#dark deception chapter five leak?!?

[insane-control-room]

No Right

Doug's heart stops and restarts all in the same instant when he sees her.

warnings: none, mention of desire to murder

themes: hurt/comfort, angst, apologies

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37916191

Doug was not sure what he was expecting.

He was pretty sure his heart stopped beating as he took in the woman, her hair frizzy and wild, like a lion’s mane, and his lips parted to softly say her name.

She looked at him, eyes wide and pupils narrow to take in all the information she could, just like him as he knew the laws of this place; be aware of your surroundings or be killed.

He whispered her name again, his eyes watering and shoulders falling, hands reaching forwards, but legs unmoving at all.

Her gaze was conflicted as she returned the notepad and pen to her pocket. She always carried those, as she never knew when a story could break out that the news station would have wanted. Her eyes darted across his face.

Doug’s voice broke as he said; “Elise.”

Elise finally moved towards him, cautious and slow. Doug dared not do the same. She was a storm; beautiful, powerful, full of rage and somber. Doug inhaled sharply as a tear trickled down his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I was such a horrible person. A worse dad. And an even worse husband.”

Elise was still silent, now only a foot and a half away. Doug wished he could draw her up into his arms and hold, to whisper apologies and beg to know how to repair what he had done. Elise took in a soft breath and closed her eyes, rolling back her shoulders.

“Elise,” Doug murmured, her name like that of an angel’s, forever on his lips. “I’m sorry. For all I’ve done.”

Doug’s head knocked to the side with the force of the slap, his cheek hot and stinging, hurting all the more where they had clashed against his teeth. His eyes watered from the pain, but emotionally; he felt somewhat relieved, because to be ignored or spat upon by Elise would have broken him. Here, he could understand her anger and hurt, and they could work through it.

“You two faced bastard,” Elise hissed. Doug winced. “You smarmy, slimy, son of a bitch.”

“No arguments there,” Doug agreed with her, smiling apologetically, sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Elise snapped. “I know you don’t mean it.”

“I’m here for you and Tammy,” Doug whispered. Elise froze, staring at him. “I regret how I’ve treated you, like you were expendable, like you only wanted me for my money, like you were broken. You weren’t. She wasn’t. I couldn’t appreciate what I had, a fun loving, sweet wife and a sensitive, adoring daughter. I missed you so much. Every day you weren’t by my side has been hell.”

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Elise snarled, grabbing him by his collar and yanking him down to be eye level with her. “You don’t have a right to say that to me.”

“I know,” Doug sadly agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to stop saying that!” Elise barked. “You don’t mean it!”

“I’m s- I do, I mean it with my whole soul,” Doug promised. Elise glared at him, furious. “I can’t help but say what I wanted to say to you for years.”

Elise’s other hand grasped the back of his head and slammed him down, clashing their mouths together, rough and painful. Doug’s eyes widened before falling shut, a soft moan of pent up emotion slipping from his lips, a word that sounded like Elise. She was not gentle or kind with his mouth, biting his lips and being as rough as possible, the hand in his hair fisting and tugging, and Doug could weep- Elise was here, in his arms, which had wrapped around her without even thinking, and he was kissing her as kindly and lovingly as he could, every inch of her lips worshiped by his own. She could feel the moisture of his tears on her cheeks.

His hands were unmoving on her back from their general locations, as much as he wanted to grope every bit of her body and claim her as his again, he let her have complete and total control over him. He was groaning her name incessantly, all sorts of emotion clinging to his voice, the pain of hurting her, the love of who she was and what she meant to him, the hope he held for her, the sadness of not expecting any of that to happen ever, neither forgiven nor loved again.

Elise made a frustrated noise and shoved him away as hard as she could. Doug gasped and missed her warmth immediately, but accepted the push, keeping his distance, wishing he could hold her again as she turned her back to him.

“You don’t have the right to make me feel this way,” Elise struggled for air, making Doug regret even this action by her hands. “You can’t. You can’t make me want to forgive you. I should hate you. I should want to kill you. That was the whole point. To have killed you and never met you, so your stupid, handsome face wouldn’t be able to make me forgive you. I should hate you.”

“I know,” Doug quietly accorded. “But does it make it any better if I say that I’m glad you don’t…?”

She turned to face him, tears lining her own cheeks, and Doug’s heart ached with regret and sympathy, and he slowly, cautiously made his way to her once more, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away those drops of saline water.

“You’re perfect,” Doug told her, wholehearted and vehement. “You’re not broken. You’re beautiful. You’re incredible. I’m so sorry. I missed you, so much.”

Elise stared at him, cheeks blotchy with anger, mistrust, pain. Doug still wept, as he had been since she had turned to him, and he had seen his wife’s face for the first time in thirty years.

“I missed you, too,” she answered, eyes closed as if she were betraying herself.

Doug could not help but hug her.

[dumdumsun]

Of Starlight

A/N: Enjoy ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

Word Count: 1847

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Chapter 14: Starlight

God, not this again.

The front door to the Academy was thrown open by (Y/N), allowing Allison and Diego to carry Five inside, the latter holding his feet and leading them backwards into the parlor as the former held him under his shoulders. (Y/N) followed close behind after shutting the door, her ragged breaths almost impossible to regulate.

Please, not this again.

“We should have taken him to the hospital.” Allison whispered.

“A kid with a shrapnel wound might raise some questions.” Five slurred in his half conscious state.

“Yeah, well, so does the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins’s attic.” They shuffled into the parlor, where Five was laid across one of the couches. (Y/N) immediately knelt beside him as Allison took off her jacket and bent down next to her. “He’s still losing a lot of blood. What do we do?”

“We gotta get the shrapnel out.” Diego answered. He suddenly caught sight of something. As his face dropped, he was quick to leave the room. Allison watched him go with a frown.

“Diego, where are you going?” Calling out to him was useless, he’d already disappeared. Her eyes trailed down to her sister, who was shaking from head to toe as she watched Five’s chest rise and fall. She was frantic and jumpy and she would be of no use to them like this. Placing a hand on her shoulder, and apologizing for making her jump, she whispered, “(Y/N), I need you to do something for me. We need to get the shrapnel out, so I need you to find something to help us with that. Okay? Can you do that, (Y/N)?”

“I-I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him, Allison.” The girl sniveled.

“It won’t be for long. Just… Just go upstairs and find something, okay? Come back as soon as you do.” Allison watched her sister stumble to her feet and bolt up the stairs. In truth, she just needed the girl out of the way until Diego got back to help. If she had actually managed to find something useful, well then, that would just be a bonus.

Please, please, please, not this again. I can’t do this, I can’t fucking do this again.

(Y/N) was aimlessly running down the hall where the bedrooms were, in search of something, anything, that could help. She had been so blinded by her panic and tears that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Tweezers? Would tweezers work? Would tweezers fucking work?! She burst into her bedroom and flung to her vanity, knowing she had left tweezers there when she moved out. She searched the vanity and the first, second, then third drawer of her dresser before pulling out exactly what she was looking for. It’s dirty. It’s been here for years, she thought. She was in the bathroom within seconds, cleaning the tweezers the best she could before flying downstairs. When she entered the parlor, though, no one was there. There was a dent in the couch left by Five and Allison’s jacket was still hanging on the arm, but that was it. No other sign.

“Guys?!” She called out. Receiving no response, (Y/N) left the parlor and began searching. She checked the infirmary, the basement, even the kitchen. “What the fuck…” She muttered before making her way back upstairs. Her first thought was to check Five’s bedroom. Peeking in, she saw… Grace. She was back and taking care of Five, as if nothing had ever happened to her. “When did you guys get in here? I was literally just up here.” She asked as she stepped inside. Allison and Diego turned to her and began to answer, but she drew their voices out as her senses settled on one person. Grace had just begun patching him up when she came into the room, the boy now asleep. He looked so calm, so peaceful, so unbothered by everything that had been plaguing him since he got back to 2019. She could get used to seeing him like this everyday, minus the shrapnel wound.

“Five…” She quietly wept as she joined his side. Sitting on her knees, she rested her cheek on his sheets and watched him evenly breathe. Her (e/c) eyes were thoughtful, pensive.

“(Y/N), I think we should give Mom some space to work.” Diego whispered. The girl didn’t even react. Allison sighed and placed a hand on her back.

“Come on, sis, you need some air-”

“What I need is to stay right here. I’m not going anywhere.” (Y/N) turned her head to Allison. The woman gave her a stern look.

“(Y/N), come on. I know you’re scared for him, but I think it’d be best-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She snapped, quiet yet venomous. Her eyes were cold and one even twitched as she set her jaw. Grace even hesitated. Raising her brows, Allison nodded and backed away.

“Alright, then…”

And with that, Allison and Diego slowly left the bedroom, standing just outside. Turning back to Five, (Y/N)’s entire demeanor changed. Her gaze softened and so did her jaw. Her hand gently ran down his left arm until she reached his hand, gingerly lacing her fingers with his. “Mom, will he be okay?” She murmured. Grace gave her a smile as she tore off some gauze.

“He just needs rest. I bet you could help with that. Make sure he gets a good night’s sleep?”

“Of course…”

“I know you can. You’ve always cared an awful lot for him, dear.”

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

“Dad, why are we in here?” (Y/N) asked as she stepped further into the empty, dark room. The only response she got was the door swinging closed and the click of the lock. She rushed forward and banged on the door. “Dad! Dad, let me out!”

“You will not leave this room until you have successfully contacted Number Five through your clone.” Reginald’s voice sounded behind the heavy door.

“M-My clone? I-I didn’t-”

“Child, do not think that I did not see you summon that clone.”

“But I need the clone here to know anything!”

“You are growing to be one of my greatest disappointments, Number Eight. You have not reached your full potential. You do not want to. If you fail to contact Number Five, then at the very least this will be your chance to improve.”

“W-Wait. Wait, Dad!”

“Your dinner will be brought to you.”

His footsteps echoed down the hallway. She vaguely remembered a room like this when she was a small child, but this one was much different. This one had no light, no window. She was in complete and utter darkness. Letting out a sob, she smashed her fists against the door repeatedly. Even as blood leaked down her fingers, she didn’t stop. “Let me out! Let me out of here!” She sobbed, sinking down to her knees.

Three days. That’s how long she had been in that room. No light, no conversation, and no progress. For three days. The only joy she could recall was Grace bringing in cookies for a snack, but even then, they weren’t allowed to speak to one another. The fourth day had been the day she heard a voice.

“Delores.”

Her head shot up from where it was resting on her knees. Delores. Who the hell was Delores? Surely, she was beginning to lose her mind.

“Starlight…”

She was definitely losing her mind. By the fifth day, she was willing to accept that she’d be stuck in this godforsaken room for as long as she lived. She wouldn’t put it past her father to keep her in there until she died. (Y/N) had no idea what time of day it was, but she was so exhausted. Laying on her back and closing her eyes, she tried to drift off and avoid her solitude. Once her breathing fell into a slow pattern, her chest felt as if it was being pushed down forcefully. Images flashed through her mind so fast she couldn’t keep up or make out any faces. The visions settled on one. A boy had been pulling what she assumed was a cart or a wagon by a handle. Her gaze moved down to her legs that were crossed politely in front of her, hands clasped in her lap. The stranger before her was dressed in warm clothing, but she hadn’t felt any chill on her skin. The stranger stopped walking and took a deep breath before looking over his shoulder at her. She squinted to get a better look at him. Her love furrowed his brows in confusion. “What?”

