’s mask on his face, addressed the crowd in a ceremonial festive voice.

Emily knew the type: this one sure mowed his lawn and had three kids, a dog, and a trophy wife. Probably donated often to charity.

“That certainly was an entertaining bid,” he almost sung. “Now, for our next prize. A beautiful exotic—I would say, extravagant item. Ladies and gentlemen, I guarantee it, whatever your taste, whatever your preference—this is not one to pass up. It will force you to fall in love. Coming to us from far away across the seas is—oh, welcome, we have newcomers. Welcome, welcome. Step right in, you’re right on time for the show.”

Regardless, Emily walked deeper inside. Her digits tingled; her nerves turned into iron strings so taut that you could play tense music on them, rising to a crescendo. Her mouth ran dry with a cottony feeling and she heard the blood rushing in her ears.

She hoped the camera was working. This was one of those things that nobody would believe if they only heard about it. You had to see it with your own eyes, and even then people would dispute the grainy recordings that accompany such scandalous discoveries.

She observed some of the masked guests, looking out for clues that might let her recognize familiar features and famous faces.

This was also the kind of crowd who had ways to silence you if you wanted to testify in court.

Accordingly, Emily knew she needed something concrete.

A waiter served her a mask on a platter with a glass of sparkling white wine. The mask depicted the stylized face of a gray rat, complete with long whiskers—Emily felt a pang of guilt when she got the sense that its mean expression and a crooked smile matched her common demeanor towards the world.

Slipping the mask on to shrug off that sinking feeling, she looked through the crowd some more and finally recognized a woman standing among the high society bidders, near the higher elevated seats, VIP row. This lady wore a black mask in the shape of a happy theatrical face, dressed the same way as Agent Laura Davidson, from the meeting on the bench in the plaza before.

Out of earshot of anybody, all the while glaring at “Agent Davidson,” Emily hissed under her breath, “Motherfucker.”

Every fiber in her body screamed at once—she knew things were about to end badly. But she had to see this through. She always had to.

She fought the urge to curse more and pretended to mingle, blending her way through the small crowd and raising her glass to her lips. But she didn’t take a sip, only tipping it lightly, feigning to drink from her glass.

The scent hit her nostrils with tantalizing sweetness, but she knew better. She was not drinking any of this shit.

The crowd parted around her and a spotlight transfixed itself on Emily.

“As I said gentlemen, a rat,” said the black-masked woman.

The crowd started chanting, “Rat, rat, rat, rat.”

“No matter your taste, no matter your preference, it is hard to pass up a good rat. Bring her up!”

The rat-masked Emily struggled against the plethora of strong hands and arms that suddenly seized her. She quickly found herself more easily shoved and carried onto the auction stage than she could kick and buck against them to stop this from happening.

The mountains of meat that were the guards holding her then bent her arms behind her back and forced her down onto her knees. With the flash of light bouncing off a knife, followed by the cutting sound of fabric, one of the goons harshly cut the front of her clothing open to expose her breasts.

Despite the chaos engulfing her, Emily spotted him in the crowd. He hadn’t been there all this time, but now he was. In the shadow, escaping the flood light. Invisible to the world around him.

The mysterious old homeless man from the night before.

His lips did not move but his words entered her mind, “When the world is a prison, there are those who are the prisoners, cursed with unknowing; and the jailers who hold the keys to their unseen cells. But what the jailers don’t know is that they themselves are also inmates. A prison built by inmates for inmates, happy to stay within the prison as they build it around themselves and cherish it. And they will do anything they can to maintain and stay on their thrones of shit within it.”

The old Wise Man watched Emily from the crowd. His presence and the voluminous words in her mind drowned out the auctioneer’s festive descriptions of her hair, face, body, and temper.

Bid flags flew up—almost everyone bid on Emily like she was some piece of meat.

From behind the two muscle-packed men forcing Emily into her kneeling position, a third one approached. He brought a glass of champagne to her lips and roughly forced it under the mask. He breathed into her left ear, “Drink.”

“The inmates and the wardens are the same—they know each other only by the rules they accept, out of fear of losing the prison and the illusion of power they hold within its confines,” the Wise Man’s words cut like knives through the void, reaching only Emily’s mind.

The blood rushing in her ears turned into the pounding of drums. It was the first time she had ever sensed what embers lay beneath, blistering with malicious heat. What slept there, crackling like a dying fire, hidden underneath the canvas of fear, was what lay deep at the heart of her deepest self.

A burning rage.

The fire roared into flames within, and it was not fear that paralyzed her, but the power of those forcing her down. Those who forced everybody down, making them small, treating them like objects.

Emily took a sip, then spat it right out; right into the face of the nearest goon who had forced her to drink. She thrashed and flailed and tried to wrestle free in the ensuing split seconds of confusion, but to no avail.

If she was to die here, what would become of her cats?

Is she was to die here, then everything here would burn with her. It was the oath she swore unspoken. Instead, through a string of profanities she spewed out, she sneered at her captors through gritted teeth, clenching her jaws until her gums bled, “You shit-heads are going to pay.”

A hard slap on the face made her ears and head ring—an indicator that her spitting the drink into someone’s face was successful and had gotten to that sack of shit. It was hard to see because the damned mask had slid up into a crooked position with the eye holes somewhere over her forehead. Who did she get?

Didn’t matter. Fuck him. Fuck ‘em all.

The rage inside of her drowned out whatever the announcer was saying and the crowd of this sick perverts murmured in response.

Then the crowd whistled and applauded, in what almost sounded like a polite and timid manner. Not like a football crowd—not a roar—but a calm, timid, amused applause. Bearing the gentlest “ooohs” and “aaahs,” as if her painful outburst was a nice touch of surprise to this whole deranged show.

“Ten thousand! Eleven! Eleven and a half! Twelve—thirteen thousand—fourteen anyone? Fourteen! I see fifteen, sixteen—really? Alright alright, let’s go straight to twenty? Twenty anyone? Twenty! Twenty one—twenty two,” the bids kept rising.

“Quell the rage. Its fire will consume you. Stay calm and you will not die,” Wise Man recited in her head, mirroring ancient mantras, blending them with her current situation.

With her nostrils flaring and her whole body trembling—with liquid fury pulsing through her veins—she listened to Wise Man. Emily focused. Wild thrashing wouldn’t cut it. It was all about the timing now. Finding the right opportunity and seizing it.

She refused to end up as the next pale lifeless body on the metal slab in some dark morgue. She owed it to everybody she had lost, and everybody who might be saved, no matter how little she may accomplish in this life.

Emily whispered to herself, finding an uncanny and almost foreign clarity deep within. It became a mantra as she repeated it, “Rat finds the way off the sinking ship.”

The men continued to strip her and then strap her hands together behind her back with cable ties. People came up on stage to enjoy her various aspects—in the way only psychopaths torturing animals would regard the creatures with a fascination detached from any semblance of empathy.

Focusing on Wise Man and her mantra, she tuned it all out. She detached from this reality. Her meditative mind—a mind steeled in cigarette smoke, drowned in bottomless whiskey glasses, subdued by numerous nightly joints—that jaded mind, that lack of innocence. This mental state protected her and kept her sane now.

She was okay with this. She was surviving.

Mirroring the immovable object that she had become, the Wise Man stood motionless, like a mirage in the crowd, the singular only figure standing still in the midst of a hurricane of animated beasts, in the middle of a pile of demented animals passing as humans.

He heard her whispers, her mantra. Only he.

Someone ripped her mask off. It tore her from the bubble, peeled away a layer of protection, but instead of the grim reality outside, Emily glimpsed something else.

She found herself entirely elsewhere: on a burning pentagram, in the depths of an ancient, evil cave. The audience and her captors—her tormentors—not human, but all devils of various shapes and sizes. Their tongues twisted and split as they drowned out each other’s cacophony of blasphemies in hideous laughter. They lashed each other and themselves with barbed whips, rent their own flesh with horrifically jagged blades. They ate human body parts from trays made of bleached bone.

In a bright flash of orange flame, Emily landed naked. And free from her captors, unbound.

In the middle of her own apartment? Had she done this somehow? Winked her way out of that impossible situation, just by willing it so?

The scope of things threw her off and made her stomach knot. Everything around her was far too big. The couch and coffee table were huge, like dark towers supporting a glass sky. Behind her loomed something the size of a building, of black shiny substance with a soothing green window up on top, ocean blue numbers projecting inside of it. They displayed time, but that clock was frozen solid. Time stood still.

The craziest part of it—Emily wasn’t freaking out.

This was not real in the common sense, but also not unreal. A more apt description would be to explain it as a different reality intersecting with the one she had grown accustomed to.

Everything made perfect sense, which also meant that the current situation caught back up to her in a bright white flash, of cold and unforgiving colors like that of fluorescent lamps in a hospital flickering on. Or the lights in a morgue.

The savagery of nearly being turned into a sex slave by some crazy rich assholes, and the gruesome images of the devils in the dark cave washed over Emily, and she wept. Tears of release, tears of despair, acting out their passion play to go with a whole chorus of emotions bubbling up. Every other little thing she had pushed deep down in her life to function, every last ounce of dust from the edges that had been sanded down by the darkness of this world—it all boiled over and spilled out, streaming forth through rivers of tears.

Through the blurry haze of it all, she took in her surroundings, hugging herself while remaining on her knees, just seconds of despair away from giving up and curling up into a fetal position. She wondered if this was just some elaborate fantasy to detach herself from the horrible reality of people doing things to her while she was helpless.

Maybe none of this freaked her out because nothing ever made any sense to begin with.

As she rose to her feet—wobbly, trembling, and wiping away the tears—the clarity returned.

No guilt. No regret.

No worries came from a world made of glass and shadows.

“Oh no, you don’t. Get back in here. You’ve always been a rat on the inside and now you’re one on the outside,” Jones spoke in his raspy voice. His words did not arrive through the tinny speakers of a phone. They droned like the deep bass of a colossus.

His titanic form towered above the monolith that was the suitcase, a man in a black business suit, garbed in a fancy white overcoat. A cruel grin marked his stubbled face while he attempted to step on Emily. Before he could bring that giant shoe crashing down, three gargantuan tigers leapt in front of her to shield her. With growls and snarls, they clawed at him and got in his way, causing him to recoil and topple backwards.

Samantha, Miranda, Charlotte—unmistakably, Emily knew it was them—now saber-toothed tigers, hailing from another era. From another world.

He kicked them away as they rent and ripped at the ends of his trousers. Giants fighting giants.

“Oh no—no! Don’t try to fight this with your compassion. With your little friends. You were warned. You’re all in now. Shoulda taken the deal, silly girl,” Jones droned on as he swung at the tigers to keep them at bay.

The black building—the doomed suitcase—exploded. Jones, the world, Emily herself—flames engulfed everything.

“What?” Jones cried out, his tone rising into the fever pitch of surprise. “No!”

The three tigers, with manes of fire, jumped to Emily. Miranda snatched her in her mouth and they took off. The beasts ran through a hellish landscape where fire consumed all; where everything solid flaked into the ashes of oblivion.

No—Emily knew better—the realities crossed again—these were the industrial underworld hidden underneath the Estoria Pacific. The tigers had crossed over as well and carried her off the auction stage.

The devilish audience stared in shock, stunned and incapable of reacting. Their masks had become their faces: pigs, lizards, devils, hounds. Those masks had turned flesh, gaining a full facial reality. Masks no more, the onlookers were these abominations now.

Emily looked around, struggling to regain her bearings. Just like none of it freaked her out before, finding that calm center in the eye of the storm, her eyes now darted back and forth, weighing every option within the window of a split-second.

What could she grab hold of? Where could she go?

How could she make these fuck-pigs pay?

As soon as she asked herself these things without uttering them loud, a deafening cacophony flooded into her head, drowning out all her own thoughts.

“I need to pay my mortgage today.”

“Should mow the lawn this Tuesday.”

“I hope Theresa is okay with this when she finds out. Maybe I can get her into it. Maybe get her a nice Vietnamese boy.”

“What if Mark knows? Jesus, what if Mark knows?”

“Okay, two hours tops, gonna cum real quick, fly over to Boston, change tickets, check the stock market, meet with the execs tomorrow morning, be ready for dinner with Ehnske, and still make my way back for the merger talks. Get a nice hooker in between.”

“Tonight—I’ll do it tonight. Everything’s written off. Gonna do it with my .38, the .22 might not do it and leave me crippled. Put tarp in the garage, put my head in the bucket, so the blood pools, I don’t want Ellie to have to clean up, to call the police.”

“Damn, she has nice tits. I love a redhead with nice tits. I wanna eat that ass.”

“They let us kill the last rat at the end of the session, I’m seriously going to outbid Lanston this time. That motherfucker got to drug the Chinese chick to death. My god, it was so hot—he kept fucking her as he kept the injection going until she passed out.”

“Man, what am I doing here? I’ll quit, next week, I promise. God, forgive me. I’ll turn in my VIP card this Sunday. Please, God forgive me.”

“God, if this is wrong, why don’t you strike me down? Strike us all down?”

“God, is this wrong?”

“I’m scared.”

“This is kind of scary.”

“What if someone finds out?”

“What if the kids find out?”

“What if this was my kid?”

Voices. The voices of the audience flowed into Emily’s consciousness, like searing red-hot lava.

The rage swelled again; a candlelight flickering and then flaring into a flame with a sinister roar. But this time, it was not all-consuming, devouring, or controlling. It was a ghostly blue fire. Burning with dark purpose, and cold as the iciest circles of hell that Emily could imagine.

Oblivious and uncaring about her torn attire, she looked down and cupped her hand in front of her breasts, as if to cradle something invisible. Something like that blue flame, encroaching from the edges of her thoughts, eating away at the fringe of the alien minds that hers was touching, keeping those foreign thoughts distinct.

She stared into her empty palm. That fury was something she could grasp.

Something she wanted to grasp.

She felt an aspect of her will manifest in her head. That icy gauntlet that gripped her earlier. The will itself became a gauntlet. But the ice cracked and melted in the flames. As it sloughed off, the gauntlet revealed itself to be forged of iron.

Her will was not made of ice, fickle and prone to hysteria when the flame of anger torches it. Her will was of iron—it could take the heat.

As soon as that aspect took shape in her mind, she comprehended it. And as soon as she comprehended it, her rat paws become human hands again.

Miranda threw her over herself somehow, allowing Emily to land on the mighty tiger’s back. Emily rode, a nude Valkyrie wreathed in furious fire, holding onto the giant beast’s fur, in control of her deadly mount.

She wanted to make the fuck-pigs pay. So much so that their heads burst into flames and exploded. Samantha and Charlotte ripped people’s bodies apart with claw and fang, but there wasn’t enough time. Miranda led the charge and wordlessly urged them to escape. Time was short and Emily felt it, too. All-engulfing flames raged behind them, consuming the stage.

The ancient cave retained the vault door. The tigers approached it.

Emily only blinked and they had teleported beyond it by merit of mere thought, then the tigers raced on. No question as to why, or how that made sense. It happened, therefore it became reality.

Cages, cages, cages—now filled with tormented victims, packed like sardines. Grasping hands that reached out from between the bars, desperate for rescue. The captives cried out. But it was not their cries that Emily heard.

“I want to go home.”

“My baby!”

“I want to die.”

“Save me.”

“My babies.”

“I want to go home.”

“What will happen to me?”

“This is the end.”

“I want to go home.”

“My poor boy.”

“I want to die.”

“Save me.”

“My baby.”

“I want to go back.”

“What will happen to us now?”

“This is the end.”

“I want to go home.”

“Where are my children?”

“I want to die.”

“Save me!”

“What did they do to my sisters?”

