#especially if every knife and strips to be unique and to move and maybe with flowy transparent fabric on top? hell yeh

[anede]

oh yeah, sketches of that assassin

[m-feys]

mp100 wip | ~ 5000 words | Teru POV | terumob + Reigen & Teru |  set in a fight with unknown espers, Teru struggles with mortaltiy, while Mob struggles to save him

-

"You have to let me go!"

He could see them charging the blast out of the corner of his eye and knew they couldn't last like this.

If Shigeo didn't focus on shielding himself, he would simply be shot out of the sky.

"Let me go or you're gonna die!" he screamed urgently at the boy suspended unnaturally among the clouds. Shigeo only stared, those ever intense eyes trained on him, teeth bared. His refusal unspoken but still palpable, just like the electricity in the air. They were trying to kill him.

It was a miracle on its own that the power blocking move had not worked on Shigeo entirely. But of course, miracles were Mob's average. But there was no way he would survive this, still holding onto Teruki. Miracle or not.

Mob wasn't holding him up with his powers. Teru may not have psychic energy at the moment— the move had it’s intended effect on him— so he couldn't sense Shigeo's energy like he always could. Even from great distances he could always feel him humming with power, it was unsettling to lack that feeling, especially so close. But still, he could tell the boy was only holding him by the iron grip on his wrist.

The tell-tale feeling of your body being held up by tiny cushions of power wasn't there. Instead, the whole of his weight was suspended by his arm. And his shoulder hurt, hurt, hurt. But only in the back of his mind was he aware of that. He could see Mob physically straining, and feel his grip tighten every time his sweat-slicked hand started to slip.

Teru couldn't overpower him in a psychic opposition. Especially not right now. But Mob wasn't holding him up with his powers.

For a moment it was like the world narrowed to only them and in a moment of clarity, knowing exactly what he had to do, Teru reached up with his free arm and grasped onto Mob's hand on his wrist.

Methodically, he started to pry those starch fingers away from his skin. He could feel himself slipping. He couldn't look away from Shigeo, even as the boy above him looked almost furious, eyes brimming with rage. Wait, no, maybe that was fear. Teru wasn't quite sure, even as he fell and Mob started to shrink from his view, oh, so quickly.

Still, falling like this, he felt an odd sense of calm. Either he would regain some of his powers before he hit the ground or he wouldn't. Still, either way, Shigeo would live.

What he didn't expect was to stop after few seconds of falling, coming to a painful halt.

It felt like he'd been dropped on the pavement but he was alive and he didn't think he'd broken anything. Yet he couldn't move, having been grabbed out of the air with someone's psychic powers as an iron fist. He was rising again and when Shigeo came into view he was shaking as he still had his hand reaching down in Teru's direction.

The moment of calm, probably very poor clarity, and maybe extremely bad judgement, was long broken, but it was then that all hell broke loose.

He stops falling suddenly once more. And once more, its not the ground that catches him. This time he can feel that familiar power. The unique aura that Mob has is holding him up. This time, its careful and unpanicked and he knows this is because Mob is at his full power.

A blast cuts through the air like a knife, deafening him as he sees Shigeo flung away like he's nothing more than an errant fly. The other boy goes careening through the clouds until Teru can't see him anymore. And he screams. Screams something. Has no idea what, barely even can hear himself to his muted ears as he screams for Shigeo. They were both falling now.

He's lifted again until he's level with the other boy and blinding star bursts of light explode around the espers attacking them, immense untamable energy hums through the air. And Teru feels his pulse beating staccato through the red handprint on his wrist, along with the thrumming in his ears. The flashes of power are dazzling but he finds his eyes going back to Shigeo and sees the boy suspended limply in the air. Eyes open slightlessly, wide and glowing as energy whipped around him and cast him in shadow. He's unconscious.

Teruki can only stare as their assailants are destroyed and cast back down to earth. He has no doubt, however, that Mob managed to leave them alive as he always did with humans, even while unconscious. Espers were never easy to kill, either.

They drift back to the ground with ease and once Teru is steady on his feet his picks his way past rubble over to Shigeo where he stays hovered just above the ground. His eyes are unsettlingly empty; Teru still doesn't look away, just watches and waits for him to wake up, clutching onto his inflamed shoulder all the while.

It's ironic. Right now when Mob is waking up from his unconscious explosion, he drifts back down to earth instead of getting up. He reaches out to steady him as he settles. He remembers how he lead the floating Kageyama back to his apartment by his hand, like a balloon on a string.

Then Teru is sitting down next to his shoulder, carefully balancing on his good arm and keeping his other still. His shoulder pounds a pulse beat as he feels the wrongness there. It must be dislocated. He reaches his hand back to it instinctively once he's settled and stares out at the destruction from their fight all around them. It's quiet, peaceful.

He glanced down to find Shigeo's eyes open staring mournfully up at the sky.

"Welcome back, Kageyama-kun," he says, trying for a smile.

"What did I do?" He asks blankly, eyes focused on nothing. "I can't remember."

"You saved me," is all Teru says, its simple. It's the truth.

For reasons he can't quite fathom, Kageyama’s eyes are welling up with tears now. There's nothing he can say and Teruki wishes the cinematic parallels to their first fight would just stop.

Shigeo starts to shift away from him, curling up on himself, lying on his side. And Teru knows nothing he can do to help. He hesitates for a moment as the boy sobs into his hands, then he falls forward, sort of half lying on him in his best attempt at a hug as he keeps his useless arm at his side while clutching at Shigeo's T-shirt with the other. He buries his nose in his shoulder and tries to muster a sadness to match Mob's but can only find fury that he can't do anything to fix it. And exhaustion. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against him like he might could bore his head into him and seep the sadness out of him like a sponge. They were alive, that had to count for something.

"We're ok!" He reminds him desperately. He clenches his teeth as Shigeo’s sobs continue on with shuddering breaths shaking his shoulder beneath Teru's head.

Then the boy is shifting and his shirt, still held fast in Teru's fist, is twisting around his abdomen. Arms are wrapping around Teru's head and shoulder as Mob presses his tear soaked face into his hair and cries.

He stays folded on himself and in Shigeo's grasp, hand held tight onto his shirt, needing something solid.

"We're ok," he repeats.

---

In the end it’s Shigeo's master that gets him to the hospital.

Ritsu is the one who finds them, trained in on his brother like a bloodhound. So, they're found not too long after falling from the sky. And Reigen is in tow, sprinting frantically after the esper boy zipping around with telekinesis.

The swelling of his shoulder probably was easy to spot, but the twist of pain on his face likely even easier. They go to Mob first, which Teru understands entirely. Ritsu quickly hugs his brother before staring on about questions of 'who did this' and 'where are they Nii-san'. while Reigen hands him a a handkerchief for his tears, asking if he's hurt. And checking him over for injuries even after the shake of his head. Teru sits with his knees curled up and injured arm held close and careful by his body. He watches as Reigen brushes Mob's hair back to check for head injuries while Ritsu stays tensely by his side and wonders if this burning feeling means he's jealous or grateful that Mob has people who so genuinely care for him. Family. Maybe he feels both.

With no warning, the attention is turned to him. And he's supposed to be used having all eyes on him, has reveled in it, in fact, but right now he's caught off guard. His wound is easy to see so there's no real need to ask, he thinks.

"What happened?" Reigen asks soberly as they look to him. Oh, that must be why they're focused on him now. They need the story.

He starts to explain, brows furrowed as he tries to relay it all as best he can, "They ambushed us, and then they stripped me of my power and I couldn't do anything, Mob had to—" Reigen cuts him off with a wave of his hand as if brushing it all aside.

"No, don't worry about any of that right now." He tells him seriously, looking him in the eye. "You can tell us about that later. What happened to your arm? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He hates the way his face crumples at the concerned words and all he can think is 'why bother crying now?' Don’t cry when they're looking at you. Don't show weakness. But he can't stop the well tears, even as he tries to blink them away. He swipes his good hand across his face quickly, trying to recover his composure and keep his voice steady, "My shoulder is dislocated," he admits miserably.

"Anywhere else hurt?" Reigen asks and all Teru can answer with this time is a shake of his head. He feels small and venerable— not for the first time. But its overwhelming to have someone trying to take care of him, that, he has not experienced in a long while.

Still, Shigeo's master leans over and brushes a hand across his head as he checks for injuries.

"Your nose is bleeding, does that hurt?" Reigen raises a concerned eyebrow at him and Teru reaches up to touch just above his lip and strangely enough finds it to be damp, pulling his fingers away to find deep crimson stained on their tips.

"I didn't even notice."

"Hm," Reigen simply nods with a frown and turns back to Mob, Teru barely hears what he asks him as he marvels how he didn't notice his nose bleeding. Then he's turning back to him, the handkerchief returned from Mob, "Sorry I don't have another, but you can use this and don't tilt your head back, let the blood drain out."

He nods and does as told, the cloth is not even damp, he thinks most of Mob's tears and snot must be in his hair. That's sort of funny.

"You think you can walk?" Reigen asks, still holding his crouch in front of him, hands braced on his knees.

"I can carry you," Ritsu offers quickly.

Teru shakes his head though. "No, I can walk." He answers readily.

Reigen nods and pushes himself to stand up before holding a hand down for Teru.

He looks at the hand, then up at the man offering it. He isn't entirely sure he trusts him. He admires him, just from having seen him in action that night at Claw and knows if he's Mob's master he must be someone good. But he's also an adult. And the way Teru sees it, adults either want to control you, and see you put into your place. Or, they abandon you. And they don't look back. The problem is, he wants so badly for an adult to see worth in him, especially someone good like Shigeo's master. But his brain is warning him he's only going to have his trust broken.

So be he hesitates, but in the end he takes his hand. He could use the help, he just hopes he isn't let down. Reigen holds him steady while he gets his legs under him without the use of his other arm. Then "You can lean on me if you need to ok?" The man offers.

"I can still lift both of you if you need," Ritsu adds, watching his movements sharply.

"Just let us know if you need help," Reigen decides.

He nods to acknowledge the words but Teru doesn't really ask for help. He watches as Ritsu helps Shigeo to his feet now. Their eyes catch as he stands and Teru takes the chance to study his face while Mob watches him in return.

"We just need to walk to the road then I can get us a car," Reigen says, clapping his hands together lightly, "hopefully," he adds under his breath.

Theres a small cut on the other boy's cheek that seems to have stopped bleeding already and one of his eyes is beginning to swell. His eye catches on the smear of blood on the shoulder of Shigeo’s dirty, roughed-up t-shirt where Teru had pressed his face into the fabric.

"I have to go find those guys," Ritsu declares dangerously.

Ritsu looks at his brother, brows furrowed, "Nii-san, I can go find them so they won't just get away," he offers more evenly.

"You need to stay with your brother," Reigen counters easily.

Shigeo shakes his head solemly, "... stay with us. Please, Ritsu."