“Five?” She whispered. He jumped, startled, and dropped the handle of the wagon she sat in. Suddenly, it felt as if every breath she ever took was being sent back into her lungs. Gasping, (Y/N) sat up. Her hands quickly slapped onto the concrete floor of the pitch black room she had been inhabiting for almost a week. As she caught her breath, the door beside her groaned. Light poured into the room as Reginald swung the door open.

“Anything to report, Number Eight?”

“Dad!” (Y/N) stood to her feet and ran towards her father, the man immediately backing up a few steps. “Five, he- he was- He looked right at me!”

“I will not tolerate any deception.”

“No! I swear, Dad! He was alone. I don’t know where, but he… h-he’s still alive!”

Her father didn’t have an immediate reaction to her words, only studying her swaying posture, her wide eyes, her twitching hands. Clicking his tongue, he turned away. “Very well. Grace, get this child to her room.”

“Yes, sir.” Grace grinned and gently held (Y/N)’s hand, briskly walking her to the first level of the house.

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

The two now alone, (Y/N) was laying beside Five in his bed. Her eyes watched his every movement, not that there was much to observe. His chest rose and fell at a steady pace, that was enough for her. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her fingers traced the collar of the pajamas he now wore. “Why do you scare me like this?” She muttered to no one. Five, perhaps, if he would’ve been listening. “All I want is for you to be safe… to be here. You’re making that so hard when you’re running around, getting shot and not telling anyone. We care about you, I care about your stubborn ass…” She gently kissed his shoulder. “I love you… so much. You better be ready for that when you wake up, bub.” Reaching up, she let her fingers ghost over his dark brows, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, until her hand cupped his cheek. She knew then that she made the right call not to read his note. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted her to know. And she’d be glad to assure him the feelings are well reciprocated.

Her heart was his, and rightfully so. Forever and always.

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Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @narikyuwu @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @call-me-starstorm @rev-enviadhell @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men

[nagito-kissmaeda]

A Lapse in Judgement - Part 3

CHAPTER ONE: A Dangrous Present CHAPTER TWO: A Past Forgotten CHAPTER THREE: A Foreshadowing CHAPTER FOUR: One Possible Conclusion CHAPTER FIVE: Untethered

Komaeda Nagito x Ultimate Empath!Reader: NSFW

Summary: Maybe if you had just paid more attention. Things would have been different. Contains: she/her pronouns, penetrative sex, wall sex, fingering, choking,  referenced canon character death Read on AO3 

Hinata doesn't meet your eyes when you bump into him on the way back to your room in Grape House. It was the sort of thing that seemed like an act of politeness, but he had been avoiding your line of sight since he learned how your talent worked. He is not a person who likes to have his emotions visible to others.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking pointedly at the floor

“As i can be.” You sigh, “I'm going to rest in my room until Souda gets the elevator fixed. Being around everyone while they’re feeling like-” Hinata stiffens and somehow manages to look even further from you. Because you are polite, you pretend not to notice. “Well, you saw how Owari was doing. I'm not going to be much help if I'm crying, so I'll rest until everyone starts calming down a little.”

Hinata raises his eyes, his gaze hovering over your left shoulder, “I can come by and let you know when the elevator is fixed if you want.”

“Thanks, Hinata” 

He gives you a curt nod and moves to leave, but before he actually walks away he turns on his heel, “before I go. I know -” he huffs and runs a hand through his hair, this only manages to make it messier, “I know it's none of my business, and I don't want you to think I'm patronising you but-”

You cross your arms, “is this about Nagito?” 

Hinata sighs, and for one moment let's himself slip. His eyes meet yours and you can feel, concern, protectiveness, and something that only reads as tender. You realise that he is trying to tell you to be careful.

 “I understand, Hinata. I um-” you gave him the most confident smile you could manage, “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Yeah.” He says, eyes back on the floor, “I’ll see you later.”

As Hinata leaves, a familiar feeling of dread drops in the pit of your stomach. Ever since Monokuma made the announcement letting everyone know about the night you spent with Komaeda, everyone has been giving you side eyes. It was to be expected. Souda had all but passed out with how much he was screaming about it, but Hinata…

The fact that he is taking the time to try and warn you, something about that is disconcerting. You aren’t friends with Hinata. There's a small collection of weird bits and bobs that he's given you sitting on a shelf in your cabin, but conversations with Komaeda have made it clear that this is standard Hinata behaviour for some reason. A packet of chips, a bottle of ramune and a used crystal ball do not make a friendship unfortunately and Hinata has never made an effort to get to know you on a deeper level, to find out what makes you tick. (The sort of thing you know just by looking at someone) so this change in behaviour makes you wonder, what is he so worried about?

You huff and try to stop thinking about it. You’re already discombobulated after being in grape tower with everyone when Nidai’s body was discovered. The anger and sadness of four separate people is still swirling around in your stomach, you aren’t in the right headspace to be worrying about Hinata. So you step over towards your standard room, letting a small smile slip onto your face at the nameplate Sonia arranged for you. Then you open the door to your room, and freeze.

“How did you get here?” You mutter, mouth suddenly dry and hands suddenly shaking.

Komaeda is sitting on your bed, by all rights it shouldn't be possible for him to be in your room. He shouldn't even be on this side of the funhouse. He is giving you a soft smile, but when you meet his eyes, you feel like throwing up, “Maybe...I teleported.” 

“Nagito…” you whisper, hands shaking at your sides, “what happened?”

He pushes himself up, and starts walking toward you, never breaking eye contact, “I played the game. In the final dead room.” 

As he comes closer and closer, you find yourself backing up. Sure, Komaeda could be unhinged at times but you have never felt unsafe in a room with him. At least until now. His eyes are screaming with malice and fury and betrayal, but his calm smile stays affixed. Anyone else might not have even noticed, but you did. He knows it, he wont stop staring at you, like he wants you to feel his anger. Your breath is like glass in your throat.

“You learned something…” he has you almost up against the wall now, you have to crane your head to look up at him, “you can tell me. Please tell me.”

He laughs, dark and cruel, sticking to the back of his throat like bile, “you’re lucky you don’t remember. All this time I thought I was a stepping stone for hope, but there is no hope here.” He reaches a hand out and grabs your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, “no hope on this island, no hope in this funhouse, no hope in this room.” 

BETRAYAL BETRAYAL BETRAYAL 

It's the only thing you can feel. It drowns out even your own terror with its intensity. Your knees are shaking, your nails are digging into the drywall behind you. Komaeda’s fingers dig into your cheek, forcing you to look up into his eyes, to feel how much he hates you. Your eyes flit around desperately, trying to look anywhere but him, trying to feel anything but him.

Then...he releases you, but before you can even breathe a sigh of relief. 

His hands wrap around your neck. You choke. Of course you do. Your hands scramble to pry his fingers away from you, nails digging into his pale skin as the blood rushes up into your head. He’s so tall, he’s lifting you up and you’re barely managing to balance on your toes. He’s still staring at you, he wont stop staring at you. His hatred swirls in the pit of your stomach, drool leaks out of the side of your mouth as you try your best to suck in air. 

“Wh-What did i…” you heave in a useless half breath, it isn't enough.

“Nothing that concerns you anymore.” He whispers, his voice eerily calm even as his fingers tighten around your windpipe, “You can feel it though cant you?”

“Ack!”

He tilts his head to the side, “You can feel what you have done to me?”

While you can feel his anger, there is no way for you to know what you could have possibly done. You saw him only the day before, just a few hours before the two groups separated to their respective sides of the funhouse. You should have asked him to stay with you, the only reason you didn't was because you were worried about making Hinata and the other girls uncomfortable. Maybe you could have stopped this. 

His eyes are boring into yours and you can feel everything he can feel. All the anger, all the hatred, but as his thumb presses down into the hollow of your throat, you realise. There’s something else in there too. Arousal. The feeling twists and tangles in the pit of your stomach until suddenly the hands around your throat feel good. 

You’re going to pass out. Your vision is swirling, all you can see is a fuzzy splatter of white on green. The world looks how a Monet painting does when you get too close. The panic starts setting in, you’ve tried pushing him away and it hasn’t worked. It won’t work. So instead, you work an arm in between the two of you, grab the front on his coat, and tug him in closer.His mouth misses yours at first, and you find yourself frantically kissing his chin, but he quickly re-aligns and shoves his tongue past your lips. You gasp in shock, but it morphs into a guttural moan. One of his hands leaves your throat to grip your waist, the lightheadedness stays, but you don't feel like you're going to lose consciousness anymore. 

Teeth sink into your lower lip, you feel a warm trickle of blood crawling down your chin. It hurts, and it is only with a modicum of horror that you realise you like it. Now that the hand around your throat isn't so tight that you are suffocating, you wonder how much of the arousal you are feeling is just mirrored from Komaeda, and how much of it is your own. Komaeda pulls away from you, his smile splitting his face like an axe splits wood, you can see your blood on his teeth. You moan. 

“You...you’re-” He breaks into a frenzied laugher, his whole body shaking with the energy of it, “-you’re getting off on this, aren't you?” 

You are. 

His head tilts to the side, and his voice is eerily soft when he whispers, “You want me to fuck you, huh?” 

You nod. His eyes are still swimming with anger and betrayal, but for now, the looming emotion of arousal has overshadowed them both. You can feel the hardness of his cock pressed up against you. 

“Okay.” He says, his voice is like warm honey in your ear as the hand not wrapped around your throat slowly trails up your thigh and under your skirt, “I suppose i can do that for you.” There is no subtlety to the movement of his hand, no tender caresses. His spindly fingers worm their way into the side of your panties, and two of them push inside you. You manage a wheezy breath, knees shaking as you try your best to stay upright. His fingers are so fucking long. He laughs, not his usual dismissive giggle, you can tell that at this moment he is laughing at you, “You’re soaked…” he whispers, his voice making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, “I was meant to be punishing you for your deception, i didn't expect you to enjoy it.” He is slowly pistoning his fingers in and out, curling them with a practiced technique you didn't even know he had. He hits your g-spot, and like he knows what is about to happen (or maybe he just gets lucky), the hand around your throat comes up to cover your mouth. You howl into the meat of his palm, hips stuttering weakly trying to force him to finger you faster. He just keeps staring at you, emotional intensity boiling beneath the surface of his wild eyes, a mixture of anger and want that ends up reading like lust. 

(Something about the frenzy, about the feeling of his fingers inside you. It evokes memories of another place, another time. The cold roof of a sedan, a set of much sharper fingernails)

His fingers slip out of you, and you whine at the sudden emptiness, “Nagito...I…” you breathe behind his hand, your insides are like jelly. 

“You...what?” He asked, dragging his hand up from your mouth and into your hair. Pulling your head back tight as laughter rolls out from the depths of him, “Are you begging?”

You can't speak. You only whimper.

“Are you begging for my touch?” He leans in closer to you, his lips brushing against yours when he speaks again, “for my mouth?” you moan again, and he isn't even touching you yet. Then, he leans past you, running his tongue up the shell of your ear and whispering, “or are you begging for my cock?” He grabs your hand from where it is still pressed against the wall behind you and forces you to grip him through his jeans, “Which is it? Tell me.”

Your hand tightens around his hardness, and he stutters a harsh breath in through his teeth, “Does that answer your question?”

“Hmm.” He breathes, licking a stripe up the column of your throat and sucking hard on the soft skin just below your ear. That’s going to leave a mark, and you probably already have bruises from when he was choking you. The thought of that, of people seeing and knowing makes your insides tighten, “I guess that will do.” You hear the sound of his belt jangling, and your hands shoot out to help with his jeans. Any fear that was once lurking within you is gone, now you just want him to fuck you. Laugher boils in his chest, escaping his mouth in a wheezy pant as you tug his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He’s practically vibrating with excitement as he follows suit and tugs down your panties. 