“I want to go back home.”

“What will happen to me?”

“This is the end.”

How oddly similar all these internal pleas were, though they coalesced and clashed through different minds, different voices. All different. All the same. All at the same time.

It was time to open those cages. To rip them open. The liberation would hurt. Ripping the band-aid off always did.

Emily blinked again to clear her vision, sensing how different realities intersected and clashed. The voices in her head echoed and screamed, to the point of becoming unbearable. The rage turned righteous. The gauntlet gripped those bars and wrenched them apart with that furious wrath.

The gauntlet transcended the existence of mere imagination and fantasy—it covered her hand. Bleeding into one reality from the next, she wore it like a second skin. Its iron thrummed with unspeakable might.

All the cages flew open at once and a firestorm swept through the world, swallowing everything in a cleansing heat. The whole damned place turned into an inferno.

The three monstrous tigers charged forth and Emily clung to Miranda’s back. All around them, the dimensions changed and twisted and distorted. They escaped through clusters of winding corridors tangled into a labyrinthine, hellish knot.

Furious shouts followed them from the inferno behind them—Jones’ voice overshadowing the bedlam, “No! Kill her! Kill her now! Don’t let it happen! Don’t let her go! Mine, she’s mine! This worthless sack of shit belongs to us!”

Emily raised her hand and splayed her fingers. The gauntlet forced the maze to unfold. She rode Miranda onto cages, jumped from one set of bars to another, inside and through two ends of cages, dashing down a tunnel of narrow cells, up a spiral of bars—these catacombs ever-changing around them whenever she blinked away the tears that the sheer velocity drove into her eyes.

She rode upward against gravity. Right became left, up turned into down. Then they fell, going backwards upon these iron bars, until the world consisted of nothing but iron and fire.

A tremendous invisible force knocked Miranda over, sending her and her dauntless rider into a spiraling fall.

“I can’t take you further. Only you can go there, mom,” said a voice in Emily’s head. Was it her cat? Or Tran’s daughter? Why did they sound the same now?

—Submitted by Wratts

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Additional Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging, Past Child Abuse, Past Malnutrition, Past Neglect, Past Touch Deprivation, Dyslexia, Eating Disorders, Verbal Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobia, Biphobia, Homophobic Slurs, Pure-blood Bigotry, Pure-blood Slurs, Crying, Grief/Mourning, Off-screen death of a secondary character, the Death is an Implied Suicide, Mommy Issues, Daddy Issues, toxic masculinity, Long Hair, Emotional Dysfunction, Age Difference, Blood, Bodyswap (kind of), Love Potion/Spell, Potions Accident, Family, Hurt/Comfort, heavy on the comfort, Endearments, Bacon, salad Summary:

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

Excerpt:

Draco had also explained to Andromeda about the de-ageing potion, and what had happened at the Ministry as well as at Harry’s house. “I’d gone with him to a warehouse,” Draco said. “P—Harry said he thought it might be the base of operations for an illegal ring he’d been trying to pin down. I’d . . . been helping him with potions identification before that. I suppose I never mentioned it to you.”

“But Harry did,” said Andromeda.

“He—he did?” Draco took a quick sip of his tea.

“Oh, yes. He was annoyed that you seemed to be the only one good enough at potions to help the department.”

“Ah.” Draco set his cup down with a clatter.

“And he was impressed with how willing you always were to help,” Andromeda went on.

“Old-me told Draco he was the only one I could trust,” Harry piped up, because even if old-him was a prat, at least he’d said that one nice thing.

“That makes sense,” Andromeda said, politely sipping her tea. “If Harry suspected the Ministry being involved, the best help would come from someone entirely outside of it. Harry,” she went on, putting down her tea and standing up. “You must be tired. I’ll make up Teddy’s bed for you.”

“I’m not tired,” Harry said, yawning directly after his words.

“You’ve had a very exciting day,” Andromeda said. Her kitchen was much larger than Draco’s, with marble countertops and dark wood cabinets. Harry didn’t think it as nice as Draco’s kitchen, but it was much nicer than Petunia’s. There was a fridge in it, as well as a telephone, though they looked old-fashioned.

“I’m going to help Draco solve the mystery,” Harry said.

“In the morning,” Draco said, standing also and picking up the satchel he’d brought.

Harry turned toward him. “You’re not going to leave me here—are you?”

“We’re both staying here tonight,” Draco said, putting out his hand.

Harry took it, and they followed Andromeda through the sitting room and down a hall. “Where is Draco going to sleep?” Harry asked as they walked through the wood-panelled corridor. The house was nice but seemed sort of old. “Are there bunk beds?”

“I’ll take the sofa,” Draco said.

“I want you to sleep in a bed,” Harry said, as they came into a bedroom.

The bedroom was very cool, despite the same wood-panelling. It had posters up, and the people in the posters were intimidating, but in a cool way, with Mohicans and pink hair and rings in their noses. They were holding things like guitars and drumsticks, and they looked like they might be screaming, but you couldn’t hear them. The chest of drawers was covered in stickers, and on the floor was a rug that snarled when you stepped on it. The bedcovers were silver, but changed colour when Andromeda turned the coverlet down.

“Teddy’s about the same, I see,” Draco said.

“Where is he?” Harry asked, looking around as though Teddy might materialize from the accordion wood door in the corner, which must lead to a cupboard.

“At Hogwarts,” Andromeda said. Turning to the chest of drawers, she said, “I’ll transfigure you pyjamas.”

Harry looked up at Draco. “Can we have bunk beds?”

“No, Harry,” said Draco. “We’re not going to ruin Teddy’s furniture.”

Thinking about this, Harry frowned. “Does that mean you ruined your furniture?”

“Wood weakens if you stretch it,” Andromeda said, “but Teddy’s bed is sturdy. It should work all right for a few nights.”

Draco glanced at Andromeda. “If you’re sure.”

Harry was still thinking about Draco’s furniture. “Does that mean your flower-chair is ruined as well?”

“You have a flower-chair, Malfoy?” Andromeda said, her tone a little mocking.

“Oh, stuff it,” Draco muttered.

“You call him Malfoy?” Harry said, looking from Andromeda to Draco. He’d thought Andromeda was Draco’s friend, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Only to tease him,” Andromeda said. “He needs to be teased from time to time, or he becomes too self-pitying.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Harry said, drawing himself up and moving closer to Draco. “He’s fine as he is, thanks.”

“Harry,” Draco said, his tone gently remonstrative.

“You are,” Harry said, turning to look up at him.

Andromeda burst out laughing. “You haven’t changed in the least!”

Reaching for Draco’s hand, Harry moved closer, so he could put himself between Draco and Andromeda. He wasn’t sure he liked her after all.

“She means you were always very brave and protective of your friends.” Draco squeezed his hand. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Andromeda said, still chuckling. “I meant he doesn’t like hearing bad things said about you.”

Harry looked up at Draco, who began to change colour.

“Unless he’s the one saying them,” Andromeda went on.

“Let’s get that bunk bed set up,” Draco muttered.

“Of course,” Andromeda said, her tone cheerful.

They both pointed their wands at the bed, transfiguring it in short order into a very cool bunk bed. Instead of splitting the coverlet, though, Andromeda went and got another one, and Draco made Harry take the pyjamas and go into the loo to change. “What did she mean about me not liking bad things said—”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco cut him off, sounding testy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when you grow up.”

“But do you think that means—”

“I said I don’t know.” Then Draco looked at him, and his face went soft all over. “Come along, please, just get changed for me. We’ll sleep, and then in the morning we’ll figure out the ingredient, and when it’s all fixed, you can grow up and decide whether to be friends.”

“We will be friends,” Harry said, heading to the loo. “You promised.”

“Yes, I promised we could.” Draco turned to close the door, but before he did, he stopped to brush Harry’s fringe aside. Harry was used to him doing it, except Draco kept doing it all the time now, like he needed to see Harry’s scar frequently for some reason, and then—he did something weird. Leaning in, he let his lips brush Harry’s scar, and then he was backing out of the loo. “Change so we can go to sleep,” he said, and shut the door.

Harry stood there for a long moment, trying to figure out why Draco was so weird.

It took him nearly a minute to figure out he’d been kissed.

Harry thought he’d probably been kissed before. His parents must have done it. Bringing his hand up, he touched the scar. It didn’t feel any different. The kiss hadn’t felt good or special or anything like that, mostly just confusing, but Draco had kissed him. Draco had wanted to kiss him—because he liked him, the way Aunt Petunia was always kissing Dudley. Because she liked him.

And that, rather than the kiss, felt good and special and extremely nice—that Draco would want to kiss him. For no reason. With what hadn’t seemed like a lot of thought behind it—just an absent gesture, and Harry wondered if that was what it was like to have parents. Maybe that was what they did—kiss you just because they wanted to, and push you into bathrooms, and never answer questions or explain things fully. But despite that, maybe they still said nice things, and held you, and gave you good food to eat and a bed to sleep in. Maybe Draco was what having a dad was like.

If that was what it was like, Harry thought it would be all right.

[brownstonearmy]

2019-09-13: Perfume, Piggies, and Piddles

Wednesday June 24 (Morning)

Kalani is still recuperating from their recent journey to Mechanus, but the rest of the party are in stable enough shape to go into work this morning. Along the way, a group of hunters are overheard talking about the bounty for dead gnolls being increased to 2 silver pieces per intact carcass. Once inside the office, the Dave dishes dirt on all the stuff that's been going on during the party's two week absence.

Dave and Tyrik have been working overtime to keep things afloat, and work orders have been piling up. The mayor is running several sessions of a workshop this week called "How To Not Get Kidnapped: A Presentation By Mayor Shepherd Dunwall," and participation is suggested for all municipal staffers. Since the party has already successfully escaped after being kidnapped, Dave is cool with everyone skipping out on the presentation because there are more important things to do.

Strange things happened during the full moon two nights ago. A strong beam of light broke through the clouds and centered itself on the compound where the Order of the Immaculate Shadow are sequestered. This spooked some of the citizens, and caused a dramatic uptick in reported sightings of werewolves. At three separate locations, it was reported that a werewolf-looking creature was defecating and urinating inside the city limits. Cleaning up individual poops and piddle puddles isn't usually handled by SHART, but the citizens are afraid to deal with the mess on their own for fear of catching "Werewolf Disease" (AKA lycanthropy).

Grieg grabs a shovel and a hand cart, and then the party sets out to gather some better work gloves for the occasion. They make a quick jaunt over to Oneida's, a glovemaking shop owned by (you guessed it!) Oneida Cobblepot. Lucky picks up three sets of long embroidered gloves on sale for 1gp, while Grieg gets a pair of plain gloves that come up past the elbow. Q is feeling like calling themselves "Daffodil" today, and spends a bit longer searching for the perfect gloves for today. Q/Daffodil eventually decides on some bright red work gloves with black lace trim. Q wants to accessorize with matching footwear, but Oneida only sells gloves. Oneida tells them that there is an orc named Zagga who makes quality artisanal shoes.

The party opts to proceed to the job sites to clean up the mess instead of getting matching footwear, and they strike out to the northeast portion of town near the fighters guild to assess the situation. Along the way, everyone sees several signs posted on trees and buildings. It's a lost pet poster where the owner of the perfumery, Peggy-Ann Sweetbreeze, is looking for her pig. Although they don't see any signs of the pig on this leg of the journey, the first poop site is not hard to find. There's a sizable turd on the ground next to a building, and a 10-foot chalk circle has been drawn around it to keep people from wandering into the Danger Zone. Also inside the confines of the Danger Zone is a wall covered with a particularly caustic urine splatter. Lucky takes one look at it and prestidigitates it away. Easy peasy!

Except Grieg was hoping to investigate the poop to get more clues about what they're dealing with. There are more poop sites to visit, though, and the party heads south toward the shipping and arts district.

They find the second site without much trouble, but Grieg sees the poop first and swoops in to investigate. He takes a stick and gives it a poke. His determination is that it's from some sort of mammalian carnivore, but that is about the extent of what he can tell. Lucky, on the other hand, notices some greasy-looking black hairs in the dirt. She casts Mage Hand to pick them up and get a closer look. The hairs smell foul and don't look like they belong to some sort of wolf.

Lucky takes out the letter from Half-Nut and suggests that maybe they're actually on the trail of a gnoll instead of a werewolf. The signs match up.

As they're leaving the second site, the party sees Jangles setting up some complicated looking measurement tools near a sewer manhole. Jangles is feeling particularly lady-like today and is collecting calibration data for her next project codenamed "Peppermint Breeze." Jangles asks the party if they would be willing to assist her with temporarily blocking some sewer tunnels with boards in order to pressurize an underground chamber with gas. Although wary of exactly what this experiment might entail, the party agrees to participate.

Q and Grieg clamber down through the manhole and block the tunnel's airflow. Stinky sewer gas begins building up in the chamber. Jangles gives Lucky a small silver cannister with an experimental compound to be opened once the manhole cover is in place. Lucky follows into the chamber and Jangles replaces the manhole cover. The pressurized gas is too much for Q and Grieg to hold back, and the boards fly open. Lucky's Mage Hand uncaps the cannister, which sizzles for a moment before explosively reacting with the sewer gas and blowing the manhole cover sky-high.

Dazed and deafened, the party emerges from the sewer to find an excited Jangles. The experiment was a massive success! She pays the party 100GP per person, hands over a Handy Spice Pouch, and gives Lucky a sample of the X-Ray Tincture she had commissioned Jangles to create. Jangles packs up her things and the party heads off to deal with the last known werewolf poop sighting.

The third poop is located in a densely-populated working class neighborhood in the warehouse district on the riverwalk. Crowds of people are going about their daily business, though there is a curiously empty spot that everyone seems to be avoiding. Grieg pushes his way through the crowd. "Everybody back up! I'm the Pee-Pee Poo-Poo Man!" he yells. Audible gasps erupt from the crowd. Is someone going to deal with this awkwardly-dropped turd on someone's doorstep?

Members of the crowd are afraid for the safety of the approaching party members. Grieg assures the crowd with a wave of his hand. "I'm an orc; I don't get Werewolf Sick." He makes enough space for Lucky and Q to get through. Lucky blasts the area with Prestidigitation to clean things up, and the crowd cheers.

A tearful lady emerges from the house. She had been trapped in her house for two whole days because of the Poop on the Stoop. With that contagious werewolf dropping disposed of, she is free to live her life as she intended.

By now the party is pretty convinced that the serial shitter is a gnoll, and they trek south of the river toward the perfumery to speak with Peggy-Ann. Grieg notices some relatively recent pig tracks as they cross the bridge. Time to head into the woods in search of pig and/or gnolls!

South of the perfumery and sawmill, Q hears the sound of an animal whining. Following Q's keen ears, the party comes upon a cream-colored pig foraging for food. Unbeknownst to the pig, four hyenas are sneaking up on it.

Lucky casts Minor Illusion to make the sound of a roaring dragon, which causes a tiny stampede as both the pig and the hyenas flee from the sound. Lucky makes a signal to Grieg, and he grabs her with one hand and starts sprinting toward the pigs. Q dashes after the pig to keep it safe from the hyenas.

Lucky creates another illusion, this time of a large pile of apples. Missy Piggums stops in surprise and tries to nibble unsuccessfully on the illusory apples. Grieg drops Lucky, who fishes a real apple out of her bag and offers it to the pig. Over the next several minutes, the party lures Missy Piggums back to the perfumery.