"... Okay."

"Now," reigen says, stepping behind them to steer them forward gently. "Let's get you two to the hospital. I'll make sure nobody falls behind, Ritsu why don't you take the lead."

Little brother nods seriously as he walks up front, glancing back every now and then, while Reigen walks a few paces behind them.

Teruki glances over to Shigeo beside him. He looks tired, but Teru can't quite tell if he still feels all that despair he'd shown earlier. His gaze falls back to the blood stain on his shoulder. And he thinks of being curled up beside him. He thinks of trying to find some way to assuage all that pain.

Any and all risks Teru takes are calculated. When you see him fight he may not seem it, but he's careful. And he's always taking in information. So even if every move he makes might be a gamble, its one he knows he'll win. All his choices are careful and safe, except for when it comes to Kageyama Shigeo, apparently.

He starts to reach out, their hands are close as they walk side by side. and its easy to brush pinkies. He sees Mob's eyes flit down to their hands and then back ahead of them. And Teru honestly has no idea what he's thinking. What he might do. If he'll pull away, or brush closer. He does neither of those things though, simply keeps his hand where it is and walks. Teru takes another risk. He brushes his fingers past his palm and slots their hands together.

Mob blinks, misses a step and almost trips as he looks down at their hands. Then he's looking back up at him with wide eyes, and Teru waits for the backlash.

It doesn't come. Shigeo simply looks back down at his feet carefully studying their steps. And, he holds Teru's hand.

---

Their palms get sweaty and Shigeo starts to swing their hands stiffly between them like he doesn't know what he's meant to do. And Teruki feels like their hands were made to fit together.

Teru isn't exactly certain what information Reigen wrote on his sign-in form. He remembers answering a few questions for him, but recalls nothing about his parents.

The man is sat in a chair beside him in the hospital room now, idly flipping through a magazine. Teru is on the bed, his arm resting in a sling. They gave him pain medication and plan to release him in a few hours. But for now its just waiting, and stillness. He stares down at the spider web crack running across his phone screen, minimal damage considering what they'd been through.

"How ya feeling?" Reigen asks out of the blue, still looking at the magazine.

"Fine," he answers simply. The man is setting the magazine aside then, open-face on the small bedside table, focused on Teru now.

"That's one hell of a bruise."

He blinks and looks down at the purpling mark in the vague shape of a hand holding onto his wrist.

"Yeah," he agrees blankly.

"Wanna talk about it?" The question takes him off guard and he actually looks over at Reigen now. He looks serious; Teru considers it. He shrugs, feeling a slight twinge in his shoulder as he does.

"Mob did that?" He wonders, seeming concerned.

"Kageyama-kun just had to grab me." Something about Reigen's expression seems to sharpen at that.

"He had to, he saved me from falling."

"But he didn't catch you with his powers?"

"The power blocking, they had—" he starts, feeling impatient at having to explain this again.

"Oh, right, of course," Reigen nods, recalling.

It's silent for a moment again as he looks back down at his phone and traces the crack once more. For some reason he keeps talking, "I tried to save him too, but I couldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"When he had me I knew he couldn't protect himself if he was holding me so I tried to get him to let me go."

The room is dead silent then for a long moment. He looks over at Reigen after it goes on for too long, having expected a response.

He finds the man staring at him intently, eyes wide and horrified, "You did what?" He demands.

"I tried to save him," he clarifies but for some reason he's starting to feel guilty.

"You tried to throw yourself into a river to be someone else’s raft. That stuff doesn't work."

"He could have died trying to protect me!" He bites back feeling sick to his stomach at the thought.

"And you could have died from the fall!" Reigen responds, leaning towards him, looking furious.

"Why does that matter!?" He demands.

Reigen moves to perch on the bed beside his legs. He looks at him seriously, voice gentler now as he speaks, "you matter."

"Because you matter!" Reigen tells him sharply standing quickly, and Teru goes still with shock. "You matter! You're alive and you've got your whole life ahead of you. You don't just throw that away. You've got people who care about you and people who will down the line. Don't. throw. that. away." Teru wants to shrink away from the words. He stares up at the man and tears well up in his eyes.

Teruki had always lived a world that moved as game chips. Useful, well-liked pieces were kept, while unnecessary or threatening pieces were discarded. In the past he told himself he was an important piece because of his powers. One that could move other pieces as he liked. Then Mob came along and he wasn't so important anymore. 

Which was ok, really, if he didn't have to be special. It was ok that he wasn't perfect. Right? But he was just another piece then. Disposable. This Master Reigen seemed to think otherwise. That he had worth simply for being alive. Tears were streaming down his face but he wasn't quite sure when he had started crying.

A hand was on his shoulder, his uninjured one. "If Mob was trying to save you, don't try to take that choice from him." He continued sincerely, then sighed, "You're both alive and well, and that's what matters."

"Where is he?" Teru asks in a broken voice, too overwhelmed to be worried about seeming weak and getting choked up.

"He should be out of treatment soon or already is out." Reigen spoke, patting Teru's shoulder twice before standing from the bed and walking to the bathroom. "Do you want me to try and find him?" He asks, voice drifting out from the open door of the bathroom as he opens some cabinet drawers.

He steps back out with a roll of toilet paper, setting it down on the bed just next to Teru. He grabs it, wordlessly grateful for the immediate chance to wipe his face. He removes a length of it and sets the roll back down next to his phone. Something occurs to him.

"Did you have them call my parents?"

"No." Reigen answers simply moving to lean against the wall.

"But— how did you sign me in then?" He looks at him, bewildered.

"I said that I was your guardian." He responds like it makes the all the sense in the world and Teru balks.

"Why would you do that?" He demands.

Reigen considers him and Teru envies the way he keeps his demeanor his so unaffected even when he's being challenged.

"Mob told me you live alone and I have no idea what your relationship with your parents are like. And this way we don't have to wade thought the bullsh— the muck of trying to explain what happened before you get treatment."

That all... made sense.

"Want me to call them now?

He shakes his head quickly. Something else occurs to him, "You're paying for this?"

The man's mouth quirked in a smile, "Of course, I'm your dad now, aren't I?"

He couldn't help but snort at that. "Yeah... right."

---

Reigen had disappeared to talk to the front desk about payment but in his absence he'd sent Shigeo and Ritsu to keep him company in his room.

"Hey, Hanazawa," Ritsu spoke as he entered the room first, pushing the door open with Shigeo trailing just behind him.

"Hanazawa-kun," his older brother spoke, stepping out from beside him to stand just next to his bed as he looked him over intently. "How is your arm?"

Teru found himself smiling, "Hi, kageyama-kun and little brother. My arm is fine. Or at least it will be."

Mob nodded stiffly, examining the floor in great detail now. Teru was still focused only on him, concern knitting his brows when Ritsu spoke up.

"I'm gonna get get some water, anybody want some?" The door squeaked open as he spoke and both of them looked over to see him halfway out the door already, looking at them expectantly.

"I'm ok," Teru spoke and glanced at Mob's perplexed expression, adding, "We're ok."

Ritsu simply nodded and then he was gone, door slipping shut behind him. That was a little odd.

"Why didn't he get water before we came in here?" Mob wonders softly.

"Maybe he actually had to take a shit and didn't want to admit it?" Teru offered as explanation.

The line between Shigeo's brows deepened as he put a hand to his chin and considered this carefully, then, "maybe," he decided doubtfully.

Teru smiled at his serious expression but it started to fade as the worry on Mob's expression didn't ease.

"There are chairs if you want—"

Shigeo cut him off, which was a rarity in itself, "Can I see?"

"See what?"

"You arm." Teru tensed at the grave demeanor he was carrying, but shifted the arm in the sling towards him with no hesitance, so he could get a better look. Slowly, Shigeo reached a hand towards his, eyes focused on the purple bruise wrapped around his wrist.

Fingers brushed the discolored skin there with a feather light touch. Teru dared not move feeling like anything would startle this fragile moment, as if Mob might startle off like an injured animal. Which was ironic considering Teru was the hurt animal in this situation. Maybe Shigeo was feeling the same way towards him.

"Does it hurt?" The words were soft and Teru let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"No, not right now."

The hand lingered there for a long moment and he could only guess what was in Shigeo's head. But that wasn't enough for him.

"What are you thinking?" He wonders, barely above a whisper.

Dark eyes flit up to him, then back down. His hand moves away incrementally, no longer touching, but fingers still arrayed around his skin. "I... think I might could help heal you. But I don't want to mess it up," he supplied quietly, "And make it worse."

"You can try it," he answered immediately, trusting him entirely. "It’s just a bruise, so its not like you'll be trying to mend bone or something," he reasoned after the fact.

Shigeo hesitated for just a moment longer before a soft white glow started to emit from his hand held around Teru's wrist.

The feeling of it was hard to pin down, the power felt warm, uncomfortably so, almost like his body was running too hot just under the skin. And pinpricks were buzzing where the damaged blood vessels knitted themselves back together. It felt unnatural, but Teru kept himself still and let him work. When Mob did pull his hand away, he could see that the bruise was still visible in a few dark purpled spots and the rest faded to the brown of an old bruise. Like it had healed unevenly. Interesting.

"How does it feel?" Shigeo asked and when Teru glanced at him he could see the nervous tension around the boy's eyes.

He poked one of the brown places experimentally, nothing, "It feels better," he spoke, looking up to turn a smile on the other boy. In response, Shigeo’s shoulders relaxed incrementally as he took a step back to collapse into one of the chairs situated next to the bed. Teru relaxed back into his pillows in turn, still keeping his eyes on the other boy. As he settled into the chair, Mob curled in on himself, looking down at his hands as he twisted them together in his lap.

"Thank you, Kageyama-kun," he spoke sincerely, trying to calm whatever distressing thoughts he might be having.

"Why did you do it?" He asked in response, getting right to the thick of it.

Teru swallowed, "Do what?"

When Mob looked up at him his eyes were shining again and this time it was Teru who was staring down at his hands, unable to look at him.

"Why did you make me let you go?"

"I was trying to save you," he spoke, voice thick and nervous.

"You were hurting me," Shigeo responded simply and at those words Teruki's head snapped back up to look at him. The expression he wore was hard to parse and it was all Teru could do to hold his gaze, like whatever feeling was in his eyes was burning him just from looking at it. "I wasn't going to let you fall. But you just kept falling."

Teru froze at that, he hadn't thought of it from Mob's perspective, he'd watched him fall three times and three times he caught him, but the third he hadn't even been awake to see. His eyes drifted back down to his hands, curled instinctually around his phone and its dark, cracked screen.

"I didn't want you to get hurt protecting me," he said so softly and right now he couldn't bring himself to say 'die' when Mob had been so close to it and had seen him stray too close to it as well.

"I didn't. We're both still here."

"We are," he agrees brokenly, feeling like he's drowning in the smallest puddles.