“How…” His hands are quaking and another peal of laughter breaks up his sentence, he’s shaking so hard at this point that he’s having trouble even speaking, “how...how high can you get your leg?”

You blink at him, not quite sure what he’s even asking you, “Decently high? I don’t know, I haven't really tried?”

He’s grinning at you and taps his right shoulder, “up here too high?”

“Way too high.” You wince even thinking about it, “You’re really tall, baby.” he makes a choked sound at the pet name, it does not escape you, “Owari could maybe manage it, but i couldn't.”

“Ahh...how disappointing…” his words don't match the grin on his face. Nor do they match the eagerness in his eyes. He leans down slightly and hooks his hand behind your knee, tugging your right leg up until its balancing against his hip bone. His bony fingers are digging into your soft flesh, and you are living for it, “I suppose this will have to do.”

 At this angle. The head of his cock is rubbing against your clit, your knees are like jelly, without his tight grip on your leg and the wall at your back you would have toppled over. Komaeda grinds his hips experimentally, choking on a moan at the feeling, “You’re soaked.” his smile is wild, he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slowly drags it up and down the length of your cunt. Your lips drop open in a moan and his shoulders shake with laughter that sounds more like hyperventilation than anything else, “I should have seen right through you. You...haa...you like being defiled by garbage like me. Don’t you?” He’s drooling now, the line of saliva making its way down his chin. You’re mesmerised by it, “I had my hands wrapped around your throat and you were getting- hng!” You cut him off, dragging your tongue up the string of drool on his chin and over his bottom lip. 

He growls. Lines his cock up with your entrance, and thrusts upwards. 

The sound that rips from your throat is less of a moan and more of a scream. The leg he has suspended in the air hooks around his hips and your toes curl inside your shoes. Komaeda’s head lolls forward and comes to rest on your left shoulder, he’s panting and moaning as his hips cant up again. There’s no rhythm to it, he’s grinding up into you desperately, like he needs it. You manage to wriggle your hands into the sides of his coat and then up under his shirt, digging your nails into his skin. You can feel the muscles in his back flexing under the pads of your fingers. He uses his grip on your leg to lift you up and slam you back down again in time with his thrusts. It feels good, it feels so good. He’s so deep inside you,  it feels like he literally couldn't get any deeper if he tried. He’s so loud. He’s moaning, and pleading and muttering. His needy vocalisations over the sound of slapping flesh is so hot that you swear you could come from that alone. 

“I knew...mph...haa-AH...i knew you were too good to be true.” He’s still fucking you, but faster now, angrier you realise when he brings his head up to look at you, “No one would ever be kind enough to waste their love on me.”

“I...what-”

“No.” He hisses through his teeth, fingers digging tighter into the skin behind your knee as the emotion behind his eyes morphs from anger to fury. You suddenly feel unsafe, “Don’t bother lying to me. After all, no one here is that good, no one. No one except for the-”

He freezes inside of you. Eyes wide and breathing slowly. What once had been nothing but hatred is slowly changing, softening around the edges and then eventually stopping on realisation. A smile crosses his face, gentler compared to the manic grin he’d been wearing earlier. 

“It’s you.” He breathes, “Isn't it?”

“Nagito, what are you talking-nnGH!” You don't get to finish, his hips pump up into you and cut you off. 

Laughter rolls out of him in rivulets, his free hand comes up to cup your cheek and his hips dont stop moving, “Of course it’s you! How could i not have seen it!” 

You can’t even ask him what he is babbling about. Your mouth is hanging open and all you can do is whine, your head lolls back and hits the wall behind you. He feels so perfect inside of you, you’re so full and so warm. You can barely even hear him anymore, all you can do is feel. 

“Of course you can't admit anything! But don't worry!” He smiles at you, slipping his free hand down to your clit and rubbing in quick circles. That was all you needed. Your orgasm crashes into you, your legs and stomach tensing tightly as something inside you snaps. It all feels so good that you barely even realise the gravity of what he is saying,  “It’s okay, my Hope. You can leave everything to me."

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

I saw someone suggest that there was no mole (this was before the reveal in chapter 45) and I wanted to know your thoughts on it. I think it could be interesting, especially if R had told Mc there was a mole so they would be distrustful of their friends. Seriously why mc decided not to question their friends, or at least use telepathy I’ll never understand. Telepathy (I cant spell the other word) is such a big power and yet it’s never used past year five. Did the mc lose it?

On some level, I love this idea. On another level, I would hate it, and I’m sure a lot of other people would too. 

See, fun fact, this was actually an idea I more or less had in mind. Anyone who’s been around here for a while knows that I don’t trust Moody, I think he’s Imperius’d by R. And during the mystery of the mole’s identity, my theory was that MC themself was going to wind up being the “mole” in the sense that they had been reporting to Moody. But it all tied together with the idea that R told MC about the mole to sew discord among The Circle. Given that we now know it was Merula, this seems unlikely...but I just don’t know. See, I said it then, and I maintain it now, that R absolutely knew MC was there, that they had impersonated Rakepick. They knew. There’s no way they didn’t know. 

That whole sequence was a setup, and I can’t shake that idea. Starting with the obvious: That weird ass note. The Whomping Willow being a “meeting place” for Dark Wizards...is pretty clearly a reference to the Shrieking Shack? MC doesn’t know about the Shack, but we do, so can we all agree that the whole “notice board” idea was ridiculous? Any student, any teacher, could have seen that note. It’s not like Dark Witches and Wizards are going to be lurking around the Hogwarts grounds all the time. Finally, it was written so poorly, “come ye all” that it was clearly either a Cabal trap, or an Auror sting. I’ll admit that my suspicions of Moody aren’t proof, but if I’m right, then it all adds up because he was the one who spearheaded this plan. The one who let Rakepick escape, and stunned the White-Robed Wizard before MC had finished questioning him. 

And what did the Wizard say? Among other things, he dropped the haunting sentiment that R would never allow MC to learn something that they didn’t want MC to know. Which does suggest that R wanted MC to know that there was a mole, just not who it was. And there’s a merit to doing this. It puts the mole at risk by setting MC on the trail of catching her, but it also causes confusion and uncertainty among The Circle. Causes them to fight among themselves. It would have made a lot more sense if there was no mole, and frankly? That would have been a conniving and brilliant plan. I would commend R if they had done that. Leaking false information to MC like that, to distract them and cause them to focus on their friends...yeah, that would be damn smart. 

The trouble is...the only way that I think this idea could work is if, from the start, the audience was made aware of the deception. Even if MC wasn’t. I’ve talked about this in passing before, but to tell a huge lie of this sort to the protagonist, and let the audience also believe it’s true...is more or less lying the audience as well. That can work, there’s a time and a place to do this...but if the reveal winds up being that there was no mole at all...the player might be left feeling like all of this was wasted time, and the game dangled a cool idea before taking it away. The whole trope of “they wasted a perfectly good plot” except in these cases, it would feel like it was offered and then taken away. Maybe that’s just silly, but I could see people getting upset about this. So the solution then, would be to have some kind of post-credits scene between Rakepick and The White-Robed Wizard where they reveal the truth in their conversation, without MC there.

Of course, that might also lead to frustration from the player, the whole concept of dramatic irony driving us all crazy as we watch MC go on this wild goose chase, potentially damaging relationships beyond repair, alienating friends and allies...doing everything that R wants them to do. Hell, that could be a fun idea, especially if it was overlapped with MC’s legilimency. And whether the mole was real or not, you make an excellent point about how MC ought to have remembered they had this power and used it for this reason. No, they didn’t lose the power...but they probably should have done, because it raises the question of why they never use it anymore. Well, the real reason is because the Buried Vault has already been opened, and Jacob has been freed. That was the narrative purpose of this ability, and now it’s over. MC didn’t even use their powers to help Beatrice, they deferred to Snape. Yeah, that’s the doylist reason, but in-universe there’s still no reason why they shouldn’t be screening all the potential suspects who consent to the process. 

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

The Toss of a Coin

Part 2: Bridges and Bad Friends

Part 1

Pairing: male Death x female Reader

Warnings: language, bullying, violence, near death experience

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Birdie, not sure if I’ll keep it for future chapters.

The Summer sun is hot, beating down on your back and bare shoulders, the humidity slogging you down on your walk home, not that you can find a reason to rush. No one was there to make sure you made it back alright anyway.

It was late April of your Senior year and your messenger bag was light with the coming end of your high school career, the dusty side of the country road scuffing beneath your shoes barely keeping your brain occupied. So you tried to recall the sight of the glowing bird. You would be 18 in a couple months and then you could get it forever etched onto your skin so it would never fade from your memory.

The sharp ping of metal bouncing against metal brought you out of your daydream and you realized you had reached the bridge. Glancing around your feet for what you had kicked, you spot a small gleam of silver and crouch down to study it.

A coin, maybe the size of a silver dollar sat before you, smeared with dust and grime but oddly no rust. All it would need was a decent wash to be as good as new. Grabbing it up to examine it closer you see it's not like any currency you've seen before. It looks modern made but the reliefs on it seem old. Like seeing a picture of an ancient artifact in your textbook.

One side boasted an image of a three-headed dog, though the details were vague, simple. Flipping it over you found a two-pronged fork with a snake wrapping itself around the handle, winding upwards.

There were no words or numbers on either side, just the images. You flipped it back and forth, the sun catching and bouncing off the spots not hidden under dirt. It was warm from sitting out in the sun and the longer you held it, the more engrossed you became in the feel of it. Almost hypnotizing you.

The sound of your name being called brought you out of it, back to the heat making your head feel light and your legs heavy. Curling your fingers around the odd little find, you stand up, glancing around until you spot where the voice had come from.

Your town was what most would consider a quintessential 'small town' where everyone pretty much knew everyone and gossip got around as quick as the local stray dog chasing someones unfortunate chickens.

And most small towns also had a group of trouble makers, the kids who swore they'd get out one day and make it big, the ones who didn't have much to do but found plenty of trouble none-the-less.

Sam, the girl the others in the group seemed to revolve around, was the one who had called out to you, sitting with a few others down at the riverside below the bridge. The rusted out shell of a car that had been there for as long as you had been alive serving as a perfect spot to gather.

You had never been on Sam's bad side, always looking the other way when she and her friends lit up under the bleachers, ignoring it when they picked on some poor soul who more than likely had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All to save your own skin. It had worked so far.

But the way she was grinning up at you from the riverbank, half spent cigarette tucked between her slim fingers, told you there wasn't going to be a way to around this. Whatever it was.

"Hi Sam" you called down hesitantly, trying to keep from leaning on the hot metal guardrail of the bridge.

"Hey Birdie! Come on down here, I wanna talk to ya'!" her tone was cheerful and deceptive and the nickname just made it worse. You regretted for the millionth time ever telling anyone about your glowing bird.

"I can't really, I mean I would but-it's just that umm" no excuse would satisfy this crowd. They all knew you didn't have anyone waiting at home for you.

"Aww, c'mon Birdie! It's hot as shit out and we were gonna go swimming before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up" she takes one last pull of her cigarette before snuffing it out against the side of the car, eyes never leaving yours.

You could just say no, walk away without explanation and hope that none of them would take personal offense. That tomorrow at school they wouldn't corner you like you'd seen them do to so many others. Wishful thinking and all that.

By now you're gripping the coin so tight in your hand that it begins to dig into your palm. Looking up at the sky, you see clouds not to far off that were more than ready to burst with rain. It wouldn't be that long, even Sam knew not to mess around in a flooding river.

"Okay" you stuff the coin into the back pocket of your shorts and make your way down the sloping path to the river.

