#he is a pent up anxious man with grief

[jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae]

Blinding Lights Chapter Seven

Warnings: Implied torture, a little actual torture, thought it’s light, a very intimate scene between the reader and Yoongi (no sex though), and some very angst unbridled rage, oh, and murder. I think that covers it all.

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Masterlist

Word Count: 4, 652

We end up seated around the dining room table, though the attitude is much more solemn than it was this morning. Jimin still clings to me, his eyes red and puffy. I’m feeling pent up enough to feel ready to burst. Between them taking Taehyung and the state that Jimin is in, I feel like I could kill a man with my bare hands. Hoseok sits at the head of the table. His hair looks wild, like he’s been close to pulling it out a few times.

“I found their warehouse,” Hoseok gets right to point, sensing that no one is in the mood for an anecdote,” I followed the van and saw it park there. I couldn’t get any closer because I didn’t want them to hurt Taehyung. It’s here.”

Hoseok points at a point on a map spread across the table, circling it. For a while, I tune out as I memorize the map and the route to the warehouse. They’re conversing and planning. When I look at Jimin, I see that he has a look on his face that I don’t quite understand. The only words I can think to describe it are determined rage.

“We’ll move out tomorrow,” Namjoon says finally, after considering everything,” It could be dangerous if we go tonight.”

“Tomorrow?” Jimin’s tone is incredulous as he stands, his hands slamming on the table. I’m quick to join him.

“That gives them too much time to have Tae. They could hurt him,” My voice is a little wobbly but I ignore it.

“Neither of you are coming with us,” Yoongi levels a look at me, and then at Jimin. I scoff, fury quickly building in me,” I know you guys want Taehyung back but your rage is a liability. I can’t trust that either of you will keep a level head.”

“This is bullshit,” Jimin growls, his tail flicking in obvious irritation. He turns and stomps up the stairs. I’m quick to follow him, but his door slams, the lock clicking into place. I sigh and go to my own room instead, leaving him to his own grief. I change clothes into something it would be easier to fight someone in. Part of me wishes I could drive, I would go after Taehyung by myself. I’m the reason he was taken, I should be the one getting him out.

That thought is the one that triggers my breakdown. Sobs wrack my body. I grab a blanket and walk into the massive closet, settling into the back corner and wrapping the blanket around me, pulling it over my head. I just, want to be left alone for a while and it will probably be easier to hear me crying in my room. I didn’t bother turning on any of the lights and I made sure to close the closet door behind me. I don’t know how long I lay there, just wallowing in my pity.

I can feel my self-hatred growing. I should have never let Yoongi take me out of there, I should have stayed. Then they would have been safe. Taehyung would be here and Jimin wouldn’t be in this state. Even though I can hear them frantically looking for me, I make no move to make my presence known. I just want to be alone. It’s there that I make my plan.

I’m leaving tonight. After everyone has gone to sleep, I’m going to go and I’m going to get Taehyung. I don’t care if I have to turn myself in for him, make a trade. I would rather be tortured a million times than know that Taehyung is there and I could have done something about it. I can feel my resolve harden.

“Kitten?” I can hear Yoongi’s voice calling for me in my room. I don’t respond. Part of me is anxious about how I’m going to pull off my plan, but I’m also mad at him for leaving Jimin and I out. I can feel the air pressure in the room change when Yoongi opens the closet door. He can probably smell that I’m here,” Baby, what are you doing?”

I don’t respond, curling in on myself. He lets out a soft sigh. He tugs on the blanket gently and I think about fighting but I let him pull it away. His hand gently cradles my cheek, his eyes searching mine. He coos softly, lifting me into his arms. He nuzzles his head into me gently.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re worried about Taehyung. I am too,” He murmurs softly, his lips pressed to my forehead,” But you and Jimin could get hurt. It’s late. You need to eat something. Then we can get some sleep.”

“I’m not hungry,” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying,” I just want to go to bed.”

“You haven’t eaten since this morning,” Yoongi frowns.

“I’m not hungry, Yoongi,” My tone is a little more annoyed. He sighs and sinks onto the edge of the bed.

“You need to take care of yourself, baby. You still skip meals, and it’s not good for you,” I chew on my bottom lip at his words. I was hoping no one had noticed but I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I think that anything I eat is gonna come back up, right now,” I say softly, my hands clenching together,” This is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Yoongi’s arms wrap around me tightly, like he can squeeze the negative thoughts out of my head.

“They wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for me!” My words come out much more angry than I intended,” They were here because of me! They tried to take Jimin because of me! They took Taehyung because of me! Of course it’s my fault!”

“Then it’s really my fault,” His words have my blood freezing in my veins,” I’m the one that brought you here, I’m the one that didn’t protect you, I’m the one that told them not to let you and Jimin come with us.”

“I can’t do this right now, Yoongi,” For the first time, I almost shove Yoongi away from me. I get off of his lap and move away from him, holding up my hands when he tries to reach for me,” Please, just leave me alone. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t think right now and I don’t want to say something that’s just going to upset us both.

I want to break down again when I see the wounded expression in Yoongi’s eyes. Maybe it’s better this way. It’ll be easier to leave if Yoongi’s mad at me. I wish I had the guts to make them all hate me. It would be so much easier that way. He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. He get up from the bed and gives me one last look, like he’s expecting me to just say I was kidding or apologize. When he opens my bedroom door, Jin is on the other side, a tray in his hands. Yoongi sighs and takes it, setting it on the bed.

“Be as mad as you want, but please try to eat something,” He says softly, then he’s gone, the door closed behind him. I stomp to the door and flip the lock.

I didn’t lie to him when I said I didn’t feel like eating, but if I’m going to follow through with this plan, I need to eat something. I pick at the food, though I make sure to drink the entire glass of water on the tray. Then I begin my plan. There’s a small backpack in the closet, which I fill with a change of clothes and a few other essentials. I make sure to leave my phone on the bedside table. By now, it’s well passed dark, the sun having set over an hour ago. I change into a pair of comfortable pants and a t-shirt. The last thing I grab is the knife Jungkook gave me for protection.

After working with him for a few weeks, he had presented me with the knife as a sort of courting gift. He wanted me to be ready. I forgot about it earlier and now we’re paying the consequences. I won’t forget it again. I strap it around my hips, the sheath on my left hip. Then begins phase two.

I ease the window open as quietly as I can, climbing up onto the sill and slipping through. For once, I’m extremely grateful for my small stature. It makes it much easier to fix the curtain and close the window before jumping down. I’m sure they probably have people watching the front and back doors, knowing how volatile Jimin and I are right now. So, this was the next best option.

The warehouse is actually a lot closer than I thought it was. I studied a map on my phone for a while, to map my route, scrawling a quick plan on a sheet of paper. Sneaking around the side of the house to get to the gate feels like it takes forever. I can’t take any direct routes, knowing those will be the ones they have eyes on. Luckily, it’s easy to slip through the large wrought iron fences. Turns out, they’re not cat proof.

Following my scrawled instructions, it only takes me about an hour to find the warehouse, maybe a little longer. For a while, I just watch, nearly fully concealed in the brush. The warehouse is well hidden, surrounded on all sides by trees and shrubbery. There aren’t many guards outside, maybe six or seven? It’s easy to learn their routine. The don’t seem to be focused on anything above eye level, seemingly figuring that no one is that dumb. Except me, I guess.

There are a few trees that sit along the edge of the warehouse. A few of the taller trees have branches scraping against the second story windows. I maneuver through the trees carefully, scaling one far enough away that they hopefully won’t hear me. Moving from tree to tree is hard and time consuming, but it’s the only plan I have. When it comes time to jump to the tree closest to the warehouse, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I have a few minutes before the next person will pass under it so I have to do it now. The jump is good but my foot slips from the branch, nearly sending me to the ground. I can feel the skin tearing a little on the underside of my arms when I catch myself. I pull myself up quickly, pressing myself against the tree trunk and catching my breath. I’ve calmed down considerably as the next rotation goes through. Once they’ve passed by, I move toward the window, peaking in. The upper floor isn’t really an upper level at all. The building is almost built like a barn with the upper level being storage. Maybe it is a converted barn, that would explain the location.

The window isn’t locked, and it slides relatively soundlessly. I clamber through and slide it closed just as silently. I creep to the edge, looking down at the floor below. There’s a table set off to one side, where my former Master sits, talking to one of the other guard. Taehyung is in the back corner, curled into a ball. Even from here, I can see his shoulders shaking. He makes no sound but it’s easy to see the signs that he’s crying. My heart clenches, my rage returning.

I have to come up with a plan. There has to be some way to make a distraction, or something, and an get Taehyung out. Those thoughts are quickly interrupted by the door swinging open as they drag someone in. Familiar pink hair sends my heart pounding out of my chest. Jimin.

“Caught this one trying to sneak in,” The hybrid snarls, though I can’t tell what kind he is from here. Master stands and saunters over to him, seeming all too pleased. He crouches and grabs Jimin’s chin, lifting his face to him. His arms are restrained in ropes, as are his legs, but he bares his teeth in anger, a growl resonating from his chest.

“Leave us, all of you,” Master snaps, standing turning his back to the men, and Jimin,” Leave the cat.”

“But-“ One of the guys tries to argue but it seems futile as he is dragged out by the others before he can get himself in trouble.

Master goes over to the corner that Taehyung is in, dragging him up and dragging him over to Jimin. I can see the recognition in Taehyung’s eyes but, as he brings Taehyung into the light, I can also see the bruises. So can Jimin as his growls grow in volume, his body wiggling as he tries to free himself. Master laughs, dropping Taehyung on the floor by Jimin.

“How sweet, a little cat trying to protect a Tiger,” Master coos, rolling his eyes,” I can’t believe they sent a little cat to try to retrieve him. I expected better.”

The state Taehyung is in sends me into a rage I’ve never felt. His back is to me and I move without thinking, back up a few steps and launching myself into the air. I roll when I hit the ground, hopping up and unsheathing my knife. My hand is over his mouth and my knife to his throat before he can react. Jimin and Taehyung’s eyes are wide but I ignore them.

“I’m the only one you need to be worrying about,” My voice is a low growl,” You hurt what’s mine and I won’t let it happen again.”

“You won’t hurt me, Little Kitten,” His voice is muffled by my hand, barely audible.

“You’re right, I won’t hurt you,” I use my grip to switch our positions, pressing him to the ground and holding the knife point to his chin,” But I will kill you.”

It’s almost like I’m watching from far away as the knife moves across his throat. It’s sharp, needing barely any pressure to break the skin. His eyes widen, his hands flying to his throat as red spills out. I feel numb, like this is happening to someone else. I turn to Jimin and Taehyung, using the knife to free them.

“Jimin, get him out of here. Tell the others that you need to go into hiding. I’m serious, you both need to lay low,” I turn and wipe the knife on the dead man’s clothes.

“Come with us. We’re all going back together,” Jimin supports Taehyung, who cradles his ribs.

“I can’t,” My voice is soft. I can hear voices outside,” Go, both of you. Use the second level. Go out the window and use the trees as a bridge.”

Jimin looks like he wants to argue but they’re going to come in here and we can’t be here when they do. I help him get Taehyung up the stairs, leading them to the window I came through. I help them through and close the window behind them, locking it. Jimin turns toward me, his face anxious. I have to leave, create a different trail for them to follow. I can hear the doors of the building slam open as I run to a different building.

I jump out a different window, heading for the trees. The voices I can hear inside start to sound familiar, though. Hoseok runs around the side of the building, his eyes focusing in on me. The urge to run away, sprint into the trees and not turn back is strong. He approaches me cautiously, his hands outstretched like I’m some kind of wild animal. I feel like it. I just killed a man. God, I must look crazy.

“You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay,” He says softly, his hands pressing onto my shoulders. I nearly flinch but manage to suppress it,” Come on. Jungkook found Jimin and Taehyung.”

He leads me to the front of the building, where everyone is gathered. Jin is checking over Taehyung and all I can do is stare at my hands, the red painting it nearly sending me over the edge. I can feel my eyes blurring as we come to a stop, a black t-shirt blocking the view. I look up to see Jungkook staring down at me, his eyes wide with concern.

“Are you hurt?” He asks softly. I shake my head, my whole body starting to shake like a leaf. I think the shock is starting to subside, or maybe it’s just setting in?

“I killed him,” My breath is nothing but a whisper but I can hear the way everyone stops,” He hurt Taehyung so I killed him. He was gonna hurt Jimin. He hurt me.”

“No one’s mad at you, baby. You did a good job,” Jungkook’s hands run through my hair, brushing tears I didn’t realize were falling from my eyes,” What do you need, baby?”

“Yoongi,” The word leaves me as a hiccup, a sob building in my throat. I didn’t plan to say that, but I realize how true it is after I say it. I have so many things to say. I need to apologize, to tell him I didn’t mean it. None of this is his fault.

“I’m here, Kitten. Come here, I’ve got you,” His voice is soft, arms wrapping around me. He doesn’t seem to care about the blood covering me. I just sob into his shirt, letting his comforting scent wrap around me.

For a while, everything is a blur. I didn’t realize we had made it home until Yoongi carries me into the bathroom, my face buried in his neck. He sets me gently on my feet, leaving me leaning against the counter heavily as he turns on the shower.

“You need to clean up kitten. You’re covered in blood,” His words are soft, but he still won’t meet my eyes. He moves as if to leave me alone, but I grab his arm.

“Will you stay with me?” My voice is tiny, may hand shaking on his arm,” You need to clean up too.”

“Are you sure?” He finally looks up to meet my eyes, but I can still see the faint hurt there.

“Yes, please,” I pull him back toward me, my hand sliding up his arm. He smiles faintly.

I help him pull his now blood stained t-shirt over his head. His hands rest at my waist, his eyes seeming to search mine. After a moment, he tugs the shirt over my head. We both work on our own pants and undergarments. Then it’s just us, no barriers between us.

His fingers twine with mine as me pulls me under the stream of warm water from the open air shower. I press a small kiss to his lips, hoping it can help explain what I’m having a hard time putting into words. How do you apologize for hurting someone like that. He just wanted to help me, but I don’t know how to tell him that I was too far gone, too far stuck in my own head.

He’s gentle as he washes me, red swirling down the drain as he makes sure to clean every inch of me. He pays special attention to my hands, pressing small kisses to the palms after he rinses them. I return the favor, paying the same amount of care as I wash him. He’s practically purring under my touch, a gummy smile peaking out at me.

“I’m sorry,” The words are nearly lost to the water as I clean his arms,” I wasn’t mad at you, not really. I was mad at me. If I had known that Taehyung was in that van, I- I don’t know what I would have done but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I probably shouldn’t have run off, either.”