"I'm always going to save you if I can. Please don't try to stop me." He requests. And Teru stares at his reflection in a cracked phone screen, face screwed up as tears well in his eyes. "Please, don't do that again," Shigeo asks of him once more and Teru can's speak as a drop of water lands on the reflective surface of his screen, another joins it as they run down the side and one seeps into the crack. He nods.

"Okay," he chokes out in agreement, managing to turn and look up at him. Mob has tear streaks running down his cheeks to match Teru's and he can't help but reach out his good hand towards him. Mob obliged him, standing and stepping towards the bed, and with no prompting he leans down to hug him. His arms are gently draped around him, as if he's trying to only barely be there. Teru holds onto him with his one arm as tight as he can.

"We're ok," Mob says, an echo of Teru's words earlier.

"We're ok," he repeats.

---

"He's just out in the hallway," Mob comments looking bewildered.

"Really?" Teru wonders, Shigeo had scooted his chair closer now and was allowing him to hold his hand. Though Mob had asked Teru if he was doing it right at first.

"Yes, he doesn't seem to be doing anything," he glanced up at Teru curiously, "can you sense him?"

"Maybe if I focused on him."

"Do you have your powers back yet?"

"I haven't tried yet," he admitted with a shrug. He could sense Mob's power again though, emanating from him like warmth from a radiator. Though there was really no telling if that spoke to the strength of his own power or the strength of Mob's. And Mob's psychic aura tended to drown out others, or at least Teruki was more tuned in to it than others. Maybe if he worked at it he could sense past the hum of power beside him into the hall where Ritsu was, but he had no real need or desire to. Instead he focused on his phone. It lifted easily and orbited in the air. He turned to look at Shigeo. "They're back."

Mob nodded, then gently tugged his hand away, quickly wiping it on his pants, "Sorry, my hand was sweaty," he spoke, but kept his hand in his lap. Teru quashed down his disappointment and nodded in return.

"Do you know how they did it?"

Mob's dark eyes shine in the cold lights as he looks at him from under his bangs.

"Did what?"

"The power blocking move."

“Not really,” he said, eyes still focused on Teru intently.

“What did it feel like to you? You still had some of your powers,” he points out, always wanting to know more.

Mob hesitates, staring down to study his hands in his lap before he answers, “strange... Like I was muffled.”

“It stopped working on you completely when you passed out,” Teru observed, already hypothesizing. It seemed to have some connection to the conscious mind, and they knew it was temporary.

“Maybe you have to be thinking about it,” Mob wondered.

Teru lit up at that, “you mean like perception block in your mind?”

Shigeo blinked at him, “maybe,” he agreed mildly, clearly not undestanding, but Teru smiled at him anyway, Mob may have figured out more than he knew, he’d have to work on this.

[demytasse]

[Shinzaya] Blindsight —Prologue

(Dullahan Izaya AU) A slice of life fic that starts at the point where Shinra and Izaya first meet and continues through the years. It’s rather wabisabi-esque, and really, it’s an outlet for my over-abundant fuwafuwa, dokidoki feelings for these two...and an excuse for me to gush over them...yet again. (  ´͈ ᵕ `͈) Inspired from a ‘what it...’ ask that @vanitasmisora sent.

—

   Izaya was aware of how unique he was.

If he couldn't gather that from centuries of experience then he was far unworthy of those years. Even if he were given leeway for his lost memories it’d still be a travesty of the high intellect he believed himself to have; because he had such a distinct weight of isolation without a discernible reason for it, which if he had one takeaway from that feeling it would be that he lacked comrades.

Izaya knew his rationale hadn’t fooled him. If it had then he wouldn’t be in his current place—laid out and tied down, upon an operating table that was likely the only one to ever hold one of his kind: a dullahan of Celtic myth. Indeed, if there were another like himself then there wouldn’t be such a fuss over his presence.

There wouldn’t be doctoral associates looming over his bare, vulnerable body.

Nor would there be murmured interest among them.

And most certainly there wouldn’t be an excitable kid boosted on the table edge to get a better view of a headless being; whose smile broke the boundary of his surgical mask with wonderment up to his eyes, his voiceless audible and better viewed than anything.

      "Wow…"

Out of those in the room, Izaya had an inkling that this child was the oddest one of the bunch—perhaps even more amongst people in the outside world.

   Which once again Izaya could relate, if not in the past at least in the present.

It was with his dismal self-awareness that the dullahan was immediately enamoured of his table-mate who remained ignorant of the hustle around him. Izaya and this boy; likely the sore-thumbs in every crowd they could find themselves in.

—

      "Time isn’t patient, Shinra. Especially with this particular patient."

From Izaya's vantage was an older man frigid in his smock that often presented himself with pep to counterbalance his off-putting vibe; he watched as he threw a glance to his carbon copy.

      "Any son of mine wouldn’t procrastinate under these circumstances. He would cut with his scalpel rather than corners."

For all intents and purposes, the son he unfairly chastised was too green for the laboratory in the first place, though Izaya knew the organization which hosted these experiments hardly cared.

Though that made the situation worse.

      "A-ah! R-right."

It was obvious that this kid wasn’t ready.

Perhaps it wasn’t due to his nerves, not fully, as inexperience seemed to only mildly affect him, but that wasn’t quite it.

No—in actuality it looked like he just wanted more time to gape. He was so young that a living corpse was something to revel like he’d already been and continued to.

It was clear that Izaya wasn’t just some experiment.

And maybe his father’s expert advice was correct, that time is of the essence or whatever idiomatic babble he’d used earlier. Still, it was harsh to sever innocence from his son, it being important to let a kid be a kid. That ripe curiosity was something to appreciate.

And Izaya did. Unexpectedly.

The kid nervously patted himself down, looking for a tool he seemed to have lost. 

His father as he shook his head in disapproval. “I’m going to overlook your shameful disregard of proper sanitary practices this time...it’s not that it matters given your patient.”

A scalpel was offered and suddenly excitement took over his frantic nerves. Shinra snatched it—like he did his unique opportunity to dissect a cryptid; a chance most wouldn’t even think to dream of.

Once he did, his attention snapped back to Izaya with a giddy expression, like his emotions spoke for him.

      ‘Look, look! We get to play with one another now!’

It was pure, innocent human fascination. As it would seem, Izaya shared fascination of his own, and if anything could dull the excruciating pain of his conscious-mind dissection it would be this miracle anaesthesia as not only traditional methods were proven ineffective, but this intrigue…

...it was far stronger on its own.

Izaya’s own curiosity could dissuade the pain. In awe, he could observe the sloppy method of his prosector—Shinra.

To use his name would give proper respect to whom he regarded a send from some god he may have known before his memories were stripped.

Shinra’s excitement made him quiver, the knife loose in his fingers almost dropped. Under his breath, he ran through steps, notes that he may have written out and studied until the paper was more like a napkin.

      “...use the drawn mark as a guide…

      “...place the tip at the top…

      “...adjust the angle of the blade…”

And then he paused—Izaya was left antsy for the incision. 

      "Dad...I’m not sure if I'm doing it right." Shinra tested the correct pressure as he shook more.

      "Trial and error. Figure it out as you go along, my boy. It’s not like he feels pain... at least not like any human I know." He chuckled.

Given who Shingen was, the humans he knew were probably more than the handful present, perhaps an entire surgical department’s worth and possibly more than the members exclusive to Nebula.

Izaya didn’t know the breadth of his connections, but he did know that the man probably didn’t know any of them.

Sadly, his son was among that lot.

      “Okay…”

Things picked up as Shinra caught his bearings. He lost some of his disruptive nerves, but never fully; he’d held back a fraction like he needed permission—rather—a reminder that what he was performing was a dissection akin to a dead animal so what he was doing wasn’t ethical abuse.

Which ethics, did he even have any?

If the boy was raised in another household then maybe he’d be instilled with a rational sense of right or wrong.

Given his circumstances, if a medical commentator interrupted to ask for his morals his response would be confusion, a cocked head, and an immediate return to his slice and dice, his palpation of useless organs.

Aside from morals, Izaya was reassured that it didn’t matter. Between squelches of intestines and kidneys, the squash of the liver and stomach, the mini surgeon would check in with his patient. Not to take note of his reactions as data points, but to actually check in with him. As if he began to connect subtle body movements to certain kinds of pain, pinpoint the times when he relaxed and what prompted them, astutely notice Izaya’s own fixation, thusly resonated with the reverb of his silent pain.

The boy offered his sympathy. Ethics and morals—even if they were held they wouldn’t hold up against Shinra’s conscience, untampered and untainted.

He was mature in his own way, adultlike when he shouldn’t have been and had more regard of life than everyone in the lab put together and that was a travesty of the supposedly intellectual human race.

But due to that innocent compassion, Izaya lost all sense of harsh reality as Shinra took care of him in a way that differed from a dissection.

Izaya was being examined bit-by-bloodless-bit, being accounted for internal pieces and their proper placement, yet only focused on Shinra. Later on, he’d discover that he saw the kid as ‘adorable’ while at the moment he hadn’t the term.

      Shinra nodded with a final glance, ‘don’t worry, I’m almost done.’

He moved on—right side of the chest cavity to the left—stopped at an organ beneath his fingertips and slipped them under to remove it. None of his other organs had been handled delicately, in fact, none of them had been removed.

Thus the importance was heavy.

Shinra took Izaya’s heart from his beatless chest into a cradle of his hands—he almost bowed in respect of its beauty.

      "...dad, what's his name…?"

Izaya was aware of how unique Shinra was.

      "Shinra! Just concentrate."

Inhuman or not, the dullahan would’ve been heartless not recognise Shinra’s unrivalled passion. Even with his heart absent from his chest, it was obvious.

Apart from drone adults, Shinra was an interesting specimen himself. He who gave Izaya hope that he wouldn't experience his rebooted lifetime from the reflection of dead-eyed, veteran surgeons; wisened men and women long disenchanted by their craft.

      "What's his name," Shinra demanded.

      "Where did this insubordination suddenly come from?”

Though Shinra kept to the scrutiny of his trophy organ.

      “Simply blasphemous.” Shingen blotted sweat with his sleeve, sighed. “It's... Isaiah…?”

Overhead light reflected off his goggles while he pretended to search his memories until he hazarded a glance down at his son.

      He exuded pride, his obstructed smile endearing. “Ah, right, I believe it’s...Izaya.”

As Shinra was given a name he perked up—to which Shingen nudged him to proceed after he noticed the returned vigour.

      “Now replace his heart before the incision closes."

Shinra fell into an obsession of Izaya’s entire being, heart and all. With a proven myth and supernatural existence; a specimen that appeared human yet uniquely dazzled.

An aberration, a head above the rest with one less above its neck. A dullahan, but far more a beauty to cherish.