Peggy-Ann is thrilled to see her beloved Missy Piggums returned safely. Peggy-Ann is preparing for the launch of her new perfume tonight, but the event preparation hasn't been going smoothly because she's been so preoccupied with finding Missy. Also, she hired a relatively famous Elven bard named Caelynn Tilathana for the event, but she disappeared last night and there's not a lot of time to find a replacement. Peggy-Ann notices that Q is of the bardic persuasion, and asks if they would be amenable to performing as Caelynn just so Peggy doesn't have to change the posters she's set up all over town. Q agrees on the condition that the rest of the party be able to attend the function.

Lucky volunteers to be Q/Caelynn's bodyguard, provided she can invite Hilaria as her +1. Grieg will also be an entertainer, one who specializes in interesting feats of pure skill and athleticism. The event starts just after sundown, so everyone makes plans to meet back at the perfumery by then.

As the party walks back toward home, there is a thundering crash of trees being knocked over. It is a house that walks atop four massive chicken legs! The house comes to a stop in front of Lucky and opens the door. Two humans Lucky has never seen before poke their heads out. From their unusual speech patterns, Lucky figures out that this is Kosja and her clutchmate, Turalisoth. They have transformed themselves into "soft-skins" thanks to Jangles' Jumble Juice. Now that they can pass as humans, they have decided to open up a restaurant in town.

Unsure of what to offer at a human restaurant, Kosja asks for advice. Lucky suggests eggs, while Grieg suggests salads with cheese. Kosja understands the appeal of eggs, but a bowl full of sad leaves is not as readily understandable. And cheese is a completely foreign concept. Grieg considers trying to explain what cheese is, but opts to avoid an in-depth discussion of the social implications of cheese and the game concludes for the evening.

How will this situation get resolved? Stay tuned next time for more!

[crownandwriter]

Illegal Intervention Chapter 2

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: Rupert Travis/Reader

Rating: G

Warnings: none, gender-neutral reader

Part 2 of 6. << Prev  Next >>

That day, you hadn’t been sure if you’d ever see that Android again. After the police officer departed, he hadn’t spoken another word to you past “thank you.” He was too quiet, too scared, maybe too shy. You didn’t know who he was, or what he was doing, but you knew he was going wherever it was deviants disappeared to.

And you let him, of course. Cyberlife be damned.

But even with an entire day between you and those events, he remains on your mind, him and everything you do know about him. He was a WB200. Agricultural, functionally not all that dissimilar to the WR600s so popular for work in the public eye. (Private sector models were sometimes regarded as less attractive, though you’d beg to differ after seeing him up-close.) He was quiet, though with so little known about deviants you can’t be sure how much that had to do with the circumstances versus his base programming. He was a deviant, and on the run. He…liked birds.

The video he had showed you still occupies a tab on your web browser…. Sometimes you pull it up and rewatch it.

You know, without a shadow of a doubt, you’re already too invested in him. Too concerned, too worried, too…attracted. It isn’t fair to him, someone so new to the world of emotions, and probably more alone than anyone you’ve ever met before. It isn’t fair for you to sit and wonder what it would be like to go on a walk together, what sorts of things he would say, how his laugh would sound, what his hand would feel like against your cheek. It isn’t fair to either of you, who cannot reciprocate and who cannot receive.

Which is probably why seeing him again comes as such a shock.

You’re back in Ferndale doing a quality inspection at a Cyberlife supply store, only to discover it and the delivery truck en route to the store had been raided the previous night—by androids. There isn’t much left for you to inspect, especially with the police investigating the store so thoroughly, but instead of letting the trip go to waste you decided to explore the town a little. You don’t think much of where you’re going or what you’re doing, but quickly find yourself following the coasting of pigeons in the sky all the way to a little park. That’s where you see him.

He’s by himself—this time of day, the park is dead. It’s just him and a small swarm of pigeons at his feet, pecking diligently at the seeds he scatters with a practiced sort of fairness. Maybe you shouldn’t approach at all, but your feet are already moving by the time you consider the possible results. Thinking on it, it’s a wonder he doesn’t bolt as soon as he sees someone on a mission in his direction.

But he doesn’t. He looks up when you stop about ten feet away and meets your gaze. There’s a certain tension between the two of you, uncertainty and hesitancy, but not all that much fear in the air as you expect. His shoulders refuse to release all their tension, but the slackening of his body in the few undisturbed moments you stare one another down is a remarkable development. You stuff your hands into your pockets, fondling your wallet nervously, while your cold, dry lips massage together to mold the words you want to speak. “May I sit with you?”

His chin dips down in thought, eyes scanning you intently from under the bill of his tattered hat. He gives the slightest hint of a nod, and his hands slowly return to pulling birdseed from a small box at his side. You move slowly, only just edging yourself onto the opposite end of the bench, where the silence can permeate the plenty space between you. The weight isn’t comfortable; it jams you against the metal arm of the park bench, pressing uncomfortably into your side even through the fabric of your winter coat, but you let the silence hang there because now that you’ve somehow gotten this far you have no idea how to proceed. After a few minutes of watching the birds fuss and compete for food at his feet, and flutter in rotations to perch on his shoulders or his head, you find yourself speaking through a smile you hadn’t realized was there.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say softly. The android, whose name you now remember is Rupert, pauses in his work to supply you his complete attention. “I know that probably…sounds like complete crap, coming from a human. But I really am. You just kind of…left the other day, real sudden—and I don’t blame you! But I was kind of worried.” You chuckle, breathy, it sounds sad. “Guess that was…a little stupid of me? You seem to handle yourself alright.”

You risk a glance and find Rupert’s eyes on you. Where before he had been cast in the shadow of the dropping sun, now you could see one of his eyes alight in the warm evening glow. It was a wonderful shade of rich chocolate brown. His lips twitch, eyes flicker between you and the ground, then he says softly, “It’s not stupid if you’re being honest.” You can’t blame him for the suspended disbelief. What have humans ever done for androids these days?

Regardless, his voice is a blessing to your ears.

“Do you have somewhere safe to stay?” You ask, like an intrusive idiot.

Rupert pauses again, face drawn suddenly with indecision. “I’m…safe,” he says, looks like he wants to elaborate but doesn’t.

With everything that has happened lately, all the organized crime, the theft, the missing Cyberlife cargo, it doesn’t take a genius to know some androids have organized. His silence is very telling in that respect, so you choose not to pry any farther. But it does beg another question.

“Why come out here by yourself, then?” The question doesn’t hit him like you expect it to, doesn’t cause any visible sort of stress increase, but you can see a slow hunch of his shoulders as if he’s caving in on himself.

The pause is tangible in its thickness, and after two, three, four silent minutes you’re certain he’s shut down communication with you indefinitely. He no longer has an LED by which you might gage his frame of mind, and your brain lacks the silent understanding an android’s wireless data streams provided. When you’re confident he won’t say another word, you brush off your jacket and begin to stand, but the motion seems to startle him into vomiting the words between your feet.

“That day, I was being chased by another android.” You pause and turn only to find his eyes burning holes into yours. “A human—another human saw me going into the nest and reported me and…and I couldn’t get away when they showed up. So I…I ran. And only barely got away, but I left…everything behind.” The emotional strain in his voice never ceases to be remarkable. These synthetic beings, created in Rupert’s case to only be unthinking, unfeeling agriculturalists, spoke with more feeling and life than most humans bothered to attempt. “I…I had birds. I took care of them, fed them with feed that I…usually stole. But when I ran I couldn’t just grab them….” His voice faded off and his eyes paralleled it with a soft ghosting over the pigeons still pecking around his feet.

“I still have your video,” you say after a pause. He looks at you again, maybe a little surprised by the genuine softness in your smile. You pull it up on your phone’s web browser and let the sounds of parrots and parakeets stream gently out of the speakers. “It’s good you have things you like. It’s good to indulge yourself, you know. You deserve some happiness, especially with everything going on.”

You didn’t move where you stood for a moment, thinking, watching Rupert’s gaze consider you more thoughtfully and completely than anyone had bothered to in a long time. The thought had been rolling around in your head since you laid eyes on the man but now the decision comes with impulsive suddenness. From your breast pocket comes the standard Cyberlife business card, where at the bottom your name and personal contact number printed in neat lettering. Rupert looks at the brand name across the top and his eyes crinkle in repulsion, but you only nod reassuringly.

“If you and your friends ever need help, call the number on the bottom. That’s me. I’m a quality supervisor for the various outlet stores and warehouses around Detroit. If there’s something you need….” You bob your hand where it remains outstretched, begging him to accept it. “Just think about it?

Very slowly, his hand reaches out and takes the small piece of cardstock, fingers brushing feather light against yours.

[taehyungiesnoona]

01 | radiance

⇢ summary:  You never had a purpose in life. The night you decided to end it all, you encounter a ray of sunshine that makes you question your way of thinking. Jung Hoseok’s smile is the reason you’re decide to give life a try again.  

⇢ pairing: female reader x Hoseok

⇢ genre: angst,soulmate!hoseok

⇢ rating: SFW

⇢ warnings: minimal use of profanity, depression, attempted suicide, Hobi’s smile (yes I’m included this as a warning because we all know what his smile does to us)  

⇢ word count : 4k 

⇢ A/N: This idea came to me on my way to work and I had to make it a reality. This may be a little darker than what you may be used to seeing in my writing but as I’ve stated many times, I’m trying to write things a bit out of my comfort zone. I hope you enjoy. Happy Reading~

Chapters 01 || 02

»»———— CHAPTER ONE ————-««

Nothing ever mattered.

You were never happy with your life. You never could understand why. Since you were a child, you constantly thought this way. Multiple therapy sessions, several medications you were put on, none of it seemed to work.

Your parents always questioned what they could have done wrong in raising you. For someone who has so much potential in life, why did you only think of the negative? Why did you have nothing to live for?

When you were in elementary school, it was implanted in all the heads of your kindergarten class that each and every one of you had a soulmate. Someone who you were tied to. That once you reached a certain peak in your life, that person would come to you. That peak varied from each person, so it was uncertain of when it would happen. One variable was certain: that each of you would have met your soulmate before you went out into the adult world.

Even with the idea of your soulmate, that was never enough to motivate you. To be quite frank, you hated the idea of being tied to someone you may or may not know. You loved to isolate yourself from others, being alone wasn’t a bad thing to you. In fact, you even worked from home, proving that you indeed refused having to leave the comfort of your bubble.

Occasionally you would skim through social media, the nights were curiosity would bite your  tongue and you’d see what your former classmates were up to. As you would scroll down your timeline, post after post would consist of anniversary mentions, wedding photos, baby bumps. All of them signifying that your teacher was right all those years ago. They did meet their soulmates, and they put on display how happy their lives were because of it.

It made you sick to your stomach at their happiness. You were that cold-hearted at times.

Pushing your phone to the side, you threw your body against the mattress below you. Sighing heavily, your thoughts beginning to consume you. It had been some time since you graduated college, and from what you’ve heard, you were the only one from your class that hadn’t met their soulmate. Which you were glad for since you preferred your singleness, a relationship was something you never thought about.

But there were times, like tonight, were you wondered “what if?”  

What if you weren’t such a negative person? What if you actually enjoyed this thing called life? What if...you actually like the idea of having a soulmate? If they actually found you? Or took the opportunity to do so yourself? A cloud of questions formed in your head and you didn’t like it one bit.

“Quit!” You yelled, the echo reverberating against the white walls.

The questions in your head wouldn’t stop, the feeling becoming almost crushing as you reached for the sides of your temples, the headache beginning to form. The pain now excruciating but unlike others, you never cried in your life. You dealt with pain in the way you knew best.

To just endure it.

You got up from your bed, walked over to your closet and slid the door open. Examining the different fabrics before yourself, you reach for a pair of skinny jeans that was folded neatly to the side. Exchanging them for the sweats you were wearing, you buttoned them as you made your way to the front door. Though you hardly left your place, on nights like this one, you would venture off to your secret hideaway that you knew no one would be at.

It was a little past midnight so you were okay with walking amongst others, not too many people were out at that time anyways. As you entered into the cool night, you looked up to see the sky painted with stars. A sight that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were unsure of when was the last time you left your apartment. Weeks? Months? You couldn’t think of the answer as you continued to stroll through the night, taking a few glances up at the sky.

An hour had passed as you made it to your destination, a large field in a deserted part of town. Railroad tracks accompanied it alongside an abandoned warehouse. This was your getaway. You discovered this place as an adolescent, one time running away from your parents after yet another one of your “failed” therapy sessions. Though you rarely came out here, this place was nonetheless yours. Everything remained the same as you remembered it from the last time. No traces of other human life could be detected.

Planting your butt down into the soft grass, you sat there legs criss-crossed as you observed the scenery. The night sky looking more beautiful from when you left your apartment. The stars twinkled peacefully as a soft breeze swept your hair up, causing your bangs to fly across your face. Shifting you head in the direction of the wind, your hair now gracefully swayed off your shoulders as you looked in the direction and heard a noise from a distance.

That noise causing a slight smirk to curl up in the corner of your mouth. It was one of the few things that would get some sort of positive reaction from you. For as long as you had been coming to this spot, you always enjoyed seeing the train pass you by. The sound it made as it traveled along the tracks was like music to your ears. And so you sat there, choosing to shut your eyes as the locomotive and its cargo continued its way past you.

The clicking noise the train made as it traveled down the tracks was soothing for you. The headache that bothered you so much in the last few hours was started to subside. Opening your eyes once more, you watched as it continued to make its way past you. Looking at the rail cars pass you by, each one of them sporting a different amount of graffiti to them. Some were pretty bland and boring, mostly derogatory words used in rebellion to something political. Some were pretty neat and very artistically crafted, the murals that must have taken a lot of time to achieve. But there was one rail car in particular that took a high peak of your interest, it was just a simple saying but the font used to achieve it was gorgeous. It stood out to you out of all the pieces of graffiti you had seen to this day. It flew by you so fast but you were able to make out the words scribbled along the metal container.

You never walk alone.

As you eyes tried to keep up with the moving train, you noticed next to the lettering that a couple was drawn out, shown embracing one another. You rolled your eyes a bit, knowing that the saying was to signify a soulmate. The few times you would step out of your apartment, somehow in some way or fashion you would see something about a soulmate. It never failed.

Your body falling back towards the soft patch of grass underneath you, your attention back onto the beautiful night sky above. The train had already completely passed where you were, the silence of the night welcoming itself once more. The occasional cricket chirping was the only sound that could be heard amongst your slow breathing. Everything was back to your liking. By yourself. Nothing to remind you of a soulmate.

And normally you would be able to get yourself to your “normal” self but there was something about that rail car that just wouldn’t leave your mind. What was so special about it that you couldn’t shake it from your thoughts? Why did it continue to linger on your mind? Why wouldn’t it go away? As you reached up your arm to the sky, palm facing towards the stars, you spoke to yourself.

“Who needs a soulmate? I surely don’t. I’ve been doing just fine alone. Let’s keep it that way.”

Turning your palm towards you now, staring at it a bit before shaking your head as some sort of confirmation.

“Yeah...let’s keep it that way.” a hint of uncertainty could be heard in your voice, throwing you off a bit.

You laid there for what seemed like an eternity, but was only two hours. After the soulmate questions were no longer clouded up in your head, you continued to stargaze. Another train even passed you by and before you knew it, you were getting yourself off the ground, dusting off your butt and made your way back to the confinement of your apartment. You almost fell asleep in the patch of grass, but being in your bed sounded so much better.

What you didn’t know was that your life was soon about to take a very drastic turn.

You laid there staring up at the bare ceiling.

It had been a few weeks since you last step foot outdoors, and since that day your life became more of a dark hole than it had been before. Falling into a deep funk, there was no ounce of energy in your body. The feeling that was sprung upon you, was something you never experienced before. A strange feeling and though you weren’t one hundred percent if it was certain, you knew this had to be one thing that you were feeling.