The air is stagnant with cigarette smoke when you finally push your way through the thick foliage and it clings to Sam's hair when she wraps an arm around you as soon as you appear.

"So, Birdie, I've been wanting to show you something" she says, leading you toward the rest of the group by the car.

There are five all together. Sam, Zach and Carter, twin boys that remind you of giant redwoods when they stood side-by-side, then Lily-Ann and Maya.

"I thought you guys were going swimming?" you keep the question light, hoping not to stir up anything.

"We are, but first, I wanted to show something, kind of like a graduation present, because you never ratted us out or anything" Sam tugs you in closer, almost like a hug if her nails weren't digging into your arm.

"That's really not- I just didn't want to get you guys in trouble. You never hurt anyone, you were just messing around" your stomach clenches into a ball of anxious nerves, yelling at you to run, hide, anything.

Lying just makes it even worse because you've seen them get in fights, heard Lily-Ann brag about using her BB gun on that stray dog.

What's worse is the look Sam gives you. She isn't smiling anymore as she keeps a tight hold on you and walks straight toward the water.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd at least show you what I think of you for doing that. What I think of spineless little birds."

Like with most dangerous situations, you've waited until it's too late to work up the courage and run. When you push out of Sam's grip, her nails scrap three red lines into your skin but you ignore the sting and slam right into the trunk of one of the twins. No one could ever really tell Zach and Carter apart, and they didn't really care.

So whoever it is, they grab you by the shoulders and push you backwards hard enough that you fall ass first onto the hard riverbank, the wind leaving your lungs in a painful wheeze.

"I think Birdie here needs to learn how to stand up for herself, so lets help her!" Sam sneers down at you before reaching out to yank on the strap of your messenger bag, tugging you up before suddenly hands are dragging you back.

"Sam please, I'm sorry, I just didn't want-"

"Didn't what Birdie? Didn't wanna get your hands dirty? Christ you are a spineless little shit!" she just laughs mirthlessly and rips your messenger bag off, tossing it into the water.

There are tears slowly leaking out and down your face by now. You're angry but you know people like Sam feed off anger. Anything you might say won't change her mind. So you tug your arms free, hearing the sharp rip of your shirt in the process, before a fist connects with your nose. It snaps your head back violently and sends you into a daze.

"What the hell Sam?! I thought we were just gonna scare her?" one of the girls says, more annoyed than concerned.

"We are! Zach, put her in" Sam orders.

With a head full of quicksand and warm, copper tasting blood rolling over your lips, you focus on their voices. Not the tugging on your arms as one of the twins pulls you into the water and around so you can glance at the open trunk.

He tosses you in like you weigh nothing, frowning down at you with one hand on the hatch. Behind him the sky is darker, it'll rain soon. And then he slams the trunk closed hard enough to shake the whole back end of the car.

It's dark but there are holes where the weather had worn through and light seeps in. Inside here it's even hotter, the heat cloying and suffocating. You can hear them outside yelling at you, about you, and even shaking the car, pounding on the sides.

That lasts for a while, long enough for your nose to stop bleeding and your shirt to be soaked with more sweat than water. You remain silent the entire time, waiting it out. They would let you out before the rain.

They had to, the river would rise well above the trunk.

When fat drops of rain begin to hit the metal above you, their voices fade, yelling out heartless 'goodbyes' and 'good luck getting outs.'

You're almost dumbfounded at the silence, nothing but the staccato of the ever increasing rain to keep you company. Now you begin to yell.

"Sam! Let me out! Let me out please, okay I get it! Just let me out!"

Nothing. They left you. They fucking left you.

"Sam! Maya! Lily-Ann! Saaaaaam!"

Pounding on the metal above you does nothing for the fear crawling up your sore throat. You keep at it until the first trickles of water begin to fill the trunk, until your arms ache and you're sobbing out curses.

You can count the beats of your heart it's so loud. The water is cold and fast, filling up the small space until not even the holes in the metal can provide you air.

The first gulp of water you take in relieves the burn for air but fills you like cement, stopping up your throat and lungs. You think you manage to rip off a few nails clawing at the metal tomb around you and it's the last shred of pain you feel.

The last thing you see, your vision going dark, is the slight gleam of silver shaped like a coin.

Then you open your eyes to see the road you walk home every day, bridge stretched out in front of you, the same muggy heat pressing down on you.

Dropping to your knees in the dirt, you clutch your throat and gasp in the sweetest breath of air you've ever tasted. Kneeling there in the dirt, gaping like a fish, you feel the messenger bag at your hip, no pain in your nose or blood on your face.

Not a single drop of water on you, not even tears.

And when the tunnel vision of panic slowly recedes, you see a familiar round shape on the ground in front of you.

The coin, shiny and silver with not so much as a speck of dirt on it, stares back up at you.

Desperately you search all the pockets on your shorts, coming up empty. But you knew you put that coin in your back pocket. You also knew that you'd been locked in a trunk and left to drown.

You had drowned.

"Hey Birdie! You hear me up there? I wanna talk to you!"

Sam's voice is like ice in your veins. It had felt so real, the scratches on your arm, the blood and the burn of drowning. You make no move to stand up, hoping maybe she'll give up. Maybe you're finally going nuts in this tiny town.

Either way, you weren't going down there.

"I know you're up there Birdie! I saw you, just come down and swim with us before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up!"

Nope. No way. You decide you can run the rest of the way home. You snatch the coin out of the dirt, keeping it tucked in your fist, as you lurch forward into a flat out run, hoping they won't bother with chasing after you. That you weren't worth it.

You don't stop until there's a stitch in your side and even then you only slow to a jog, glancing over your shoulder every other breath. It's as your look back for the fifth time that you see a truck rumbling it's way along down the road. It's not one you recognize, an older model, beat up and pale white with a surprisingly quiet engine. By now you've turned around to openly stare, panting, watching the truck approach, veering away from the shoulder you stand on.

The license plate reads HDS-180. Definitely no one you knew.

"You alright?"

The voice startles you, coming from the open window of the truck now stopped beside you. It seems familiar but the face of the man behind the wheel is foreign to you. He seems a few years older than you, not that you were ever a good judge of age, with deep brown eyes that watch you carefully from underneath the brim of a black, worn out ball cap.

There's a frown curving his lips and you realize it's probably because you haven't answered him.

"I'm okay, thanks" even you don't sound convincing to your own ears but you don't move an inch.

"Are you sure?" his frown deepens, tilting his head in concern.

"Uh, yeah, well. . . it's kind of been a weird day but" you can't think of how to finish that sentence. You just want to forget what happened (or didn't happen) at the bridge.

"You need to call someone? To come get you?" he asks earnestly, putting the truck in park even as you shake your head.

"No, my mom's at work" probably not the best thing to tell a stranger.

"I saw those kids back at the bridge" he tells you seriously, nodding over his shoulder "they wouldn't happen to be the reason you were running like the Devil was at your heels would they?"

"Maybe" you sigh, too tired at this point.

"You want a ride home?"

"Depends, do you plan on killing me?" it shouldn't come out sounding like a joke but it does.

Your mom would be so disappointed in you. But the coin seems to vibrate in your hand as you reach out to grab the passenger side door handle.

"It's not on my schedule, promise."

[poppy-pelican]

Darkness on Fire (chapter 2/5)

Rating: Explicit (although not until later chapters)

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/65460514#workskin

Chapter 2 Summary: Hawkeye and Mustang discover some secrets about Van Hohenheim and his family, and their simple bodyguard job quickly gets complicated.

Two Years Later

 Chris Mustang should have known raising a boy around an establishment like hers would come back to bite her in the ass. When her nephew was tragically turned into a vampire, she had expected him to sulk and pout about it. But no, Roy relished his new night life, as he called it. Currently he was tasting his third woman of the night, always out in the open for anyone to see. Chris had asked him to take it back to a private room—many times—but he claimed it was good for business. He dropped by once a week for his meals unless work kept him away. It was always the same. He never took one of her girls to a private room, always drank from their wrists, and was never exclusive with a particular woman like her many other vampire customers.

The only steady woman in his life was his dedicated assistant, Riza Hawkeye. Chris checked her watch. It was past five in the morning. The stoic assistant would be arriving soon to remind Roy to leave before sunrise. He hadn’t explained why he returned from the militia with his alchemist teacher’s daughter as his shadow. When Chris had poked around for information from others, the truth of it had been enough for her to refrain from searching for anymore answers on the subject.

Vanessa, whose wrist Roy was tasting, giggled as he licked the wound shut with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. She blew him a kiss and sashayed over to a vampire couple who wanted a quick bite to share before dinner. Vanessa was best suited for that kind of meal, seeing as she was a vampire herself.

Roy slunk over to the bar, his gaze flicking revealingly to the door where he expected his assistant to appear.

“I’m going to be unreachable for at least a week,” he said. “An old friend asked me to come for a visit. Elizabeth will be accompanying me.”

“Oh?” Chris asked. The two of them were part of an elite, off-the-books team for the new fuhrer. They were slowly hunting down the last of the previous regime’s supporters—the ones who wanted humans to submit and produce blood like livestock. But since Roy mentioned Hawkeye’s codename, that meant this assignment was not from Grumman. A more personal assignment, then?

“Enjoy your visit,” she said.

Roy checked the door again, not even attempting to hide it.

“She’s late, huh?” Chris asked. “That’s not like her.”

“She was running an errand for me. I’m going to be annoyed if she doesn’t get here before sunrise.”

Chris held back a smirk at his barely concealed worry. “Are you going to need a room?” she asked.

The question went unanswered as Hawkeye finally walked in the door, folding a dripping umbrella.

“Did you get held up?” Roy asked.

“Hi Chris, could I get a quick coffee?” Hawkeye asked, ignoring the question.

“Sure thing.”

As she listened to the pair’s hushed conversation, she saw she already had a pot of coffee ready. She didn’t recall making it, so it must have been one of the girls.

“It took longer than expected, but I got what you needed,” Hawkeye said. “We can talk more about it tomorrow night.”

“You’re going to make me wait all day?”

Chris put the mug down in front of Hawkeye, who thanked her quietly.

“You should get home, sir. Not only is it raining, but the sunrise is soon.”

“Rain,” he grumbled.

“I have an extra umbrella in my bag,” she said. She tossed it at him. “I’m going to drink this and then I have a few more errands to run.”

He gave a petulant sigh, but waved goodbye and was out the door. After the rest of the vampire customers had either left or taken one of Chris’s safe rooms, Chris returned to Hawkeye, pouring herself a glass of white wine.

“How did your meeting tonight really go?” Chris asked.

Hawkeye clutched the mug closer to her.

“It went fine.”

“It seemed like you were shooing my boy away,” Chris said. “Have something to hide?”

“I just didn’t want him to burn any bridges because of me. Our contact can be difficult, but he always has the best information.”

“So…there’s a reason to burn bridges?” Chris inferred.

“Not on my account,” Hawkeye said. “Next time I will just make sure to bring your nephew along. I don’t like surprise vampire meetings. It was supposed to be just myself and the contact.”

And there was the info Roy would take issue with. He never wanted her to deal with vampires on her own—and with good reason.

“You don’t look compelled now, but…” Chris looked Hawkeye over. Her skin was paler than usual, her eyes red and tired. If nothing else, the blood would give her a small energy boost. “I have some vampire blood on hand if you need.” As her bar grew into a neutral ground for vampires to meet, she had long ago started keeping the stuff on hand.

“I probably should. To be safe. Though I can’t see why they would have bothered,” Hawkeye said. “Aside from trying to intimidate me with the vampire they brought along, it was a simple exchange. Though… I may have threatened to blow his head off,” she said with a half-smile. Hawkeye’s reflexes were legendary. Few humans could hit a vampire target so unerringly.