Though the rest of Shinra remained a mystery to Izaya; at that particular place and time, all that was uncovered was fascination. The boy’s brain could’ve been splayed like Izaya on the table—his psyche could have been revealed for all to see and yet the details would still be undefined. 

All but one thing wouldn’t be a puzzle.

Shinra, with a heart at the level of his own, would make damn sure of what he paid explicit mind to for all his years...

      "Izaya…"

At that the two were ensnared. Shinra and Izaya were beholden of each other’s perception of love; taken on a ride through various versions of the concept in tow of an unreliable source of emotional intelligence. 

      "...it's nice to meet you."

All in a moment they saw the world eye to eye, if only by blindsight.

——

AN: Did I mention? I get a little romantically morbid...>w>; I absolutely adore lil Shinra, so I put extra care into writing him. This is the wordiest part of the fic, the rest of the chapters will be shorter, I just wanted to set up the story first. ♡

[breanime]

Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today

Requested by @slytheringranger: Hi! Can I request Soulmate AU with Diego Hargreeves, in which Reader (a good friend of Klaus, she often helped him by giving a hug, a warm meal and a place to sleep) is Diego's soulmate but doesn't want to tell him because she thinks that he still loves Eudora and wants to start over (especially after apocalypse mess is over and some people came back to life)?

*gif not mine*

The day before the apocalypse was a time you would never forget. After days of Five—who had come back in the same body (but not the same age?) he’d left in—dragging a mannequin around town talking about the end of the world, and Diego losing Eudora, Klaus losing Dave (who was from the past?), and Allison losing her voice—you weren’t exactly in the clearest of mindsets. Really, you were so afraid of what tomorrow would bring, you didn’t even want the day to end…

So when a bruised Diego dragged a detoxing Klaus into your apartment at 3 in the morning, you didn’t so much as blink.

“You guys want coffee or cocktails?” You had asked.

Diego had smiled at you—not the sarcastic kind of smile he’d give Luther or his father, or the cocky smile he’d flash at Klaus or Ben in the old days—but a special, small smile that he only ever aimed at you. “Coffee for me, sleep for my brother,” he’d said.

It took the two of you a few minutes to get Klaus stripped down (“no peeking”, he had giggled at you as Diego helped you take off his leather see-through pants) and into bed, but you’d done it.

“Hey, Y/N,” Klaus had called to you, shivering in bed while drenched in sweat, “Wanna see my mark? Make sure we’re not s-s-s-soulmates?” He grinned up at you through his shivering. Still grinning—still shaking—Klaus waved his inner wrist in your face, showing his distinct and unique soulmate mark that was clear on his skin: silver dog-tags.

You had pushed his hand down; knowing good and well that his mark matched Dave and that yours—a black dagger on your right buttocks—matched Diego. “I should be so lucky,” you joked as you placed another blanket over your sick friend. “Get some rest, Klaus.”

“Luther called a family meeting in the morning,” Diego had added, “Maybe then we can convince him to let Vanya out.”

You had held your tongue. That had been a shock to you—hearing that Vanya, your quiet, mousy friend, would be the cause of the end of the world. You were still struggling with the thought that she had powers at all, let alone powers that could—and apparently would—end the world. Worst still—you weren’t sure you were pro-locking her up, either… But you weren’t a Hargreeves, you were just an ordinary friend who often found yourself in unordinary situations. So you didn’t get a vote.

Diego had led you to your living room, and you could see the tension and stress in the set of his shoulders. It had only been a couple of days since he’d lost Eudora, and you knew he wasn’t coping well. You immediately set about making him coffee, unable to bring yourself to look him in the eyes. In all honesty, you had known you were in love with Diego long before your soulmate mark had shown up on your 16th birthday. The problem was that he wasn’t in love with you. You’d seen him with other women, and it had hurt, but you’d always known that it was just a passing fancy. Until Eudora. It was like they were two peas in a pod, like they were one complete sentence in two different clauses, like they were meant to be together…soulmates. And even after they ‘broke up’ and decided to just be friends, you could still see the familiarity and easy affection between them. So you figured…maybe it was possible for a person to have an unrequited soulmate. It would be sad, and it would be lonely, but… it was your life. What could you do?

“Thanks,” Diego’s voice, tired and deep and familiar, called your attention, “for this, Y/N… I… You’re the only person I can count on.” He sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, the way you’d seen him do a thousand times before. “I don’t know what I would do without you… After what happened to Eudora, and M-M-Mom,” he had taken a deep breath then, “You’re all I have left.”

“Don’t say that,” you’d come to stand in front of him then, looking down at him with nothing but love in your eyes, “You have your family—and there’s still hope left. If anyone can save the world,” you smiled, “the Umbrella Academy can.”

You’d been rewarded with Diego’s smile—his special smile—and your heart had started pounding at the sight of it. “I don’t deserve you.” He’d said.

“Yeah, yeah,” you had rolled your eyes playfully, “that’s old news, Knifeboy.”

“Hey,” his hand had shot out, reaching for you, “I mean that. All these years, you’ve been by my side. And I know that I don’t exactly make it easy,” he gripped your hand firmly, “I don’t deserve you.”

You had opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a surprised shriek when the lights went out. Diego had stood up, and you heard the familiar sound of metal as he brandished one of his knives. “Shit,” you sighed, “These blackouts have been going on and off for the last few days,” you moved to a cabinet and pulled out a couple of candles. “I thought maybe it had something to do with the end of the world, but now…”

“It still might be,” Diego was suddenly right behind you. You could feel him at your back.

You licked your lips as you lit a few candles, not moving from your spot at the counter. Diego didn’t move either. You had stared down at the flame flickering in front of you as you spoke. “Did… Did Five say what happened to me? In the future? Like… how I die?”

“Hey,” Diego’s hands had found their way to your hips, and he turned you around to face him. The light from the candles casted shadows on his face, illuminating his features. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “I’m gonna protect you.”

“Diego…”

“I know I didn’t do a good job with Patch,” he went on, “and I know I’ve let you down before, but I promise… nothing’s gonna happen to you, Y/N. I’m gonna protect you.”

“I know you will,” you had put a hand on his chest, right over his heart.

He covered your hand with his own, and he had looked down at you with a certain look in his eye… It wasn’t a look you had ever seen before. Not on Diego, and certainly not directed at you. “Can… I need to ask you something.”

You nodded. “Okay…Ask.”

“Just… If I’m not your soulmate,” he’d said, slowly, “don’t tell me. Okay?”

Your eyes had widened at his words. You and Diego never talked about soulmates—he had never asked about your mark, and you’d never asked about his. If anything, you both made an effort to hide your marks from each other since you were 16. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay,” Diego’s fingers tapped yours on his chest, and you could feel his heart beating faster with each moment that passed, “Is it okay if I k-k-k-k,” he had taken a steadying breath then, “kiss you?”

You nodded again.

Diego took a step, hand still over your hand on his heart. Slowly, he leaned down. You closed your eyes when you felt his breath on your face. Your heart felt like it would burst when his lips finally pressed against yours. You had fantasized about kissing Diego since you were a teenager, but none of your fantasies prepared you for how soft his lips were, or how gently he held you. Both of his hands went to your hips, pulling you closer, and you tilted your head to allow him better access to you. You put both of your hands on his face, and your toes curled when you felt his tongue slip into your waiting mouth. One of his hands went down to grip your ass, and you gasped at the feeling. You could feel Diego’s smirk against your mouth. He lifted you up like you were nothing and carried you to your bedroom. He kicked the door shut, not concerned at all with the lack of light.

He laid you on the bed, kissing you senseless as your hands roamed up and down his back. He sat up, stripping his shirt off, and you could see his wide smile even in the dark. He was still smiling when he leaned down to kiss you.

You spent the night in Diego’s arms, and you were grateful for the dark. He couldn’t see your soulmate mark (even though you ended up in a variety of positions showing it off), and you didn’t see his. Once you were finished, you lay in the bed together, sweaty and grinning from ear to ear.

“So we should have done that a long time ago,” you said, grinning at him.

Diego had smiled back down at you. “Hell yeah we should have.” He had kissed your forehead, arms wrapped up around you, and sighed happily.

You had wanted to stay naked in bed with him all night, but you needed to check on Klaus…and you didn’t want him to wake up and see your mark, so you had kissed him again, got out of bed, and shimmied into a T-shirt and pajama shorts. Diego had complained and whined from the bed the whole time, but it only took you a second to check on Klaus—who was knocked out—and then you were back in bed with Diego.

The next morning, Diego had woken you up with kisses. His smiling face in the sun was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He was fully dressed—complete with the knife harness. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you smiled back.

He had kissed you then, and you knew immediately that this is what you wanted every morning for the rest of your life. “Klaus and I have to head out,” he said, caressing your face gently, “family meeting.”

“You’ll make sure Luther lets Vanya out, right?” You asked, frowning.

He nodded. “I will. Klaus and Allison want to free her, too. Ben, too, probably,” he sighed as he looked down at you, “I’m gonna fix this, Y/N, I promise.”

You smiled. “I know you will.” You reached out for him and kissed him one more time. “Now go save the world.”

He didn’t save the world. The apocalypse happened, the city was destroyed, and the Umbrella Academy—including Vanya—disappeared.

And then they came back. It was weird, and you didn’t fully understand it, but somehow Five used his powers to take them back in time and change the timeline. So, one second you were cowering in the basement of your apartment building as moon rocks fell from the sky, and the next you were in a haze of electric blue light and everything was back to normal. The news reported what Diego and his family had done, and you watched, tears in your eyes, as he and his brothers and sisters were honored by the mayor of the city. Your mouth dropped when you saw Ben standing in line between Diego and Klaus—alive, smiling, and the tears spilled down your cheeks. Ben.

“How is this possible?” One of the reporters in the crowd asked, shoving a microphone in Ben’s face. You saw Diego grimace beside him.

Klaus stepped up, grinning in his sparkling purple eyeliner. “Our dear, dead brother Ben is no longer dead!” He announced, throwing an arm around Ben. “By the confusing—and frankly contradictory, I don’t know who makes these rules—powers of time travel, we have been able to bring a number of poor, lost souls back from the cold grip of Death!”

“It wasn’t just time travel,” Luther interjected, “Klaus is the reason so many people were able to be saved. He’s the real hero here.”

Your gin about broke your face at Luther’s words. You were so proud of Klaus, and Diego—of all of them. And Ben was back! You couldn’t wait to see him.

You saw Diego lean over and whisper something in Luther’s ear, and Luther nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to the cameras. “That’s all of the questions we’re going to take today, thank you,” Luther declared, “Any other questions can be directed to Detective Eudora Patch.”