“I’m not mad at you,” His voice is a gentle thrum in the air,” I just wish you would have trusted us. We just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I know. But safe isn’t what I wanted. I almost left, you know. When Hoseok found me, I was going to run. This probably isn’t over. They’ll want revenge for his death, and I’m the one that killed him. It would be easier if I left, if you all hated me and their attention was focused on finding me. They would leave you alone,” I finish washing his body and let him rinse off as I pour a generous amount of shampoo in my hands, threading my fingers through his hair to massage it in. If he was purring before, the sound multiples as I massage his scalp.

“I was terrified when I realized you were gone. You and Jimin both. I was so scared I would never see you again. That something would happen and we would never know,” His words are murmured, his face buried in my shoulder. His hands rest on my hips, though they shake slightly,” You’re still not bonded with anyone. Even with Jungkook, it’s half complete.”

“I know,” I say softly, tilting him back so I can rinse his hair,” It’s because I wanted to bond with you first.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, his eyes opening and staring into mine. Bonding is a very intimate practice. For most hybrids, it happens during sex, but not always. You can bond outside of that too. Yoongi was the first one I felt comfortable with, the first one to put my feelings first. He keeps me safe and makes sure I eat and take care of myself. The love I feel for him feels immense.

“I love you, Yoongi,” The words feel right to say. The shampoo is gone from his hair by this point, but he seems frozen. Then he’s moving, his lips pressing into mine for a sweet kiss.

“I love you too, Kitten,” His smile is nearly blinding,” So much.”

His hand lifts to run across the juncture between my neck and shoulder, his touch soft. His lips press to the skin, a soft sigh leaving me. His tongue feels warm on my skin and then his teeth bite down. I wince for a moment but the pain quickly fades. This bite feels different than Jungkook’s. I won’t call it more intimate, but a feeling of elation runs through me. He pulls away, his tongue laving the skin around the wound. He grins at me.

“Your turn, Kitten. I want your mark right here,” His hand presses to the back of my head, leading me to his own shoulder. I can feel nerves flutter through me but it’s just Yoongi.

My nose brushes along his shoulder, looking for just the right spot. My lips press to the spot, tasting his skin for a moment. I can feel my teeth adjusting, ready to place my bite. As my teeth sink in, I can feel Yoongi stiffen against me, a whimper leaving him. Like he did, I clean the wound with my tongue before pulling away. He pulls my lips to his in a searing kiss, our naked chests pressed together. He presses a few smaller kisses to my lips before finally pulling away.

“Thank you,” He reaches behind me to turn off the water. I’m not sure when we switched positions. He helps me dry off and I return the favor. He even lets me brush his hair, running my fingers through it to style it the way I want it. He dresses me in one of the shirts I stole from him while he changes into shorts he left in my room.

My sleep that night is content, wrapped in Yoongi’s arms and enjoying the intimate feeling it leaves in my chest. If his presence was comforting before, it’s like it’s increased tenfold. His scent has also become sweeter, a clear happiness contained within it.

As per usual, when sleeping with Yoongi, I wake up before him. I slip from his arms, though he grumbles at me, and skip down the stairs to make him a cup of coffee. I make sure to put it in his special coffee mug. As I set it on the counter, preparing to grab a second one to make myself a cup of milk, arms wrap around me from behind. A hand comes up to cover half my face, suppressing the scream that was crawling up my throat.

“You didn’t think you’d get away that easy, did you?” The voice is low, and my feet are no longer on the floor. I kick my feet, scrambling for some kind of purchase to keep me here. The hand on my face is covered in a thick leather glove and it feels like he’s almost cracking my jaw.

He carries me from my home toward the pool house. Maybe he’s planning to use it to hide. I don’t know what inspires me to do it, but my brain just keeps chanting Yoongi’s name over and over again. I don’t know a lot about bonds, but maybe he can hear me. He slips into the pool house, throwing me onto the floor and pushing some junk in front of the door.

“Where are you?” It takes me a moment to realize that the voice is not out loud, but in my own head.

“Pool House. He’s blocked the door,” I scramble back, searing for some kind of weapon. The pain hits before I can process.

I didn’t notice him remove his belt, but I can feel the sting of it hitting my skin. A yelp leaves me. The first one doesn’t hurt that bad, it just shocks me. The second one hurts much more. I don’t have time to react, other than to raise my arms to cover my face. Some of the hits draw blood.

“Which one killed him?” His voice is a growl. My eyes widen.

“I did,” My voice comes out weaker than intended. The blows grow stronger, the lashes deeper.

“Which! One!” His voice is louder, angrier. Before the belt can land again, the door is shoved open and then he’s gone.

The pain is overwhelming. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to breath. I’ve been whipped before, but this might be the worst one. He wanted to hurt me, to torture me. Then Yoongi is there, his eyes wide and terrified. Though he lifts me gently, I can’t help the startled cry that leaves me.

“Oh god, baby. It’s gonna be okay. Please be okay,” His words are pleading and I can feel them nestle in my soul.

“It hurts, Yoongi,” I whimper.

“I know baby. Jin is gonna make it better,” His lips press to my forehead.

“Jungkook, grab my first aide kit. Namjoon, clear off the table. Hoseok, grab two sheets,” Jin’s instructions are hurried as he pulls chairs from around the table. I feel like I’m watching from far away, and it’s hard to focus.

Hoseok throws a sheet over the table and then Yoongi is laying me on it. It’s hard to focus and I feel like I’m fading in and out. For a moment, I’m unaware of anything. Then there’s a stinging pain on one of my wounds. He must be cleaning them. Then I’m gone again. When I come too again, I’m hazy. There’s a sharp pain and a dragging sensation.

“Just rest, baby. You’re gonna be okay,” Yoongi’s voice is gentle and I realize that someone is holding my hand. I can see tear stained eyes and I realize that they belong to Jimin. I want to ask where Taehyung is, if he’s okay, but I can’t find the words. Then, everything is dark again.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to ask any questions or make any comments!

[minttoy]

this love we share (Ch 2)

CHAPTER TWO

Summary:

She loves him and he loves her back. On the surface, it seems easy, but she knows in some dark crevice of her mind, that even though love is selfish – escaping to these mountains was selfish – it is also good.

Her source of strength. The root of his humanity.

Time will come when it will teach her to grow, too.

[Eren and Mikasa through the four years. Alternate reality from Chapter 138.]

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

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Eren has less than four years left to live.

It is something she has always known. The unspoken truth that follows them. Mikasa still does not know how to cope with the thought of him leaving. Every time, she is ravaged with body aches and head pains. There are days she has the cabin to herself and she’s hit with a startling clarity that she must get used to this silence. A life without him, with only memories to spare.

Desperation grips her, and she wants to tear down the calendar on their wall, or plead to the goddess to save him. She feels it like a wound bleeding. A fear she has no courage to face. A battle she’s already lost. For all the pain she’s endured in her life, this one is still unlike any other.

Mikasa begins to wonder if she shouldn’t have furnished their cabin with so many personals. Jars filled with sand and seashells they collected from the beach sitting on top of the fireplace. Flowers and leaves they’ve pressed onto parchment and framed on the wall. Baskets woven by hand occupying the corner of the room.

All of these precious mementos soon to become aching reminders.

She shakes her head, tries to shake off the sore notion, but her heart unravels with every break and every snap. There are days she feels restless and it takes everything in her not to burst and spill hot tears.

Eventually, she preserves this cabin like a keepsake and takes nothing down.

The door unlocks and interrupts her train of thought.

“I’m back!” Eren calls out as he enters their cabin and stows his shoes away.

He makes it five steps into the house and then she’s on him, arms snaked around his middle and face buried in his shoulder. The distraction is enough. He floods her senses and she seizes him like an escape, embraces this like waking from a nightmare. He is dirty and muddied after his fishing trip, but she cannot find it in herself to care.

“You’re clingy today,” he murmurs in her hair.

She only hugs him tighter. “I just missed you.”

Eren chuckles, and she feels the reverberations in his chest. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Mikasa lets him go and reaches up to wipe dirt off his cheek. For the rest of the night, she hovers. She cannot help herself – it is her nature and love language. He stopped brushing her off a long time ago anyway.

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She bakes a small cake for his birthday: a vanilla-flavoured concoction topped with fruit and light icing. The recipe was given to her from the wives at the market, some of whom claimed to have been watching her for a while now. They gushed at young love, and giggled when her cheeks flushed pink. She shrunk and brushed off their comments, not wanting to remind herself the truth of it all. Mikasa swears she never scurried out of the market faster.

Later, she stares at the finished cake with more apprehension than pride. All she can think is that he has three more birthdays left, three more years, three more cakes and suddenly she’s half-tempted to throw it into the trash. It will do more harm than good.

She steels herself against it, and reluctantly presents it to him when they sit for dinner.

He turns to her with a surprised gaze and she carefully gages his reaction, almost waiting for him to harden and arrive to the same realization.

It never comes, but she grows anxious anyway.

“I made it for your birthday,” she starts, because he’s not saying anything. “I’ve never baked a cake before, which is why it’s so tiny. It’s nothing fancy either, and it probably doesn’t even taste sweet.”

She doesn’t mean to minimize her efforts, but the words pour out of her mouth before she can stop them. Meanwhile Eren stares, listening to her preamble and probably picking up the nervous cues behind them.

She swallows hard and continues, “We don’t have to make a big deal out of this. I just wanted to do something special for today, but instead all I could think about was–” Suddenly she feels like crying, and she has to blink the sting out of her eyes.

There is a deafening silence. For some reason, it always comes down to this.

From the corner of her eye, she catches him slicing the cake with a fork and taking a sizeable bite. He contemplates for a short moment.

“It’s delicious,” he finally says, gazing at her with tenderness. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

He cuts another piece and holds it out for her to taste. She accepts it, and savours the soft texture and taste of vanilla bean on her tongue. She’s right: it’s hardly sweet, but she thinks she prefers it that way. With a finger, she wipes the crumbs off her lip and notices him staring.

“Do you like it then?”

He nods easily. “I do.”

With a breath of relief, they trade bites one after another until the plate is cleaned.

Afterwards, when they’re in the middle of cleaning up, she feels the warmth of his body behind her, his arms looped across her chest and his lips pressed against her temple. She relaxes into him and when one of his hands trails down to her abdomen, she wastes no more time.

She turns around and catches his lips in a bruising kiss. She can taste remnants of icing and sugar on his tongue, and asserts her desire by pulling him closer, hands roving everywhere and slipping under his shirt. All her pent-up frustration from the day disappears like smoke, and gives way to a different kind of desperation.

He welcomes her boldness and tries to keep up, dragging her cardigan from her shoulders and peppering breathy kisses along her jaw. Not one to forfeit her dominance, she palms his length, stiff and hard against her thigh. He grunts in response, and finds her lips again.

Mikasa gasps when he hoists her up with one arm, and her legs instinctively wrap around his waist. As he walks them over to their bedroom, she concedes that the rest of her chores will have to wait until morning.

They know this dance by now. They’ve woken to several mornings twisted in bedsheets and limbs tangled. Many nights he encourages her to take control, experiment and satiate her curiosities. Meanwhile, she tries to convince him she’s not made of glass.

Tonight he doesn’t hold back.

Her back hits the mattress, and she watches as he tests her entrance. She is wet enough, and his fingers slip inside her so easily that her back automatically arches to meet him. He pumps at a steady pace, and draws out the sweetest whimpers from her mouth. Even as she urges him, he doesn’t let her finish.

She aches with unfulfillment, and before she can gripe about it, he hooks his arms under her knees, pulls her legs forward and starts to fuck into her hard and desperate. Mikasa cries out, mouth wide and loud with feverish groans. The rhythm he sets barely allows her to keep up, even as her body tries to arch and move with his thrusts. Soon she gives up altogether, taking whatever pleasure she can find, soaring into delirium and moans turning into strained gasps when he repeatedly hits that spot that makes her jerk and writhe underneath him.

When she reaches her peak, she throws one arm over her face and the sounds of her voice come out like sobs. It is enough for him to follow and find his own release. They lie together in the aftermath and haze, her hands stroking his hair and his face buried between her neck and collarbone.

Later that night, she is lying next to him, head resting on his bare chest and hand over his heart. His breathing is soft and calm, but she knows he’s not sleeping.

She pats his chest lightly, “Eren?”

He grumbles out a sound, indicating he’d heard her.

She feels awful bringing it up now, but it’s plagued her mind the whole day and she knows she won’t find rest until it comes out.

“How come you… I mean, why is it that you don’t…” she bites her lip, struggles to say it even now. He strokes her back, encouraging her to go on. “Do you not grieve? About our future, I mean.”

His gaze stays on the ceiling. “Grieve?”

She sighs. “Sometimes I think I worry enough for the both of us, but maybe you just do it when I’m not looking.”

“What brought this on?” he asks.

“Your birthday,” she pipes up, a frown marring her features. “It’s not fair. Everything has already been taken from me, and even now, I am still losing. I feel it every time I think about you leaving, or the years we have left.”

Eren brushes the bangs out of her eyes. He thinks of apologizing for his numbered days, for leaving too soon, for causing her pain, but knows it will change nothing.

She buries her face in his shoulder. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says. “And I do grieve. More often than not, actually.”

She takes it back, because of course he does. She can’t even recall what made her think otherwise. Even now, there are parts of him that are still subdued. Perhaps it’s for the better.

There’s a question at the tip of her tongue, and she hesitates to ask, “How do you cope with it?”

Silence befalls them once again.

She’s about to waive the inquiry – in hindsight, it’s a loaded question to ask a dying man – but she feels his chest rumble underneath her. Not the wracked and thrashing sort of tremble that accompanies grief or sorrow. It’s light, and effortless. Mikasa anxiously peers up at him.

He’s laughing, of all things.

“Sorry…” he says, clearing his throat. “You caught me off guard.”

Mikasa shakes her head. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I cope because of you,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

He exhales a slow breath. She feels it underneath, and matches her own breathing to his.

“If I really wanted, I could spend the rest of my life fretting and worrying about what’s to come, but….” His gaze is heavy, filled with something intense, significant and purposeful. It spreads to her too, and the feeling becomes tangled in her heart, forms a lump in her throat. There’s not a word for it. He lets out another breath, and the corner of his lips tug to a smile. “…I’d rather spend it with you. Mikasa, wasn’t it you who gave me that choice?”

The words flow off his tongue easier than anything that’s been said, and the stark realization of it leaves her breathless.

Her face crumples, as if something within her bursts and breaks. For once, it is not the same and familiar body ache that’s ravaged her like a sickness. It is something different entirely. All her life she wished for this: a caring pair of arms to ease her through life and all of its cruelties; someone to shelter her from reality.

She thinks of his younger self, for some reason. Rude, reckless and highly temperamental. And yet, he’s also the same person lying underneath her now. He’s grown and changed so much, and yet she loves him the same.

Mikasa makes up her mind then, to make the same choice. She shifts in bed until she’s hovering over him, foreheads pressed together. She leans forward, presses a light kiss against his mouth until he’s returning it, pulling her down and deepening it.