Chris gave a throaty chuckle. “That’s one way to take care of things.”

She pulled out a lockbox she kept under the bar for special customers. Compulsion was a tricky thing. During active compulsion, it was easy to notice, particularly if it was someone you knew well, but if the vampire compelled you to forget, that was a different matter.

She opened the box, glancing at the tiny bottles of blood. “I don’t have Roy’s on hand, if you’d prefer his, I keep it upstairs.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“How about this one,” Chris said, holding up a labeled bottle for Hawkeye to take.

“Maes Hughes?” Hawkeye asked curiously. Hughes was a good man—and a lucky one. It wasn’t six months after Roy transitioned into a vampire that Hughes followed him into the nightlife, although with far less enthusiasm than Roy. Hughes’s spirits rose once his girlfriend assured him she wouldn’t leave him over some fangs and a change in diet.

Hawkeye thought it over for a minute before grimacing and adding a few drops to her coffee.

“He’s a frequent donor. He likes to help out,” Chris explained, watching as Hawkeye took a sip.

“No compulsion,” Hawkeye confirmed. “And I’m pretty sure this coffee is made of tar because I can’t even tell there’s blood in it,” she said with a wink.

Hawkeye finished her coffee, leaving just as the first rays of light began to peek across the rooftops. The rain had stopped, and she left her umbrella behind with a subdued wave before she went out the door.

Chris ambled over to the umbrella, picking it up. Inside she found a note wrapped around the handle, “Mustang’s sire is back in Central. Be careful.”

Chris crumpled the note, feeling deeply unsettled. She knew how desperately Roy and Hawkeye wanted to put an end to deceptively young Selim Bradley’s life, and yet they were leaving town. It gave her a bad feeling, but she could only trust the pair would take care of each other and return safely.

 #

 “Why the hell did Hohenheim ask us all the way out here?” Roy asked, looking around the small village of Resembool with skepticism. They had arrived on the sleeper train, and sunrise would be soon. Roy was uncomfortably aware of the lack of safe houses in the country compared to Central. “Pretty sure the people are outnumbered a thousand to one by sheep.”

“Let’s get going. Hohenheim said he’d meet us near the general store,” Hawkeye said, marching ahead without waiting for a response.

Roy let her gain some distance as he did one more scan of the area. While Hawkeye held her own, she was only human and therefore much slower. Usually they would drive together, but it seemed the invention of the car had yet to trickle its way to the rural areas of Amestris. Instead there was enough quiet that Roy could hear Hawkeye’s delicious heartbeat thumping along even a hundred feet away.

He caught up to Hawkeye with ease, even though he carried both their bags. Hohenheim had been incredibly vague and unforthcoming about how long they would be needed or why, so Hawkeye had insisted they pack enough to get by for at least two weeks.

Hohenheim appeared at the end of the road, his unusual golden eyes almost glowing in the moonlight.

“Welcome, little brother,” Hohenheim greeted. He refused to stop calling him that no matter how often Roy reminded him he hated it. Exactly like an older brother, Roy supposed. “And the lovely Miss Hawkeye. I’m glad you’re here. My wife is excited to meet you.”

“Your wife?” Hawkeye asked, her curiosity leaking out.

“The mysterious Mrs. Hohenheim?” Roy asked.

Hohenheim chuckled lowly. “Yes, although she kept her maiden name, Elric. Resembool is her hometown, actually. She wanted to raise the children here.”

“Children?” Roy asked, his surprise mounting. “As in—your children?” Although Hohenheim had taken Roy under his wing after his untimely death, he had never mentioned children, not even his wife’s name. He was exceptionally private.

“Yes, we have two boys. Edward and Alphonse. Ed is eleven, Al is ten.” Hohenheim sighed like an exhausted but doting father. “They are a handful. Very talented alchemists for their age. And…fledgling vampires.”

“That is not what I was expecting,” Hawkeye said bluntly.

Roy shook his head, hoping to clear it. “Something tells me our sire knows about them.”

“I’ve no idea how he heard about them, but he sent a…letter” Probably not a good letter. “Usually I can talk him out of his delusions, which is why I’d like to deal with him promptly. Did you find out his location?”

“He’s in Central,” Roy said, looking at Hawkeye intently. She had been very close-lipped about her meeting with Raven other than the basic facts she had gleaned from him. “He’s been spotted at his usual haunts there.”

“Good,” Hohenheim started walking at a brisk vampire pace. “I’ll take you to my house. Sunrise isn’t far off.” Then he quickly retraced his steps, turning sheepishly to Hawkeye.

“Just give me the directions and I’ll find my own way there,” she said, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. She hated when her humanness was a burden.

“All right. The boys can let you in. They are still very tolerant of the sun.”

Roy was intrigued. He had heard of vampire children, but they were rare and—like these boys—kept hidden until maturity. No wonder Hohenheim settled in such an isolated town.

 #

 Riza would have considered staying in town and renting a wagon if she’d known most of her walk would be uphill. Sunrise had come and gone, and the August sun was stretching across the rolling hills. She shed her light jacket, carrying it over her arm the rest of the journey.

She was almost there when she finally came across other humans. An adorable family with a young daughter.

“Are you looking for the automail shop?” the mom asked, crinkling her eyes in a friendly smile. Perhaps she thought Riza’s arm hidden beneath her jacket was automail.

“No, just visiting some friends,” Riza replied, hoping she didn’t come off too rude. She wasn’t sure she should let anyone know who she was visiting.

“Well, we are the doctors in town,” the man said, introducing them as the Rockbells. “If you need anything, stop by the clinic.”

Riza thanked them and continued up the hill. As she spotted a house that fit with Hohenheim’s directions, she spied two boys tussling in the shade of a large tree. They had the same coloring as Hohenheim.

She studied the boys. They looked so human, but there was something different about their movements. Faster, stronger, like a vampire. Any concern about their control around a frail human fled the moment they spotted her and reverted to human speeds, coming over to greet her politely.

“You Uncle Roy’s friend?” the smaller one asked. She stifled a laugh at him referring to Roy as uncle. Probably more of Hohenheim’s teasing.

“Yes, Riza Hawkeye. Are you Edward and Alphonse?”

“I’m Ed. This is Al,” the taller one said, sticking a thumb toward his brother.

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Riza if you’d like.”

“Do you want to see our treehouse?” Ed asked abruptly, gesturing up above in the branches, where there was in fact a small wooden fort with a tire swing underneath. “It’s so fun during the day, but Mom never lets us play in it unless there’s an adult around.” He grinned charmingly. Riza was being played.

“It’s already past bedtime,” Al said dutifully, but his pretty golden eyes also lingered on the treehouse.

“How about a quick look,” she said. “I’ve never been in a treehouse before.”

The boys cheered and clambered up the rudimentary ladder. Riza followed, feeling awkwardly tall as she hoisted herself up into the cozy wooden house.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding up a girl’s doll she almost sat on. It reminded her of one she had as a girl.

“Oh, that’s just Winry’s. She uses this during the day when we can’t come out. We’re only allowed to play with her in the evenings,” Ed said matter-of-factly.

“Winry Rockbell? I think I met her on the way here.” She doubted there were two girls with such an unusual name.

“Yeah, that’s her!” Al said excitedly.

The boys showed her around the treehouse like it was a grand house, rather than a small structure Riza couldn’t stand up fully in. The most interesting thing was the obvious remnants of alchemy. It looked advanced, from what she knew, and when she asked them about it, she wished she hadn’t. Alchemists were all the same. They would’ve talked her ear off if Al hadn’t started yawning, reminding her that vampire children slept during the day.

Inspecting the Elric home from the outside, Riza was unsurprised to find all the windows had locked shutters, and as the boys opened the door, they were very careful to only crack it as much as necessary to open it. Riza followed them in, most interested in finding a glass of water before getting to work.

Hohenheim popped his head out a door.

“Did they show you the treehouse?” he asked.

“It was a very nice treehouse,” Riza said, not wanting to get the boys in trouble. “And I’d never been in one. I just had to take a peek.”

A woman with chestnut brown hair and twinkling green eyes appeared beside him.

“Hello, you must be Miss Hawkeye. I hope the boys weren’t keeping you out too late.”

She introduced herself as Trisha Elric before ordering Hohenheim to get some refreshments while she corralled the boys into their bedroom.

Mustang was in the pristine kitchen drinking a glass of wine, looking comfortable at the kitchen table.

“We’ll wait for the boys to go to sleep and then fill you in,” Hohenheim said, offering her a glass of water and a plate of cheese and crackers.

By the time Riza had eaten and freshened up in the bathroom, Trisha had joined them at the table.

“The boys are asleep. They—they know a little about Van’s sire, but we don’t want to frighten them,” Trisha said, grasping her husband’s hand.

“While I don’t anticipate any real danger to the boys or Trisha, I would feel better if another vampire alchemist was with them while I was gone. And I requested Hawkeye because we need someone who can go into the daylight like our sons, just in case.” Hohenheim said.

Riza wondered what had been in the letter he mentioned earlier, and why it had made him bring outsiders into his family home after all this time. Not just any outsiders, the Flame Alchemist and the Hawk’s Eye. Riza was sure he had others he could trust equally, and while she was touched by his trust in them, she knew they had been chosen for their considerable skills. Even though Hohenheim didn’t expect danger, if there was any, it sounded like he wanted to be prepared for it to turn deadly.

After discussing Hohenheim’s plans, Trisha showed Riza and Mustang around the house while Hohenheim went to make some last preparations.

“You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen,” Trisha said. She tilted her head, glancing between Riza and Mustang before she asked, “Will you be needing blood, Roy?”

“I knew I’d be roughing it, so I overindulged last night,” he replied. It should hold him over, as long as he didn’t exert himself excessively. Riza could guess what Trisha was wondering, but Riza hadn’t given Mustang blood since the first time. She had an agreement with Mustang that she was a delicacy only to be used in emergencies. It had been…too much, the one and only time he’d been at her vein.

“I apologize that all we have is animal blood. I drink it whenever Van is gone,” Trisha said.

Human blood was limited in small villages like Resembool. Riza didn’t have to look at him to know Mustang was mentally groaning. Human blood was not only more nutritious, it tasted better. While Trisha and Mustang could give one another blood, vampires were tetchy about sharing with those in committed relationships.

“Do your sons drink much blood?” Riza asked.

“No, we occasionally add our own to their drinks, but they don’t need much. And Van and I do very well drinking from each other.” Trisha’s cheeks turned rosy. Oh.

They moved onto the sleeping arrangements. “Van said you two have known each other a long time and wouldn’t mind sharing a room,” she said. Trisha looked amused. “But he can be a busybody. So do you mind sharing the study? Otherwise we can put one of you up in the living room.”

Riza looked at Mustang, who only raised an eyebrow as if to say it was her decision. She’d either look like a prude or like she was sleeping with her boss.

“We can share,” she said. “I’d take the couch, but I don’t want to be in the way.” A compromise, she hoped. She really didn’t want to be a bother.

“I promise not to bite,” Mustang said teasingly.

Riza bestowed him with her most unimpressed look while Trisha laughed.

After Trisha left them to get settled for bed—because it was already almost noon and they had been up all night—Mustang couldn’t resist heckling her.

“You know, I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to share,” he said quietly, an attempt for them to not be overheard by the family in their rooms. “I could even take the couch.”

“It’s not like I’ll be sleeping much,” she said, realizing too late how that sounded, so she spoke quickly. “I’ll try and keep watch during the day. You can be on duty at night. It’s just a matter of adjusting my sleep schedule.”