Your eyes widened as Eudora stepped into view. She nodded over at Luther and started taking questions. You watched her as the Umbrella Academy walked off, not hearing a word she was saying. She was—as always—wearing a turtleneck sweater under a dark jacket; you always assumed her soulmate mark—Diego’s soulmate mark, probably—was on her neck. You sat down on your couch, watching but not seeing, and thought about what this all meant. Diego would have a second chance with his soulmate. They could start over together, do it right this time. That was… That was wonderful. It was amazing. You were happy for him…

…you could be happy for him and sad for yourself at the same time, right?

An hour later, you sat on your balcony, looking over at the city. Not even 24 hours ago, everything was dark and black and horrible, and now… It was like nothing had happened, like everyone had just forgotten the death and panic and fear. But you hadn’t. You remembered it all. Beyond the terror and confusion, you remembered what it was like to kiss Diego, to feel him inside of you, to be secure and safe in his arms. And now you had to ask yourself the question: was it better to have had those moments with Diego, your soulmate, and never have them again? Or would it have been better to have never been with him, never have known what might have been?

You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of was how much it hurt.

“Is it too soon to say ‘I told you so’?” Diego’s voice cut into your thoughts, and you spun around to see him behind you.

“What—how—?”

He shrugged, grinning. “You think I don’t know how to break into my best friend’s apartment?” He leaned against the doorway. “It was frighteningly easy, by the way. Your door wasn’t even locked—”

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

Diego frowned. That wasn’t the reaction he was looking for, clearly. “What, I need an excuse to see you now?” He asked back.

You shook your head. “No, I… I just saw the press conference, so…”

He grinned again. “Yeah? You like that? I told Luther to wrap it up, none of us want to be in the limelight like that anymore.” His grin faded the more he looked at you. He straightened up. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Nothing, I…” You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you decided to ignore them. Diego didn’t. “I’m just… surprised to see you.”

“You didn’t think I could do it?” He asked, glaring now. “Save the world?”

“No—of course I thought you could do it; I knew you could,” you said quickly, “I just… Ben is back.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought maybe you’d be with him, or…”

“Y/N, we were in between time periods for a while there,” Diego rolled his eyes, “like—a long while. We got all the sibling bonding time we needed—and then some.” He looked at his feet. “Five said it would only look like we were gone a day, but it was a lot longer than that for us. And we did it—we saved the world, but we weren’t always sure that we would. I wasn’t…” He took a deep breath before looking up at you. “I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again. And now that I’m here…” He took a step back. “I should go.”

“No!” You ran up to him and tackled him in a hug. You cried into his chest, and Diego wrapped his arms around you. You were so, so glad to see him, no matter the circumstances. And you needed to let him know that. “Don’t go.” You inhaled his scent and decided to commit to the fact that you loved him. He was your soulmate, and even if you weren’t his, you knew that you would always love him, always hope and fight for his happiness—even if it wasn’t with you.

“You gotta tell me what’s wrong, princess,” he said softly, arms still securely wrapped around you, “I won’t know how to make you stop crying if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You sniffled into his chest. What was wrong? You were in love with someone who was in love with someone else—that was what was wrong. Your soulmate had a different soulmate, you were sure of it, that was what was wrong. You picked your head up and looked at Diego. His eyes were wide and sad, and you could see the worry and confusion shimmering in them. That was because of you. Sighing, you took a step back from him—and his frown deepened at the small distance between you. “Do… Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”

He smirked. “You mean when we fucked? Made love? Bumped uglies until you couldn’t move anymore and then I held you all night long? When we—”

“—Oh my God,” you couldn’t help but laugh as you smacked him in the chest, “Jesus, Diego, please shut the fuck up, I’m begging you—”

“—You begged me then, too…”

“My point,” you went on, “was that, yes, that…that happened,” you took a breath, “and do you remember what happened before that? All the people we lost?”

He nodded, serious again. “Of course I remember. But they’re okay now, Mom’s fine, Patch is good—” He stopped, eyes widening. “Y/N,” he said slowly, staring over at you, “Are you—is this because of Eudora?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself and tried to keep the tears at bay. “I… I’m happy for you,” you said shakily, “You got your soulmate back, and I don’t want to get in the way of that—”

“—My—? What are you talking about?” Diego stepped up to you. “Patch isn’t my soulmate.”

Your eyes widened. “She isn’t? But—”

“—What, this whole time you thought she was my soulmate?” He asked, shaking his head. “No, Y/N, that’s crazy—she’s my friend, we’re good friends, but…” He stopped. “Fuck it.” Without another word, Diego propped his leg over the railing and pulled his pants leg up. Just above his ankle, in bright colors that you immediately recognized, was your soulmate mark.

You were his soulmate.

“Don’t—don’t show me yours,” he asked quietly, looking down at his leg, “I won’t be able to take it, y’know? If you’re not my soulmate…” He sighed, rolling his pants leg down and putting his foot back on the ground. He looked so sad when he looked back up at you again. “I can’t lie to you, Y/N, when you find your soulmate, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to control myself. I mean… I want you to be happy, but… I want you to myself.”

“Diego…”

“I know,” he interrupted you, rubbing the back of his neck, “I have no right to say that or try to keep you from your soulmate, but I—”

“Come here,” you said, a small smile on your face. You held your hand out, and he took it, slowly. You led him back inside your apartment, sliding the door to the patio closed. Neither of you spoke as you sat Diego down at the kitchen table. He put his hands in his lap and stared up at you, looking more like a puppy than a vigilante. You loved him so much, and you felt so lucky that he was your soulmate. It was quite literally your dream come true. And there were no words you could say to show him how much you loved him, how you were meant to be.

So you turned around, pulled down your pants, and mooned him.

“Holy shit!” Diego jumped out of his seat, and you pulled your pants back up. “No, no—let me see,” he asked, hands on your hips. You giggled and obliged him. You felt his large, warm hands on your skin, ghosting over the mark—his mark—on your ass. “That’s mine,” he whispered, getting on his knees behind you, “You�� You’re mine.”

You closed your eyes when you felt his lips on your ass, kissing your soulmate mark. “I’m yours,” you agreed, “and you’re mine.”

Diego stood up and turned you around, his eyes on fire. “I love you,” he said, voice steady and sure, “I’ve always loved you. Do… Do you love me?”

You smiled. “I have always loved you, Diego Hargreeves.”

You could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you, and that night, you fell asleep in your soulmate’s arm with absolutely no question about how he felt about you. You were his, and he was yours.

You woke up to screaming and the loud pop music blaring. You lifted your head from Diego’s chest with a groan. “Your brothers are here,” you informed him.

He grunted from underneath you, one hand on your back, the other protectively gripping your ass, right where your mark was—you could tell that this would be commonplace between the two or you for the rest of your lives; his hand on your ass—not that you were complaining. “I’m gonna fucking kill them. Hand me my knives.”

You smiled, lips still on his bare chest. “No fratricide allowed in my house.”

“Y/N! Diegooooooo,” Klaus called from the other side of your bedroom door, “We know you’re in there and we want waffles!”

“And coffee!” Five demanded.

“Good morning!” Ben called.

You jumped out of bed at the sound of his voice, grinning from ear to ear. Diego groaned, but couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he watched you grab a shirt and clap your hands together. “Ben!” You called, looking around for some pants. “I’ll be out in a second—hold on!”

Diego sat up, grabbing you by the wrist when you came towards the bed again. “Hey,” he grinned up at you, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you giggled, “But come on, we have to get up and see the boys!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he stood up and slid his pants on. He smacked your ass; Klaus whooped in approval from the other side of the door—he, of all people, knew the sound of an ass getting smacked. “We feed them one meal, then they have to get out.” His eyes washed over you as you got dressed. “I got plans for you.”

Grinning, you leaned in to give him a quick kiss before ripping the door open. Klaus was blaring music from some portable speakers and wearing one of Allison’s skirts and a pair of your old red pumps from your 11th grade play (how he got them, you didn’t know, but he looked good in them), and he was smiling like you hadn’t seen him smile in years. You screamed when you saw Ben, tackling him in a hug while Five complained about his lack of caffeine and Diego threatened Klaus with dismemberment. You spent the rest of the morning cooking breakfast and laughing with your boys, while Diego—your soulmate—didn’t even pretend to try to keep his hands off of you.

You had figured, when you were thinking your wildest fantasies about what life would be like in the unlikely event that the world didn’t end, that things would be… nice. But the reality was so much better than you could have imagined. And now, as he threw a butter knife across the room and into the wall, you knew things would only keep getting better and better.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.

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

Lowkey, I wanted to call this one: “Dat Ass” but I refrained. I’m still working on updating my taglist, so if you want to be added/removed, please let me know! Thanks for reading!

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[jacksgreysays]

Reforged, B1C01 (2019-10-10)

Book One: Blood

Chapter One: The Girl in the Tree

---

If asked, Gui would say it started like this: in a random forest on the outskirts of a newly established--newly conquered--Fire Nation colony, walking silently in the wake of the loud ruckus that called themselves the Freedom Fighters. At the time, they were little more than a ragtag team of lost boys, running together in the way that boys do, more animal instincts than any sort of real organization. Gui could have done better, honestly, he’d have been quieter and faster and traveled with far less distractions and detours... but given what he had his sights set on, he could’ve done worse.

He walked in their wake and rubbed his thumb along the engravings of his mother’s bracelet on his wrist. The others thought of it--that is, if they had noticed it at all--as a nervous tick, portraying him as shyer, more scared of a person than he thought of himself. Perhaps it was bravado. He didn’t think so. But as he didn’t particularly care to establish dominance in their convoluted baboon bear hierarchy, there was no one to contradict that. And anyway, everyone understood about mementos--if they were lucky to have any--and even Jet sometimes brushed a hand against the grips of his hook swords in remembrance, the weapons still too big for a boy not yet full grown.

No one judged him for wearing his mother’s bracelet, just as no one judged him for joining the Freedom Fighters. Well, maybe his mother might have, but he was reluctant to remove the bracelet and find out. He didn’t even know what would be worse: if he did see her and she warned him off his chosen path of vengeance, or if he didn’t see her at all.

Regardless, it started like this: Gui trailing behind the rest of the Freedom Fighters, thumb pressed along the engraved metal of his mother’s bracelet, and a sudden flare of instincts to look up.

One day--not too far from this moment, in fact--the rest of the Freedom Fighters would be more aware. They’d be less boisterous. They’d be a stronger, more efficient group--less lost boys, more chameleon tiger team--and all the sadder for it. But on this day, only Gui at the tail end of their motley raiding party would think to look up.

That’s how it started: Gui looked up and the girl in the tree looked back.

---

Gui did not believe in fate.

There was no grand plan, no set tapestry woven into the world. Life was a series of circumstances and decisions that people either had to adapt to or submit. It wasn’t fate that Fire Nation soldiers entered Gui’s village two months ago--the war had been creeping ever closer, it was only a matter of time--and it wasn’t fate that Gui’s mother, who ran the local tavern, would be the one to interact with them the most. It wasn’t fate that one especially terrible evening, one soldier in particular got drunk and belligerent and took out his aggression on the nearest non-Fire Nation target.