Lonely.

Once you had returned back home that night, you couldn’t stop thinking of that rail car and the image of a couple. Of a soulmate. Your soulmate. And just like before, the never-ending cloud of questions would fog up your head. What were they like? Would they even have the patience to deal with someone as yourself? What was their favorite cereal? The list went on and was very much repetitive. Thus you found yourself that next morning, not wanting to leave your bed. Despite after multiple attempts, you just couldn’t get yourself to. So you laid there, drifting in and out of sleep never paying attention to the time. When you finally decided to check it, you were shocked to see that weeks had flown by like it was nothing. Though it felt like only a few days had gone by.

The ceiling had been the only thing you came in contact with for the most part. Occasionally you would get up to use the restroom, but once done you were back underneath the fluffy comforter, your head molding to the three pillows underneath. Eating was non-existent to you, causing you to lose significant amount of weight. Over the course of those weeks, water was the only thing you were able to stomach down. To much your surprise, your appetite didn’t seem to be a thing either.

Does feeling alone hurt this much?

You thought to yourself as you continued to look up at the white ceiling. Reaching over to pick up your cell phone, you unlocked it to see several missed calls from your parents. Hundreds of missed calls to be exact. Though you barely spoke with them since venturing off into adulthood, you wondered why they were trying so hard to reach out to you. Had your job contacted them since you hadn’t notified them of your sudden absence?  Before your thoughts could continue onto their course, you heard a series of knocks from your front door.

Three knocks.

Your eyes moved in the direction of the noise.

Three more knocks. This time a bit more harder.

Still not wanting to move an inch, you laid there.

The knocking continued, nothing could get you up from the spot at which you laid. Not even the husky voice which could now be heard from the opposite side. Your father’s.

“Y/N? Please open the door…”

His voice sounded shaky, faint almost as he continued to knock on your front door. His knocks becoming softer and softer, he finally gave up. You could hear his footsteps due to the thin walls, he stopped half way thru the hall to turn around and knock one final time. This time, you mustered up the strength to pick up your upper half, your palms clinging onto the comforter. Your father’s voice would echo through your quiet space one last time before he walked away completely.

“You’ve always worried me with this behavior of yours….what could I have done better as a father?”

A short breath leaving your mouth, you began to feel dizzy. The room around you spinning in circles. A pain could be felt in your chest, another emotion that was new to you. For the first time in your life, you felt disappointed in yourself. Heartbroken in a sense that your actions had been such a stress on the lives of your parents. It never occurred to you until now.

Thoughts going  back to your childhood. How every time your parents tried to set you up on a play-date, you would fight their attempts. Sometimes locking yourself in your room just so you wouldn’t have to leave. The constant arguing you would hear from them, sometimes your mother losing all hope in you and your behavior. But it was your father who would always stick up for you, defending you countless times. Though before you thought nothing of it, it wasn’t until tonight that everything began piling on top of you. Emotions you thought never existed for.

It became extremely overwhelming for you.

Pushing the comforter off, forcing yourself to get out of bed, you headed to your closet. There was only one place you wanted to be at this moment. To be underneath the starry sky while laying in your favorite patch of grass. So these feelings you were unsure of to handle could subside. So you could get yourself out of this funk and back to a normal routine.  To get somewhat control back.

Legs feeling wobbly as you slid on a pair of sweats you picked up, you hurried out the front door. Not caring at all the pain emencing from the lower half of your body, you ran into the quiet night. It was colder than the last time you were out, breaths leaving your lips instantly becoming fog. Thankfully you were wearing a long sleeved shirt so the atmosphere around you didn’t affect you too much. But as you continued to run down the dark streets, your chest heaved from the strenuous activity you placed upon it. It didn’t matter to you, you’d throw your body down into the grass once you arrived at your getaway.

It didn’t take you long, much like before, and you were soon in view of your scared field along the train tracks. Once you found a stopping point, you could feel your legs ready to give out at any moment, trembling as they tried to keep your body up. Giving in, you let them give out, spawled your entire body in the grass as you were panting, allowing your tired body to rest as you looked up at the beautiful stars that once again painted the sky.

It never cease to amaze you how gorgeous it looked from where you where, even under the wave of exhaustion that you were currently experiencing. The pallet of grass beneath you felt oddly comfortable as you stretched your arms, feeling your eyes beginning to shut. Should you be falling asleep out in the open like this? Probably not, but you were certain that no one would bother you. No one knew of this hidden away gem that you called your own. So a little snooze wouldn’t hurt. All that running seriously did its number on your fragile body, rest was pretty much essential at this point. And so you allowed yourself to, eyes becoming heavier than they once were as you slipped away into a slumber accompanied by a soft breeze that tickled against your skin.

Once fully asleep, your mind began to do things on its own. Creating images from the back of your head, the thoughts you tried so hard to keep back. You were dreaming but the dream felt very much real. Too real.

It started with you walking through an open space, the location you were unsure of. A heavy fog was amidst as you carefully made your way through. From a distance you could make out two figures. As you neared closer to them, the fog cleared, revealing your parents standing there.

Their facial expressions pained you. The dull looks in their eyes as they stared at you, words never leaving their mouths. You watched as your mother walked away from you father, leaving him utterly alone as he wept.

“Dad…” you whispered as you reached out to him.

Your call never reaching him as he knelt down to the ground, the tears overflowing from his eyes as he held a stack of papers in his large hands.

Walking over to him, you peeked over his shoulder, gasping in the process once you caught sight of what he was holding.

Divorce papers.

Bringing up a hand to your open mouth, you were in complete shock. In this world where soulmates meant your “happily ever after”, there were a few occasions when married couples would split. Though extremely rare, it was possible. Seeing the two people who seemed to be very much in love, your parents, splitting brought you down to your knees as well. The pain aching in your chest, devastation hitting you. It was all too much for you to handle.

Would your parents fall into that statistic?

Your body shook as you gasped for air, revealing the open field around you. Looking in all directions, your heart was racing fast. That dream, no that nightmare was finally over as you forced yourself to wake up. The crickets chirping in the background was the thing to help ease your heart rate. Breathing coming back down to a normal pace, you brought a hand up to wipe the sweat that was present on your forehead. But after feeling something drop from your chin, you hand travels down your face, fingertips resting below your eyes.

“Huh?” you gaped as your finger trailed down your warm cheek.

Tears fell.

So many firsts were occurring tonight. Aside from the newfound emotions, you cried for the first time in your life. And the tears cascading out would not stop. Vision becoming blurry from the water fogging them, you had no will inside of you to make them stop. Some of the tears produced found its way into your gaping mouth, the taste being somewhat salt like. Thinking back on the dream you had just woken from, you questioned your way of life once more

Why am I like this?

Will things ever change for me?

Am I going to be the reason for my parents downfall?

Is this my destiny? My fate to be miserable alone?

Could I be the only one who was never meant to have a soulmate?

Things would be better off without me.

Interrupting your thoughts was the accustomed sound that was the train making its way along the tracks. Its horn sounding faint and distant, but it a matter of minutes it would soon be to where you were. Without any hesitation, your body found itself getting up from the patch of grass that was once your bed. Tears continuing to trail down your cheeks, your eyes stinging now as your legs began to move on their own.

They would be better off without me...

You stepped onto the train tracks, your sneakers pointing in the direction of the incoming train. You weren’t sure why but this felt like the best thing to do. To leave this world alone the way that you had grown to only know. After having that dream, what you assumed to be some sort of vision of your parents, you couldn’t bear to think of the possibility of those two calling it quits.

You didn’t want to be the reason for their falling out. To be honest, you were so consumed with feelings of devastation and disappointment in yourself that it was too much for your mind to handle. A ringing noise that was now taking over your head, the migraine becoming more intense by the second. You were acting on a whim but in your mind, this was the best option you had.

The only option you thought to be feasible.  

Underneath the soles of the sneakers you wore, a vibration of some sort could be felt, signaling that the train was getting closer to your location. You closed your eyes as a breeze swept your hair off your back and out of your face, revealing more tears stringing the sides of your cheeks. Though you kept your eyelids shut firmly, you could see the train was nearing, the bright light could be felt against your skin.

You were ready to meet your end.

Taking in a large deep breath, you exhaled slowly, ready to meet your demise.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered as the train’s horn rang through the open field.

A large thud could know be heard as you felt your body being thrown to the ground, the whooshing sound of the train rushing by. Eyes remaining shut, your head bouncing back up from the impact it made against the grass. The ringing sound in your ears was piercing and made you unaware of your surroundings.

Am I dead?

You thought to yourself. But just having the thought confirmed that you were still living..breathing. But the question that bounced around in your head now was how? That’s when you felt heat radiating against your bare skin, breath hitting your smack in the face. A pair of arms were at your side as you slowly opened your eyelids to reveal a man on top of you.

The first thing you noticed was his orange hair, bright and vivid. Catching your breath, your sight trails down to his face. He was completely out of breath, his chest heaving up and down. Sweat was now protruding down the sides of his temples onto the shirt he was wearing underneath his leather jacket. He was looking past you, still trying to catch his breath. That’s when he looked down upon you, the two of you locking eyes onto one another.

Your head began spinning as he looked to you and smiled, flashing his amazing set of teeth. The rush that came over you was one like no other. Colors dancing around in your head, visions once again being shown to you. But not of your parents but with the man that was hovering over you. The two of you holding hands, living life with one another. This euphoric sensation took over you as if you were floating on a cloud. Your life with this man flashing before you.

You shook your head, pushing him off of you. You looked to this stranger in utter shock. What was that you had just experienced? What did he just do to you? The man sat up and dusted the bit of dirt that collected on his jacket.

“Wow, you’re pretty strong” he chuckled as he finished patting his shoulders.

Your eyebrow arched at how optimistic his voice was. The way he talked seemed too casual for your liking, who was this man? The last rail car passed the both of you as you soon realized what had just taken placed. This man, this stranger, stopped you from doing the one thing you were set on doing. He walked over to you, offering an extended hand towards you. Once again he flashed that smile towards you, entrancing you a second time. But you wouldn’t let it get you this time around. Your only reaction was to aggressively swat his hand away, yelling at him in the process.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

[TO BE CONTINUED]

A/N: omg! if you made it to the end let me say, thank you! this was really different to what i am used to writing and i was glad i got to experiment with angst. hopefully it wasn’t too much? as i’m writing this and thinking of hobi’s smile, i am in a daze. ahhhhhh i’m so excited to continue this series. i do hope you enjoy this first chapter! if you’re up to it, feel free to leave feedback, though appreciated, it is not mandatory. 

♡ masterlist

[weareallfallengods]

Survival

Writing prompt:

If you’re over 25 and haven’t done something remarkable, you are hunted down and killed. Some people invent things. Some make cures for diseases. Others become established members of their community. You’re pushing 30, and somehow not dead yet, even though you cant think of a single thing you’ve done thats remarkable in any way. Why aren’t you dead?

I write for adults about adult themes with adult language. I try to tag possible triggers (but I know I'm not going to get all of them), so if violence or implied death or cussing bothers you, you'll probably want to find a different author.

********************************************

Somehow, that date came up again. Not quite sure how, but somehow, the number circled on my shitty wall calendar with the coffee splatter on it managed to be today. Again. It's been doing that for 5 years now.

At first I wanted to be a surgeon- save people's lives, make a difference, all that shit. Yeah, I was caught up in the hype for a while too. Just like everyone. Thought I'd make some ground-breaking discovery and change the world. Just like everyone. And then, at 22, I flunked out of med school. That was it. Dream over, kaput, fin.

When I opened my termination letter, it was like reading a death sentence. 10 years of prep and study down the drain. 3 years left. 3 years, and no idea what to do. No clue what I could do to save my own life after all those years learning how to save others.I drank for a solid month. I dont even remember that month now. My only memento from it is an entire skip of liquor bottles. It's a miracle I didn't die from alcohol poisoning. Not that I didn't try.

See, I was afraid. Scared, actually. Terrified would be more accurate, if I'm honest. I knew I only had 3 years left until they came for me. Unless I managed to do something extraordinary within the next 3 years, they'd come for me, and the only thing that would remain is a 2 paragraph obituary in the local paper, followed by a vacancy announcement. When you're suddenly forced to confront your own imminent demise, and see every dream, hope and aspiration you'd had evaporate, right in front of your eyes, its perfectly natural to drown that in a swimming pool of vodka.

But then, after a month of drowning, and a week of curing a hangover that would make Satan shudder, I got angry. Like Bruce Banner angry. As I was leaving an all night diner, the notice board caught my eye. Having nothing better to do with my life, I stood there for a while just reading every single card in detail, every single lost cat, every used car, every 5k charity run. And then I saw it. And I thought, "You know what? Fuck it, why not. I've spent all this time trying to do one thing that I've never actually done just whatever I feel like, had hobbies, anything really. Why the fuck not."

And that's how I ended up 2 days later in some shity warehouse district, rolling around on a mat with some dude I didnt even know, sweating and swearing profusely and having the time of my life. "Sasha's Self Defense" it said on the small, weathered and rusted sign on the brick wall out front, next to a door that looked like it had been transported straight from the proverbial gulag.

I'd naively thought this was going to be one of those Karate Kid knock offs for some reason when I first arrived. Sasha soon disabused me of that notion. In fact, when he saw I'd brought a new gi in a duffle bag, he laughed so hard he had to slap his ass down on a rickety folding chair just to keep breathing. Once he calmed his mirth at my expense, he let me know in a no-nonsense, 'I'm an old-timer and seen some shit in my day' heavily accented tone that this would be a class that focused on survival at all costs. "No bullshit wax on-wax off," were his exact words I believe.

And boy was he right. When I told him I'd set aside my year's tuition for lesson payments, well, wouldn't you know it, I became his most prized pupil; I quickly learned this was not a good thing. It meant 14 hours a day of the most humiliatingly punishing activity ever dreamed up by Moscow's Finest. I couldnt even move the morning after my first day. But somehow I limped my battered frame down to the bus stop and was only an hour late. Ha, only. Sasha seemed to take it as a personal insult. The only thing he hated less than sloppiness was tardiness it seemed. Apparently the 10th Circle of Hell was reserved for those who dared be late. And he made you earn your way out of that circle.

His only saving grace was fairness. If I had to suffer, at least I wasnt alone. Well, at first anyway. The few other students that suffered his wrath along side me doing slavic folk dances with wrist and ankle weights very quickly learned that this wasn't the type of class they had thought it was and soon I was alone with Sasha.

On the days I did well, I got treated to pierogies. Oh man, I lived for those pierogies. They were made by angels and served by someone I can only describe as if Jesus came back as a woman. Who was Russian. And spoke even less english than Sasha, if that was possible. His sister was as completely opposite to that sadistic maniac as it was possible to be and still be a human being. Where he was loud, she was soft. Where he was tough, she was gentle. Where he was strict, she was generous, even indulgent. Blonde to his brunette. Slim to his barrel chest. Cousin by marriage, I think they said. Well, relatives of some kind anyway. And she was the only one who could make him laugh. And when he laughed, the whole block knew! He was just that loud, that boisterous, with everything he did.

But I loved his little Anya. Just like everyone. But like in a wholesome, mom-ish kind of way. I loved her because I got to sit for an hour when she was around. Because she"d always tuck a to-go container of pierogies into my bag. Because she'd chide Sasha for pushing me too hard. In short, she was an angel.

But I have to hand it Sasha- in 4 months, he took a scrawny bookworm into someone who could pose for Men's Health. In 6 months, I could beat Ivan, his partner, in 5/10 sparring matches. In 7 months, I ran a marathon. In 9, he had me enter a triathalon. And I made it into the top 50 out of 500 entrants. Not too bad if I say so myself. In 12 months, I was beating Ivan almost every time.