“You planning to stay up all day?” he asked, sorting through his luggage. “You’re no good to me half asleep.”

“No, not today. I’ll go to bed earlier tomorrow. Could you wake me if I sleep past sunset?”

“Sure,” he said. “Are you going to wear that godawful thing you wore to bed when we stayed in Dublith?”

Riza scowled. The last time they had to share a room, he’d mercilessly teased her about her nightgown. It was a shapeless, high necked, long-sleeved gown that went down to just below her knees. But it was insanely comfortable, and she didn’t care what Mustang said.

“This one is short sleeved for summer,” she said innocently.

“That’s not better. How old are you, anyway? Eighty?”

He knew very well she was twenty-one.

“I brought an extra one in case you need something to sleep in,” she offered, infusing such sugary sweetness that he wrinkled his nose.

“I should burn it. It’s hideous.”

“It’s just for sleeping in,” she said.

“It makes you look like a stuffy virgin.”

Riza laughed, pulling out her hairbrush.

“I am a stuffy virgin,” she said. “So it’s doing its job.”

She thought nothing of the comment for a brief moment before she realized her blaring mistake. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the constant presence of Mustang since they boarded the train, or the fact that she was still a little in shock over learning Hohenheim had two vampire children, but she had let herself become too comfortable with Mustang. Flirtatious.

Mustang was even more surprised.

“That’s impossible! How did I not know this?” He promptly cleared his throat. “Not that I should know. But…you’ve had several boyfriends.”

She tilted her head, her smile falling.

“I’d rather not show off my body, especially my back, to someone I’m not serious about.” She could never date an alchemist, or anyone untrustworthy who could decipher her tattoo. It limited her prospects, but not as much as the odd hours of her job with Mustang did.

“And now I feel like an ass. I’m going to bed before I put my foot in my mouth again.”

“Probably best for both of us, sir,” she said, disappearing to the bathroom.

 #

 Hohenheim left as soon as it was dark, and Roy went up to make sure Hawkeye was awake. He paused outside the door, listening to her heart beating in the languid rhythm of sleep.

He knocked loudly on the door, grinning as her heart jumped awake. Then, because he was a foolish man, he opened the door to make certain she was awake. She stood in a hurry, hair tousled, eyes bleary.

And there was the ridiculous nightgown. This one had touches of feminine ruffles at the shoulders, and looked silky and soft. It was perfectly innocent.

This one, just like the one she’d worn in Dublith, seemed conjured from hell to torture him. He expected Hawkeye to wear something like all the female soldiers of the militia had. They’d been boyish and simple. Bland.

He rarely let himself think of her as anything more than a friend. That stupid nightgown had derailed all professional thoughts. He was itching to hike it up to her hips, revealing more skin inch by inch until—

“Did you need something?” she asked, turning to grab her bag.

“Um, breakfast is being served,” he replied, backing out of the doorway before he said or did anything else moronic.

Downstairs, Roy helped Trisha in the kitchen while they waited for the rest of the household to appear.

“Can you show us some flame alchemy?” A young voice asked from behind him, when breakfast was nearly finished. “Dad says you can set a whole building on fire.”

Roy turned and found the two brothers dressed and bright-eyed. They had the look alchemists get when knowledge is in front of them. Unfortunately, flame alchemy was something he could never teach them. He’d made a promise to Hawkeye.

“I suppose I could give you a quick demonstration if your mom doesn’t mind.”

Trisha laughed. “Sure. I’d like to see it, too.” She leaned back on the counter, watching expectantly.

Roy pulled out his gloves.

“Why do you have the transmutation circles on them?” Ed asked, curious.

Another benefit of becoming a vampire had been losing the need for drawing circles when transmuting.

“They are the original ones from—before,” he explained. “I still need the gloves for the spark, so I’ve kept using them.” Maybe one day when they needed replaced, he would just make them plain white. Then he looked at the boys watching in giddy anticipation. “Do you two need to draw them out?”

“We still need circles sometimes, but the older we get the less we need them,” Al said.

“I can do without one most of the time now,” Ed bragged.

“But you burn in the sun twice as fast as me,” Al pointed out, sticking out his tongue.

“Perhaps time for the demonstration,” Roy said, then with a snap he created a small flame in his hands, shaping it like a sunflower.

The Elrics ooed and ahhed as Roy did a few fanciful tricks, happy to use his alchemy for something good. He was also honest enough to admit to himself he loved to show off.

Hawkeye appeared and Roy extinguished the flames immediately. She had never outwardly said so, but he suspected she inherited her father’s dislike of showoffs.

“Time for breakfast,” Trisha said.

“Too bad Dad said we can’t ask him to teach us any flame alchemy,” he heard Ed mutter to his younger brother.

Roy would have to remember to thank Hohenheim for that later.

As they ate breakfast, the boys made a grand case for running to see their friend Winry before she had to go to bed. On this, Roy allowed Trisha to decide, and she practically pushed Roy and Hawkeye out the door with her children. He got a strong feeling she wanted time to herself.

“So you haven’t been able to go out much lately?” Hawkeye asked the boys, full of sympathy as they cut through a grassy field.

“Not during the day,” Al said forlornly.

“But Mom said we could invite Winry over to the treehouse either this afternoon or in the morning— since Riza’s here.” Ed looked hopefully at Hawkeye.

“That’s up to Mustang,” she said.

“That should be fine,” Roy agreed easily. The boys cheered and began plotting all the games they would play. Kids should be kids, Roy thought, and the treehouse was right in the front yard.

The Rockbell home was busy winding down for the night when they arrived, but they welcomed the boys and their escorts in with kindness.

Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell asked after Trisha.

“She stayed home to relax,” Hawkeye explained, doting on the family dog. Typical Hawkeye. If there was a dog, she could not resist making friends with it.

“I don’t blame her,” Yuriy confided. “Those boys probably talk even in their sleep. Winry is the same.”

“It’s good she has friends her age nearby,” Hawkeye said. “It’s a talkative age.” Her comment brought Roy back to little Riza Hawkeye growing up a little neglected and lonely in her father’s house. He’d once found her telling her dog about her day at school. After that, Roy made an effort to ask about her studies, and even then it had been like pulling teeth to get her to speak to him. Maybe what she’d needed was friends her own age, not an awkward teenage boy.

Granny Pinako shoved a bunch of sweets at them all, drawing Roy from his memories, and Winry brought some of her automail prototypes to show her friends. Now Roy understood why they were friends with the girl—she was as clever as they were.

“How am I supposed to know if it’s any good?” Ed asked her.

“Can’t you feel how light it is? But it’s still very durable!” she told him crossly.

“I think you should let me transmute some skulls on it. Make it look cooler,” Ed suggested, and their arguing turned into some kind of game of chase around the house with Al and even the dog joining in. It gave the adults a chance to talk.

“Of course we know you by reputation, Flame Alchemist,” Sarah said, once they got past the watered down version for why Roy and Hawkeye were bodyguards to two pre-pubescent boys.

“We were volunteers for the militia ourselves,” Yuriy said. “We appreciate everything you did for our country.”

Roy heard the genuine feeling in his words, but it left a bitter, crawling sensation behind. His mind went to that night, his body operating without his control, burning everything—and everyone—in sight. Hawkeye had rightfully put him down like the monster he was, though he wished the responsibility had fallen to someone else.

“Not to bring up troubling memories,” Yuriy added. “We just wanted to thank you.”

“We owe you just as much thanks,” Hawkeye said, recovering quicker than Roy. “There were more injuries than a bit of vampire blood could fix.” And many of the vampires tired of the chore, although Roy had never minded. He had always wanted to help others, and now in his veins he carried a gift to heal injuries more easily than alchemy.

“It was the least we could do. We know the good that vampires can do. Hohenheim saved my mother’s life,” Yuriy said, nodding at Pinako. “And this was fifty years ago,” he grinned, lightening the mood.

“How old is Hohenheim anyway?” Hawkeye asked.

“Old as dirt,” Ed yelled from across the room, laughing at his own joke.

Later, with promises to send Winry over in the morning, they left with two very hyperactive kids. It was in this excitement they showed their supernatural traits most. The boys played a game of leapfrog that was more like two leaping leopards. The boys never would have stayed under the radar in a busy city, but the country fields were vacant except a few bleating sheep.

“You can run ahead with the boys if you want,” Hawkeye said. “I can tell they are dying to run home faster than my human pace.”

“They probably walk slowly for the Rockbell girl all the time,” Roy said.

“Actually, we carry her,” Ed said. He skidded to a stop in front of Roy, uprooting clumps of grass in the process. “She’s not heavy and she likes to go fast.”

“Why don’t you give Riza a ride?” Al chimed in, joining them. “I bet you could jump over the sleeping sheep faster than we can!” Then he promptly looked panicked as Ed elbowed him. “Please don’t tell our mom about sheep jumping.”

“Sheep jumping?” Roy grinned wickedly. He thought of little Riza Hawkeye who hadn’t known how to enjoy herself. It was never too late, was it? “Come on, Hawkeye. Brace yourself.” He tossed her over his shoulder before she could protest.

 #

 “Did you like sheep jumping?” Al asked Riza eagerly as they came to the last bend before their house. Riza’s feet were happily on the ground again.

“I think it would’ve been more fun if I hadn’t been upside down,” she said, glaring at Mustang who pretended to fix his hair—which was no messier than usual.

“Yeah, we carry Winry piggyback,” Al agreed.

“It’s best to always ask before throwing a woman over your shoulder,” Mustang said. “Next time I will ask. Probably.”

“To be fair, it was fun,” Riza said. And if she’d wanted him to put her down, she would have made him do it. There was something to running fast, though she could have done with less jostling.

Trisha welcomed them back, and everyone scattered. Riza went to familiarize herself with the property while Roy did the same at vampire speed. Riza would have to do another circuit in the daylight to cover her bases.

Beginning her struggle to change her internal clock, Riza went to bed hours before sunrise, long before the vampires in the household. In Central, this was usually when she woke up for the day, but after pulling a couple of late nights, she fell into a heavy sleep.

 #

 When Mustang woke Riza, at first, she thought it was for her turn to take watch, but his posture was too urgent.

“Someone’s outside,” he said. “Get some clothes on. Come downstairs.”

Trisha and the boys were gathered in the living room with Mustang when Riza came down. She’d pulled on the clothes she wore yesterday in record time.

“You two do not leave this room unless I say so,” Trisha was saying, more fierce than Riza had heard her yet.

It was well past sunrise. Mustang and Trisha were captive to the house.

“I think there’s a fire right against the front door,” Mustang said, addressing Riza. As he spoke, she could suddenly smell the smoke. “If I stand back, you can open the door and I can take care of it.”

Riza nodded and walked to the door, her gun in one hand. Smoke seeped in through the thin cracks around the door. Riza waved at Mustang, his gloves at the ready, but he was hidden around the corner in the shadows.

The doorknob was too hot to touch, so she grasped it with the hem of her shirt. Unlatched, the door slammed open, a stack of firewood tumbling toward her. She jumped back against the wall as it blew a wave of heat into the house before Mustang smothered it with a crackle in the air.

“I hear someone out there,” Mustang warned.

Kicking the burnt wood out of the way, Riza stomped out of the house, eyes squinting in the bright sun.

The horror at seeing Yuriy Rockbell’s vacant blue eyes staring at her distracted her just a moment too long to avoid the knife in his hand.

 #

 The smell of Hawkeye’s spilled blood permeated the house, mixing with the fumes from the smoke. It was too bright to look. Roy’s eyes already ached from putting out the fire, but he had heard her gasp in surprise before she grunted in pain.

He snarled, almost lunging to the door when Trisha yanked him back.