No, no, no. What happened on that night could not have been fate; just probability and human behavior left unchecked.

Just as what happened afterwards was not fate either: that unit of Fire Nation soldiers moving on to their next conquest, and a grieving Gui deciding to pursue revenge. Gui stumbling upon the Freedom Fighters might have been fate, but more likely a matter of law of large numbers--his story was not a unique one, that squadron hardly seemed shocked at the actions that one of their own had taken, and they were but a dozen out of the Fire Nation military thousands strong. Whether or not Gui succeeded or failed--lived or died--would not be a matter of fate either.

Gui didn’t believe in fate.

But looking up and meeting her eyes, both of them startled but still silent: her finger pressed to her lips in an obvious request for secrecy and his own acquiescing nod in return... maybe there was something there beyond mere human behavior.

---

Gui and the girl in the tree properly meet a few hours later, on the edge of a nearby cliff, the body of a dead Fire Nation soldier on the ground between them.

She wiped her dagger on the fabric of the soldier’s uniform before tucking it away, quick and neat and hidden, before glancing up at Gui, “Did you…?” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the body.

Gui, who was still catching his breath from the thankfully interrupted fight, only had enough air and thought processing ability to pant out, “What?”

The girl from the tree rolled her eyes, before crouching down and efficiently looting the body, stripping it of anything useful--a standard Fire Nation sword and knife, a money pouch, rations and a canteen--and some things that were not.

“Ah, that’s my moth- that’s mine,” Gui said as the girl from the tree pulled out an engraved metal bracelet from one of the soldier’s pockets. A bracelet that matched the one on his left wrist. Shrugging, she passed it to him and continued searching, not even batting an eye at his hasty retrieval.

Maybe it was dismissive, considering it was such a monumental moment to him--what was he to expect from a stranger?--but perhaps it was her way of giving him privacy of a sort. He rubbed a thumb along the engravings and slipped it on. Finally, his wrists were balanced.

Finally, after two months, his vengeance was achieved.

… although, given the fact that he wasn’t the one to strike the killing blow, did it count? Frankly, he was pretty satisfied with the bastard being dead and retrieving the bracelet, but maybe that wasn’t how proper revenge worked. Should he have felt more possessive of the kill? Angry that the girl from the tree had stolen it? Then again, he was losing that fight--likely would have died instead--and probably his ancestors would have been more disappointed in him joining them so soon than minor technicalities of who did what in the demise of his mother’s murderer.

“He killed my father,” the girl from the tree said as she stood, looting done. Silhouetted by the setting sun, at the top of the cliff with an entire forest behind her, she looked every bit as solemn and dramatic a true avenger that Gui, too practical and prone to overthinking, could never be. “Seven years ago,” she added, as punctuation, as if to more firmly nail in the fact that her vengeance had seniority and validity. Gui’s ancestors couldn’t have possibly had any problem with technicalities given this kind of reason.

“Him and the rest of that damned Fire Nation squadron,” she continued, possibly more for herself than for Gui, which he may have considered melodramatic, but seven years was a long time.

Then finally, she turned to him, and their eyes locked once more, “I’m going to get all of them,” she said, “Will you help me?”

Or maybe it started like this: with Gui looking her in the eyes, thumbs away from his mother’s bracelets, and for some reason saying yes.

---

“By the way,” Gui said as they walked back to the makeshift camp the Freedom Fighters had set up for the night, “My name is Gui.”

The girl from the tree, from the cliff, from that sunset promise of vengeance, blinked at him and responded simply, “I’m Tetsuki.”

~

A/N: I was unsure what route of Iron Will I want to take with this--that is, “original flavor” or FN!Tetsuki, so I put it in Gui’s perspective to keep it vague. I mean, in the B-sides that is Iron Will as to the canon series, Gui would be the Katara equivalent I guess? :shrugs:

Also, thanks again to @generic-name-goes-here for coming up with a cool title. It’s not at all what the original prompt was, but I like it as a title so much!

[minhthangcoi9993-blog]

Review Game State of Decay 2

State of Decay 2’s open-world battle for survival against a zombie menace is the right kind of post-apocalyptic fun. It creates plenty of high-stakes moments, punctuated by the relative calm of foraging for supplies while always looking over your shoulder. It’s a potent mixture for a while, until the combination of repetitive missions and annoying bugs eventually dulls the joy of squashing heads, even when your co-op entourage rolls deep.

Just like in 2013’s original State of Decay, in State of Decay 2 you can freely switch between randomly generated survivors in your post-apocalyptic community – and you’ll regularly have to, because they can only be pushed so far before their stamina starts to give out. Or worse, you did something stupid and got someone permanently killed, taking their unique traits and whatever leveled-up skills they’ve acquired with them. You’re not able to customize their names or looks at all, which is a shame, because if XCOM has taught us anything it’s that it’s fun to tell your friends and co-workers how you got them killed. But that fear of loss (you can’t reload from an earlier save!) adds some significant weight to the struggle that plays out on one of three open-world rural maps, as you scavenge the region to build a shelter and work to cleanse the land of a disease known as the Blood Plague.Unlike the original, though, State of Decay 2 can be played in its entirety (after the tutorial) in four-player co-op, which even works cross-platform between PC and Xbox One. The joining parties enter the host’s game and get to bring back all their looted spoils (aside from resources) plus bonus rewards to their own game. It’s a near-universal truth that games like this become more fun when played with friends, and that holds very true in State of Decay 2.

Hot new Review Game Crew 2

Best Review Review game Plague Tale Innocence

There’s not much more to the generic post-zombie-apocalypse story than the quest to wipe out the Blood Plague – at least not that I’ve encountered in a single playthrough on one of the three maps, the Plateau – but there’s some background radio chatter that suggests a bigger world of survivors and organizations out there that could someday make an appearance. Everything else is told on a smaller, more personal scale: individual characters will have their own quest lines assigned to them, such as one woman who wanted to track down what happened to a police officer friend of hers in a series of missions, and when you eventually appoint a leader to your group, their randomly determined class appears to influence how your story ends. (Mine was a Warlord, as opposed to Sheriff, Trader, and Builder, which as you can imagine ended with lots of shooting.) But generally it’s a sandbox-style RPG where you’re tackling dynamically appearing quests as people call for help, and you make your own story in the way you deal with them.

While zombies are so omnipresent in the open world that you can hardly swing a dead cat without hitting one, they’re spread thin: next to something like Dead Rising 4 or what we’ve seen in those Days Gone trailers, the number of “zeds” you encounter in the open world at any one time is positively quaint. It’s rare to see more than a dozen at once, and the so-called “hordes” that appear on the map are limited to five or six. It’s enough to keep you on your toes, but individual zombies are more a nuisance than a threat.

Fortunately, the moment-to-moment combat against the rank-and-file undead is simple but satisfying. Melee never really evolves beyond button-mashing while keeping an eye on your stamina meter, but you can unlock some specializations that allow you to quickly throw an enemy to the ground and leave it vulnerable to a delightfully gruesome head-popping execution move. And, when you score a critical hit and knock its block off with a single swing of a bat or swipe of a machete (instead of bludgeoning them four or five times first) it’s a tiny moment of power.

Guns, which include all the expected pistols, shotguns, rifles, SMGs, and grenade launchers, feel good to fire thanks to nice loud sound effects and recoil that make them seem powerful. Ammo is scarce enough that shooting feels like a last resort, but when you skillfully execute headshots (the zombies’ spongy bodies soak up precious bullets) you’re rewarded with a chunky effect and a one-hit kill on anything shy of a hulking Juggernaut.

They’re not quite as fragile as something out of The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, but weapons do break after use, first turning yellow as a warning and then red for unusable (requiring repair in a workshop), which occasionally left me desperately improvising my way out of bad situations. You’re never entirely defenseless, thanks to an invincible backup knife, but it’s obviously less than ideal for taking on multiple enemies. That unpredictability adds some flavor to the repetitious business of clearing out zombie infestation after zombie infestation.

Driving around is a lot of fun, too, but not because cars handle well. To put it mildly, they do not – but to be fair they’re mostly beat-up vans, trucks, and sedans, with only a few muscle cars and armored vehicles mixed in. But thanks to arcadey physics they’ll always right themselves if you flip them, so you’re free to try some stupid stuff as you’re plowing through zombies and opening your door to whack them as you pass by without damaging the car’s body. It’s unfortunate that your co-op partners can’t lean out the windows and shoot at zombies while you’re at the wheel  – their participation is limited to opening their own doors, if they have them.

At the same time, you have to be careful: a limited gas supply (and absolutely terrible gas mileage) adds some tension to every excursion – you don’t want to have the tank run dry just as you spot a horde hanging around with a Juggernaut, for instance. Having to keep your cars in good repair adds another layer of tension, and it’s a challenge to have to work your way out of a predicament by scrounging around for a gas can or repair kit. Also, trying to hoof it home when you’re injured and low on stamina is a big pain, especially at night.

As you use your characters, they’ll develop their skills: running a lot will build up their endurance, fighting will unlock stat boosts and upgrades to melee and shooting, and a variety of other skills like gardening, chemistry, and computers will give you access to an upgrade tree of mutually exclusive character development choices that can lead to new crafting or support ability options. These can really add up to make a character into a killing machine when they’re maxed out, so it’s worth making sure you play as a variety of characters to level them all up. Of course, this also raises the stakes of holding onto characters, as all their stats go down with them if they die.

One of the first things you do in State of Decay 2 is establish a home base – first in an abandoned home but later in a larger, more interesting location like a strip mall or theme park.The board game-style management, in which you choose which buildings to place in a set number of slots, was never all that fun for me because it doesn’t leave a lot of room to experiment. Even the largest bases I was able to find had only a few slots to build on, and most of those were taken up by essentials like beds for your people. (You could go without those, sure, but then you’ll spend all your time dealing with morale levels in the toilet or insufficient manpower.) After placing those and maybe a farm to reduce the amount of food you have to constantly forage for, you’re left with space to build only one or two crafting buildings at a time. Tearing down an arsenal to build an auto shop or an infirmary to build a workshop takes way too long to be worth messing with, since construction can take upwards of 30 real-time minutes.

[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone chapter 20

It had been a stimulating morning, making the let down for the next two days that much worse. Before dawn, I awoke to the feel of Selena’s warm body spooned tightly against mine. Never one to miss an opportunity, I seized the moment and made sure to leave her with a farewell that neither of us would forget about during my absence. Unfortunately, there was no sex, for obvious reasons. Instead, we kissed and caressed in ways that were surprisingly fulfilling. It was another first for me, and a completely unique experience in itself.

 The early morning hours that I had spent with her almost seemed surreal as I climbed aboard the Airbus ACJ318. Hale was already on the private jet when I arrived, neatly stowing our travel bags into an overhead compartment.