I choose you too.

Right now, nothing can break this peace.

----------

It sounds strange, but Mikasa has to learn how to live in the present. How to live for now, and not worry about what happens a week from today, or months down the road, or the year ahead. The learning curve is steep, but there are many reasons for it:

She is no longer in the military, and is free to reshuffle her priorities that don’t push timelines or goals.

Eren is not the same impulsive boy he once was. He will not charge towards danger with reckless abandon, and he is within her reach every day.

Mikasa is happier this way. It allows her to forget, even momentarily, and minimizes the breaks that threaten to consume her whole.

Time slips away from her, and she lets it.

Days are spent gardening, fishing, and building a life she never knew she wanted. Nights are spent in his arms, either quiet for comfort or loud with passion. The relationship they share is nothing like the one she dreamt in her youth, but it’s better in all the right ways. Eren is actually the quieter one between the two of them, and she never has to clamour for his attention. In return, she takes care of him and tells him she loves him without needing to.

This love is real, she thinks. Much like the love of their parents, and she is grateful for their example.

But the grief still lingers every now and then.

It sneaks up on her in the most blissful moments, and comes in the form of small, nagging reminders that this will not last forever. It always catches her off guard, and she has to ground herself against them.

It catches up to him too. There are times he clings onto her, or distracts himself with work, chopping more wood than they need until nightfall. On the hardest of days, he holds her steadfast and tight, or makes love to her like it’s the last time.

She knows his desperation like it’s her own.

In these moments, she wishes time would wait.

----------

But it doesn’t, of course. Time has no agency and pays no heed to her cause.

This blissful life comes to a screeching halt when a storm festers in the sky and a downpour of relentless rain hits the mountainside and reaches their cabin.

Mikasa has to cut her hunting trip short when it starts to pour. As she runs home, the deluge of water quickly turns the dirt into mud, and every step she takes threatens to suck her boots under and cause an accident. The sweltering summer heat combined with the downpour makes her struggle for breath, as if she is drowning in this rain.

She is soaked from top to bottom when she finally makes it home. When she sees him, Eren is inspecting the leaks in the roof of their house. He’s laid out buckets all over the floor to catch the droplets of rain that have seeped through, and he is so caught up in the task that he barely notices her.

As she collects herself, she realizes with shocking alarm that part of their floors are flooded, their furniture is in disarray, and all the crops they have carefully tended and grown cannot survive if this goes on. The tampered state of their home strikes like an awful robbery and still, this indifferent rain and storm continues to hammer and beat down on them. 

It draws forth memories of that fateful day. Yes, that gruesome time she’d been forced to watch her own parents struck down in front of her, pale and bleeding, and how in that instant, her world collapsed and crumbled under her feet. She thought of how nothing could hurt more.

Right now, it feels as though it is still happening. As if she never left that godforsaken cabin.

Mikasa doesn’t even notice Eren in front of her until he touches her shoulder. His face is resolute, as if he has a plan. He’s being pragmatic, but somehow it’s not helping.

“Go find shelter outside, and stay away from the rain. I’m going to reinforce the rafters, and it could take a while.”

When realization dawns on her, she grabs his wrist before he can make it out the door.

“No!” she screams, because this is quickly turning into an awful nightmare.

He turns around and gazes with confusion.

She doesn’t know how to explain to him that she doesn’t want to see his titan again. She doesn’t want him to use it. They shouldn’t have to resort to that ever again. The mere thought of Eren biting into his hand, blood spilling and becoming that humanoid beast is something she can no longer stomach, because it is the very reason his life hangs in the balance.

“We can fix this ourselves,” she pleads.

His confusion only deepens. “But we’ll get sick in the rain.”

She shakes her head. He tugs his arm away, takes one step forward, but she catches the end of his shirtsleeve. “Eren, please! You don’t need to transform! You shouldn’t have to. It’s in the past now. We’ve moved on from that–”

“Mikasa.”

She stops, because she knows she is unravelling and now his expression hinges on anger. There is a fire kindling in his eyes that aches familiar, something she has not seen in a long while. She cannot recall the last time he’d been stern with her.

He yanks his hand from her grasp, and it sharpens the ache in her heart. As if noticing, he repeats his command, albeit much gentler.

“I’ll be back. Find shelter in the meantime.”

Eventually, she curls up against a sturdy tree with branches long enough to shield her from most of the rainfall. The lightning strike signalling his transformation blends too perfectly with the rain and storm, and it makes her wince. Even now, she still cannot fathom the swirl of emotions coursing her mind and beating at her heart.

Falling back to old habits, she brings the damp red scarf up to her nose. The familiarity of the old and tattered thing has never failed to comfort her in the most trying times.

Hugging her knees tighter, she forces herself to watch his titan. A hard-hitting sight to behold, because she hasn’t seen it in two years. This dull and harrowing realization sinks and cements itself in the spaces of her heart. Time is catching up to her now.

In the distance, he re-aligns the wooden rafters of their roof and secures one of their tarps over the leaks – a temporary fix. She knows he will use his titan again to rebuild it, and a bitter sensation settles in her mouth.

It is still raining when he finishes. By the time he’s cut himself out of his titan and makes it back home, Mikasa has already swept the debris to one side and is halfway through scrubbing their floors. Her efforts come off vain and hopeless, but it is difficult to care about anything besides restoring this place back to its former state.

When he crouches beside her, she quietly asks for space. To his cocked brow, she reassures him she’s not angry with him, because she’s not.

She knows this grief very well. A part of her always knew that it would find her again and take root. No amount of distractions will get it out this time. She is mortified and distraught, but somehow it feels important. Feels necessary.

She cannot find it in herself to say it loud, only knows it deep inside of herself.

----------

It doesn’t stop raining.

Mikasa falls asleep blocking the low murmurs of thunder, and wakes to the patter of rain against their windows. Her mind goes to the garden every once in a while, wondering if any of their crops could survive this storm. When the rain loosens to a light drizzle, she takes the chance to salvage what is left and gets her answer.

Nothing.

She punches a divot into the ground, knuckles white and shaking.

They are drowned. She only finds mud, wilted leaves and dead roots. Even her plants have suffocated from this storm. She sits back on her knees and feels the rain seeping her through her hair, and soaking through scarf and cardigan. The muddy terrain below her seems to boil and bubble underneath this sweltering heat and humid rain.

The downpour worsens then. She watches the thunderhead spiralling above the mountains, gathering another storm within its grasp. She should retreat to the confines of the cabin, but instead she sinks in this rain.

Fuck.

She mulls over the pain in the heavy fog of her mind, and weeps in the confined spaces. It was inevitable; every break and every snap colliding and bursting and erupting at the seams. There is nothing to wake her from this crumbling resolve. It hits her like open floodgates, a broken dam, or a single spark of wildfire.

I’m going to lose him.

Ackerman blood pumps through her veins, fuels her with the strength of a hundred men, and yet she is powerless to protect those who matter. She curses the stars and the goddess for saddling her with such a tragic and atrocious destiny; tending a love inside her that would grow beyond measure, only so she can watch him fade and wither too soon.

I would have to give this up.

She crouches into the field, head buried in her arms. Her hands grip the dirt beneath her like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing tethering her to this earth. She screams until her lungs give out, throwing her voice into the howling winds and joining the cacophonous sound. Her mind fills with images of life without him – she’s always resisted them – and the inevitability of it all comes down like crashing waves, robbing her of air and space to breathe.

She can almost feel the comfort of his arms starting to leave her. It renders her desperate and gasping for breath. Like a fish dragged out of water, or rain drying up in the sun.

I would have to forfeit all we’ve built and grown.

She exhales with exasperation, and feels her chest heaving.

But this life is paradise. Eren is my–

“Mikasa!”

Home.

She misses the panic in his tone. She misses his voice altogether.

He is all I ever–

A jacket is laid on top of her. Strong arms wrap around her.

Wanted.

She tries to breathe in deeply, and finds the task arduous with the weight on her chest and the lump in her throat. Her hands latch onto him like an anchor in this storm, and she holds on tight. He gently caresses her back in a steady rhythm – consistent and grounded in light of this erratic storm.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Mikasa follows his motions like a musical beat.

Eventually, she finds her breath.

Somehow, her despairing soul is rocked to quiet mending.

What am I to you?

Eren takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. She grasps onto him and follows him home, knowing he will ease her out of darkness again. He is the only one to soothe her aches, quiet the noise and let everything else fade into the background. She loves him completely for it.

You are everything.

----------

Lucidness returns to her as she dries and changes out of her wet clothes. Her face is red and puffy and there is a heaviness to her gait, but she comes out of the bedroom anyway and joins him in front of the fireplace. For a while, she holds out her hands and gleans warmth from the radiating fire.

“The storm makes me restless,” she breaks silence, eyeing a few wandering embers.

He gives a hum of agreement.

She turns her head to peek at him. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d do my best not to bring this up, but…” She shakes her head, pushing herself to say it in spite of her reluctance. “…I can’t see beyond the next two years. There’s nothing there. No future, no cause... Almost as if time will stop completely. And then I find myself wondering if things would have been different had we chosen to stay behind, but it’s not as though the curse would…” Her voice trails off completely, and she rubs the sting out of her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ramble.”

He watches her, expression crinkling a little.

“It would have been the same,” he tells, just above a tired whisper.

Mikasa’s face drops and she swivels to face him, legs still tucked underneath.

“How?”

Eren swallows hard, face twisting in pain and jaw hardening. The same expression that finds him when he dreams in memories, or speaks of destruction.

“It would have been by your hand instead,” he says plainly, but not without reservation. “I’ll lose myself and use the founder’s powers to start a war. Destroy the world according to her will. I push through with it knowing it’s wrong and cruel, but my actions won’t be justified. You’ll stop me because of it.”

Her entire face becomes hot all of a sudden. She just stares at her clenched fists, unsure why he sometimes speaks as though it’s still going to happen, and refusing to comprehend how she could ever –

Eren touches her shoulder, as if reading her mind.

“Mikasa. You do it to save me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ll save humanity because of it, and nobody will live in fear of titans after that.”

She’s shaking her head, eyes closed shut and nails digging into her skin. Even two years past, and she still doesn’t understand. She doubts she will ever understand. To choose between Eren and the fate of the world is too cruel of a decision to even fathom, let alone rest on her shoulders. As if the world hasn’t been unkind to her already.

She breathes with exasperation and looks at him with finality and defiance.

“I don’t want to make that choice,” she says, but then quietly, in the back of her mind, she wonders if she already did.

His expression softens a bit. “Everything changed the night you told me you loved me. It made me feel… human, because I loved you the same.”

She stiffens with the truth, face twisting and crumpling between anger, pain and confusion.

“No one ever made me feel that way. It was mine the whole time,” he continues, taking her clenched fists in his fingers and unwinding them. Her palms hurt, but she finds comfort in his hands folding over hers. She’s trembling like she’s on fire, but the calm and unchanging green of his gaze drowns out her rage.

“Escaping here was something I wanted, a choice I made with my heart. I would do it again and again, unless…”

She stares at him, unsure of the reason his voice breaks.

Eren sighs and dips his head, making certain they are seeing eye to eye.

“Mikasa, do you ever regret this?” he asks for the first time, with obvious difficulty. “I only have two years left. It will never be enough, and even now I still cause you so much pain and suffering–”

“No,” she cuts off, settling the argument once and for all. She shakes her head furiously, halting the thought before it sails. “I would do it again.”

And without thinking, she springs forward and throws her arms around his figure. Her kiss is hard and desperate. She is determined to prove every word. He returns it in full, and she cannot imagine why she would ever choose otherwise.

“I love you,” he says, even though he doesn’t need to. She feels it in everything he does.

They part only so their foreheads can press together, breaths mingling in between.

“I wish we had more time,” he murmurs softly. “That was the wish I made under the stars.”

She pulls back to memorize every line and curve of his face. “I love you too.”

It’s the only thing that needs to be said, and suddenly she is grateful for their choice.

Afterwards, she holds him tight and close to her, knowing she will do so until she is forced to let go.

----------

She loves him and he loves her back. On the surface, it seems easy, but she knows in some dark crevice of her mind, that even though this love is selfish – escaping to these mountains was selfish – it is also good.

It is clear like the blue reflective sheen of the ocean. Bright in the dark like the constellations in the night sky and the stars they wished upon. Beautiful in the midst of this world’s unending horror and cruelty.

Her source of strength. The root of his humanity.

This love is enough.

Time will come when it will teach her to grow, too.

----------

The rain stops and gives way to a brighter morning.

From her window, Mikasa spots the luminous streaks of colour in the sky, no doubt left behind by the storm, and feels as though a heavy weight has been lifted off her chest.

Eren is still sleeping beside her and quietly she extracts herself out of his embrace. She makes her way outside, where the sun warms her face and a soft breeze sweeps past her. The silence is easy and comforting. For a moment, she allows herself to bask in this delicate peace.

In the corner of her eye, she finds something in the garden. Perhaps not everything drowned in the rain.

Campanulas.

Mikasa crouches by the patch of purple-petaled flowers and traces her finger along one of them, careful not to disturb their growth. She wonders how they managed to endure the flood, even bloom as a result of it. So frail in appearance, but their roots must be deep, sturdy and strong.

Strange how this bellflower seems to follow her wherever she goes.

It grows under the wrath of the titans, and weathers the worst of storms. It is the only thing to survive the wreckage. It’s almost incredible how they managed to grow such a thing; she and Eren are so damaged themselves.

Perhaps this flower will remain. Just like the memories they’ve made.

Mikasa glances at her surroundings. The mountains in the distance, the trees circling their cabin, the river flowing downward and everything else still standing.

She sees this home they’ve built and finds pieces of him everywhere; his heart is carved in everything they’ve made, and said, and done.

When he passes on, maybe it will be enough.

----------

[mythgirlimagines]

It’s time to spice up this week’s Tuesday with a brand-new talentswap from yours truly! Keep your eyes peeled, for you wouldn’t want to miss Myth, the Former Ultimate Racer!

—–————————————————-

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Originally starting out with the go-cart circuits she frequents as a kid with her family, Myth eventually went professional as a professional race car driver and topped the charts, eventually earning her rightful place as the Ultimate Racer. Unfortunately, during a racing tournament, months before her graduation from Hope’s Peak, a sabotage attempt by a jealous rival resulted in Myth’s car catching fire with her inside of it and crashing into the ring, after serving off of the track. This resulted in Myth getting burned severely and losing her right arm in the crash, and above all, it gave her a claustrophobia, pyrophobia and a phobia of driving. Now that she graduated and is now a Former Ultimate, she intends to put her past behind her and never go back on the track again. But maybe the Former Ultimates, Jr. Ultimates and the Ultimates of this year can help her regain her confidence. 