“You’ll burn,” she said simply. “Edward—”

Ed rounded the corner, Trisha restraining him by the shirt so he couldn’t run out of the house.

“It’s Dr. Rockbell!” Ed said darkly. “He’s compelled.”

The sounds of scuffling continued.

“I have his weapon,” Hawkeye panted. “If Ed and Al can help me—”

Al darted out, followed by Ed—whose shirt ripped as he escaped his mother’s grasp.

A moment later the boys dragged Yuriy into the living room. Trisha tore into her wrist, giving him her blood while simultaneously compelling him to calm.

Hawkeye stumbled in next, clutching her abdomen, dripping with mouthwatering blood. There were also several deep gashes on her arms.

Roy’s fangs went to his wrist, pulling her against him in one swift motion. He held his dripping wrist to her lips, which she kept firmly closed.

“Riza,” he said gently. “Don’t make me compel you into drinking this. You need it.”

At last, she parted her lips and latched onto him, eyes closing as she sucked. Roy watched her throat flex as she swallowed, the warmth of her mouth and the subtle flick of her tongue on his skin delivering sensuous shivers down his spine.

As his blood joined with her body, a strange possessiveness he couldn’t explain came over him. He only knew he wanted to sink his fangs into her neck.

“Feel better?” he asked, hoping to distance himself. His own thirst was growing. He’d have to dig into the stash of animal blood after all. She’d taken more than he expected.

Hawkeye withdrew, a little blood dribbling down her chin, which she licked.

Roy’s fangs ached with the need to bite, but he forced himself to look over her injuries. Only faint marks remained of what was visible. The boys brought a first aid kit and a wet cloth to wash the blood off, so Roy left Hawkeye with them while he went to speak to Yuriy. He looked dazed, slumped over on the couch while Trisha patted his back.

“Is she all right?” the doctor asked him, looking worriedly at Hawkeye.

“She’s doing better,” Roy answered, probably not as kindly as he should have. He reminded himself it wasn’t Yuriy’s fault. “How are you?”

Yuriy rubbed his arm. “She broke my arm—understandably—but it’s healing as it should. I think it was a clean break.” He sighed heavily.

“Do you remember being compelled?” he questioned.

“It was a woman. Dark hair, very pretty.” Yuriy grimaced. “I was letting the dog out before bed and she was outside the house, waiting. She wanted me to get—” his eyes went to where Ed and Al were doting on Hawkeye.

“I see,” Trisha said, folding in on herself. “They were just baiting Van to leave.”

Roy nodded in quiet agreement. His sire wanted to collect those boys, and he had sent one of his followers to retrieve them. The woman who compelled Yuriy would surely try again.

“We need to leave—tonight,” Roy said.

[pegtl]

Landlocked Blues (2/10)

COMMISSION

PAIRING: Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart

SUMMARY: The Ackerman and Leonhart families have been warring over the control of Maria City for years, their conflict only intensified by the events that happened nearly half a decade ago. Seeking compromise, the heiress of the former family decides that forming a friendship with the latter’s heir would be the best course of action. However, circumstances are never on her side, and Mikasa must decide who she’s really loyal to.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Annie talks.

Annie has been in the business ever since she was a little girl. Moved from house to house since the Leonharts couldn’t find it in themselves to be free of enemies, she was practically forced into this life because of her inconsiderate relatives. She’s not the only person in this boat –– not by a long shot, especially given her similarly-aged cousins who have been in said proverbial boat for even longer than she. (Probably because they were boys. Typical.)

Nevertheless, as the only daughter of one of the most prominent council members in the Leonhart family, she took her duty very seriously. There wasn’t anything, in fact, that she didn’t take seriously in her life. It made things very complicated, and efficient in equal measure. People tended to think that she didn’t understand jokes, when in reality, it was just that she seldom found things very funny.

One of her responsibilities as a future councilwoman is that she ought to maintain a good informational network. Her cousins were more the arms-dealing and extortion-slash-intimidation end of the spectrum, leaving the hidden work to her.

Again. Typical.

But she didn’t complain, because complaining was a one way ticket to an eye roll. Annie has learned from observation that the eye roll means that you aren’t going to be taken very seriously and that you’ll probably be informed that you ought to either get back doing your job ‘properly’ or just stay in the kitchen if you’re going to be uncooperative. So far, she hasn’t been uncooperative, so that means she’s gotten enough brownie points to pull the little stunts she’s been plotting for the past few months.

The truth of the matter is that Annie knows everything about everything. She’s remarkably good at wetwork, since keeping track of things with pencil and paper (however dangerous, and regardless of her father’s protests) has never been easier. People never believe her when she tells her the secret. Maybe that’s also another reason why she excels so greatly at her duties. Nobody believes her.

Nevertheless, Anneliese Leonhart is the one person in Maria City who knows everything about everything. Unsuspicious and unimposing because of her small stature, her ability to remain undetected by even the most dangerous of spies allows her the privilege of having basically everybody under her thumb. Politicians, corporate executives, you name it. She’s got dirt on them.

She rarely, however, partakes in field work. Relying heavily on a web of spies that are no more suspicious than she is. A majority of them are kids living on the streets, with prying fingers and equally prying ears. Always the last people adults believe to be their leaks, the information her contacts have amassed has served enough to keep the Leonharts afloat for about half a decade. Her predecessor, an old man whose associates had long since fallen out of favor with the people they were supposed to be trailing, was entirely too incompetent to remain within the family.

So they had him killed.

They were a ‘family,’ in the barest sense of the word. The Leonharts shared blood. Many cohabitated, living in households hovering dangerously close the double-digits at times. Cooperation was encouraged and expected –– necessary, of course, but they were never beyond hurting their own people if they thought their personal goals took precedent over the needs of the gang. But that was as far as it went. Beyond immediate family, they were, in reality, a network of business associates.

People who indulged in less-than-legal businesses for a variety of reasons. They viewed themselves as vigilantes. It was more lucrative. Or they were just plain evil.

(If one were to ask Anneliese ten years ago, she would’ve said the latter was the most accurate reason.)

A greedy folk who sought any means possible to achieve both power and wealth.

This was the reason their war started with the Ackermans, after all.

While originally a noble French family way back before the twentieth century was even a thought in a single soul’s mind, the Leonharts immigrated to England, and then finally to Ireland. They left during the mid nineteenth century, right around the time of the Great Famine, although there had been plans to leave the country beforehand anyways. They found themselves quickly rooted in the northeast, where the Leonharts tried to make honest livings as distillers.

And then Prohibition set in.

Moving from facility to speakeasy wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to do when one had fingers in the right pies, and eventually, they were able to return to the practice of making alcohol legally. Tied with the Irish mob (and some of the family even being members of it), they managed to live in relative obscurity.

Until somewhere along the fifties and sixties, they got a little avaricious. Emboldened by the post-war peacefulness and tranquility. It was then that the Leonhart family proper was born.

Decades of conflict later, here they are now. An hereditary oligarchy with a council of five, with considerably looser morals in comparison to their other Maria City crime lord counterparts. Not quite having gotten out of the mid-twentieth century mindset of the predecessors, as one could easily tell.

Annie doesn’t usually mind her family’s backwards behavior. Because she doesn’t talk back and does good work, those prejudices hardly ever apply to her. She’s free to do her work as she pleases, getting results and protecting the family. That’s all she really needs to do, anyways, until her father’s underlying heart condition caused by massive amounts of cholesterol acted up enough for him to consider training her to take his place in the event that he suddenly. and without warning, passes. It isn’t as though her older brother is going to be bearing that responsibility. Connor left the moment he fell in love with some random girl.

If only Annie were so lucky.

So her role in the family was one of deception. She was supposed to work behind the scenes, pulling strings and jotting dark secrets and compromising information down. Her position as her father’s only child aside, she was never intended for public consumption. The only people who ought to recognize her were the baristas at the local Starbucks and bookstore frequenters. She was a normal teenage girl who was deciding to take a gap year before starting college. That’s how the Leonharts operate –– with fictional urban personas. Makes it easier to have an alibi when you’re already seen as an upstanding citizen.

(Yet another facet of watching whiteness work, she supposes bitterly.)

Given this information, it was obviously something of a shock to her when her father and mother approached her and told her that the council requested that she be the one to help them make contact with the Ackermans. The latter had reached out first, of course, trying to seek some sort of peace, and the Leonharts were reluctant but eventually willing to ‘discuss’ those terms.

At first she wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. She wasn’t one for negotiation. She wasn’t sure if anyone in the family was one for negotiation. They had a tendency to settle their problems with bloodshed. A lot of it. But instead, this time around, they had come to her and asked her to be their emissary.

It was an honor, so her father said, to be the representative of the entire family. She would be the one possibly forging peace between years of war. A leading figurehead of kindness and generosity. She knew that this wasn’t what he meant. They never say what they mean.

Before she actually leaves, weaponless and thus feeling defenseless, they tell her that they want her to swindle the ever living shit out of the Ackermans. Aside from the fact that they believe a girl will get closer to Mikasa Ackerman by virtue of sharing the same sex (and at that, she has to audibly scoff), they also believe that Annie being a relative unknown to the public and the Ackermans as a member of the Leonhart family will make it all the easier for them to trust her.

They want the Ackermans gone. Removed from the face of the planet, if possible.

Annie doesn’t know why she of all people is being given this task.

So she arrives at the meeting time. She isn’t too late, and is slightly annoyed that she didn’t have the foresight to bring an umbrella with her, because it’s starting to drizzle and doesn’t look like it’ll be letting up anytime soon. If anything, it looks like the precipitation will only be getting worse. Lucky her.

She’s dressed warmly in a leather jacket and jeans, with ankle high boots keeping her feet from getting wet. She avoids puddles as she makes her way into the alley, noting the single spotlight that shines down. Annie can make out two forms –– she’d expected as much; it was smart of the Ackermans to insist that the Leonhart come disadvantaged, given what happened to them previously. But they would never have known if the Leonharts would keep their word, so the whole thing is kind of preposterous.

The first thing Mikasa Ackerman says to her is a command. A stilted bark, as if she’s unused to demanding that people do things for her. Strike one, the mark of a bad leader. If anything, a leader is supposed to be confident, strong. They’re supposed to have a firm grasp on the orders they’re issuing, not a tentativeness that screams “do it, only if you want to.” Annie doesn’t feel inclined to listen to her at all. And she’s not sure she’s going to be able to fake a friendship with someone like this.

Nonetheless, she acquiesces with a snort, stepping into the light and raising her hands. It’s difficult to make out the features of her current business partners through the dark. The floodlight partially blinds her, making her squint through the illumination to even make out her surroundings. It might be the wind whistling past her ears, but she thinks she might’ve heard one of the two gasp.. Only once it’s apparently been ascertained that Annie is not a threat, Mikasa steps forward, also into the light, and offers a hand to shake.

Annie’s first thought is that Mikasa is an odd mixture of features. Not visually, of course. One would remark that she was actually very pretty. But it was the makeup of this prettiness that was amusing and somewhat perplexing to Annie. The girl had a noticeable scar on her cheek and a small, nearly imperceptible one on the bridge of her nose. Big, expressive eyes were framed under arched, angular brows. Her nose was small, almost buttonish, and her lips were just somewhere between plump and thin. They had a natural curl downwards, and her chin was rather pointed.

A mixture of severity and beauty. Hardness tempered by softness –– not so much that it was overtaken, but so much so that any scariness that might’ve been evoked from features that typically entailed an unfriendly scowl was practically erased. It was, again, amusing.

They shake hands for a brief moment. Firm, eye contact, one pump. Mikasa’s companion remains in the shadows, and it’s only after their boss’s sharp look and a turn of her shoulder that they move forward too. A boy, maybe a centimeter or two taller than Mikasa. Annie ought to feel tiny in comparison.