 “Morning, Hale.”

 “Good morning, sir.”

 “If my speech is in with those bags, take it out for me. I want to review it one more time before we get to Boston.”

 “Already done. It’s in a folder right over there,” he said, pointing to a corner end table in the spacious lounge area of the plane. “I think Laura made a few adjustments to it.”

 I went over to the table to review the contents. Laura had actually made quite a few changes, and I was thankful for her sharp eye. The speech was a couple of years old, and needed updating. If I had more notice, I would have written a new one.

 Satisfied that Laura had done it justice, I tucked it back inside the folder and turned back to Hale.

 “I assume the flight will be leaving on time?”

 “Yes, sir. I just confirmed it with the pilot. The trip to Boston should be a smooth one. However, we may encounter an issue on the return flight. There’s a bad storm moving in on the overnight, the remnants of a hurricane that’s traveling up the coast.”

 “Monitor the situation and make other travel arrangements for the return trip home if needed. I want to be back no later than eight o’clock Friday evening.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Did you have time to arrange the delivery that I emailed you about this morning?”

 “Vivian will be setting it up this afternoon,” Hale informed me. “You should get an email confirmation as soon as it’s received.”

 “Excellent. Oh, and I meant to ask you. How is your mother settling in?”

 “Very well. I appreciate your help to secure her placement. After the fall she took, I can rest easier knowing that she’s getting the proper care. Thank you again.”

 I acknowledged his gratitude with a nod, glad that things had worked out. Before reaching the age of sixty, Hale’s mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. It had come as quite the blow to my security detail, and when I heard that he was unable to afford the cost of a reputable nursing facility, I immediately made calls to get her the best care in New York and covered the expenses. Hale protested of course, but I would hear none of it.

 The pilot came over the intercom system, interrupting our conversation to let us know that it was almost time for take off. I settled into my seat and looked out the window. Cumulus clouds dotted the bright blue sky, making it hard to imagine that we were under a severe storm alert.

 I heard the soothing hum of the plane engine as it came to life and I rested my head back with the hopes of catching a quick snooze on the flight. My mind quickly filled with images of Selena.

 I wish she had agreed to come with me.

 I opened one eye to look at Hale. He sat across from me, already engrossed in the New York Times.

 Hale accompanied me on nearly all of my business trips. He was a good traveling companion, and always willing to discuss whatever I had a mind for. Usually the topic was business.

 That’s me. Always business.

 “Hale, let me ask you something,” I said on a whim. He looked up from the newspaper, his expression attentive. “Do you ever regret not settling down?”

 “Sir?”

 Yeah, I know. The question sounds crazy to me too.

 “I mean, with a woman,” I clarified. “Do you have any regrets?”

 If he was surprised by my inquiry, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked thoughtful.

 “My mother always wanted grandchildren. When I think of how happy that would have made her, I do have regrets. However, now that she’s sick, it doesn’t really matter. Either way, I’ve never met a woman that I wanted to spend the rest of my days with.”

 “Or maybe it’s because I keep you too damned busy to meet anyone,” I joked.

 The corners of his mouth turned up in a rare smile.

 “I believe that we all have our own calling. So far, mine has been the service of your employment and it has suited me well. If I were meant to settle down before now, I would have done so.”

 “Hmm, perhaps,” I mused.

 “Sir, permission to be frank?”

 I laughed at his seriousness.

 “You’re not in the military anymore. Speak what’s on your mind, Hale.”

 His lips tightened into a thin line, as if he were concentrating on selecting the right words. He looked pointedly at me.

 “Miss Cole is a lovely young woman. Don’t let her be your regret.”

     ****

     I had deliberately packed my schedule, so that I had more than enough reasons to deny Justin’s multiple requests for me to accompany him to Boston. Because of that, the next couple of days went by quick. I worked out my remaining shifts at Wally’s, went to my gynecologist appointment, and caught up on lost gym time. Keeping busy allowed me not to dwell on the fact that I felt unexpectedly lost without Justin.

 I didn’t like that I missed him and the time apart made be realize that we needed separation more often. I had become entirely too familiar with his presence. With that it mind, I didn’t answer his calls, and kept all communication to strictly texting. I knew that just the sound of his voice would cause me to fold.

 By the time I arrived home Thursday evening, I realized that Justin and I would have to negotiate some sort of compromise. If we continued the way we were going, I would end up with very little time alone, especially come Monday when I started the job at Turning Stone. I had never agreed to give up every night and weekend for him, despite his original wishes. Yet somehow, I ended up doing exactly that.

 I went to the fridge to see what I could use to throw together a quick dinner for myself. Settling on a green salad with various fixings, I pulled out the ingredients that I would need. I went to work on slicing up chicken into thin strips and contemplated how I should approach the subject of maintaining my personal space with Justin.

 Boundaries. We need to establish some boundaries.

 The sound of my phone vibrating on the counter tore me away from my thoughts. Setting the knife down, I picked up the phone to see that there was an incoming text from Allyson.

   Today

 6:34 PM, Allyson: My flight is delayed. What’s up with the weather in NY?

   I looked out the window at the storm that was getting worse by the minute. Wind slashed at the windows and the rain appeared to be going sideways.

   6:36 PM, Me: Tail end of a hurricane that moved north.

 6:40 PM, Allyson: I’ll be lucky to get in by late Friday at this point.

 6:41 PM, Me: Stuck in Paris. Gee, I feel so bad for you…

 6:43 PM, Allyson: Ha-ha. Not funny. I’m miserable. It’s nearly 2AM and I’m holed up in an airport indefinitely.

   I paused in my texting to glance at the clock. I had forgotten about the time difference.

   6:45 PM, Me: Sorry, that sucks.

 6:50 PM, Allyson: Can you reschedule our spa day? Maybe for Saturday if you’re free?

   Justin planned on taking his boat out on Saturday, but by the looks of the weather forecast, that wasn’t going to happen.

 This is my chance at creating a little space.

 It took me about a half of a second to make the decision.

   6:53 PM, Me: Saturday it is. I’ll change the reservation.

 6:55 PM, Allyson: Great! Hopefully I’ll be home by then. I’ll text if there’s another delay.

   I looked up the number for the Mandarin. It was no trouble switching our reservation to Saturday. However, I knew that rescheduling with Justin would not go off quite as easy and I dreaded the conversation.

 I went back to preparing dinner, and layered arugula with sliced chicken, walnuts, and feta cheese. I was about to pour a balsamic over the top, when a knock at the door interrupted me.

 My stomach grumbled in annoyance over the second disruption as I went to answer it. I peered through the peek hole to see who it was, but there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the door.

 That’s weird.

 I opened the door anyway and found that there was a flower delivery on the floor in front of the threshold. Unsure as to whether the flowers were for me or for Allyson, I picked up the beautiful arrangement of blue delphiniums and baby’s breath and brought them to the kitchen. Placing the bouquet on the counter, I removed the envelope from the vase. The card was addressed to me.

   “I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.”

 - Maya Angelou

 Looking forward to the weekend…

 Justin

   I smiled after reading the quote, appreciating Justin’s attention to detail by citing my favorite poet.

 I was about to put the card back into the envelope, when I noticed a blue velvet satchel tied around the neck of the vase.

 What’s this?

 However, I predicted the answer to the question almost as soon as I thought it. Knowing that Justin wouldn’t take back his gift of the necklace, I had decided to forgo any sort of argument by simply leaving it on his dresser the morning that he left for Boston. Apparently, this was his way of turning the tables on me.

 Loosening the drawstring tie from the cloth bag, I dumped the contents into my palm. Just as I expected, out poured the platinum triskelion and chain. It was then that I understood the reason for the Maya Angelou quote – Justin wasn’t only referring to the flowers, but to all of his gifts.

 In the face of his sweet gestures, I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad about it. It would be so much easier if I could simply accept everything that Justin had to offer, but I didn’t feel right about it. I sensed that he wanted more from me, but there were some things that I could not give – at least not without compromising my standards.

 I’m at a crossroads.

 One path would have me push Justin away in order to create more distance between us. He may not like it, and it could potentially lead to our demise. It would be a risky choice, because I knew that I wasn’t ready for things to end.

 But if I chose the other, I would become deeper involved. I’d expect more from Justin, and would want him to be more open about the secrets that I knew he was carrying. From the history of his parents to his underground life, everything was a mystery to me. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue without answers. However, that path had its risks too, as it may force me to reveal my own truth.

 The prospect of facing that pain frightened me, for giving up my secret would hurt me in ways that physical submission never could. The choice should have been an obvious one, knowing that I did not have the strength to handle the latter. However, I couldn’t decide what to do – for emotional surrender was my only true hard limit.

 The conference was going relatively well, even if it was boring as all hell, and I arrived back to my hotel room shortly after dinnertime. I considered going out to the Faneuil Hall area with Burke in search of a bite to eat, but decided on the solitude of room service instead. I didn’t feel like keeping company with my old friend, but rather wished that I had pushed Selena harder about coming to Boston.

 A short rap on the hotel room door signaled the arrival of dinner. I opened the door to find a pretty brunette balancing two platters. I was absently wondering how she managed to knock with her hands full, when I noticed that the trays were balancing precariously in her small hands.

 I was dangerously close to wearing stuffed flounder and hollandaise sauce.

 “Here, let me take one of those,” I offered, removing a tray from her wavering grasp.

 “Thank you, sir,” she appreciated.

 We both entered the room and set the trays on the small dinette set that was situated in the suite’s living room.

 “Do yourself a favor and use a cart of some sort next time,” I told her, fishing out my wallet to get her a tip.

 “Oh, yes,” she readily agreed. “I’ll make sure to use one the next time I come up. Will you be staying here long? Um, Mr.…”

 She sounded giddy, almost school girlish. My head snapped up to look at her. I was all too familiar with the tone that she took. She was watching me with a pair of innocent doe eyes, but this girl was anything but naïve and was obviously looking to score more than a tip.

 I pursed my lips in annoyance, choosing not to answer her. I handed her a twenty.

 Be on your way, doll. That’s all you’re going to get.

 “Thank you,” I told her, albeit dismissively.

 She looked momentarily disappointed, but took the dismissal in stride and left me alone to enjoy my dinner in peace. The transparency of some women floored me at times, and I suddenly had a newfound appreciation for Selena’s ambiguous personality.

 I wasn’t impressed by the hotel fare. The flounder was over cooked and the sauce was flavorless. I began to regret my choice to not accompany Burke to one of the cities more notable seafood restaurants. As a swallowed the last bite of the rubbery fish, my phone pinged with the notification of a new email. I pushed the plate away and pulled out my cell.

 It was a confirmation notice that the flower delivery was received. The time stamp on the message told me that it was just after seven, which meant that Selena should be home from Wally’s.

 I’ll try calling her now. Maybe she’ll actually pick up this time.

 Exiting out of the email, I dialed Selena’s number.