And that's when the other Ivan showed up. After a year, Sasha decided it was time I learned weaponry. After all, no real fight was fair, he said. And Ivan (another cousin? Sasha had one heck of an extended family) instructed me on everything from broken beer bottles, to knives and pool cues. And my medical training paid off, because more often than not, I was the one stitching myself up if training got a little rough that day.

Eventually, I moved into the gym. Not sure how it happened, but I think I just got too tired to leave one day and never really left. Sasha didnt seem to mind since it meant I wasnt ever late again. Plus the coffee he imported was the best thing ever. Like it was so good that's probably the Extraordinary Thing he did to live as long as he had.

The days just melted together, into one long symphony of beautiful exhaustion and physical torment, as I poured myself into the first activity I could remember doing purely because I wanted to, something that numbed the dread of the finality of my life expectancy.

But then one day, one specific day, the one I'd been dreading in the back of my mind for a year came around.

They found me.

I guess they were a little slow in finding me, not surprising since I'd basically just disappeared from my old life, no forwarding address type thing. It wasnt intentional, it just sort of happened, what with me diving head first into something purely for me, without the thought of doing it for someone else. But they found me. Just like they find everybody.

See, it doesnt matter if you try to run, if you move, or change your name. They always find you eventually. I just hadn't thought about it in a long while. That year was the first time since I was probably 14 that I'm hadn't thought about the Gardeners. I guess that's why it surprised me so much.

Yeah, Gardeners. I dont know who came up with the name, in guess some misguided attempt at a positive PR spin bullshit to pass off squads of government assassins who's only job was to track down the NCs of the world and eliminate them. Sorry, NCs- Non-Contributors; the people who hit their expiration date without doing something noteworthy, something that was deemed to "advance or bolster the Human Condition" to borrow a phrase from the civics classes we had to take every fucking year of school. A cutesy sounding name that was supposed to make the government sound like a benevolent old couple pulling weeds from their garden of humanity. The worst lies always sound the sweetest, dont they?

And I was now 25.

It happened a few weeks after my birthday. Just another routine day for me, going for a light 5k run after my soak in a mineral bath. Light rain, most of the streetlights out, the few lights on in the warehouse district reflected beautifully off the streets. That's why I ran at night, all the colors changed that normally bleak neighborhood into something beautiful. It was just one little thing to balance out the harshness of reality, and I reveled in it.

I don't actually remember what happened exactly. I do recall seeing a suspiciously conspicuous homeless guy huddled under a loading dock awning, and then just a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. I think it happened really quickly; at least that's what Sasha said the next morning as he was making arrangements for me to visit another cousin of his "back in the old country". It could have been. God, after seeing the bodies around me in the aftermath, I hope, for their sake, that it was fast. 5 bodies. All still. I still remember my breath turning to blue fog, blurring the details of them. Helping me to be able to pretend I didn't see the blood mixing with the rain and oil, spreading out over the concrete like a macabre inversion of the cloudy sky above.

I'm glad they wore masks. It's bad enough having that scene burned into my brain forever, without specific people's faces being etched there as well. I'm glad I dont see their faces in my mind every time I close my eyes. I just wish I could still enjoy the rain. They managed to take that from me, even if I'm still breathing, so I guess they didnt completely fail. They just killed a part of my soul instead. But hey, there's plenty of people that don't like the rain, right? But I bet they don't smell blood when it does though.

And that was pretty much it. No sirens, no manhunt, nothing. Before I could process what was happening, I was on a bus, headed for "the old country", which, as near as I could tell, looked an awful lot like Pittsburg. Sasha's 'cousin' met me at the bus depot there, a man of very few words. Not as loud as his cousin, Zhena tended to communicate with looks, grunts and shrugs mostly. Same work ethic though.

And then the cycle repeated- 14 months this time before they caught up with me. Too bad that Zhena got caught up in it, he was a great guy. He and I didn't really become close or buddies or anything, but it still hurt to see what happened to him. To what was left of him anyway. The Gardeners definitely were trying to send a message with that. To quote an old wise man, "I didnt want to know, but now I do, and I'm telling you, you dont want to know." And that's coming from someone who was training to become a surgeon, so just trust me on this one.

This time, they were waiting for me. I think they'd planned on Zhena being enough of a distraction that they'd be able to take me out easily, but since since I woke up the next day on the floor of the sparring ring in a too large pool of blood that wasnt my own, I'd say they failed. The difference this time was I was on my own. No 'cousins' to call in favors from. No family I could call because I didnt want them getting a visit from the Gardeners either. I was alone this time.

Weirdly, I was actually OK with that. I'd been surrounded by family, teachers, advisors, tutors for so long that solitude was actually kind of nice. I could hear myself think my own thoughts for the first time in what seemed like forever.

I'm not ashamed to say that I took what little of value there was from Zhena's gym (I knew him well enough to know that Sasha was his only family) so that I could get a seedy hotel for a while. I did at least have the decency to let Sasha know, and that that would be the last he ever heard from me, to keep him out of trouble. Bad enough that 10 people were already dead, I didn't want Sasha or Anya's name added to that list because of me.

And so I vanished. Completely. Sure I travelled, kept studying and training like I had been, but never staying longer than a few months, never using the same name, copying other random people's habits and patterns so I didnt have one of my own for them to track down. Yeah it was cliche, but hey, I figured my dad watching all those spy flicks when I was young had to be good for something, right?

Sometimes I was a baker, sometimes a delivery driver, even a dock hand. Whatever it took to make a buck so I could eat.

I got really good at other things too. Like disposing of bodies. Not really a skill I ever thought I'd want or need, but Necessity is a harsh and demanding teacher. Sadly, my skill as a surgeon came in handy- bodies are easier to get rid of when they're in smaller pieces. And people are easier to turn into bodies when you know how they're put together intimately. Not what I had in mind for my life, but since it was the choice between this or dying, well, I guess I can put up with it.

I suppose that catches us all up to the present, more or less. OK yeah theres a lot that's gone down between Pittsburg and now, but it was all pretty much the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Literally sometimes. Those were the days it felt like there wasnt enough soap in the world to get all the blood off.

So here I am, I'm my single room in Kandahar, staring at the date that had somehow come up again. Every year, they send someone. Usually a team. And I survive. No matter how they come at me, or when or how many. I survive.

And I'm sitting here, staring at the calendar, steaming cup of espresso, just staring, as a light breeze fluttered the corner of the calendar page, sending the orchids dancing in the vase next to it. All I could think is, "How? How does this keep happening? I'm not even supposed to be here, not supposed to be alive."

As I raised my cup of espresso, something slid under my door. "OK that's weird," I said aloud as I stood.

The chair made an ungodly screech as I pushed it back and made my way over to where a small, cream colored envelope sat on the floor, a couple inches from the bottom of the door. It was heavy for it's size, but not because anything was in it, just the paper was that thick. Probably hand-made. It's odd the little things you notice in times of stress. Heavy, rough paper, no postmark, nothing written on the outside, just the flap tucked in, not even sealed. Reminded me of how my mother used to give out birthday cards. I always thought that was a little weird, but it was just one of her quirks that made her even more endearing to everyone.

I sat down a little heavier than I had planned and felt the chair crack a little. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded in half; I was right- handmade paper. But that wasnt important, what was important was the heavy, blocky hand-written message it contained.

"We've been looking for you for a long time. It has come to my attention that you may have something unique to contribute after all. We may have been too hasty in judging your Ability to be a Contributor. I believe you do actually have a remarkable Ability to Survive. I'd like to speak to you this afternoon in the plaza outside the Blue Mosque. I will be alone, and you can approach me, so as to allay your justifiable suspicions. I will have a silver coffee set on the table in front of me.

I believe we can help each other, if you're willing to listen to my proposition.

-Soon,

Baddar"

Well, this is interesting.

[sher-soc-the-famder]

The Show Must Go On- Chapter 11

Word Count: 4345

Pairings: Gen, Platonic LAMP, Platonic Roman&OC, Platonic Virgil&OC

Warnings: Explosions, Violence

Masterpost 

Read on AO3 <– Previous Chapter  Next Chapter –>

“We can’t play eye spy, Princey,” Virgil said dryly. “There’s nothing to see.”

“You’re just not trying hard enough,” Roman insisted, “You just have to be creative. Virge, look, see right there–” He nodded towards a stain on the far wall– “that is a valiant knight fighting to free his kingdom from a curse and reunite with his prince!”

“Are you trying to tell me something Ro?” Virgil sighed.

“What?” Roman blinked at him, genuinely bewildered. “Tell you what? I’m just trying to kill some time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Virgil agreed, his eyes drifting away and fingers tapping at his arm. The steady sound grated on Roman’s nerves and he clenched his jaw. Air hissed from between his teeth and Virgil’s eyes darted back towards him.

“It’s going to be fine,” Roman insisted, and Virgil huffed.

“Yeah, sure,” he repeated, eyes darting for the door. Roman rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder. The movement made his aching arms tingle and he winced at the feeling.

“They’re amazing, talented, people. Of course, it all would be more assured if I were the one breaking in, but sacrifices must be made-—

Virgil shushed him and Roman blinked, offence slipping through his mouth before Virgil made a frantic motion for him to shut up. The actor pressed his lips closed and leaned forward to try and catch what Virgil had.

After a handful of heartbeats, Roman could hear it. Footsteps stormed towards their room, and then faded again, heading deeper into the facility. There was beat, and as Roman opened his mouth to question it, an ear piercing shriek rent the air. They both flinched, and Roman bit back a hiss as he jostled his injuries.

He could feel Virgil’s glare drill into the side of his head and Roman fought a scowl.

“It may not be them!” he protested. “Who knows what goes on in this place. They were going to be silent as the grave. True master ninjas. Invisible and as skilled as the jedi before them. Spiders crawling along the shadows—”

“I have no idea what you’re saying anymore,” Virgil muttered and let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes narrowed and fixed on the door. “But something tells me that they haven’t managed to follow your ‘perfect’ plan to the letter.”

Roman flailed, or at least he tried seeing as his arms were stuck behind his back, and sputtered. He nudged at his fellow side angrily, and made to stand up. He had full faith that Victoria and Richard were doing what they were supposed to and that they needed to be ready for their Epic Escape. He made it to his feet and was about to nag Virgil into joining him when the whole facility shuddered.

Roman’s shoulder slammed into the wall and he stumbled, almost tipping forward without his arms to balance himself before Virgil’s hand dragged him upright.

“What in Apollo’s sun was that?” Roman shouted.

“You don’t know?!” Virgil shrieked back, the hand on his arm tightening into a bruising grip. “I thought it was part of your plan!”

“The Plan,” Roman said hysterically, “had more sneaking than anything else. I do know how to keep a low profile Virgil!”

The whole building rocked again, and they shot startled looks at each other.

“Oh my god,” Virgil breathed. “We’re gonna die.”

“No we’re not,” Roman said through grit teeth. “Not here at least. Come on we can—”

The door slid open, and they both stiffened. Roman tried to stand between Virgil and whoever was approaching them while Virgil attempted the same. They jostled for the position, elbows hitting each other as the figure in the doorway stared at them.

“Wow.” Victoria’s voice said dryly, her eyes wide and face pale. “I didn’t know it was possible for two people to be the same sort of idiot.”

Vic’s hands snapped out to snag both of their arms. “Come on, come on, come on. We’ve got like thirty seconds before we need to book it.”

“What–?” Roman sputtered out.

“Later,” she shouted, and dragged the two of them behind her into a stumbling run. Roman stumbled, struggling to follow her through the labyrinths of rooms, the alarm and an ominous rumbling echoing in his ears.

Shouting came from ahead, and Victoria cursed, low and vicious under her breath, before waving them both into the nearest room. The noise died slightly as the door slid shut and Victoria bent over, gasping for breath.

Virgil stared at Victoria with wide eyes that matched hers, his hand reaching out to dig into Roman’s arm once more.

“What. The hell. Was that.”

“We–” Victoria sucked in a deep breath and tried again– “We ran into some problems getting in. Richard may have panicked, he did– did something I don’t know what, but the door was blown wide open because of it. And so was our plan.”

She straightened and grimaced as she glanced them both over.

“I used these–” She waggled her glove covered hands– “to find where you guys were, and left the cape with Richard. He’s been causing the lovely explosion of a distraction, though I think we need someone to calm him down.”

The building rocked again, and she tilted her head, hands shaking.

“Preferably before they catch him or the warehouse comes down around us. Either or, you know?”

“HOW,” Virgil shrieked, “are you so calm?!”

Victoria shot him a pair of finger guns. “Hard to panic when you feel nothing.”

Roman groaned, burying his head in his hands, “Victoria, no.”

“Vic, yes,” she parroted back at him, and reached up to waggle her fingers at him. “Now let me get you outta those so that you can valiantly lead us to victory and escape.”

Roman whirled on his heel, presenting his handcuffed wrists to his best friend as he ignored the look that Virgil was giving the both of them. The metal clinked softly and he felt the cool air against his inflamed skin. His arms shot out and he wrapped one around each of his friends, dragging them close.

Virgil squawked, already wriggling against the hold a contrast to Victoria’s cackle.

“Come on Lover Boy,” she said gently, giving him a quick squeeze back before slipping out of his hold. “The kid needs back up.”

“How...” Virgil started before trailing off as Victoria turned to stare at him. He coughed, and Roman flicked his eyes between the two of them, hold tightening imperceptibly. Virgil’s eyes meet his for a heartbeat. His head tilted and his jaw clenched. Virgil met Vic’s stare and repeated, “How panicked is he?”

“There’s definitely a snake in his boot,” Victoria teased. Her lips twitched upwards, her face soft underneath how pale it was. “He really cares about you, that Richard kid. Roman should be jealous; he got the friend that tosses him into a snake pit instead.”

Roman barked a laugh, Virgil flinched underneath his arm, stalling the cackle he wanted to let out. He dragged the other side towards the door, Victoria’s grin wild and dangerous as she dogged his heel.

“I could survive a snake pit and you know it,” he whispered as they slipped out the door.

“I’d like to see you try,” Victoria shot back, inching her way along the wall. Her head ducked around the corner and she waved at them to follow as they darted to the next hallway.

“Perhaps,” Virgil hissed at them both, “you two morons could shut up while we sneak around?!”

Roman rolled his eyes but fell silent. The silence ate at him, not even their footsteps making something for him to concentrate on and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Guys,” he hissed, and almost preened at the two heads that swiveled to look at him immediately.“It’s quiet.”

Victoria blinked at him, before her mouth dropped into an ‘o’ of understanding. Her hand reached out and whacked Virgil in the arm, over and over again, until the other side scowled moving away from her.

“Richard,” she said, her eyes wide. “What happened to Richard?”

Virgil sucked in a sharp breath, and Roman reached out, desperate to keep him from panicking.

“Run,” he breathed, and he took off without a thought.

Victoria fell into step beside him, and Roman felt a burst of affection for the woman that sided with him. Virgil took a half beat longer, taking Roman’s left.

“This way,” Victoria said, taking a sharp turn, her eyes racking over the hallways. She reached out and snagged Roman’s wrist.

Roman grinned, adrenaline pumping through his veins even as his heart pounded. A part of him thought they had returned to high school, cackling as the teachers screamed about some prank they had pulled with the theater group. The rest felt his heart pound and quietly reminded him that this was serious.

Roman glanced to his left and met Virgil’s terrified eyes. He let his grin drop, and as Victoria skid to a stop Roman tugged out of her grip to reach of Virgil.