——————————————————-

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Drill Sergeant 

Having been friends during their childhood, ever since they raced each other on the same go-cart circuit, Myth and Wyre’s differing talents caused them to grow apart during their teen years. But after Myth suffered and had trouble recovering from her accident, Wyre knew what they had to do: whip their best friend back into shape, and help restore the tough and confident womanizer they met before they were sent off to work with a particularly-strong military troupe in their teen years. If Myth ever felt unconfident in either her talent or her looks, Wyre would always be there to pump Myth up and instill some confidence in the racer. 

Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but with a camo motif and an army helmet on her head.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Samurai

Despite her eccentric attitude and constant talk of the “New Moon Clan”, Scar is the heiress of only the most prestigious lineage of samurai in all of the country. Scar’s intimidating attitude and vocabulary, along with her constant wielding of a sword, was enough to frighten the cowardly racing champion away. Not wanting to incur the wrath of the drill sergeant, Scar chose to dial back the villainous theatrics, and from there, Myth learned that Scar is actually a loyal and kindhearted (almost maternal) young lady. Scar’s bushido teaches actually helped Myth stay calm in times of crisis, and it helped instill a new sense of bravery in her.

Outfit: Hair in a bun, a black to purple kimono, a red obi, a matching scabbard that holds her katana, bandaged-up hands, white socks, brown geta sandals.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Barista

With his parents running a struggling coffee shop, Fusion decided to help his parents out, in an attempt to save his family’s coffee shop from going belly-up. Fusion’s assistance at the coffee house garnered both fame and fortune, particularly for Fusion‘s adorable latte art. When Myth first met Fusion, she was scared off by his looming height, but within seconds of getting to know Fusion, he quickly established himself as a kindhearted and paternal young man, and not the imposing and creepy bogeyman she thought he was. Fusion’s relaxing tea blends never fails to calm Myth’s nerves down, even if she never drinks or eats in front of him. 

Outfit: An off-white turtleneck sweater with light brown and dark brown stripes, a brown apron with his family’s logo on the front, glasses, pants and shoes from the original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Mangaka

Despite the fast speeds that she works at, no one can deny that Fusion II is an expert at her craft. Fusion II mainly specializes in shonen manga, in which she is praised for her dynamic yet snarky characters, stellar action scenes, and eye-catching visuals. Needless to say, due to her line of work, she doesn’t exactly have the best social skills, but she tries to compensate for that with a snarky cool-guy personality, in order to hide the fact that she is a Grade-A dork. Imagine Myth’s shock when one of her favorite mangakas turns out to be her kohai. Reading Fusion II’s manga was one of the best ways to pass recovery time at the hospital.

Outfit: The gakuran top and undershirt from her original design, fingerless gloves that match her undershirt, white pants, longer hair due to forgetting to cut it, pencil and inkpens in her her pocket protector, white sneakers, sunglasses from her original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Priest 

As an orphan boy left on the doorstep of his local church, Janon was raised with all of the teachings of The Lord being imprinted into his mind. Even if he cursed like a sailor (although he could never bear to use the Lord‘s name in vain) and wants nothing more than to lounge around all day, Janon otherwise practices what he preaches. Myth finds it really shocking that this foul-mouthed and cynical little boy is the Ultimate Priest. Like with everybody else, Janon really wants nothing to do with Myth, finding her cowardly and skittish nature grating and annoying. Little does Myth know, Janon has a particularly hidden soft spot for children.

Outfit: A black and oversized cassock with a small golden rosary and a white scarf around his neck and mouth, black shoes.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Thanatologist 

One would never expect a studier of death and the deceased to be so loud, flashy, and flamboyant. Despite having all of those qualities and more, Sparkle, or “THE SPECTACULAR SPARKLE” as she likes to call herself, is respected as a genius in her studies of mortality. Sparkle’s loud voice, dark and edgy appearance, and creepy talent just scared Myth off, when the racer first encountered the thanatologist. As much as the two would love to be friends, Myth is just too skittish and Sparkle comes off way too hard. Maybe if they spent more time together, Myth would get to know the stellar grief counselor that Sparkle is.

Outfit: Wild shoulder length hair, a tattered black jacket over a red shirt with a white skull on the front, a red skirt patterned with red spider lilies, black stockings, spiked boots, a large black cape with silver shoulderpads, glasses from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Pinball Wizard, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Statistical Analyst 

Egg and Wet Sock are both veritable prodigies in the study of statistics and chances, but they both express it in different ways. While Egg takes their statistical genius to the arcades and aces the pinball machines as a result, Wet Sock chooses to act more professional and applies their knowledge of statistics to business and finances. One thing that the twins also have in common is creeping people out with unnerving statistics. For that reason, Myth wishes to avoid these two for the entirety of her stay at the Kibo-Con, for she doesn’t need more reasons to feel anxious. She never needed to know that vending machines are more deadly than sharks.

Egg’s Outfit: Rose-tinted John Lennon glasses, an obnoxiously patterned hoodie and matching leggings, black and white light-up shoes.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: Red-tinted glasses, a black and white tuxedo.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Bed Tester

As the beloved child of the owner of an influential bed-making company, Curious was given the extra-special job of sleeping on the beds, and rating them based on their comfort levels. If a bed was given the “Curious Seal of Approval”, that’s how you know you’ve bought yourself a high-quality bed. Curious’s tranquil and calm personality contrasts heavily against Myth’s skittish and rough personality, but Curious’s calm nature results in both Myth’s adoration, for even just looking at Curious’s gentle smile is enough to relax the racer‘s nerves and slight envy, for the racer wishes she could be half as chill as the bed tester. 

Outfit: Longer hair that goes down to the middle of their back, green silk pajama, brown moccasins.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Card Shark

Being born and raised on the streets, Nerd was willing to resort to deceit and sleight of the hand in the wretched hives of underground gambling rings to earn enough money to live. Despite normally being very expressive with his feelings (anger in particular), Nerd is famous for his deadly-looking poker face, when on the gambling tables. Nerd also has a secret underground life as an underground street fighter, in order to let all of his pent-up emotions (primarily anger) out. As one of the most intimidating and morally-dubious of the Kibo-Con roster, Nerd is perhaps the person that frightens Myth the most, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

Outfit: A pure white tuxedo with card suit-themed buttons over a black shirt and matching shoes, that Nerd can rip off to reveal a tigerskin singlet.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Gunslinger

Being raised with the mindset that the whole world is chock-full of threats that will attack and/or kill him, Eldritch decided to teach himself to wield a weapon to protect himself against any and all potential threats. Out of all the weapons, Eldritch particularly is a master, when it comes to one particular weapon of his: his prized pistol and his infamous quick draw. Considering their similar natures, one would expect them to get along. However, it‘s rather hard to get along with someone who suddenly pulled out a pistol upon seeing you for the first time. For now, Myth stays away from Eldritch at all cost, out of fear for her own safety. 

Outfit: A brown cowboy that draws shade on his eyes, a poncho colored like the hoodie from his original design over a black gakuran and brown knee-high boots, a brown holster that houses his pistol.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Fashion Designer

Specializing in comfortable and simultaneously fashionable sportswear, Dream Anon is a big name in the fashion industry for both her skill in designing sportswear and her cheerful and sunny attitude during interviews and press conferences. Dream is a massive fan of Myth and looks up to the racing star, even watching every single one of the races that Myth participated in and won. This also means that she was a witness to Mytn’s televised accident. Ever since she witnessed that, Dream knew exactly what she had to do: help give Myth confidence in her scars and prosthetic, by getting Myth to model some of her sportswear. 

Outfit: Fake glasses with pink lenses, hair held in a ponytail by a pink ribbon, a pink t-shirt, blue overalls with differently colored patches on it, pink Mary Janes, sewing and drawing supplies on her person at all times.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Deliveryperson

Famous for her fast running speed, despite being incredibly klutzy otherwise, her optimistic and cheery attitude regarding her job, her excellent customer service, and her sheer skill at delivering food from her family’s restaurant to anywhere in and even outside town, it was no wonder that Iris was accepted into Hope’s Peak’s Middle School Division underneath the title of “Jr. Ultimate Deliveryperson”. Whenever Myth is feeling extra stressed out, Iris will always be there with some warm food straight from her family’s restaurant and some uplifting advice/stress-relief techniques. Myth wonders how Iris knows all these calming methods.

Outfit: Braids tied into rings, a blue cap on her head with the family logo on the front, a blue t-shirt, black pants and blue and black sneakers.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Revolutionary 

Despite usually being very timid in social situations, often hiding behind larger objects (namely her good friend Fusion), Purple‘s followers revere her as a charismatic and ambitious leader. Even though Purple comes from an upper-crust family, upon being made aware of the true corruption both her family and other families have gone through, Purple started to lead a group of oppressed individuals to fight against the corrupt businesses and government establishments. Myth may have declined joining Purple’s group, but Myth still considers Purple a great friend. They regularly have venting sessions over some of Fusion’s tea.

Outfit: A purple camo-patterned jumpsuit and matching boots, a white and purple captain’s hat, a long black cape.

This AU shall center around Myth getting the trauma support system that she deserves, all from a ragtag team of Anons! ——————————————-————

PERSONALITY

Pre-accident, Racer!Myth was a rough, tough, confident and rather-cocky woman-and-man-izer, and a nonstop flirting machine. Despite her rough exterior, she is still a really kind and charitable soul, often donating her racing funds to charity. But after the accident, Myth’s confidence practically vanished, and is now a skittish and cowardly shell of her former self, albeit she still retains her rough speech patterns and her romantic side. But she is making baby steps with the help of the other Anons (Wyre, in particular) to restore herself to her former glory.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Not baring to show off her burned and scarred face, Myth’s face is covered by her signature fuschia and purple racing helmet. One could detect short purple hair hidden beneath her helmet. Myth wears a black tracksuit, patterned with squares in a pink-to-purple-to-blue radiant, blue and purple gloves (that cover up her prosthetic arm) and matching boots. 

——————————————————-

I know how much you like COTG talentswaps, so I hope you like this one! Let me hear your opinions on this AU!

[kchuarts]

Flowers in Blood

A/N: BRUH I’M A MACHINE. I CAN’T STOP WRITING AND I’M JUST AS EXCITED AHHHHHH. Yeah, I’ve got a nice creative flow going right now 

Summary: Pine has to live with the choice he made, what else could possibly go wrong!? 

Warnings: Mention of drug usage 

ALSO!! There is a transgender woman in here that is a bad guy, but please please please please do not read this as that as “I hate trans people”. I don’t hate trans people!!! I myself am non binary and just decided to add this type of character in because trans people don’t often get represented as frankly anything in any sort of way. So if you read it as a negative opinion, please understand that it is most definitely not!! Also, Pine is respectful of ALL women because trans women are women! <3 

Taglist: @lucywrites02​ 

Chapter 6: Poppy p.ii

The familiar and welcoming ambience of London filled Pine's senses as he stepped off the train. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that once he gave Angela the thumb drive, he would be back to smaller tasks. A sob took him out of his slightly dazed state as he saw Katie dashing out of his sight, an arm covering her face as she was undoubtedly crying. It was more than too late to apologize at this point and even if he did, Pine's apology wouldn't make a lick of sense. The first thing he would do after dropping the information off was to get wasted. Tonight seemed like a good enough time to choose alcohol as a means to drown out sorrows. Honestly, Jonathan was surprised at how he wasn't an alcoholic at this point. He reached into his pocket and pulled his pack of cigarettes out along with his lighter. Perhaps the nicotine helped to ease some of the pain. 

Having gone through his third stick, Jonathan flicked the butt into the trash and exhaled the remnants of smoke as he made his way to Angela's office. It was awfully quiet going in and something occurred to Pine making him wonder if perhaps Katie already reported in. No, if that were the case then he would have gotten a text of sorts. He already knew his ass would be chewed for not calling back or giving a text to signal they made it safely to London. Pine crossed his fingers that would be the only issue he would be given grief over and not how he treated Katie. 

Angela's lips pursed as she saw her best agent walk in, looking dejected. "What in the absolute FUCK happened?" 

Pine held up his hand, grimacing "I can explain everything-" 

The Director did not give him time to explain as she turned the TV on. A live news report was playing in an area nearby filled with fires and anti-government flags waving in the air. Of course some of  the flags had the Poppy flower emblazoned onto the fabric proudly. Angela turned the TV off and turned to face Pine. "So am I to suspect that something went wrong? Because this should not be happening and I should have received news of Abbadon's arrest prior to the riots! Instead, I don’t hear a peep and the woman still walks free!" She shook her head, looking disappointed in Jonathan. 

The agent took a deep breath in and sighed, placing the drive and note on his boss's desk. "It isn't Abbadon who is in charge. She shoved these in my pocket when we attended the gala. She is a single branch of something much bigger and told me to remember these names." He held up his hand, using his fingers to count them down. "Belladonna, Bloodroot, Daphne and Wisteria. We are already aware of Poppy and Wolfsbane. I am hoping what may possibly be on that thumb drive is all the information on the branches that we need to take them down." He placed his hand in his pants pocket and looked at the ground. Some part of him wished that Katie was here to tell of how clever she was at befriending Abbadon. Not only that but how she listened to her heart and managed to convince Pine that Abbadon was not who she said she was. That was her place to tell, not his. 

"Where is Katie?" Angela set the paper and drive down. Her brow became laced with motherly concern and eyes shimmered at Jonathan. "Pine. Where is she?" Her tone turned angry. She knew something was off the minute Jonathan walked in without his assigned partner and she didn't like it one bit. 

Pine shifted uncomfortably, "She's going back to the US. If she's smart enough, I think she's packing her bags right now." 

SLAM!! 

The impact of Angela's fists on her desk caused everyone in the room to jump. "Damn it, Pine!! What the fuck happened and what did you do!? I do not want any short, bullshit answers so you had better sit your ass down and start talking!! I'm gonna try to give her a call." She huffed at the tall man, fishing her phone from her purse. Her gaze snapped back at Jonathan who just stood there, struggling to find an excuse of sorts. "Well?! Go on then! Maybe I was right, you men are garbage." She noticed Rob look at her in shock and sighed loudly, "Ok you're not garbage, sweetheart. I'm talking about ones who won't fucking give me an answer on what the hell happened to Katelyn O'Connor!!" 

"ALRIGHT!! I GET IT!!" Jonathan shouted from pent up guilt. "I-I… I told her to leave because I am afraid to lose her. Having a constant physical reminder of Cameron O'Connor and what happened to him at my damn side can do a real number. The last fucking thing I wanted was to start feeling something for her, come to terms with the past, earn her trust and forgiveness, only to have her killed!!" His tears that had built up betrayed him by slipping down his sharp cheeks. Pine leaned against a wall and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Angela, I can't lose her like I did Sophie. I had to lie through my teeth and call her a stupid rookie that lived in fantasy land! I had to make her think I hate her!" He walked over and placed his hands on Angela's desk. Tears dripped onto some of the paper work as they fell from his cheeks. "She is so smart though. She managed to prove me wrong about Abbadon and reveal who the real person in charge is. It's Abbadon's brother, Daniel. Without Katie, I don't know how I would have seen the truth otherwise." He finally grabbed a chair and sat down, crying softly into his hand. “I could never hate her which is exactly the reason why I am scared.” 