 “Hello, angel,” I greeted after she answered. It felt so good to hear the sound of her voice.

 “Hey. How’s the trip going?”

 “Incredibly boring.”

 “That bad, huh?”

 “Next time, you’re coming with me,” I told her.

 “We’ll see,” she murmured on the other end of the line. She seemed distracted. I had been so pleased that she finally answered her phone, that I hadn’t picked up on how distant she sounded until that moment.

 “Is everything okay?”

 “Everything is fine. Oh, and thank you for the flowers by the way.”

 I noticed that she didn’t mention the returned necklace, but decided not to bring it up. I missed her and I didn’t want to spoil our conversation by risking an argument.

 “Are you sure that you’re alright?” I asked again instead.

 “I’m good, really I am. I’m just tired and a little sore. It’s been a long day.”

 She does sound tired.

 Perhaps that was truly all that was wrong.

 “I thought Walter would have gone easy on you since today was your last day.”

 “Oh, work was alright,” she assured me. “I’m just worn out because I was up early and at the gym by six o’clock this morning. I couldn’t get an evening appointment with the trainer that I like to work with, so I had to go early if I wanted to meet with him.”

 Him?

 The idea of Selena having a one on one training session with another man made me uncomfortable.

 Extremely uncomfortable.

 Am I jealous? Since when do I get jealous?

 “I didn’t know that you had a trainer,” I tried to say indifferently.

 “It’s pricy, so I don’t do it often. But Eric is a good motivator and I needed him to get me back into a routine.”

 Eric? So the asshole has a name.

 I pictured Selena in spandex shorts, possibly a sports bra. With her midriff slick with sweat and face flushed from exertion, she would have been a provocative sight to behold. Hopefully she had the sense to cover up with a t-shirt.

 Either way, I didn’t like the situation one bit. I made a mental note to set Selena up with my own personal trainer, someone that I knew and could trust to keep his sweaty paws off of her.

 “Routine is good, but don’t over do it. You need to save some energy for the weekend,” I joked lightly, suppressing the uncharacteristic jealousy that wanted to come lashing out.

 “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that – the weekend that is,” she said a little too quickly.

 “What about it? I mean, I’ve been keeping up with the storm and I know that flights into New York have been delayed indefinitely. But I’ll make sure I’m back in time for the party at Murphy’s.”

 “Oh, it’s not that. Although, I’m glad that you decided to come. This is about Saturday.”

 “What about it?”

 She went on to tell me about her planned girls day out and how flight cancelations forced them to reschedule for Saturday. Then she proceeded to talk non-stop about how poor the weather would be for boating, barely pausing to take a breath. She sounded nervous, almost as if she was afraid to tell me about the change of plans.

 “I’m sorry. I know that I promised you the weekend,” she finally finished.

 Amused by her ramblings, I decided to go easy on her.

 “That’s fine. It’s only for the earlier part of the day. If you’d like, I could have Hale drive you and Allyson to and from your appointment.”

 “Allyson would get a kick out of that for sure,” she laughed. And if I wasn’t mistaken, she almost sounded relieved.

 “Consider it a done deal. Just email me the reservation details and I will forward it on to Hale.”

 “I’ll do it in the morning. Right now, I’m going to change into pajamas, eat my dinner, and then collapse on the couch. Maybe I’ll catch up on a few shows that I had set to DVR,” she considered.

 “That sounds exceedingly dull,” I teased.

 “Oh, not to me. A stormy night, house to myself…I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”

 “I could think of a few things,” I said suggestively. I could hear rustling in the background. “What are you doing?”

 “Exactly what I said I was going to do,” her voice was echoing, like she had switched me over to speakerphone. “I’m changing my clothes.”

 An image of her slipping out of her bra and panties caused a stirring in my groin.

 “What are you wearing right now?”

 “Um, a tank top,” she said, sounding slightly confused.

 “Anything else?”

 “Just my…” she paused. “My underwear.”

 Sweet Jesus…nothing but panties and a tank top.

 I suppressed a groan as the image of Selena’s lithe naked legs clouded my vision. I stood up and began pacing the room in an attempt to work off the restless energy that had suddenly come over me.

 “Are you trying to torture me?” I asked.

 I could hear her fumbling with the phone, switching it off of speaker mode.

 “No, I’m not,” she tried to convince me. However, her words sounded raspy, a sure sign that she was connecting the dots and that her mind was beginning to gravitate to the same dark place as mine.

 “I don’t believe you. In fact, I may have to leave Boston right now just to come home and punish you.”

 “Oh, really?”

 “You sound excited by the possibility, Miss Cole.”

 “Maybe I am,” she teased.

 “You’re asking for it,” I warned.

 “I’m not asking for anything. But now that you mention it, how would you punish me exactly?”

 Oh, game on baby.

 It was time to enlighten Selena on the many ways I could punish an obstinate submissive.

 “I would bind you face down, with your arms and legs spread to all four corners of my bed. You won’t be able to move,” I told her. There was dead silence on the other end of the line. I waited a moment before continuing, hoping that she was forming a visual. “You will be blind folded so you can’t see what’s coming. You remember the bite of the flogger, don’t you?”

 “Yes,” she whispered.

 “It will be different this time. I’m going to run it torturously slow down the length of your body, over and over again until you beg me to mark you with it. But even then I won’t. The more you beg, the more I’ll introduce new tortures, ones that will bring you near to the edge of your breaking point and keep you there.”

 “What kinds of tortures?”

 I smirked at the way she provoked me, knowing that she didn’t have an inkling of knowledge about the torments that I could introduce her to.

 You want to play femme fatale…let’s see how you react to this.

 “You’ve felt my finger, but just wait until you feel a plug stretching you impossibly wide.” I heard her breath suck in sharply. “Yes, Selena. You know what I’m talking about. Close your eyes. Picture it. Now imagine the plug, with me standing over you, finally giving you the flogging that you begged for. But even then, I won’t let you come until you’ve earned it.”

 Her breathing became heavier, the sound a turn on that left my head spinning. I leaned back against the wall of the hotel room and stared at the ceiling. If only I could reach through the phone and touch her. I wanted nothing more than to leave the mind-numbing conference, go home, and plunge into Selena’s satin heat.

 “When will I have earned it?” she prodded me further.

 I suppressed another groan.

 Oh, angel…keep pushing me and I’ll be on a plane within the hour.

 “That depends on how quickly you begin your penance.” I continued the game, but decided to add a twist.

 “Penance?”

 “Go to the full length mirror in your bedroom. Stand in front of it,” I told her. “Are you still just wearing panties and a tank top?”

 “Yes, why?”

 “Don’t question. Just let me know when you’re in front of the mirror.”

 “I’m here,” she said after a few seconds.

 “Good girl. Now look at yourself. See what I see when I look at you. Follow the long lines of your legs, to the curve of your hips. Notice the swell of your perfect tits…I imagine that your nipples are poking through your tank top. Am I right?”

 “Y-yes. They are.”

 Her stutter sounded hoarse.

 “That’s because you’re incredibly turned on. Now I want you to feel what I would feel. Touch yourself, Selena.”

 “Justin…” she hesitated.

 “Earn it, angel. Slip your hand down the front of your panties. Feel how wet you are.”

 “I – I can’t do that. I’d rather wait for you.”

 I could hear the shyness in her voice, but I could also hear the longing. I only had to push her a little further.

 “Not following my directions will only make your punishment worse. How much do you think you can take?”

 “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I see you next. Until then, goodnight, Justin.”

 At that, the line went dead.

 Goodnight!

 I banged my head back against the wall.

 Once. Twice.

 She’s gotta be freakin’ kidding me!

 I had a hard on that rivaled any other, yet she left me hanging.

 I took me a solid five minutes to steady my racing pulse. My only consolation was that I knew her frustration was surly matching my own.

 I stepped away from the wall and rubbed the back of my now sore head. I stared down at the phone, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. Instead, I pocketed the cursed thing and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

 A very cold shower.

     ****

     The wind and rain slapped at my face, but the storm was no match for the resolve that ran hot through my veins.

 I had to find her.

 I will find her.

 I just wasn’t searching in the right places.

 Out of the rain and into a dark building. It smelled musty in here, like unwashed hair and dirty laundry.

 I stepped into a room that had long been neglected, abandonment taking its toll over time. I knew this place all too well – the curtains that hung from the windows, the tattered couch against the wall. Cobwebs covered the lampshades on the end tables.

 I hadn’t been here in so long…

 I glanced down at the throw rug in the living room and saw a large brown stain of blood. Bile rose up in my throat at the sight, and I quickly turned away.

 How did I end up here?

 I knew she wasn’t here. I had come to the wrong place again.

 “Justin.”

 I heard my name, but the voice was wrong. It wasn’t the voice that I had been searching for. It belonged to someone else – it was the voice that had the ability to soothe and frighten me all at once.

 “Selena?” I called out.

 “I’m here,” I heard her say from another room.

 I ran through the dingy apartment in search of her. She didn’t belong here, not in this dirty, tainted place.

 How did she find out about it?

 How did she know to find me here?

 “Selena, where are you?” I yelled.

 I tore through the hallway, searching room after room. But it was as if every time I closed a door, another would appear. The dim lights began to flicker, until eventually they went out completely and I was left in nothing but darkness.

 “I’m here,” she said again. With only her voice to guide me, I stumbled into another dark room.

 “Where? I can’t see you?”

 “Here,” her voice came from somewhere behind me.

 I turned to go towards the sound, but my feet came out from under me and I was falling.

 “Selena!” I yelled through the air that whipped past my ears. “Help me!”

 “I can’t,” I heard her say, but her voice seemed to be further away now. So much further…

 Falling.

 Falling.

 I couldn’t let her slip away. She was my only hope. I grappled for something to hang onto, anything to keep me from plummeting to the ground.

 “Selena!”

 “Justin,” her distant voice echoed through the endless abyss that threatened to swallow me whole.

   I sat up like a shot, sweat drenched and shaking. The sound of rain lashing at the windows caused me to become disoriented, and it took me a moment or two before I remembered where I was.

 Boston. The hotel. Only a dream.

 But I could still smell the damp air. I still had that sinking feeling in my gut from falling – the kind you get on a roller coaster after it goes over the first crest.

 It was the second time in a week that I had been shaken up by a dream. I could blame the dreams on my heightened emotional state since meeting Selena. Or maybe it was an underlying fear that my sister’s ex-husband would dredge up the long buried past. Or perhaps tonight, it was simply that I had bad fish for dinner.

 I lay back down against the overly soft pillows and tried to shake off my unease.

 A shrink would have a field day with me.

 I rolled on my side in an attempt to get comfortable again, but my efforts were futile. There was no downplaying certain elements of the dreams. They left me with a feeling of emptiness that made my heart ache. I could not ignore the fact that while I was sleeping, I had been searching for my mother.

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