“There,” she breathed, pointing around the corner.

Roman peered over her head. Richard stood with his back to a corner, the cape gripped in his hand like a security blanket. His mouth moved once, too quiet for Roman to make out the words as someone shuffled towards him. He flinched back, and the light above them all rattled.

“Ok.” Roman took a deep breath, “Here’s what we can—”

“Don’t touch him!” Virgil’s snarl made Roman flinch as the other side burst out of his hiding place. Roman’s hand reached out to stop him, closing in on air.

Heads swiveled around, and Roman threw himself after Virgil without a thought. He pressed his shoulder to Virgil’s, shifting into a fighting stance.

“Step away from the child,” Roman said, with more confidence than he was feeling, “and no one will get hurt.”

“Oh yeah right,” the voice was familiar, and Roman’s eyes swung around to meet Kyle’s. “You can’t do shit and you know it. If you could use your magic, you’d have been long gone already.”

Your magic, Roman mouthed to himself, brow furrowing.

“So,” Kyle said slowly, before Roman could put more thought into it. The man’s hands came up, the air around them shimmering like heat swirling from the ground on a summer’s day.

Roman felt a giddy, mad grin spread across his face. Magic. It was real! Being used against them but still! Real!

“You’re going to do as we say. Walk slowly back to your cell, take your friend with you, and wait for the Boss.”

Roman glanced at Richard, small and shaking. At Virgil, red-faced and trembling with clenched fists. He took note of a very important fact, and his grin turned smug.

“No.”

Virgil froze next to him, and as Kyle’s face morphed into surprise, Roman moved.

The lack of speed frustrated him, but he ducked. Anticipation was everything something in him screamed. Reaching out and grabbing the nearest mage’s arm and twisting came easy as breathing when they weren’t expecting it. He shoved the man in front of him.

“Now if you don’t mind,” he said when he finished, taking a quick breath. “We’re going to take our leave.”

Silence. Roman wondered if he had created a situation where he could hear a pin drop.

“Fine,” Kyle spat out. “We do this the hard way.”

The world exploded. Roman blinked as he shook his head from against the wall, wondering how he had gotten there. Hie ears rang, and every bruise and injury on his body ached. He could see Virgil’s mouth move in a furious scream, but there was no sound. He pressed himself up against the wall to stand straighter, and oh, magic that’s right; he probably should have been smarter about that.

His first step was a limp, fire coursing through his, no doubt, reopened cut. But his second was a sprint.

The mages converged on Virgil, and Roman threw himself straight into the mess. He rammed his elbow into a face. There was no crunch; only the eerie ringing in his ears and Roman shook his head again.

Black barreled past him, and Roman flinched as Virgil tackled a mage coming at him from the side. He could barely make out the words that Virgil yelled as Roman ducked under a reaching arm.

“–never think anything through, god dammit. Should have just left me behind—”

“Never!” Roman shouted back, unsure of how loud he actually was.

He grinned at the scowl that Virgil shot him, only to blink at the way his friend’s face paled.

A hand gripped his waist, yanking him back. Roman yelped, struggling to find his footing as his assailant’s other hand gripped the back of his neck.

“Nobody move,” Kyle growled, and Roman flailed, struggling to kick back against the man’s grip. Kyle’s grip on his neck tightened, a heat running through Roman at the point of contact and he shrieked. His fingers clawed at the arm around his waist, and his struggling became less about defiance and simply about escape.

“Stop it!” Virgil shrieked, surging forward. Two mages caught his arms, and Virgil snarled. “Leave him alone!”

Roman slumped in Kyle’s hold as the feeling stopped, panting as everything in him ached. His fingers loosened from their iron grip, and some distant part of him wondered why he hadn’t managed to leave at least claw marks.

“I assume you’re going to cooperate now?” Kyle asked coldly.

Roman opened his mouth, exhausted sass ready on the tip of his tongue before Virgil shot him a venomous look. Virgil stilled, his jaw clenched as he stopped struggling. Roman couldn’t help the fluttering smirk that crossed his face as they let go of the other side, and it grew as Virgil stared at him — or more specifically, behind him. The prince always had loved the look of dawning that people got when his plans worked out.

“Hey, asshole,” Victoria’s voice was ice cold, and Roman relished in the flinch that racked Kyle’s body.

He spun, dragging Roman with him. Victoria stood with one hand on Richard’s shoulder and the other in the air, golden silk flashing in the low light. Richard blinked back tears, but his eyes were made of fire and the air around the two seemed to tremble.

“Hands off,” Victoria’s voice rumbled, echoing through the room. Roman could have sworn the foundations shook as Kyle let go of him like he had been shocked.

Roman stumbled, and dashed forwards while the mages were still stunned. He let out a half mad cackle as Victoria’s mouth quirked upwards into a smirk. “Now back the hell off.”

Roman bounced on the balls of his feet, waving Virgil over from his spot at Victoria’s side. Virgil inched past the mages, eyeing them warily as if the slowly shuffling pack would reach out and grab him again. He skittered to Roman’s side though his eyes were glued to Richard. The child waved, a small quick movement before leaning back against Victoria.

Victoria took a deep breath, sweat beading on her brow.

“Stop– Stop using magic,” she breathed, her voice losing strength. “Let– Let– Let—“

“Run,” Richard whispered, shoving at Victoria. She stumbled and Roman reached out to steady her out of habit. They stumbled together, Virgil shoving at them from behind as the mages shook their heads, some of them already starting to stride towards them.

It took a moment, Virgil’s hands on his back and Victoria’s fingers twined through his before Roman could work his body up into a full fledged run. Shouts started up behind them, and Roman could feel Virgil pushing them all faster.

“Jasmine–” Victoria paused to suck in breath– “Jasmine is three– three blocks away. Make– make it there and we’ll– we’ll be in the– the clear, right?”

“Oh god, let’s hope so,” Roman replied, practically dragging his best friend behind him as Virgil kept pace. It probably meant that they weren’t going fast enough, especially since Virgil kept throwing glances over his shoulders.

“Move, move, move, move,” Virgil muttered, picking up his own pace. Roman gritted his teeth and pushed himself faster, matching Virgil stride for stride. If Anxiety wanted them to move at a time like this, then by godmother Roman was going to comply.

“Left or right?!” Virgil asked, panic seeping into his tone.

“Left—” Victoria barely managed the word before Virgil was darting down the hall. Roman dragged her after him, glancing to his side to make sure Richard was keeping up. The kid gave him a wobbly smile, tripping over his own feet before finding his balance and Roman had to swallow hard.

This was in not the way this Epic Rescue Plan was supposed to go.

“Not fast,” Richard said, and Vic’s hand tightened in his.

“Hide?” Victoria suggested.

“They know every inch of the place,” Virgil shot back. “We’d be found within moments, or worse, after hours of panic—”

Roman cut off the impending discussion by shoving Virgil into the nearest room. He let Richard slip past him before pulling Victoria in and closing the door behind him. Victoria immediately slumped against the wall, her legs giving out.

“I’m not made for this,” she told her legs, curling into a ball. “I was going to curl into a comfy chair and talk people through their problems all day. Exercise is the ban of my existence.”

“Mood,” Virgil said, before running a hand over his face to scrub at his flush. Victoria looked up long enough to give him an exhausted wink and a finger gun before letting her head drop back down to her knees. Roman leaned back against the wall next to her, grateful for the lighter atmosphere as he racked his brain for a solution.

“We can all fit under the cape right?” he said under his breath, a hand coming up to tug at his hair. “We’d be out of sight and then it’s just a matter of moving carefully enough. Virgil’s here, Virgil can do that. Wait, no, no, we’re all exhausted, that’s loud, we’ll be caught—”

Virgil pressed a fist to his arm, and Roman jolted at the touch. The anxious side raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think you’ve got it backwards, Princey—”

“Princey, that’s a good one I like it,” Vic murmured from her spot on the ground. Richard gave her a pat on the head, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“—I’m the one that’s supposed to worry. You got the arrogance and irritatingly-never-ending confidence.”

“Perfection you mean,” Victoria added, and Richard pressed a hand to his face to smother giggles. Roman felt a smile twitch its way onto his face as she continued, “May his godlike abilities live on forever.”

“He’s a moron,” Virgil said.

“Not denying that,” Victoria said, and grinned at the look at Virgil’s face. “He’s the perfect moron.”

“I hate you both,” Roman said plainly, and froze. The entire room fell silent as footsteps hurried past their door. Tension skyrocketed. Roman felt his breath catch, and eyed Virgil; who bit the tip of his thumb. Roman reached out, tugging the cape from Richard’s hands gently, having to help the boy pry his fingers off of it.

“We can’t stay here,” he whispered, and then froze. “Or could we?”

He whirled, crouching down in front of Vic and Richard.

“Do they know about the cape?” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice — tried to keep it serious;but it was hard when giddiness was rising in his chest. The feelings of an idea stringing together to help those he cared about and showcase his abilities.

Richard and Vic exchanged a look, tossing a silent memory between the two. Slowly— hesitantly—Richard shook his head.

“I think it all spun out of control before we could use it,” Victoria said. “Richard didn’t use it?”

The boy shook his head again. “Ran.”

“So they don’t know we can hide,” Virgil said, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“We can wait,” Roman said, grinning. “Sit here, under the cape, waiting for the heat to die down—”

“—And then walk out when they think we’ve already escaped,” Victoria finished, reaching a hand out for a high five. Roman laughed, letting the slap echo through the small room in victory. Victoria snickered, settling into a more comfortable position.

“Wow,” Virgil said, settling in across from her. “It’s Roman and Roman 2.0”

“Am I at least Roman 2.0?” Victoria asked, “I need to know so that I can know which gen is superior.”

Roman bit his lip on an outraged shriek, and Victoria winked at him.

“Obviously, it’s the first right?” she added, and Virgil’s lips twitched up in response. Or maybe it was Richard burying himself into Virgil’s side. Or maybe it was both. Roman wasn’t sure.

What he was sure of was this:

Victoria’s shoulder was as comfortable as it had always been; that he was exhausted from the past few hours.

And that it was even better falling asleep on his best friend when she was softly bickering with his brother the entire time.

Virgil watched the ginger-haired woman run her fingers through Roman's hair. His eyes narrowed as she carefully shifted Roman's head from her shoulder down to her lap. Her eyes were soft as she stared down at him, everything about her soft enough that her darker words could almost be folded away behind her love of Roman.

Because of course Roman managed to catch the attention of someone like that.

Except—

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes steadily and Virgil could see the shadows that danced their way through the green. She wasn't everything she portrayed herself as.

"So you're Virgil," she whispered.

"What's it to you," he snapped, tightening his hold around Richard. She had come to rescue them, but what if it was a trick? A long con, planted from the very beginning of Roman's life or however long ago they had met. It was stupid—a conspiracy theory at most—but Virgil wasn't the type to trust easy.

"Oh you know, things here and there, nothing important." She waved a hand grandly, and Virgil could see why Roman of all people liked her. "Just my best friend's life and happiness on the line."

Virgil flinched at the sharp accusation hidden under the words. Roman hurt carelessly, without thought. Apparently his best friend knew exactly how to wield her tongue to skin those she wanted to. Not that Virgil would buckle under, not when it came to Roman. Virgil was a useless bastard; Roman was the shining star.

"He wouldn't shut up about you," she said softly, playing with a strand of Roman's hair. She glanced away from Virgil, eyes skittering away to a corner of the room. Virgil pushed back the idle thought of spiders and how much it would have terrified Patton. "Once he remembered, all he could talk about was Logan this, Patton that, how much longer until we find Virgil do you think?"

Virgil blinked, and ducked his head to hide the rapidly growing warmth in his chest. God, Roman was such a moron. His moron though.

"You could hurt him so easily," Victoria whispered.

"Don't need to tell me that," Virgil muttered. He tapped his fingers against Richard's arm; the kid shifted uneasily under his arm. He glared, throwing out a challenge of his own. "And you could hurt him just as easily."

Virgil startled at the laugh that come from the woman. A bitter sound that Virgil knew he had heard from his own throat before.

"Oh that's a good one," Victoria murmured. "I couldn't hurt him even if I tried. I'm not his equal, not like you are. I'm a friend, a sidekick. You're family, his partner. I don't begrudge him for it. I wouldn't want me over you either."

She swept the bangs out of Roman's eyes, looking incredibly fragile for a moment.

"He likes me. He loves you."

Virgil couldn't help the snicker that escaped from his throat. She startled, looking up to shoot him an incredulous look.

"You have no idea," he said, amused, "how often I've thought those exact words myself."

Victoria stared for a long moment before her mouth twitched up in a hesitant smirk.

"I mean, there are days when it's so much easier to bash your head against the wall than deal with life. All the pain, none of the work," Victoria joked, her tone suggesting that she wasn't sure how well he'd take it.

Virgil matched her smirk with one of his own. God, Logan would put up with his darker humor, but he didn't think any of the sides other than Deceit ever joined in.

"Or jump out the window to break a leg," he replied. "Don't need to run away from responsibility if you're in the hospital."

His words were rewarded with a bark of laughter. Victoria met his eyes with her own, and the shadows in them grew even darker. What was it that Patton had said once? The darker the shadows the brighter the light? Well, Roman had certainly found himself an interesting shadow.

Virgil would have to keep an eye on this one.

"I think we should try this again," Victoria suggested. "Hi, my name is Victoria, my friends call me Vic. I've been best friends with Roman since the start of high school when he saved my life. I want to be a therapist, but I seem to struggle with reaching that goal. It may be the fact that I'm willing to drop everything to travel the country on what was basically a whim of my best friend, but who could ever know?"

Virgil waved at her.

"Hey, I'm Virgil."

He let the silence settle, smirk growing as it dawned on her that he wasn't going to add any more on. Her eyes lit up in delight and her laughter echoed even louder.

Yeah, Virgil would keep an eye on her, for more reasons than one.

[nevillelongsbottom]

he’s not what i was expecting pairing: marcus flint x neville longbottom word count: 1,696 links: ao3

The thing that surprises Neville most about his first kiss is that Marcus asks.

He hadn’t been expecting the kiss at all, but if he’d thought about it, he’d have thought that Marcus would just push him up against a wall and kiss him without second thought; which is, of course, mostly what he does, save for the part when he asks almost under his breath “can I kiss you?” and Neville stares back and says “yes” before he’s quite aware of what he’s said.

And then there’s no wall - they’re sitting on Neville’s bed, which is in the middle of his room and thus nowhere near any of his walls, most of which are unapproachable anyway due to his collection of rather large potted plants, so Marcus’s remedy to this is to effortlessly knock Neville over so that he can be pushed back into his bed, which has a soft mattress that he sinks into just as easily as Marcus sinks into him.

Of all the people to be his first kiss, Marcus had never struck Neville as a contender. In fact, had Marcus not asked Neville to tutor him in Biology after being seated next to him, Neville’s fairly sure that neither of them would’ve been on the other’s radar; and without being on the other’s radar, they wouldn’t have spent the better part of six months on Neville’s intensive course to passing GCSE Biology, and therefore never would’ve gotten to know each other at all. Neville would never have known that Marcus loves old soul music and dances like he’s already an embarrassing dad to them, and Marcus never would have known that Neville likes to bake and can make the meanest chocolate cookies Marcus has ever had, soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside.

Marcus grins and brushes the hair out of Neville’s eyes.

-

Augusta Longbottom doesn’t cook a meal for Marcus on the pretense of inviting him over and getting to scrutinise him; instead, she gets to know him through the measure of his regular interactions with her grandson. She makes no judgments on his leather jackets or his ripped jeans or the fact that he’s built like a particularly clumsy tank, but watches the way he grins when Neville is talking, or the way his arm slides around Neville’s waist and the way Neville comforts into it.