Rob stared in shock at Pine as he witnessed his friend break down. Never before had he seen Jonathan Pine so distraught and defeated. He wanted to say something to perhaps lighten the mood, but could think of nothing. 

Angela tossed her phone onto her desk and clicked her tongue. "Well, your asinine move probably worked considering she isn't answering my calls." She snatched the drive and paper, turning around to face her laptop and began tapping away. "You can go home now, Pine. I'll contact you when I've got something." She dismissed him, her tone cold. 

Taking note of Angela's now toxic mood, Jonathan got up and left, slamming the door behind him. It wasn't the Director he was mad at, but himself. No matter how hard he tried to justify what he did was for Katie's safety, it just didn't sit right. He did it because he is afraid to fall in love and lose her like he did Sophie. That awful night still remained fresh in his mind, even after 7 years. He lost Cameron but due to war and it made him sick thinking of how disappointed his late friend would be knowing how his sister was treated. At last, Pine reached the building and was anxious to think of anything but his faults. He stops abruptly as he notices something on the ground; it's one of Katie's sneakers. Was she in that much of a hurry? Pine brushed it off and decided maybe he should stop by and drop it off in case she hadn't left. By the time he reached her floor, the atmosphere felt off. He didn't like it at all as it gave him the notion that something bad just happened. Could be the residual energy left from their fight three days ago, but it wasn't that. Jonathan's heart began to beat hard and was loud in his ears as he approached her door. With a shaken hand, he grabbed the handle and pushed it down. The door was unlocked, maybe she hadn't left yet? The only problem with this scenario was, not a rustle of frantic packing or footsteps could be heard. 

"Katie?" He called out, entering her flat and shutting the door behind him gently. "Katie are you here?" He called out again, receiving no answer. Before he carried onward, Jonathan stepped in something slippery. It was rather dark in the flat and the liquid had a sort of odor to it. When he turned the light on, his stomach dropped as there had been a struggle. Furniture knocked over, sheets torn apart and blood splattered here and there. He whipped around and noticed that a trail of blood had been made going outside. "KATIE!? KATIE ANSWER ME!!" he tossed her shoe aside and frantically looked around her flat, searching high and low. "FUCK!! KATIE!?" Pine noticed her phone on the floor, the screen shattered. Underneath it was a note with sloppy handwriting that definitely was not Katie's. 

If you find this, it may or may not be too late for the girl. We are certainly aware of what went on in Moscow and do not appreciate your interference. Consider this a warning and if you're smart enough, you'll pay a visit near London Bridge at 3PM sharp tomorrow. Perhaps Ms. O'Connor is still alive so this was our best shot at getting your attention. You will meet an associate of ours by the name of Joshua and we will know if you bring help. Let's say if we find you did bring back up, little Katie might have an accident that may or may not result in her accidental death. Do not keep us waiting, Pine. 

-Anonymous Poppy 

P.S. 

Roper sends his regards~ 

In a sudden burst of rage, Pine crumpled the paper and tossed it as hard as he could against the wall. To make matters worse, not only did his eyes land upon a single Poppy but another flower among the Poppy family; bloodroot. Carefully he knelt down, picking the flowers up and noticed some blood drip from the petals. “Katie-” He spoke breathlessly, horrible dread crushing inside of his chest and making it hard to breathe. Tears resided in his blue eyes once again as he stared at the flowers covered in what more than likely was her own blood. “Hold on.” His voice cracked as he stood to his full height, making his way out of her flat with the flowers held tightly in his grasp. He wasted no time in getting himself ready; finally washing away the chill of Russia, dressing in inconspicuous clothing, making sure that his gun was loaded, combat knife sheathed and hidden, and his determination strong. One thing he did wonder was how in the hell Richard Roper managed to squirm his way back into the limelight. He knew that the smarmy crime lord had his ways and his charismatic ways unmatched, but after such a huge blow it was difficult to think of why he’d show his face again. Whatever the case was, it didn’t look good at all. Pine’s jaw clenched at the memory of how Roper had nearly killed Jed and subjected her to horrendous torture. His blue gaze focused hard at the window to the outside, stashing his pistol on his belt in it’s holster. He couldn’t let Angela know what happened or she’d cut all ties and force him to live a life of complete shame. Eventually, she would find out but if Jonathan could get to Katie in time, that was all that mattered to him. Getting her back home safe and alive was all he wanted. Pine shuddered slightly as an icy, invisible touch came over his hand and caused him to pull away in alarm. He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers and shaking his head. That was rather odd and had the agent thinking just for a moment that it could have been something trying to make contact with him. 

"I wonder when he will show up!" A short and stocky man with shaggy black hair spun on his heel, getting irritated by the never ending rain. The time was 2:56PM the next day and the associate, Joshua, was already waiting with great impatience. He checked his watch and sighed through his large nose very aggressively, “Well this better not go all to pot. If he don’t show up within the next two seconds-” 

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught the grubby man off guard and Pine walked out of the shadows, fury blazin in his baby blues. “Where is she?” He growled, making Joshua very aware of the advantage he had over him in stature. Pine’s hand shot out, grabbing the collar of the associate and getting in his putrid face. “WHERE IS THE GIRL!?” He was letting his anger fly off the handle and get the better of him. 

Joshua held his hands up and grinned, “Tsk, tsk, tsk… I’d be smarter than that if I were you, Pine. Should anything happen to me” He tapped his ear piece, “All I have to do is say the magic word and your little friend will go POP just like the weasel!” He laughed, being shoved to the ground and scrambling back up, sneering at Pine. Black, malicious eyes darted from the gun holstered on Jonathan’s belt up to those rage driven blues. “I see you’ve got a little form of negotiation there. Too bad for you, that’s one of the terms you failed to recognize as help.” He waved two fingers and three goons appeared behind Jonathan, knocking him unconscious. “Such a pity this bloke is. Alright boys, take ‘em to the truck and get a move on. He’ll be seeing little Katie soon enough. Hope he likes the make over we’ve given ‘er!” He giggled heinously and rubbed his filthy hands together. 

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

Ice cold water was dumped over Jonathan, waking him from his state of unconsciousness and making him gasp despite the gag in his mouth. He shivered violently as the dark room he was in did not help make matters any better. 

“Finally awake are we?” A woman… or man's voice spoke. 

Jonathan’s eyes shot up to see a bony, feminine and masculine figure standing before him in dim light. His brows scrunched in confusion as he couldn’t quite make out if this person was male or female. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” They frowned, kicking Jonathan across the face and scoffing. “How rude looking up a lady’s skirt! Haven’t you ever heard of someone who’s born in the wrong body? Of course not, you’re just another one of them transphobes! Why did I even bother to ask?” The woman huffed, her heels clacking on the concrete floor as she approached the bound agent. A pale, bony hand with long red nails snatched Jonathan’s jaw and deep brown eyes bore into his soul. “Mmm cute one you are. Too bad you ain’t my type and I hate men.” She smacked his cheek and stood back up, snapping her fingers. “Boys!! Hit the lights please!! I’d like to give our honored guest a look at his little girlfriend’s make over!” 

Blinding lights caused Jonathan to shut his eyes tightly for a moment before adjusting to his surroundings. He was in a warehouse of some sort that was stacked with all sorts of packages and crates containing illegal drugs and paraphernalia. Upon closer inspection the woman, who he mistakenly misgendered on accident, had sported a black eye with other signs of a struggle. It appeared that Katie had indeed put up some sort of fight and did a good bit of damage as the woman also had a limp and nasty bruised ankle. 

The woman scoffed and dropped her hands to her sides, “Bloody hell. Joshua can’t you hear a damn thing I tell you?! I said bring out the girl, not stand there and act like you’re stupid!!” She growled and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and raising a brow at Jonathan. “Oh my bad.” her heels clacked over to him and removed the gag but not the rope around his arms or legs. “Names Natalie Baylor, but you probably already knew that if you did your homework properly. Though, you know me by a different name, my dead name. Nathaniel Zayler? Remember that nasty little bloke? Army? No?” Natalie took a drag from her cigarette and shuddered, itching her dead veiny arm. 

Now that she mentioned it, Pine did come across Nathaniel before but never got to truly know him. All he remembered was that Nathaniel Zayler was dishonorably discharged for multiple drug offenses and other vile deeds. “Nice to see you haven’t changed in terms of attitude. Sorry about misgendering you earlier, Natalie. I’m actually not a complete arrogant bigot.” Jonathan frowned and groaned, his face sore from the kick. “Just tell me what you want and release Katie. Please.” He winced as a headache also began to make itself known. 

Natalie hummed in delight at Pine’s remembrance and apology. “You haven’t changed much either with your polite and respectable approach. Glad to see that some people at least show an ounce of consideration for a lady and NOT misgender her!!” Her hollow eyes widened around at the goons who cowered away in the shadows. “I’ll tell you what Pine, your little girlfriend showed the same amount of respect by putting on a show of agility.” Natalie took a drag from her stick and blew the smoke, looking around and noticing Joshua still standing against one of the crates, flirting with another man. “This is rubbish.” She growled and made her way over to her agent, putting her cigarette out on the back of his neck and grabbing him by the ear with her nails. “I thought I told you to get the god damn girl!! Do not make me remind you again or I’ll take away first dibs rights on the molly and Loveboat!!” She shoved the crony forward before turning her attention back to Pine. One thing that Natalie absolutely despised was being ignored and pretending as if she didn’t exist. “Anyway, as I was saying, little Katie showed that she wasn’t afraid to fight another woman and even begged to try her out. Feisty little fox she is.” The Mafia woman pulled out another stick and began to inhale the nicotine deeply. 

“I can see that.” Jonathan growled and squirmed, noticing his gun was of course gone but his knife still strapped under his pants. “So are we gonna get on with what you’re gonna tell me you want from me or no? As lovely as you are, I’d prefer to move along and have Katie home safe.” He grunted as he began to move his arm, attempting to pop it out of place so he could pull it out of the binding. It would hurt like an absolute bitch, but if it meant getting Katie out then he’d pop all of his joints out of place. 

Taking another inhale, Natalie sighed and took a seat on one of the crates. “You don’t want to reminisce about the time in the army? I mean, I can’t say I blame you entirely as we both have our reasons. Me with my ongoing issues and identity and you with… Oh wow! Katie O’Connor! Oh why didn’t I see it before!! That’s Cameron’s little sister isn’t she? I knew she looked familiar with those green eyes. Tsk, shame he had to go the way he did in chunks.” Natalie spoke nonchalantly and paid no mind to Jonathan’s reaction to how casually she spoke. “Anyways! So, here’s what’s gonna happen.” She slithered off the crate and clasped her hands together, grinning as Joshua finally brought a ghostly pale and beaten brunette girl out. 

Jonathan’s heart sank at how bruised and battered Katie was. A nasty gash ran from her collar bone to her left shoulder, her lip was busted, nose more than likely broken, a dark bruise garnishing her cheek, rope burns around her throat and wrists and other small cuts. “You sick fuck.” He echoed his words of the past from when Roper showed him what he had done to Jed. 

“Ah-ah!” Natalie scolded, waving her finger and grabbing the unconscious girl. “So. Because of your little stunt in Moscow, our business regulations have been heavily shifted over to our American branch and have caused a temporary shut down with our location. We are going to be without income from Belladonna for weeks because of the shit you pulled!! Because of this, Wisteria and Daphne will be livid with their lack of resources from us! All because you had to meddle in our affairs in Russia and cause us to lay low from authorities!” She hissed and tossed Katie to the ground in front of Pine. The skeletal woman grinned as she saw the ex soldier squirm towards Katie to the best of his ability. “She was fun to break and seems to carry a lot of hatred towards you. Wonder why that is? Oh right, you watched big brother blow to bits!!” Natalie laughed wickedly and stomped her feet excitedly like a child. Her shrill laughter ceased after a few moments and she leapt down from the small ledge she stood on. “Now, we’ve got a few options here. First one is that we kill you and the girl to get big bonuses from the higher ups. Second one is that you both walk out of here with your lives, but you help us get our end of the business rolling again. I can’t promise that Belladonna won’t come for your heads after that because they more than likely will, but at least you’ll be alive for a short while. Us Poppy seeds got business to do and Natalie Baylor needs her fix to keep her mind off her war crimes. I’m sure you of all people understand that, Pine.” She paced along, almost circling the pair like a vulture. “Third one is the least recommended but it’s the one where you permanently join us and we inform Belladonna AND Roper of your fidelity. If you go with this one and backstab us, then let’s just say I’ve got someone waiting outside sweet mother Angela’s building right now with something that’s more explosive than our riots.” Her rotted teeth gleamed in the flickering warehouse lights. Natalie snapped her fingers again, “Untie him but keep your guns on them. I’m going to give you five minutes to decide while I go get a fix of some smack. If you haven’t made up your mind by then, well I guess option number one is the automatic choice.” She shrugged and almost glided out like a ghost, shutting the door. 

Once the restraints were cut, Pine rushed over to Katie and scooped her into his arms. He made a quick assessment of how badly hurt she was, noting the gash and broken nose. “Katie, I’m so sorry… Fuck, this is all my fault.” He swallowed back tears, pressing his forehead to hers and holding onto her with a death grip. There was no way in hell he would let them take her from his arms again. Her faint breathing gave him a bit of relief to know that she was still alive. Pine’s brain raced through the ideas, dismissing the first option of death. While the second option was the most reasonable, that would still put the both of them on Belladonna’s hitlist. Jonathan assumed that Belladonna was Daniel’s branch and the very head of the organization. Now that Richard Roper had seemingly made a come back and joined forces with Daniel Hasapis, made things all the more problematic. He was not about to make an alliance with that monstrous man ever again and left the second option as their only way out. Jonathan looked back down at Katie, pushing her bangs from her face and staring at her resting state. He had promised her that he would never let anything happen to her. That promise was broken and it had him panicking over if she would even look at him. Pine’s heart ached at the possibility of those beautiful green eyes never turning his way again. There was so much of Cameron that he saw in her, and it brought him comfort in knowing a piece of his dear friend still walked the earth. He couldn’t lose Cameron a second time… No, Katie was not Cameron. She was not her brother or his dear friend but a woman who had stolen his heart within the short amount of time they spent together. Jonathan had made the decision that he would walk until the ends of the world to make up for what he had done. Even if she lost any sort of attraction, he would never want to let her go from his life. All he wanted was her trust, happiness, and to see her blossom into the agent she was meant to be. 