Instead, she’s busy counting strike two, another sign of a bad leader. Your men are supposed to follow you without question. They shouldn’t require two gestures in order to move their asses to do your bidding. They shouldn’t question it, let alone openly rebel. She wonders briefly if Mikasa considers this action an embarrassment as a testament to her ability to command her people. If she doesn’t, then that’s just another thing to critique.

“Thank you for coming,” Mikasa says, though the words seem more like a formality than anything else. “It means a lot that you’re willing to compromise with us like this.”

Oh, what is this? A Hallmark card? Annie bites back the words. She regrets letting her true emotions flit across her face for a brief second; she hasn’t been doing anything resembling fieldwork in a long time, so can you blame her? “The pleasure’s all mine. There are more than a couple of people in the family who think this stupid war is useless and that it’s been dragged on for far too long.”

Well, there probably are, but she’s not privy to their identities, and it’s more than certain they’re not going to go out of their way to reveal themselves. They’re the minority and probably always will be. Perhaps people of better moral quality would feel bad for the trickery they’re enacting on an unsuspecting pair –– that’s actually debatable; the boy seems like he isn’t very trustworthy of Annie, which is smart of him –– but those people probably have looser attachments towards their family and are what society would construe as functioning, good people.

Annie is no such thing.

Mikasa nods, seemingly accepting her words. She turns and introduces the boy behind her. “This is my brother, Aaron.”

“Your bodyguard?” Annie says, and notes instantly the slight flash of indignation behind Mikasa’s eyes. A tell. Evidently, Mikasa Ackerman dislikes the implication that she’s incapable of defending herself. If Aaron could see this distaste, there’s a high probability that he would be offended. What, Mikasa doesn’t think him worthy of protecting her? Seeds of dissension to be planted in his mind, Annie supposes. Just another way to gut the Ackermans from the inside out. “Or just your brother, I guess. That’s fine.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, disinterest evident in his gaze. He doesn’t want to be here, evidently doesn’t approve. More information to be stored away later. Why a leader would bring someone unwilling to be with them as a secondary liaison (if not a bodyguard, what else would he be?) was beyond her. But maybe it was because Aaron was Mikasa’s brother. Family and all that. Who knows?

“I’d appreciate it if we got down to business,” Mikasa says instead. “We’re here to negotiate peace between the families. It’s better if we stay on topic.” She looks anxious –– her posture attempts to conceal it, crossed arms and mismatched feet, her right facing the wall beside her and her left pointing directly at Annie, but it doesn’t do anything but make her look like she’s trying to hide her nervousness. She has a thing or two to learn about body language. Annie could probably teach her.

(Wow, outrageous thought. She’s going to block that out now.)

“Of course,” Annie responds. Neither of them have any documentation to present, which doesn’t exactly spell out good things for an agreement of a ceasing of hostilities. Luckily, Annie has a photographic memory. Unluckily, Mikasa has no idea that the Leonharts have no intention of holding up their end of the bargain. “Where would you like to start?”

Mikasa purses her lips. “Districting. We know perfectly well how the Leonharts don’t like to toe the line, trying to edge their way into our territory. We’d appreciate it if you stop, and we’ll split the city sixty, forty.” The hardness of her eyes makes it clear: sixty us. “We keep out of your business, you keep out of ours. We have history in this city. We’d like to make sure it remains untainted.”

Harsh words. Annie can appreciate that. Maybe she’s misjudged her. “Fifty, fifty. There’s no need to be greedy, Ackerman. We can share.”

“Fifty-five, forty-five, or nothing else,” Mikasa says.

Ooh. Not one predisposed to bargaining. Not that it matters in the end, anyways. Annie could roll over and accept all of Mikasa’s terms, but that would more suspicious than rejecting a few of them. No Leonhart would ever allow themselves to be trampled all over like this. But agreeing with this compromise at least would give the Ackermans the illusion that they’re in control of this conversation. “Fine. In return, we want you out of arms. That’s our territory, and we’re planning to keep it that way.”

Both the Ackermans and Leonharts have Russian connections, and their shared patronage has led to a fair share of scamming on behalf of their foreign middlemen. They’ve had a few lessons to teach them, but the better way to be rid of the entire scheme is to force out the other party. Extortion, the family can live with. The Ackermans are better at combat; it’s better to draw from whatever businesses they can, because it isn’t very likely that they’ll be able to take out other ventures and bring them under their wing. Especially not that dim-sum place. Levi Ackerman’s favorite, if Annie recalls correctly, and she always does.

Mikasa considers this briefly. Aaron twitches, glaring daggers into his sister’s back. He wants her to say no, but she pays him no heed. She probably knows that looking back to get his opinion would make her seem weak. At least she’s conscious of that. “Deal,” Mikasa says finally, and Aaron looks like a taut bowstring about to snap.

If looks could kill… “We also want full control of the wine district. We’re fully aware of your history, but we have plenty of it there too. Gardening has never been our forté.” She notes the slight dissatisfaction in Aaron’s gaze. Again, negligible. All she has to do is win Mikasa over and her brother will follow suit. How odd that she’s never heard of him, though. Judging by the permanent angry scowl marring his features, though, she’s surmised the reason they don’t let him go outside very often.

There’s a brief look of consideration that flits across the other girl’s face. She doesn’t like it, and is considering the option of flat out refusing a demand, of how well that will sit with them. Annie fights back the urge to tap her foot impatiently. She doesn’t have all night, and these are supposed to be preliminary talks anyways. (Of course they are. No way would Mikasa Ackerman just allow this to be set in stone through word of mouth, only. What if one of them forgot? No, Kenny Ackerman and Levi Ackerman would never allow this to be the only course of action.)

Evidently making up her mind, Mikasa shakes her head. “I’m afraid that’s not something I can do,” she says. “We’ll be willing to offer up thirty-five percent of the cargo district instead.” That’s where the guns come in from, so it makes sense. If the Ackermans are going to back off from arms, all the better that they allow Leonharts easier access to them in addition.

Annie’s lips twitch. It’s a minute tick, a gesture of dissatisfaction, but one that comes and goes as quickly as a blink. “We’ll take it.” She pauses. “That’s all my end wanted to discuss before we put it all to paper. Anything else?”

Four deals isn’t exactly enough to constitute a truce; she supposes that their shared presence is enough to declare that they’ll be leaving each other alone for the time being.

“Actually, there is. We want you to stop dealing the serum to kids. In fact, we want you to stop dealing it at all.”

Ah, yes, the serum. One of the more controversial drugs on the market currently, both because of its users (which is an age range that spans several decades) and because it’s so strong. Which is, obviously, the reason why people like it. It’s enough to put people out for twelve hours. Annie wasn’t sure whose bright idea it was to start marketing it to minors –– freshmen in high school, really, and then their peers –– but it certainly did make them a lot of money. Kids couldn’t pay much, and their prices were low compared to what was offered to adults, but the accessibility of the serum made it an easy profit.

It ended up being one of the Leonharts’ biggest enterprises; she was a fool to think it wouldn’t be a topic they’d bring up. All of the criminal wealth was pooling somewhere, and it was likely that the Ackermans would’ve wanted a cut. She didn’t expect them to want to get rid of it entirely. That was a call she couldn’t make alone. If she agreed, then at least, for a little while, they’d have to wait a bit before dealing it, once the Ackermans were dealt with. Killing their leader now was too obvious, and Kenny and Levi Ackerman in combination were altogether too dangerous for them to take on once the whole family was out for vengeance. Which was why she was actively dealing with them instead of shooting Mikasa outright. Pretending to be friendly only to incite rebellion, a civil war that would hopefully destroy the whole thing.

Sneaky, but effective. And taking the serum off the shelves was obviously a council issue –– and if she knows the council as well as she thinks she does (knows, she knows she does), they’ll probably say no. Might as well cut out that middleman as well. It doesn’t seem like a clincher, so she feels confident enough to answer on their behalf.

“You can’t really ask us to cut off the largest portion of our profit, Ackerman,” she responds. “I’m afraid we can’t stop slinging the serum. Maybe stop dealing to kids under sixteen, but I definitely don’t think we can stop it all the way. Has it been causing you any problems?”

“Yes.” Mikasa isn’t the one who spoke; it was her companion. Annie hadn’t taken much note of him –– why would she? He’s just a henchman –– but it seems that the topic of conversation as made his hackles rise. His fists are clenched at his sides, teeth gritting and eyes fiery. “It has caused plenty of problems.”

“Then you should wean your men off of it,” she says dismissively. It’s an easy enough solution. “We can stop dealing to them, too, if you want. It’s really not that hard though. The detox may hit but after a week or two, they should be fine. We wanted it to be addictive, but it wouldn’t be impossible to get rid of. Just needs a bit of willpower.”

It evidently was not the right course of action.

“It’s hard to wean a dead person off drugs,” Aaron says lowly, “and who could ever tell their mother what to do, anyways?” Mikasa shoots him an apprehensive look. It’s not reprimanding, and it seems like she’s more concerned with his current mental well-being than anything else.

“Hardly anything. Especially if your dad also isn’t around to force her hand.” His eyes, a mix between hazel and gold, flare with rage. Barely contained, like it could snap at any moment. She could probably take him down, but it wouldn’t be a very good look if she did. “Hard for Maria City to recover when your dad isn’t there and his hospital staff is in shambles.”

All of a sudden, it hits her.

Annie’s eyes widen. Shit –– it wasn’t Aaron, it was Eren. The Ackermans’ little charity case. How could she have completely missed that? She underestimated the boy, that's how. The Ackermans had never referred to Eren as Mikasa’s brother before, and it makes sense –– he’s a Yeager, not an Ackerman by blood. She hadn’t considered he’d been adopted, and if he hadn’t, an unofficial one. It was slightly difficult to wrap the idea around in her head. To call someone unrelated to you ‘family.’ Friends, maybe, but never more than that.

Her mind races to find other ways to fix this, to chuckle and apologize and move the conversation forward. There’s so much more that she wants to arrange as further provisions for the Leonharts, more loopholes for them to abuse. She has a job to do, but it seems like this last statement might have cut this little project short.

Well. That’s one misstep she might never recover from.

Annie clears her throat. “I understand any personal stakes you may have in this, but the serum is still one of the biggest ways we make money, and ––”

“I think this negotiation is over,” Mikasa says, eyes narrowed.

Ah, fuck.

“We don’t have any intentions of working with you if you refuse to discontinue the serum, and this disinclination increases tenfold if you refuse to stop distributing it to all minors.” She speaks as though either of their occupations offer a sense of ethics. Like they’re ever doing the mostly-right thing.

Annie doesn’t have anything to rebuke Mikasa’s words with, not without sounding disingenuous. The Leonhart pride keeps her from scrambling to get back in Mikasa’s favor after a failed first attempt –– though, it apparently seems the Leonharts themselves will not be very pleased with this development.

At her silence, Mikasa, tosses her a disgusted look and spins on her heel. Somehow, even when pulling off such an ugly expression, Mikasa seems to be able to hold onto the impression of beauty. So ready she is, to turn her back on her pet project. Maybe it’s because of Eren’s influence. Annie remains silent, stricken.

Finally, she finds her words, “You can’t exactly stop us from getting the majority of our revenue, Ackerman.” Hoping to seem meek, she attempts, “The rest of our deal is still on, though, right?”

The absence of words is all that needs to be said.

“Mark my words,” Eren hisses as he stalks off, trotting behind his sister, “you’re going to regret this.”

Annie knows she will. It’s the first time she’s failed.