She begins to think that she rather likes Marcus when she spies the two of them through the broken keyhole in the kitchen door in the living room dancing to Alice’s old Sparks Greatest Hits record, cheeks flushed and Marcus with just as much reckless abandon as Neville, who Augusta hasn’t seen dance in her entire life, much less dance enough for sweat to stick his hair to his forehead.

And Marcus, oh Marcus, is dancing right back like he doesn’t know that it could ever be an art form; and that’s when Augusta decides that he’s just perfect for Neville.

-

Marcus is sitting on Frank’s old patchwork chair and wearing a grey sweater when he tells Neville that he loves him to a Cat Power record, and Neville is so taken aback by the fact that it’s happened that it takes him a moment; because, even though he’s above his own misconceptions about Marcus, they’re still lingering there, and he’s always thought that Marcus would never be the type of person to say it first or even focus on his own emotions at that level. He’d always expected that he would be the one to say it.

It’s easy when he says it, grinning because he can’t really believe, still, that there’s someone out there that could care about him and love him, and that that person happens to have scared Neville shitless for most of his life prior (he happened to hang around in circles of people that looked intimidatingly large and mean). “I love you, too,” he says, and swallows, smiling nervously. “A-a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Taking a step he had no idea he had the bravery for, he reaches for the hem of his T-shirt when Marcus physically interjects, crossing the room and laying his hands over Neville’s.

“I wanna do that,” he says, and Neville concedes, Marcus’s hands warm where they graze the skin of his stomach.

-

Marcus is a year older than Neville, so by the time Neville’s frantically trying to put together his UCAS application and trying to balance out his personal statement, Marcus is already out of school and between shifts at the local Costa and the Amazon warehouse; he’s particularly busy, playing rugby when he’s not working, but he manages to join Neville in Costa after a shift, sporting a particularly large black coffee as Neville is trying to redraft his application for the fifth time.

“Where are you applying?” he asks, picking off a part of Neville’s muffin to eat.

“I don’t know,” Neville mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve gotten better than most of the entry requirements, so that’s okay, but… I’d like to go to university maybe somewhere else - and it’s not because of you, you know I want to stay with you, but…”

“Don’t sweat it,” Marcus replies, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s shit round here. If you wanna be a student, go be a proper student somewhere proper student-y.” He runs a hand through Neville’s hair, ruffling it. “Let me have a read of that.”

“It’s bad,” Neville protests, but Marcus laughs, taking the printed-out sheet Neville has been writing over in a desperate attempt to make his personal statement as eloquent and presentable as possible, and he shies into silence as Marcus reads it slowly, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

He chuckles. “This is real cute. Wind band, huh? What’d you play?”

“Bassoon,” Neville mumbles, and Marcus quirks his eyebrows.

“I don’t even know what that fucking is,” he snorts, reading again through Neville’s exam results with glee: he thinks he’s stupid, but he’s brimming with As and A*s - and for Marcus, whose best result was his B in GCSE Biology (thanks mostly to Neville), it’s fantastic. Neville deserves this, and he knows that; and he’s seen all his friends fall out with their boyfriends and girlfriends over university, but fuck, who is he to stop Neville from achieving? That’s what he wants Neville to do.

Hell, he wants to keep Neville; he doesn’t want Neville to be gone, halfway across the country where the rail fares are too high for Marcus to afford any visit, but fuck. He wants Neville to be better than he is, to get out there and do something.

“You’ll get in,” he says, pushing the personal statement back at Neville, who scoffs.

“I don’t even know where I’m applying to.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll get in.”

“That’s not a guarantee.”

“Take it from me, baby, that’s a fucking guarantee.”

Neville smiles shyly, still unused to actually being referred to with pet names, and finishes his hot chocolate. “I hope so,” he says; and without pause for anything, Marcus leans in and kisses him, running his thumb across Neville’s flushed cheek. Neville reaches up and takes Marcus’s hand, clasping it. “I think I want to go to University College London.”

-

To Marcus’s complete lack of surprise, Neville gets in.

He doesn’t seem to believe it’s happened even when he gets the email, or the letter, or his matriculation card, or when he gets his course details, or even when he sorts out his uni accommodation and books his train ticket; even the day before, he seems in a state of mild shock, as if the idea of leaving is still a foreign one.

Marcus comes over for Neville’s leaving bash, a party full of family he’s seen so few times that he doesn’t even recognise half of them, and almost all of whom flash dirty looks at Marcus for his squint teeth and rough accent, and all of whom he just glares back at; and he stays even after it’s over and the buffet has been drained and all that’s left are raisin cookies and cold sausage rolls and the only people left are Neville’s weird uncles.

“London, huh,” he says, sprawled out on the sofa watching reruns of Bob’s Burgers that he and Neville must have seen so many times that they could quote the whole episode. “You better go to all the cool places while you’re there. Don’t fucking cop out.”

“I won’t,” Neville promises; he’s sitting on the floor, cross-legged, eating heated-up Domino’s pizza from the day before, his head leaning back against Marcus’s stomach. He glances at the chair in the corner of the room, the patchwork, and remembers the feeling of Marcus kissing down his neck and making a trail to the waistband of Neville’s jeans, and he instinctively blushes. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll text,” Marcus offers. “Or call, or fucking FaceTime but you know I look like a troll on camera.”

“It’s not the same,” Neville protests.

“You can send me sexy Snapchats.”

“I absolutely will not!” Neville turns around and bats at Marcus for the suggestion; and Marcus just laughs, letting Neville bat until he gives up with a kiss that’s all too much food but that Marcus couldn’t even force himself to mind, hooking a finger in the neck of Neville’s T-shirt.

“You wanna go upstairs?” he asks, and Neville nods; and they ignore Neville’s staring family members as they traipse upstairs hand-in-hand and as Marcus locks the bedroom door. “Not gonna lie, mate, your family look like the kind that would all stand outside and listen.”

“They don’t think I’ll ever amount to much,” Neville says bashfully. “So I think they’re surprised that I’ve got university, and you.”

“Pricks,” Marcus sniffs. “I think you amount to - I don’t know, a fucking lot. And if they think you’re shit, then bloody hell, tell me what the fuck they’ve ever done that’s so damn special.”

Neville is already sans his T-shirt when Marcus turns to face him again, and he grins. “God, I’m gonna miss you too. I bloody love you.”

“Yeah,” Neville laughs. “Me too.”

[imjustthemechanic]

The French Mistake

Part 1/? - A Visitor Part 2/? - The Kulturhistorisk Museum Heist Part 3/? - Cutscene

Natasha and Steve come in for a very rough landing, and then try to figure out exactly where it is they’ve wound up.

For the first split second it felt as if Steve was thrown.  Then instead, he was sharply pulled back by something tied around his waist.  He flew through the air to slam into a wall, and then dropped bonelessly to a slanted and semi-soft floor, where he lay panting for a moment.

Before he even opened his eyes, Steve could tell that something was wrong.  He’d had far worse impacts than this before.  He’d jumped from moving trains and fallen ten stories to land on the marble floor of the Triskelion lobby – and in each case, he’d been able to hop to his feet almost immediately and continue fighting.  Now, after what couldn’t have been more than twenty or thirty feet, his head was spinning and he had to catch his breath.  It felt as if all the life had been drained out of him. What had Loki done?

When his ears stopped ringing, he realized people were applauding.

Steve was lying face-down on the floor, which was covered with white padding decorated with rows of black x’s and triangles. Behind him it curved up into the wall he’d hit, as if the whole thing were part of a single big cylinder, but instead of going all the way around it stopped about twelve feet up, and overhead was a warehouse ceiling, all girders and banks of brilliant lights.  On Steve’s left was a man he did not know – he was about thirty, with dark skin and short dreadlocks, and wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with the NASA logo on it.  A cord of some sort extended from the back of his shirt to a hole in the padded wall, and this was reeling and unreeling as he got to his feet.

On Steve’s right was Natasha, wearing a turquoise blue jumpsuit with a number of embroidered patches on each side of the front zipper.  She was still on her hands and knees, but all her muscles were coiled to react immediately if necessary, and her eyes were darting back and forth as she looked around.

In front of them, the padded curve ended five or six feet away, and beyond that were two large film cameras aimed at them, more dazzlingly bright lights and silky white photographic reflectors, and a whole row of strangers in street clothes. All of these were grinning and most of them still clapping, and one of the camera operators was pumping his arm in the air.

The man on Steve’s left grabbed his arm to help him up.  “You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted.

A man stepped forward out of the crowd.  He was in his late 60’s or early 70’s, with dusty-blond hair and a beard going gray, and a deep crease in between his eyebrows.  He was clapping, too, and though it was slowly and with less enthusiasm than the rest, the smile on his face was genuine.

“Much better!” he said, in a British accent.  “Much better!”

“I told you!” the man in the NASA shirt beamed and clapped Steve on the shoulder.  “The secret is don’t tense up.”

The bearded man came up and shook Steve’s hand, then the black man’s, then Natasha’s.  “Wonderful,” he said.  “Now that we’ve got that, we can leave the rest for the stunt people.  Let’s break for lunch.  Maddy!”  He looked over his shoulder at a woman with several tattoos decorating her shaved head. “Do you have those revisions?”

Maddy held up a manila folder.

“Good.”  The bearded man nodded.  “Let’s look over those, and I’d like to see everybody back in wardrobe by two o’clock. Now all of you, get out of here.”

The lights started going out, leaving Steve, who’d been looking right into them, seeing spots.  Some of the strangers left the room immediately.  Others began taking equipment apart, and a woman came up to unhook the lines attached to Steve’s, Natasha’s, and the other man’s clothing.  Steve still didn’t feel right.  He was all sweaty and weak.  It was almost like being that asthmatic kid in Brooklyn again, only it wasn’t, because he was still tall, could still tell the difference between red and green, could still breathe deeply.  What was wrong with him?

He looked at Nat.  She looked back, not bothering to hide the fact that she was as confused as he was.  That was even more worrying.  Things were bad when even Natasha didn’t know what was going on.

The bearded man had walked away now, and multiple conversations had begun.  Counting on those and the sound of moving cameras and lights to cover his words, Steve said, “Natasha?”

“Yeah?” Nat asked.  Her jumpsuit, he noticed, had the name Залётина – Zalyotina – embroidered on the pocket.  Several of the badges also had Russian text on them, around motifs of rockets and space stations.

“What happened?” asked Steve.

There was a brief pause in which Nat looked around again.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Steve observed.

“We were never in Kansas to begin with,” she replied.

Steve blinked.  “Have you really not seen The Wizard of Oz?”  After she’d made him watch all those ridiculous sci-fi movies from the eighties?

“Of course I’ve seen The Wizard of Oz,” said Nat.  “I’m being a jerk about it because you said that before I could think of something more obscure.”

The name Zalyotina had given Steve a moment of doubt whether this woman was indeed Natasha – that comment washed it away.  “Okay,” he said.  “So… we’re on a movie set.”  That much he could tell.  Steve had been on movie sets before.

“I know we’re on a movie set,” said Nat.  “I’m surprised you haven’t started punching everyone and running away yet.”

“I can’t punch anybody right now,” said Steve, “and I definitely can’t run.  I feel terrible.  Like I haven’t slept in weeks.”  How long had it been since he’d felt this bad?  Certainly not since he’d awakened in SHIELD’s fake hotel room.

“Good,” said Nat.  “Try to keep a lid on the punch everybody instinct.  These people aren’t a threat to us.”

A hand grabbed Steve’s arm.  A word was also spoken, but Steve didn’t hear what it was, because he drowned it out with his own holler of surprise.  He spun around and dropped into a fighting stance – his reflexes were slower than normal, but it was good to know they still worked.  Nat jumped, as well, but it was not an attacker.  It was the black man in the NASA shirt, who seemed as startled by Steve’s reaction as Steve had been by his touch.  He held up his hands and took a couple of steps back.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve straightened up again, cautiously.  His heart felt like it was going to pound its way right through his ribs.  He couldn’t remember the last time it had beat like that.  The SHIELD medics had always said he had the lowest resting heart rate of any human being.  “I’m fine,” he managed.

“Yeah.”  Nat, too, was taking deep breaths.  “Fine.”

“Great,” said the other man.  “Come on, let’s eat, huh?”

“Eat.”  Steve nodded. Maybe food would help him feel better. “Good idea.”

Most of the original group had left the room by now and new people were coming in, setting things up to replace the ones the previous occupants had taken down.  Among them were three with the same haircuts and clothing as Steve, Nat, and their as-yet-unidentified co-star – a black man with short dreadlocks, wearing a NASA shirt – a woman with a blonde bob, in a blue jumpsuit – and a tall man with brown hair and beard stubble, in a UC Berkeley sweatshirt.  They were waiting for their counterparts to leave the set.

“Sorry,” said Steve.

Nat took his arm.  “Come on, guys,” she said brightly.  “I’m starved.”

They headed down a short hallway and out a door into the blinding sunlight.  Even Steve’s eyes were slow to adjust, but once he could stop squinting he found himself in a parking lot outside a big white building with an arched roof, which looked like it could be an aircraft hangar but instead had the words Studio 6 painted on the side in large red letters. A few palm trees were visible above the roof, growing on the other side of the lot.  There were four metal steps down to the parking lot, where a row of huge RV trailers were parked, but rather than returning to those, the cast and crew had gathered around a food truck that was serving Vietnamese submarine sandwiches.  People were unfolding lawn chairs and passing around sodas and bottled water.  Beyond the parking lot was a highway, with a green sign directing people to a turnoff that led to the Los Angeles city centre.

The tattooed woman named Maddy was handing out packets of pages.  She pulled a set out of her folder, and handed them to the man in the NASA shirt.

“Glover,” she said.

“Thank you.”  He accepted it, and opened it for a look as he went to the food truck for his sandwich.

“Johansson.”  Maddy gave some pages to Nat.

Nat accepted them without comment.  

“Evans.”  The third set was for Steve.

“Thanks,” said Steve.  He looked down at the cover – it bore the title Breathless and a scene and revision number, and a line indicating that this copy belonged to somebody named either Chris Evans or Matt Rankin.  When he opened it, he found Rankin’s lines highlighted.  Other characters, including Zalyotina, appeared to be Russian and American astronauts.

“Oh, and Donny,” Maddy added, talking to the man in the NASA shirt, “your friend at real-life NASA called.  Hyperspace geometry girl.”

Donny immediately lowered his script pages and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.  “You mean Kevin?” he asked.  “Thanks, I’ll call her back right away.”

Steve was starting to come up with a theory.  They knew the tesseract was able to open wormholes, moving objects and people around in space at will.  Whatever Loki had done, it had apparently cause Steve and Natasha to switch places with the actors making this movie – actors who looked creepily just like them, it seemed, since nobody had noticed the substitution.  Thor and Loki were probably around here somewhere, too, just not in the immediate vicinity.  What about the tesseract itself?  Was it here, or still in the museum in Norway?

He looked at Natasha, who was pretending to read her script.  She caught his eye, and nodded.  They had to get out of here and get back to their mission, but they had to do it carefully.  If they were on American soil, they could not afford to identify themselves – that would land them in prison.

“Okay,” Nat announced, “there’s been a big mistake here.”

People looked up at her.  Steve frowned… what was she going to do?  She couldn’t possibly just tell everybody who they really were, could she?

“What kind of mistake?” asked the bearded man, who Steve decided must be the director of the film.

“This.”  Nat showed him the script.  “This is not Russian.”