“Times up!!” Natalie came back in, her eyes black from the effects of the drug blowing her pupils out. She grinned as she saw Pine hold Katie closer to his body and found it endearing. “What’s your answer?” She walked down, squatting in front of them, that wicked smirk still plastered across her bony face. 

Pine looked away from Natalie and down at Katie, his eyes full of emotion. “We’ll get your business rolling again.” He stated, then turning his attention to the skeletal woman in front of him. “But swear to me that when this is all done, you leave her out of this. You can do whatever you want to me but do not touch her.” His nostrils flared. 

Natalie scratched her chin, musing over his words and then sticking her thin hand out. “You’ve got a deal, Pine. I’ll keep my word so long as you keep yours. Remember what I told you though, I cannot guarantee that Belladonna will leave either of you be once our arrangement has been said and done. You are free to go. Naturally, I suspected that you’d choose this option and have two of my men waiting outside your flat to deliver instructions on what is expected of you for the next three weeks or so. You also understand that you will not receive any benefit from this? That means no cash or any form of payment. Consider that I allowed you to walk with your lives as payment. Now get out.” Her smirk fell and she rose to her feet, waving her hand for the pair to be blind folded. “Oh, and one more thing before we depart! I will know if you make the choice to rat us out. I have eyes all over London so I recommend that you don’t try anything sticky. Toodles!” 

Once Jonathan and Katie were blindfolded and driven to an unknown location, they were unceremoniously thrown out of the truck. As soon as the sounds of the car’s engine grew more distant, Pine ripped his blindfold off and huffed as they were placed in the middle of the woods. “Shit.” He growled as they had also kept his gun. 

“OH HELL NO!!” Katie sat up right, eyes wide and wincing as she saw Jonathan Pine. 

Pine’s expression fell, “Give me a chance to explain-” his vision was now focused on the barrel end of a gun pointed at his face and saw that Katie’s finger was right on the trigger.

[aresfms]

「 harry styles. cismale. he/him. 」i hope that #lexsquad member「 ARES BYERS 」adds me to the squad ! the 「 TWENTY THREE 」year old 「 FINANCE 」 major has been apart of the squad since 「 DECEMBER 2018 」and seems to be the 「 THE RECUSANT」of the group.「 ARES 」is a「 SENIOR 」 and seems to enjoy 「 BOXING AND SOCCER 」but you can always find them at a squad party , too !

listen don’t say i didn’t warn you, this is a lil long. but if you guys are interested in any connections ( scroll down to the end for some ideas ) then pls hit me up. im so ready.

okay basically i’ll do a summary in case y’all dont wanna read his SAD story. tw: domestic abuse, abandonment, alcohol abuse. 

Summary: ARES BYERS, 23, SENIOR.

A finance major at LexU.

He’s currently doing both soccer and boxing, but soccer would be for his athletic scholarship. ( he has a full ride )

Boxing would definitely be like more of an anger relief thing and honestly, he defs loves soccer but he knows he can’t rely on that for a forever thing. plus he defs things boxing is good money, yknow that side hustle illegal shit

Loves art like a lot.

 He visits his siblings probably every other day or whenever he can because he really is so protective of them or he’d even bring them to campus all the time even though his “ step dad” hates it.

His relationship with his mum is still super strained because she really is in denial about her toxic abusive situation with his “step dad”  and hes trying to tell her hes going to get her out and she just does not want to.

His mum is an alcoholic and his stepdad is physically abusive to them like most of her past partners which is something ares has been dealing with since he was a child.

hes solely doing finance to get a good job to get his mum and siblings out of the situation theyre in now.

he wants sole custody of his 3 siblings but i mean, he needs a stable job and place to live aka finance

 has 3 younger sisters who he adores.

HISTORY STUFF ( YIKES SOZ ) Its long everybody.

 He was born to teenage parents who hadn’t even graduated high school yet. They had a pretty tumultuous situation and his dad really didn’t think they should have a kid, but his mum thought that it would bring them closer together and make his dad mature…. Which definitely didn’t end up happening.

once Ares was born his dad stuck around for about a year or two before basically abandoning them and offering to give up parental rights to his mum Alycia.

That’s when things basically just went downhill. It really messed with his mum, obviously she was supporting ares on her own with no support from anyone, no family and very little money, at the time she had been trying to go to school but had to give that up once she was the sole provider for Ares. And the fact that someone she thought was going to be her partner abandoned her just led her down a pretty dark path.

It was just his mum and him after this. There wasn’t a lot of stability for them. His mum for a while was the only family he had. his grandma wasn’t really very supportive of his mum having the baby and living with his dad etc and they’re relationship was quite strained too.

• By the time Ares was about 12 he was already probably mature beyond his years, his mum by then had basically gave herself up to alcohol and had some pretty bad shady boyfriends in the house. Ares would definitely still vividly remember like explosive fights between her and boyfriends where things got physical between them and even to Ares from multiple different boyfriends.

His schooling was just.. a mess he definitely repeated a grade or two because of the commotion of home life.

Regardless though he was still VERY protective of his mum even if he felt pretty abandoned by her, he was just confused why she was letting these people come around when they were better on just the two of them. But that really didn’t last long, his mum ended up having multiple other kids with different people.

 So he has Maeva, Orion and Lea who are his half siblings and theyre all under 12.

I  think he definitely grew up faster than most because he always felt an urge to protect his mum and his siblings now especially. he worried about them all. He was definitely an anxious kid.

• His mum ended up marrying but honestly Ares couldn’t hate his stepfather more. He would refuse and still does refuse to call him dad or stepdad because he truly thinks he’s a piece of shit. Like he knows he treats his mum like shit and hes had no problem being physical with the both of them and once ares got old enough he really did start fighting back which only made it worse.

There’s probably been multiple times where its been ares calling the police on him after he fought with his mum but as usual his mum always takes his side which honestly fucked ares up constantly but eventually as soon as he could he was working even at like 13/14 because he was desperate to save money thinking he could help his family get out of the fucking mess they were in.

 His number one priority is and will always be his mum and his sisters even though deep down I think he has some kind of resentment towards his mum he’ll always love her. He just wishes that she would take his side especially against his “ step dad”

Basically though once he was about that age he realised he really needed to start focusing on school, grades and sport anything he could so he had some kind of chance to get into a good uni and get his family out of everything. Like he knew he’d need somewhere he could get a full ride since theyd never be able to afford it and somewhere still nearby so he could look after his sisters still.

 His stepdad knew though that ares was working even when he wasn’t supposed to be and he really took advantage of that, he was definitely beyond lazy and ares basically always felt more of a parent to his sister than anyone else.

 So basically he ended up graduating – late however he was 19 when he graduated high school because of repeats and luckily enough he got a full ride to Lexington university and he really took it within a heartbeat. He ended up choosing finance not because its anything he’s interested in but because he wanted something that would pay really well so he can support his family, but he knew he didn’t have 8 years to do medical school etc.

Personality:

 he can have a shitty attitude won’t lie, like he’s very focused and set on what he wants and needs to do and he wants no one getting in the way of that.

He’s super into boxing to release a lot of the pent up anger he obviously feels and really because he wanted to know how to fight back all the assholes his mum had in his life.

He is can be extroverted and talkative but I think with the people who aren’t close to him or to people he doesn’t have a real trust in it’s probably a pretty surface level. Its never about his family or past in fact I think that part would be something very few if any people know about.

his sisters aka his pride and joy, he probs has pictures of them in his wallet.

He likes to keep things light hearted as a distraction from himself but he definitely doesn’t let people in easily.

He really tries to avoid confrontation because it’s so triggering to him but he does have a temper which is what scares him. He is like paranoid he’s going to become a product of his environment so he goes against that as much as he can but if people come for his family or anything he would lose it.

Can be aloof.

 Has a hard time trusting anyone has good motives or will stick around because of much he’s been abandoned and how manipulative the people in his mums were.

He’s cynical.

 He really holds onto grudges pretty easily.

His ass is pretty sarcastic and witty, a huge smart ass.

 He’s not into commitment right now or he’s avoiding. Like the only examples he’s ever seen of relationships have been a mess and it’s not exactly his priority. ( but lbr  whats the fun in that. )

 He tries to abstain from alcohol but he finds that pretty hard. When he does he tends to drink pretty heavily which is why he tries not to because he knows it obviously has caused his mum so much grief.

 Hes an escapist.

 He’s really super protective though, of the people he does have in his life I think he really wants to give those people the things he didn’t have so he overcompensates and would literally fight whatever or whoever for the people around him.

he hates authority.

•He definitely is really big into art but that’s also something really personal he doesn’t share much and he knows like that isn’t going to provide for his family which is exactly why he's done finance.

Connections:

MY FAVE PART!!!

Long lost half sibling aka the child his dad had after he abandoned him

Someone who is a super good influence on his sisters ( id die for this.. )

Strangers who found out they were hooking up with the same person then became friends or enemies. ( my man a nastie sometimes. )

A FWB someone he can mess with and end up talk a little deeply with bc they think its not serious.

ANYONE who is a kid of one of his mums exes, like someone she dated, bc whew why not.

a rebound, someone he used to try to get over his ex!!

a fucking roomie plssss :) ( or past roomie, he lived off campus for 3 years so defs room for multiples ) this person rlly saw... everything

someone who went on a couple dates/ messed around but then realised omg we’d be so much better off as friends, somoene who rlly has each others back.

ooo someone who has an unrequited crush on him

Or someone he hates but yknow someone who he has mad sexual tension with ( hate meaning they lowkey would ravage each other )

One of his close confidants, someone who is basically one of the few people he can confide in.

An “ex “ who he broke up without much explanation.

His dealer ( smh im the worst )

Some co workers that has his back.

Potentially someone he’s fought against esp someone who does boxing too. es

Someone on his soccer team.

he very into art, so potentially someone who he might connect or do that with, he defs shows stuff sometimes but VVVV rarely.

someone he maybe wasnt that close w/ but he knows from back home so they’d suspect about his home life and he just is not having the prying :)

Honestly any connections im down. THE USUAL, bestfriends, etc etc

[corelliaxdreaming]

because I love you, tell me about 😩😭🥺😱🤢 for the rowboat, Tycho in particular

Distressed: Though they’re both fairly good at keeping their cool under pressure, Tycho tends to be just a little better at it. When stress makes Wedge teeter, Tycho is there to hold him up. As for Tycho, he gets very anxious and uncomfortable around things that remind him too much of Lusankya and his captivity both in Akrit’tar and by NRI afterward. Being taken back into custody for his trial? Very tough. Being held first on Isard’s base and then for quarantine on that very ship after? Things he only got through by sheer force of will and having Wedge by his side to support him, knowing what he’d gone through and what’s going through his head now. And I imagine if he were ever to be captured by an enemy and held for any length of time, let alone it involving more torture, it would just be incredibly, incredibly bad for him, and he would need so much TLC when he got home again to help him recover. *that au plot bunny where he and Corran get sent to Lusankya together peeking out from under the bed*

Crying: Wedge’s tears are something he tends to hide, only letting them fall in private or when he’s with Tycho, and sometimes other very close friends. They tend to be violent, loud sobs, the result of so many pent-up emotions suddenly being released and don’t tend to happen very often. Tycho is a little more comfortable with his emotions due to his Alderaanian heritage, though after his time with Empire he had to take time unlearn some crap about not showing them. He cries more often than Wedge, commonly when something happens to trigger his memories of Lusankya and surrounding events or of Alderaan. His tears tend to be quiet, hitching, trembling things, and he prefers to do it with his face tucked into Wedge’s shoulder, warm arms around him confirming that he’s safe and loved, even if in this moment his head is a mess.

Sad: The books tend to describe Tycho as “pretty and sad,” and it’s true. He was more cheerful, more at ease, more a lot of things before life started beating him down. Losing Alderaan and everyone he loved with it left him with little more than anger, and Lusankya and Akrit’tar burned even that almost completely away. They’re aren’t things he’ll ever forget, and sometimes he gets overwhelmed by it all, but knows he has to keep moving forward because there’s still good he can do. He tends to get even more quiet and contemplative and withdrawn, that old grief rising up, every time the anniversary of Alderaan’s destruction, and his birthday, come around. He doesn’t tend to celebrate his birthday for this reason. Wedge and the rest of his friends try to give him the space he needs while still making sure he knows they’re there for him if he needs anything.

Afraid: Neither of them is truly afraid very often. Mainly it comes when they fear a mission is about to fail, that they’ve put their squadmates or others they’re responsible in danger, and especially when they’re actively worried about the other getting hurt or being killed. No matter how many times that last thing happens, and as much as they know it’s going to keep happening as long as they’re in this life, it never gets any easier. For Wedge, the scariest time of his life were the months Tycho was missing during his time in Lusankya and Wedge didn’t know if he was alive or dead and was terrified he would never see the man he loved again and would never know what happened to him. For Tycho, it’s moments like defending Wedge from Tal’dira’s attack that truly strike fear into his heart. The thought that Wedge die right in front of him and that it would be his fault for not being fast or good enough in duty job to protect him is haunting.

Sick: Wedge is the type to work though anything; he’s dedicated to a fault. He’s going to be at it until he passes out in his chair unless someone intervenes, regardless of how bad he feels. Tycho is a little better at taking care of himself; if he feels ill enough that he knows it’s going to take a toll on his work and there aren’t extremely pressing matters, he’s going to take a break, get some rest, and come when he feels better. That said, they both worry about each other and take good care of the other when they’re unwell. Wedge especially loves doting on Tycho, and Tycho finds that incredibly reassuring and comforting. Wedge is a little more touchy about being coddling, but he’ll deal with Tycho tucking him and bringing him soup or a warm drink and refuse to admit he likes it.

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 11

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Sunsinger.

Previously: “Whatever’s holding her back, it isn’t the Light.” Zavala’s Ghost looks at Miyu’s. “Would you agree?” 

-/

Zavala turns his head to look at his Ghost in surprise at the same time the one facing him zips up, half-yelling, “Now you look here-”

“Tamashii.”

“My guardian has-”

“Yamete kudasai.” Ghost blinks his optic and drops back to her lap, looking up at her with his wide, curious eye and a twitch of cones in pent-up rage. “Forgive him,” She says quietly, to the Commander’s Ghost. “He is defensive because he is a good partner. We’ve considered your point. If it’s me that is the problem, then what is it about me?”

“Zavala said something about grieving,” Adelaide mentions back, equally as soft. Her Guardian watches her flit around the ailing Warlock. “But I don’t think it’s that.”

“What do you think?”

“That this is something you have to figure out, yourself,” She replies, evenly enough. “Not that we can’t help. We want to. But nobody can tell you who you are.” She turns to her Guardian. “Well, they can, but you have to know yourself, too. They don’t define you. You do.”

At the following silence, Miyu’s Ghost transmats the box of precious artifacts back from where it came. Zavala rises, extending a hand down to the woman kneeling before him. She’s light and easily set to rights. Zavala watches her carefully as she brushes off her robes, sees the set of her jaw, the twist of her lips. She’s thinking.