“It’s not?”  He frowned.  “We had a guy double-check it…”

“Well, was his name Google Translate?” Nat asked. “Because I guess yeah, it’s technically Russian, but nobody talks like this!”

The director looked over at Steve, who considered a couple of options and then just shrugged.  Nat knew what she was doing – he would just let her handle it.

“Why didn’t you bring that up at the meeting yesterday?” the director asked her.

“It slipped my mind,” said Nat.  “My shovel wasn’t big enough for all the bullshit.”

  “Does it really matter?” he tried.  “They’ll dub the movie before showing it in Russia, anyway.”

“What about Russian people living in the US?” Nat asked, arms folded across her chest.  “I guess it’s okay if we sound like idiots to them.”

The director sighed heavily.  “All right, I’ll find somebody else to look at it.  In the mean time…” he turned to Maddy.  “I guess we need to do something else this afternoon. See what the second unit’s up to. I’ve… I’ve gotta call the producer.” He started taking back the pages his assistant had handed out, pausing to look Steve over.  “You got any Russian?” he asked.

Steve tried to remember what little he knew.  “Pivo, pozhaluysta,” he offered. That was the first phrase Nat had taught him.  It meant one beer, please.

It took a moment, but the director chuckled.  “At least somebody around here has a sense of humour,” he observed, and glanced back at Nat with a sigh.  “Mat Damon said she was easy to work with,” he muttered.

Steve didn’t know who Matt Damon was, although the name made him think of Asgard for some reason.  “Well, that's just his opinion, isn't it?” asked Steve.

“Yeah.”  The bearded man sighed.  He motioned for Maddy to follow them, and they headed back up the steps into the studio.

Nat took two sandwiches from the food cart.  She handed one to Steve, and then declared grandly, “I will be in my trailer.”

Donny frowned.  “You don’t have a trailer.  You live here,” he said.

Nat took Steve’s arm.  “Then I’ll be in his trailer,” she decided, and stalked off, dragging him behind her.

[demondeanismybaby]

Why Does It Have To Be Me?

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Mary, Jess, sort of past Sam x Reader 

Word Count: 3267

Warnings: Angst, fluff, alternate reality, more angst, technically major character death, jinn universe

Summary: Dean is living his all time fantasy, the thing is what would he sacrifice to keep it?

A/N: So I was watching What is and What Should Never be and it inspired me to write something sort of heartbreaking because I honestly feel like Dean would have given up everything if there had been a few minor adjustments in his fantasy. 

He was feeling that itch deep in his bones again, the type of feeling that made sitting trapped in a dingy hotel with his brother seem impossible, so even though he knew that walking into the rundown warehouse alone was risky, he had to do it anyway. It was the typical kind of place, dripping water, broken and rusted pipes protruding from the ceiling, almost certainly the kind of dwelling a monster would hole up in. 

A bang from the hallway nearest to him had him walking carefully, flashlight held in front of him, and scanning the area for the jinn they were hunting. It seemed clear this was its lair, that was the ominous part because he knew he had heard something. When he heard a noise in his line of work, it always meant some monster was lurking nearby.

“What the,” he didn’t even have time to finish his sentence as some Mike Tyson looking thing with a faceful of tattoos was grabbing him around the throat and thrusting him against the nearest wall.

The thing didn’t talk, not that they often did, instead he reached a hand up towards Dean’s face. He had nowhere to go, the creature was so much stronger than him that it could have done almost anything and Dean would have to just take it. 

He felt his eyes roll up into his head as the monster that grabbed him started to fade out to black. Then there was nothing. 

A crack of thunder had him flinging himself upright in bed, the storm had been manufactured by the television that was playing in the background, it was like he was being overcome with vertigo. The landscape around him was so dramatically altered he wasn’t sure what was happening. His mind raced and he fought to catch his breath. 

When he turned his head, realizing fully he was suddenly lying in an unfamiliar bedroom, he saw the form of a scantily clad figure beside him. Then he saw the outline of her face. It was none other than Y/N, and why she was wearing nothing besides panties and a tank top while in bed with him was so mind boggling he did the only thing he could think of. 

Jumping out of bed he rummaged through the nightstand until his hands closed around a familiar object, his trusty cell, he dialed the only number that he could think of as he tried desperately to figure out how he and his brothers girlfriend had managed to show up in the same place, a place that he had never even seen before. 

“Sam,” Dean did his best to control the urge to scream into the phone, “I don’t know why but I just woke up next to your freaking girlfriend,” he was almost panting with fear as he spoke partly concerned with how he got here and partly worried about what his brother was going to say when he found out his girlfriend had run off and was sleeping half-naked with Dean. 

“Dean? What are you talking about, Jess is here, asleep just like every night,” Sam’s tone was light and almost filled with laughter.

“Jess, what are you talking about?” Dean’s mind was racing he couldn’t understand why Sam would ever make a joke like that about the only person he had ever really loved besides Y/N, “dude, the point is I was hunting the jinn and it grabbed me and suddenly I wake up in some weird place with your girlfriend in bed with me half-naked.” 

“Ok, Dean, I think you should go back to bed, clearly you had a little too much to drink,” and after a slight sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow alright?”

Dean didn’t even have time to continue pleading his case as the phone died with a click. He did the only thing he could think of next, he got out of bed and started roaming through the strange house looking for any clues of what exactly had happened after meeting the monster. As he scanned the hallway he noticed there were pictures hung all around, mainly it was of him and Y/N, both of them crammed together in the shot with arms tangled together and giant grins. His heart sank a little further. He could say with absolute certainty something was wrong because in all the time he had known Y/N she had never looked so happy. 

Making his way out to the living room he was glad for the slight illumination coming from a light in the kitchen, he navigated through the unfamiliar terrain and started to flip through the pile of mail on the counter, the first letter was postmarked to Lawerence, Kansas, which was totally impossible, the second was even more concerning, it was addressed to Mrs. Y/F/N Winchester. If she was here with Dean could that really mean that the two of them were married? 

“Sweetheart,” a voice called out from behind him.

A part of him didn’t want to turn around but there was something in the soft dulcet tone that had him spinning to face her, “Hey,” he hesitated before testing out his theory, “honey.” 

She padded across the room and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, leaning her head against his chest she tilted her head back and looked up at him, the look in her eyes was nothing more or less than love. 

“What’s wrong, couldn’t sleep?” She asked and he couldn’t help but notice at this distance the way that her eyes were sleepy and her lashes fell heavily against her cheeks every time she blinked. It was like being in a dream. 

“Yeah, sorry I woke you, promise I am coming back to bed,” even though he didn’t know how long he had slept for before waking up in this new reality he wanted nothing more than to lay in bed beside her. 

“Good,” she kissed the edge of his jaw and padded back down towards the room he had just wandered out of. 

Taking another quick look around as he followed her footsteps he saw what proved in his mind that this had to all be some sort of dream. Hanging right beside the bedroom door was a photo, it was something that he had only seen in his most private fantasies. Him and Y/N, her in a wedding dress him in a tux, Sam and Jessica standing beside him and none other than Mary Winchester leaning her head on his shoulder. 

He knew that when he woke up this would all disappear but he was desperate to have one night in bed beside his temporary wife. Crawling under the sheets beside her he couldn’t help but pull her as close to his chest as possible. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin against his and listen to her slow breathing until he fell asleep and lost this forever. 

The next morning as he cracked open his eyes he fully expected to be transported back to the rundown putrid warehouse but instead, the girl of his dreams, literally, was sleeping softly next to him her hair fanned out around her head and the T.V. still playing low in the background. A thought gripped him as he stared at her feeling the happiness bloom inside of him, and he had to know, he shook her as carefully as possible worried that too much pressure against her skin could somehow shatter this whole reality. 

“Baby,” he said quietly, already accepting that this was his new life and loving it, “baby wake up I have to ask you something.”

“What’s wrong,” she said as she slowly rolled over and opened her eyes a look of concern creeping over her face. 

“Nothing, nothing's wrong, it’s about Mary,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You mean your mom?” She asked. 

“Yeah, um...how is she these days?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer and be faced with losing her all over again. 

“Fine,” she said, “we’re going to see her today it’s her birthday remember?” Are you sure everything is alright?” 

He let himself take a deep breath and let out all the stress he was carrying, apparently, this monster was the kind that granted wishes and that was more than alright by him. 

Allowing himself to go with the flow was easier than he expected. He got out of bed and explored his new home, taking in the various aspects that help solidify just how amazing it was that he had ended up here. The big flat screen television in the entertainment center in the living room, the ground beef and cheese in the fridge to make burgers for dinner, and the lawnmower out in the garage attached to the modest sized home. 

He fiddled around with the coffee maker until he was able to pour out two piping hot cups of java and made sure to make it up exactly how she usually took it back in the other version of reality, and he brought it to Y/N carefully where she was still lounging around in bed. Her hands stretch out to grab him and pull him back into bed, not caring that he was trying to balance cups full of burning hot liquid, and he did his bed to make sure they didn’t spill. At the gesture, he couldn’t help the way his heart soared as she giggled as her hands wrapped around the mug taking mercy on him. 

“What’s gotten into you?” She asked as she took a sip of her drink. 

“Nothing, just in a good mood is all,” he said as he sat down in bed beside her and took a sip of his own drink. 

Later in the day, they started to get ready, mostly though they had spent the time lounging around together. The first time she had leaned in to kiss him he had almost passed out from feeling so overwhelmed with joy. When his lips had brushed against hers, it was like all the years of Dean having watched her doing the same thing with his brother, wishing so much it could have been him, was being washed clean. His mom was alive here. Sam wasn’t miserable at being dragged into a life filled with monsters, he was a lawyer and Jess was still alive. It was like everything was too good to be true but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

As Y/N walked into the living room later that evening, she did a little turn in the knee length black dress she was wearing, the top was low enough it perfectly displayed her cleavage but still left plenty to the imagination, her slight smile though playing at the edges of her face was what made her totally stunning. 

“You ready to go?” She asked as she leaned in for a quick kiss.

“You look beautiful,” he said, as he just stared into her eyes, he could have stayed right in this moment forever. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled as she led him out the door. 

The restaurant they headed into was way nicer than any he had ever been to, cloth tablecloths lined every table and it was the kind of place that you were supposed to put the fabric napkin in your lap before eating anything. When his mom walked in he thought that maybe he had forgotten how to breathe, she was just as beautiful as he had remembered her being. He scooped her up in a tight hug and completely ignored her confusion at the gesture. When Sam and Jess showed up he did the same still at a total loss of how the jinn could even be considered a monster when it was able to create something so amazing. 

“So we have a little surprise for your birthday,” Jess said as she held out her hand to the table, Dean saw the tiny twinkle of the diamond on her finger and clapped his brother on the back.

“Congratulations, you two, this is just great,” he couldn’t help but feel ecstatic that here everyone was living the life that they should have had. 

Dinner was smooth except for the brief discourse when his dad was brought up. Learning that he had died of a stroke and not traded his soul for Dean’s was still enough not to sour his mood. Even just having a normal death seemed like some sort of miracle that he couldn’t fully believe. When Sam and Jess suggested they all go back to their mom’s to celebrate Dean couldn’t believe his luck. 

There was only one slight problem, a girl was standing in his way, she was wearing a white dress and had long brown hair, but it was her lack of shoes that had her seeming out of place in the hoity-toity joint. It was almost as if the only person that could see her was Dean, and a part of him knew right then that something was horribly wrong, he rushed over to her but by the time he had made it to the place she had been standing his fingers close around nothing more than air. 

“You ready to go?” Y/N asked as she walked up beside him. 

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of her head, he knew that something was off. 

Driving back home he did his best to join in with the light conversation between his brother, Jess, Mary, and Y/N but his mind kept slipping back to the girl in the restaurant. It was the first hint of anything supernatural here and it had him worried. He tried to shove it out of his mind as he made his way into the home of his childhood, one never touched by a murderous fire, and joined into the jovial spirit. After a few beers and a brief exchange of wedding plans, everyone drifted off to bed. Dean was left alone sitting on the couch and pondering just what could possibly be wrong with this perfect universe. He knew a lot of things about monsters and he also knew that there was always a catch. The girl had to be a clue. Flipping through the channels on the television he had been half-ignoring it came to him.

“Today marks the anniversary of United Britannia Flight 424,” the news forecaster spoke as images of a candlelight vigil played on the screen. 

His body pushed forward, “No, I stopped that crash.” 

It didn’t take him long with Google at his disposal to look up some of the other cases he worked and then he realized it. In this world he and Sam weren’t hunters so all the people he had saved back in his world, here they didn’t make it. Case after case body after body he saw just how much his life impacted those of strangers. A slight flash of white at the edge of his vision had him standing. He followed the blur into the kitchen and was faced with none other than the same girl from the restaurant. This time she no longer looked normal, her hair was ragged and beside her were two burned out looking corpses suspended from the ceiling fan that was slowing turning above him. The next moment though they had vanished. His stomach churned from a combination of the shock of his discovery, cheap beer, and fancy food. It was horrible and he needed a way to clear his head. 

He drove without thinking to the only place he knew for certain he would find some solace. As the headstones started to get close enough to come into view he kept driving following the little winding gravel roads one by one until the spot he knew he would recognize. It was the exact same as it had been in his world expect as he walked up to the gray granite slab the name carved there wasn’t Mary Winchester it was John’s. 

He spoke to the gravestone, the marker of the man who he knew would have sent him back to the other world kicking and screaming, he started to mimic the way his father would have spoken to him, what his dad would have said about his own happiness, “Your happiness for all those people’s lives no contest.”

He was met with silence. 

“Why, why do I have to be some kind of hero, why do we have to sacrifice everything?” He said to no one in particular as a tear fell down the side of his face. 

He was crying for more than himself, he was crying for Y/N who was happy here, happy with him. Married and in love, waiting for nothing more than him to come back home and fall asleep next to him. Both of them working real jobs, living in an actual house and his brother happy with Jess. It wasn’t fair and he knew exactly what he had to do. 

He drove back to his mom’s house, the place where in this world he grew up with family Christmases and birthday’s where Sam had gotten to walk out of in one piece to go to college and where his mother go to lay her head every night on her pillow and he went to the spare bedroom Y/N had slunk off to earlier to sleep off the two glasses of wine she had at dinner, she was resting peacefully, still in her party dress from earlier. He climbed into bed beside her. 

It was three in the morning when he heard a faint rustling that had him opening his eyes. It was the girl he kept seeing only this time it was her suspended by her wrists, beside her was a blood bag that was linked to an IV in her arm, her body was pale and bruised and her eyes were drooping but open. That’s when what her presence there meant finally hit him. 

The wheels in his head churned. He wasn’t seeing a ghost of a girl that was haunting him. He was seeing the girl that in the other world he had been sent to the warehouse to save. He was probably there with her right now, in reality, this was just a dream, a vision built to slowly suck the life out of him. He was at a crossroad. 

Right at that moment, he turned as he felt the body in bed with him stirring beside him. 

“So,” Y/N said, “you figured it out.” 

“Yeah,” he said as he turned back to the vision of the girl from the warehouse still hanging there. 

“It’s alright Dean, here it will feel like so much longer, and we get to be together, living a normal life,” she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

He could feel her weight and warmth and right then it was impossible to believe that this could be anything less than real, and even if it wasn’t, he honestly thought that this life even if it was only temporary it was still better than anything he had back in the other world. 

“Your right, it’s ok, the jinn can have me, I’m staying,” he said as he turned away from the dying girl to look at Y/N.

He pressed his lips against hers, the were soft and plump, he could faintly taste cherries as he kissed her from the lip balm she had worn earlier. It didn’t matter if he was in a fantasy. If he only got to do this one more time, losing his life would be worth it.