Finally, she looks to him. “Would you show me, one more time?”

The Commander nods, extends his arms and braces against nothing, until the Void ripples around them and seals them in.

She looks around before turning back to face him, right palm resting on his chestplate, over his heart. “What do you feel,” She queries. “What drives you?”

It’s a very direct line of questioning, but one he’s explored. One that he’s barked at his unruly charges, when they lose their way. She’s not asking him to teach him, he realizes, even if she doesn’t know that yet herself. She’s intended all along to make her own decisions, to apply his lessons to suit her needs.

And if his Ghost is right, she does not need metrics, or data, or facts. She needs something else. Reassurance. Comfort. Understanding. Hope. His Ghost reads his thoughts, it seems, transmatting the top half of his armor away. The woman before him gasps in quiet surprise.

“May I show you?”

She nods.

Her presses her hand beneath his, to the void curling over his sweater that he gives off like a heady smoke. She shudders at it and closes her eyes.

It’s a dangerous thing, letting someone in this close. It’s a risk, for such a measured man, but he would not be the man that he is if he did not give his everything to help those despite it. His Light is warm, steady and familiar, certain and strong and true. Beneath honor and duty is a love for all things, an understanding that he is one Light in a dark universe, but he will continue to shine as a beacon, continue to protect anyone in need.

Quicksilver eyes look up at him, open and honest. He does not need for her to cast to feel her fear, her doubt, her insecurity. She wears it like a well-worn robe. But he can feel it, beneath all that, the fire that burns.

“I thought it would feel cold, but… your Light, it’s warm,” She murmurs, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Beautiful.”

When the void dissipates, she does not move away. Instead she shuffles closer to him, curling into the crook of his left arm and shoulder. It’s not something she realizes she’s done until his arm comes around her, pushing her head into the meat of his shoulder, encouraging her to seek what she requires.

She attempts to draw back. “I’m sorry, she attempts to explain, “I didn’t mean-”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” He intones in a low rumble. “Take what you need.”

“But-”

“Stop thinking.”

“But-”

“Just feel.” The cool skin of his cheek rests on her head, smooth against her hairline.

“If I do that-” Her voice wobbles, as she pulls her head back again.

His laugh is gentle and warm. “Miyu. I don’t mind. I’m here for you.” He pushes her head back against his shoulder, tightens his embrace. “It’s alright to cry.”

The fingers that rest over his heart curl into a fist, stretching the sweater that he dons beneath his armor. She pushes her face into his shoulder, her lip trembling hard enough that he can feel it through layers of fabric. His hand smooths down her back and back up again, paying no mind to the passage of time, or that she’s crying a wet spot through his thermal undersuit.

When she backs away, after a small eternity of small huffs of warm air against his chest meant to help her regain her composure, she blinks in surprise at how late it’s become. “I-”

Two hands come up to palm her cheeks, a pair of blue digits thumbing away residual tears. His gaze is warm, concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Worried,” She answers honestly. “But not nearly as anxious or frightened as before. So better.”

The hug he draws her in for takes her by surprise. “You will get through this,” He says, seriously. “I promise.”

He isn’t sure which one of them gasps when they look into each other’s eyes after that. For all he knows, it could have been them both.

But like the clouds parting, a smile graces her features, gentle and true, and she nods. “I trust you. Thank you.”

It takes a force of will that feels even greater than him to keep his gaze off her lips and on her eyes. Hers slip shut, and he holds her until he feels her relax into his embrace, on the cusp of sleep. It’s only when she startles herself awake that he smiles down at her and offers his arm.

They get a light dinner from a vendor he recommends, and he walks her home.

Miyu tells her Ghost that night that she thinks she might be falling in love.

(He tells her he already knows.)

-/

Guardians don't get sick, but lately, Miyu's life has been so backwards she wouldn't surprised by it. Despite feeling tired and worn, as if she hasn't slept at all, she sighs and drags herself out of bed anyway, because Ghost is chattering to her about a message. Hopefully she snaps out of this.

“Ikora wants to see us,” Ghost repeats. She had simply stared, slack-jawed, the first few times he informs her.

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Great. I’ll get on that,” She replies, sarcasm unrestrained. “I only tried to talk to her… two- three weeks ago?”

“And every day after that,” Ghost supplies helpfully. “I know you’re frustrated with her, Yu-mi. Just see what she wants. Maybe she finally has time to hear you out. Besides, she can’t send you on some crazy mission without Zavala’s approval.”

“I know, Ghost. She just… infuriates me, lately. I’ll do my best not to behave like it when we go see her.”

A small boop against her forehead recenters her. “You feeling alright?”

“More or less.” She yawns. “Just tired.”

“Too tired to receive your other message?” She pads into her small kitchen, peeling a piece of fruit to eat for breakfast before getting ready.

“Other message?” Miyu blinks. “Is it-”

“He’d like to meet you for lunch. I’ll save you the teasing from Adelaide, but he has an open hour and would like to know if there is something you'd prefer.”

The smile blooms on her face without a thought, her tiredness erased almost instantly. “Ask him to surprise me?”

Ghost chirps at that. “Consider it done,” The small being replies, and relishes the pleased look on his partner’s face.

Miyu smiles. It’s going to be a good day.

[turtle-steverogers]

Relapse

here’s some sad stuff for @irondad-spiderson-duo who suggested ralbert angst

ship: platonic ralbert

warnings: minor character death, alcohol addiction, breakdown and shiz

editing: nah nah

Albert’s phone rang loudly next to him, and he put down the highlighter he was using to annotate Jane Eyre to pick it up.  It was his 14 year old brother, Thomas, calling and Albert frowned.  Usually if they needed to reach him, Albert’s brothers texted him.  It was rare that they’d ever call.

He picked up tentatively, “Thomas?” Loud, frantic breaths could be heard on the other end and Albert sat up straighter, instantly feeling more alert.

“Al-Albert,” Thomas panted out, sobs intermixing with his breaths, “Albert, I can’t- he, I- and dad didn’t- fuck, Albie, help.”

“Thomas, Thomas, hey,” Albert soothed, running an anxious hand through his hair, “Breathe for me, man.  I’ll help you however I can, but you need to breathe first so you can tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t do it, Albert, I,” He hiccuped brokenly, “Elijah, he-”

Albert’s stomach sank, “Thomas,” he said, dread causing his stomach to clench, “What’s wrong with Eli?”  Elijah was his 10 year old brother whom he’d raised along with Thomas.  Their father had been absent emotionally ever since their mother’s suicide in Albert’s junior year of high school.  The two of them meant everything to Albert and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something happened to one of them.

“Th-there was a car crash,” Thomas choked out, “And Elijah- Albert, I can’t.”

Albert swallowed any fear that consumed him in the moment and switched his mind into parent mode, “Thomas, dude, can you try and take a deep breath for me?  Do you remember how we used to do it?  In for four, hold for four, out for four.”  He could hear Thomas struggling through the breathing exercises on the other end and he patiently coached him through until he sounded somewhat calmer.  He was still crying, but he was no longer hyperventilating, which was an improvement.

“Awesome, man,” Albert praised, “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“His neck snapped,” Thomas said, a fresh wave of sobs coming through the speaker, “Albie, he’s gone.”

Albert was speechless.  Suddenly, Thomas’ cries seemed a million miles away.  All thoughts slipped out of Albert’s mind as Thomas’ words bounced around in his head.  ‘He’s gone’.  He’s dead.  Elijah’s dead.  His neck snapped and he’s dead.

“Albie, I’m sorry,” Thomas cried, “I’m so, so sorry.  I should have-”

Albert snapped back to the present.  He cut Thomas off, his voice more controlled than it should have been, “Thomas, I need you to listen to me, are you listening?”

“Y-yeah.”

“This is not your fault.  Whatever happened wasn’t your fault, you hear me?”

“But maybe if I had just-”

“Stop it, Thomas, I won’t have you blaming yourself for this.  His death is not your fault,” The reality of the situation sank in and Albert felt the air leave his lungs.  Being on the phone with Thomas felt like too much all of a sudden, and before he could think about what he was doing, Albert said, “I gotta go, man, I’ll call you back in a bit.”  He hung up without waiting for an answer, feeling slightly guilty that he’d left Thomas on his own.  But these feelings were soon forgotten as grief engulfed his entire being.  

His brain felt like mush.  He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t.  He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.  He wanted to punch something, but his limbs weren’t cooperating.  

He found himself in the kitchen with no recollection of how he got there.  Numbly, he stumbled towards the kitchen sink and opened the cabinet underneath.  Near the back was his stash of liquor.  Two small whiskey flasks and one large bottle of vodka were hidden behind the hand towels.  In his freshman year of college, the first time he’d been able to escape his father’s abuses, Albert turned to alcohol to deal with his pent up trauma from his time at home.  It quickly turned into an addiction, affecting every aspect of his life.  There was rarely a time when Albert wasn’t drunk on something.  Whether it be hard liquor, or a beer, he was constantly buzzed.  It was an escape from his own mind.  He could numb out the rest of the world, while simultaneously feeling more than he had in years.  He depended on the warmth that alcohol brought him.  His addiction lasted until his liver almost failed and he had to be hospitalized in his sophomore year.  After he was released from the hospital, his roommate and high school best friend, Racetrack Higgins, put his foot down and demanded he quit.  In his words, ‘if not for your own good, then for your brothers’’.  It took awhile, but eventually Albert was weaned off his dependency, but he could never bring himself to fully get rid of his stash, always keeping some kind of juice under the sink for emergencies.  

This was an emergency.  Albert reached for the vodka and desperately screwed off the cap.  He brought the bottle to his lips and down a quarter of the vile liquid in under five seconds.  Tears pricked Albert’s eyes as the alcohol burned his throat and instantly, he felt a new sense of calm wash over him as it spread through his system.  

Closing his eyes, he took another large gulp and his brain began to feel fuzzy.  The pain of Elijah’s death lingered at the back of his mind, but for now, he was lost in the serenity of the buzz.  He drank more, half the bottle already gone.  He could tell that he was approaching drunk, but he didn’t care.  Heavily, he lowered himself to the floor and was just about the take another swig, when the apartment door opened.

“Yo, Al,” He heard Race call, “You here? Oh, there you-” Race froze as he took in Albert, sitting on the floor, bottle in hand.  His head was lolling to the side slightly and his eyes were heavily hooded.  He was drunk.

“Albert, man,” Race said, anger, confusion, and concern tugging at his gut, “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like, Higgins,” Albert slurred, holding up the vodka for emphasis, “M’partyin’.”

“Albert,” Race didn’t leave the disappointment out of his voice, “You were doing so well,” he crossed over to him and carefully tugged the bottle away.  Albert tried to fight back, but he was weaker than Race in his drunken state.  Race dumped the rest of the vodka into the sink and tossed the bottle in the recycling.

“Is there any more?” He asked in the same tone.  Albert nodded wordlessly and pointed to the sink cabinet.  Race sighed and knelt down to dig through, quickly finding the flasks of whiskey.  He disposed of those as well, then hoisted Albert up.  

Albert leaned heavily on Race as he dragged him to his bedroom.  Albert flopped onto his bed, sleep overcoming him almost immediately.

By the time he woke up, it was dark outside.  A massive headache was pounding his skull and he groaned loudly.  Everything that had happened earlier in the day came flooding back and Albert had to resist the urge to vomit as guilt and grief mixed with his nausea.  Race entered his room, holding a tall glass of water and two tylenol tablets in his hands.  He handed them to Albert, who took the pills and downed the water greedily.  Race sat at the foot of his bed, waiting for him to finish.  Albert set the now empty glass on his bedside table and sat up against the headboard, pulling his knees up to his chest.  

“We need to talk about this, man,” Race said, softly.  Albert kept his gaze on his sheets, refusing to look at Race, “Why’d you relapse?”

Feeling surged back into Albert as he remembered Elijah’s passing, bringing unbearable pain with it and he soon felt like he was drowning.  The room felt too small and he pushed off his blankets as emotions suffocated him.

“Hey, hey,” Race said, eyes widening, “Breathe, dude, breathe.”

Albert forced himself to take a couple deep breaths, becoming acutely aware of the fact that his face was wet with tears, “E-Elijah,” he croaked, “You know my brother, Elijah.”

“I know Elijah, yes,” Race said, eyebrows knitting together, “What about him?”

“Thomas called me earlier to tell me there was a car crash.  Eli didn’t make it.  His neck snapped and he-” Albert let out a sob and he pushed himself further into the headboard.

Race blanched and he shifted further onto the bed, reaching out hesitantly to Albert.  He allowed his hand to hover above Albert’s shoulder in silent question.  When Albert nodded, Race pulled him in and held him tightly.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Race murmured, sounding close to tears himself, “I can’t even imagine…”

“He was ten fucking years old,” Albert cried into his shoulder, “He didn’t even get to middle school.”

Race hushed him, rubbing his bicep soothingly.  They stayed in that position for what seemed like forever while Albert cried.  Eventually his sobs slowed to small hiccups and he pulled away, rubbing at his face.

It was quiet for a few moments, then Race asked, “What do you need?” He’d learned a while back never to ask Albert if he was okay, because if they were in a situation that warranted that question, the answer was most likely ‘no’.  Instead, he had taken to asking him what he could do for him.  This way, Albert didn’t need to outright ask for help- something he was never good at- instead, he could simply request comfort.

“Could you..” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“Could I what?  I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Race said, gently squeezing his knee in encouragement.

“Could you stay the night?” Albert blushed, feeling ashamed.

Race smiled kindly, “Of course, Al.”  He toed off his socks and climbed into the bed next to Albert.

“Blankets or no?” He asked, nonchalantly.

“Uh, sure,” Albert said, settling his head back onto one of his pillows.

“Okay, let me know if you need them or me off at any point,” Race said, pulling the blankets over the two of them.  Albert curled onto Race’s chest and closed his eyes, breathing in his best friend’s familiar and comforting scent.  He was briefly brought back to high school when he’d escape to Race’s house if his dad was being particularly harsh or physical and they’d share a bed, Race holding Albert tightly.  

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Race,” Albert whispered, voice hitching slightly.

“I’ve got you, Al,” Race whispered back, “I’ll help you figure this out.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“I’m here for you, Albert, but do me one favor.”

“What.”

Race’s voice took on a certain sternness as he said, “Next time you feel like you might want to drink again, call me first.  I swear to God I’ll come home right away.”

Albert hesitated, emotions rising in his throat again, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Race said, “I’m not mad, I swear.  I just want you to come to me next time, yeah?”

Albert nodded, “Yeah.”

“Thank you.  Now try and sleep, I’ll be here all night if you need me.”

“Okay, thank you.  Goodnight, Racer.”

“Goodnight Albert.”

--

thanks for reading, chiefs

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@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

[life-of-khanoor]

July 6, 2021

I never ended up posting my April draft because I had more to say and think about but I just forgot about it because during such a traumatic moment in my life I decided the smart thing to do would be to add more stress to my life even though I never even dealt with the first stress. 

It all came crumbling down. All of it. 

Moral of the story: Take care of your mental health because if your mental health isn’t in order then no matter how much time and energy you pour into everything else - it won’t matter. You need to be okay internally for your external to be okay. 

I don’t know where to start. But I’m going to be more consistent with these journal entries, because I have decided to start therapy. I started therapy that was offered at my school in November of last year, but the therapist was only available every 3 weeks and she agreed my problems needed more consistent time to be dealt with. So in December I stopped any form of therapy. In late March to early April, all the truth came out. All the ugly, hideous truth about my past came out to my significant other at the time. I told him that the person he was feeling so insecure about for the 1st year of our relationship, was not my best friend but actually my ex-boyfriend and someone I had been hooking up with while we were together. This ugly truth only came out after his truth came out which was that he also was indulging in some form of cheating not physical, but through the exchange of pictures. Honestly, I wasn't expecting it at all. Which made me realize, he’s actually a really good liar. This made me start thinking about how I could trust him as he goes into dental school with so many females around him. It was driving me insane. Still does from time to time but I just remember that whatever happens, well, God willed it. 

Anyways, instead of dealing with the issue, I had a more pressuring matter at hand. The MCAT. The bane of my existence came knocking on my door when I could least handle it. But I had to go in head first because if I didn’t take it now, I would not be able to apply to medical school this cycle, and if that didn’t happen I would be wasting another year of my life and I would be a bigger pile of uselessness. My family already thought of me as useless and wasting their money and if I didn’t take the MCAT, apply to medical school, and get in - I would be proving them right. Well, from May to the end of June I began my grind, I was putting in 8-10 hours a day of studying. I was trying by absolute darn hardest to get it all but 2 weeks before my MCAT, the anxiety hit me in the face. I was waking up every morning with anxiety attacks, the day before my MCAT I woke up and had a panic attack and was crying and was not okay. I honestly still don't think I am. I started therapy but I’ve only gone to 1 session and I unloaded so much past grief and trauma like it’s all so much that’s happened. And I’m trying to get back into it but honestly I’m not ready like clearly I’m not I feel so manic. Through this depressive period in my life (which is still happening but to a lesser extent now that I know I’m holding onto something I need to let go of), I can say for a fact that my “boyfriend” has not in  been supportive. If anything, he's made it worse. But thankfully, I met this amazing girl who’s been so supportive even though she has her own issues. I really feel like God send her to me. So if you’re reading this god, thanks for that. 

The MCAT didn’t happen. Day before my MCAT I realized I couldn’t do it, I wasn’t ready - not in terms of my prep and not at all in terms of my mental health. That night the boyfriend that I cheated on, who decided to stay with me because of the “goodness” in his heart, unloaded all his hatred, resentment, and angst toward me. This mixed with my own feelings of failure and uncertainty ended it for me. I could not handle it. I could not do it, I could not. I had all this hate for myself pent up. I tried killing myself. This wasn’t the first time I tried or thought about killing myself in the past month and a half. I wanted to end my life, I can’t handle it anymore. It all hurts so much I feel so lost all the time. I feel so empty. Like the shell of a person. I feel alone. And this person man, this guy just isn’t worth it. You know you spend 2 years of your life with someone, they become so ingrained in you, so intertwined with you and you think this is meant to be because you can’t see it working any other way right? But it’s nothing but pain anymore. It’s just a constant reminder of everything bad. Even if now I’m not that person anymore like it’s not possible to live it down. And he thinks it’s possible. God I fucking feel so suffocated with him. I feel locked up. The whole time he stayed with me during my MCAT prep, he made it feel like he was doing me such a huge favor, and indeed he really was but it was because he wanted to be there, I didn’t ask him to be there for me. I was ready to leave, that was the only option that even seemed in any way viable. It’s not like I do better with him around, if anything this whole relationship has been my lowest productivity. But he insisted on staying, and I regret letting him. For fucks sake I cheated on you not once, not twice but probably 5 times, what makes you think we’re meant for each other. We’re not. We had something good. But I ruined it. We keep trying to hold onto our past relationship, what WAS good. But what’s good right now? What? Is there any good right now? You might think it because I’m pasting this smile onto my face because you’re starting dental school and moving to NYC and I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy. But nothing is good. God fucking nothing. I don’t even ENJOY talking to you anymore. I get anxious because I think you’ll judge me for this or that. I’m walking on eggshells with you. I talk to you and I feel the weight on my shoulders getting heavier and my heart feeling weaker. Just because YOU think you’re there for me, doesn’t mean you’re what I need. I can’t even talk to you honestly. I can’t talk to you and feel like I can’t be 100% myself. I feel so scared to even say things anymore so I don’t say them. God you’re not my boyfriend, I don’t even think I’d consider you a friend. There’s no love here. There was. But there isn’t anymore. I listen to our songs and feel nothing. I look at our pictures and I feel sad. There’s nothing between us anymore. You're just hurting me more and more and more. And now I’m here every other day contemplating suicide, like what do you want from me damnit what do you want? It feels like you just wanna suck me dry until there's nothing left. Something with such a bad bad history, could never be something good. Not now anyways. Not after such a fresh deep wound. I need to heal and he does too. We're not together because we love each other lol, we’re together because we’re comfortable here. It’s familiar. But he's about to start the rest of his career in a different city and I need to start the rest of my life without my past weighing me down. So it’s over. 

Ending this relationship is probably going to be the best thing I’ve done for myself in a really really really long time. I can already feel the weight being lifted off my shoulders. Maybe all the praying in the middle of the night, waking up with panic attacks, imagining myself dead, maybe this is what it all came down to. Maybe I needed to rid myself of this before I could move onto greater things. God really is the greatest of planners. 

I feel so light after getting all this off my chest. I genuinely cannot go another day with this in my life anymore. I think that all this time, all this mental hurt and anguish has been an inner fight with myself. The struggle because I was ready to grow but I wasn’t willing to let go. 

[songofproserpine]

Two things.

1: IAMX has a song named after a medication I take (Mirtazapine). Had to do a doubletake at the title--it’s like seeing Lamotrigine or Quetiapine as a song name. Last time that happened, it was Nirvana’s “Lithium.” Come to think of it, didn’t Evanescence have that as a song name, too?

2: I’m re-reading an older story, the one I hope is soon Amazon Kindle-bound, and while it’s rough (like the whole dead wife grieving angle that I need to drop immediately), the story also contains a few sentences that shine like gems in their raw simplicity. Like this:  He still had his doubts. They pushed up through his thoughts, poking holes in his hope.

In two sentences, I described perfectly how it feels to worry and be anxious--and I did it without dragging out the descriptions, or going wall to wall with floweriness, which is something I usually love to do. This character is very much emotionally pent-up; he doesn’t allow himself sensitive indulgences--but he learns to do so because it may be an erotic mini-book, but it’s also emotional, dammit.

See also, lines like:  The scars had long since become a part of him, painless, seamless, faint and pale against the deep olive tone of his hands.

And: He knew it was a lie, yes, but his mouth followed in the pattern of his clumsy hopes, which had grown bitter in the aftermath of his grief. His every thought was like a fool tripping over itself, and the worst of them wasted no time rushing out his mouth.

And lastly: 

Joseph took the thread from Sebastian’s wrist. It glimmered bright like a wound in the dark palm of his hand, a spiral of red against the deep, inky black. Carefully, with the focus of a surgeon, Joseph began to wrap the thread around Sebastian’s left hand. The more he worked, the more string there was to use.

Dream logic, Sebastian thought, but Joseph had another answer.

“‘ The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’ ” Joseph said, his smile crooked. He peered at Sebastian from over the top of his glasses. “Do you know what that means? Or where it’s from?”

“Why does it matter?” Sebastian stared, transfixed. His whole left hand, from wrist to middle fingertip, was wound up tight in the red thread.

“References are useful ways to share ideas that would otherwise be a little difficult to grasp.”

“So does saying exactly what you mean. And that also saves time.”

Joseph laughed. Sebastian devoured the sound, burying it in his memory to keep it cherished. “You’re right. It does – but where else do you have to be, Sebastian?”

Sebastian said nothing, which was exactly his answer. Eventually he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Binding us.” Joseph kept his eyes focused on the task at hand. He placed his left hand on Sebastian’s palm and began to wind both of their hands in the red thread, over and over, until they were both covered, tied together in crimson. “It strengthens the connection, and makes it a little easier for me to find you. Who knows – I might just find a way through to you.”

Sebastian didn’t understand. What about me? he thought. How do I find you?

[The names are going to change, as these are just placeholders. Regardless, I am superdupermega proud of this story, and can’t wait to make it better and share it with the wider world and then write like, four more sequels to it and have me an incubus/man love story series, with one of the books being themed off of Placebo’s Sleeping With Ghosts, and their duet with Bowie, “Without You I’m Nothing.”]

[anodyne-sunflower]

Can I request a Daddy!Stephen fic with Thigh riding, and eating out? Perhaps even bondage? Thank you!

Alright, this contains a combination of many people’s requests, since y'all are horny as shit….I don’t even know how many requests this combined but whatever lol Shameless smut ahead.

Master list

*****

“You know, it would really help if you listened to me just once! I didn’t waste my time bringing you back from the brink of death just to-”

Stephen leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with an amused smirk on his face. He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke and chuckling as you scowled deeply at him. The war was still going on, and the more it dragged the more he found parts of himself disappearing and dying along with his men. All that he had left was you, a vision of the past that kept him going on those long sleepless nights. He had met you at the very beginning of all this, the very first time he lost a soldier you were there. A young nurse that tries to heal the fallen only to watch them die in your arms instead. You two had found comfort in each other, sometimes talking, sometimes laughing, and other times…other times in each other’s arms.

“Stop talking.”

Stephen crunched the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, tired eyes staring at the burnt end blow out slowly. He could hear you sigh in the background, his current state of mind blocking you out from his thoughts. He adored your company, truthfully he enjoyed it. But, sometimes the very noise you made grated on his nerves, making him anxious and angry that all he wanted was for you to stay silent.

“Stephen…”

Your tone was quieter, yet it still held a semblance of order in it. Stephen was slowly slipping away day by day, and it took everything you had to keep him here, in reality with you.

“Listen to me-”

The soldier scoffed, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as he shuffled his deck of cards. He paid you no mind anymore, instead he kept his eyes straight on the deck, his finger slipping over the slick edge of the card he grabbed and flipped over.

“Ace of hearts…” He spoke aloud, tapping the symbols on the card as he looked up at you. “How fortunate.”

Your brow furrowed, concern for the lieutenant growing as he continued to tell a fortune that made no sense. “Stephen, please…”

The soldier stopped his antics, face stern and eyes bloodshot as he stared up at you. “I thought I said stop talking…”

You slowly inched forward, hand coming to brush against his cheek, the stubble scratching roughly against your palm. You caressed his cheekbone with your thumb, offering him a sad smile, anything to bring him back from that war inside his head.

“You need rest, Stephen.”

His eyes were beautiful to you, a soft green that reminded you of your home back in France. But, now, now they seemed so far gone.

Stephen sniffed quietly, gritting his teeth as the pent up rage and grief began to boil inside him. He screamed out, throwing the cards on the floor and slamming his hands on the table.

“I said stop talking!”

“No!”

You pushed his shoulder, gently bringing him back to your world as you felt your own frustrations rising. Stephen sighed heavily, holding his head in his hands and trying to remain calm.

“Breathe.”

Your hand rubbed his back lovingly, lips kissing the corner of his brow as you took a seat in his lap. Stephen looked up, his eyes watering with tears but he wiped them away and pulled you closer to him.

“Forgive me.”

He held you for a while, ear pressed against your chest and listening to the calming sound of your heartbeat. He needed you, always, and nothing would tear you apart, he’d be sure of that. He wasn’t going to lose another person.

Stephen shifted, his head craning to gaze up at you. “I need you…”

His words made your heart flutter, and you blushed softly at his confession. He was always a forward man, never wasting anytime when it came to such intimate subjects, but no matter how many times he told you such things it always managed to make your insides stir in desire.

You hesitantly leaned down, stopping just before your lips touched. The electricity between your bodies was evident, and Stephen brushed his fingers down your dress, gripping the strings of your smock in his hand and pulling. They became undone, your smock slipping off your waist and to the floor, your dress beneath was dirty, riddled with dirt and god knows what else, yet he didn’t care. It just reminded him how much he needed you right now.

“Will you come with me? Back to England…when this is all over?”

Stephen spoke as he trailed his fingertips down your jawline, tickling across your throat and down to your collarbone. He leaned forward, kissing the tip of it, enjoying the way you sighed at his touch. He awaited your answer, not very invested in it, but still just wanting to hear the soothing sound of your voice. His lips slid across your shoulder, shoving the sleeves of your dress roughly down. He gave you an experimental nip, his cock twitching under his uniform when you cried out in pleasure.

“Y-Yes…yes, I will.”

One of your hands gripped his shoulder, the other tangling in his blond locks and pushing his hat off. He growled deep in his throat, his hands shoving your legs apart and pushing his thigh up hard. He delighted in the way you arched up, hips rolling down and begging him to continue. He began a soft rhythm with his leg, letting you ride his thigh until you were soaking beneath your panties. The lieutenant could feel the heat of your cunt, his length aching behind the confines of his pants as it desired to be inside of you. But, he could wait for that moment, for he had all night. He couldn’t sleep anyway, he might as well spend it pleasuring the only woman he grew to love.

He grasped your hips, shoving you down harder on his leg and whispering in your ear.

“You need to say it…say it for me…”

Deep in your mind you processed his words, and somewhere between all the foggy mess of pleasure and need you found your words.

“Daddy…S-Stephen…” You panted out his name, thighs quivering in bliss as you felt your orgasm approaching. The soldier let you cum, his tongue flicking across his lips as he watched your face contort in pleasure. You moaned out his name, head thrown back as waves of ecstasy ran down your body.

Stephen kissed your neck, licking across your throat and sucking down on your pulse as he lifted you up. He placed you on the small table in his tent, pulling back for a second to rip apart the buttons of your dress and expose your bare chest to him. He stared down at you, his eyes darkening when he watched your chest heave up and down.

“Beautiful…”

He grabbed his glass of whiskey, taking a huge swig of it. He never once took his eyes off you, his mind already conjuring up the many ways he was going to fuck you senseless tonight. But, for now, he could have fun. He wiped his arm across his mouth, breathing heavily as he tilted the glass over, watching intently as the drops of whiskey streamed down your neck and chest. He threw the glass off to the side, dipping his head down to eagerly lap and suck at your breasts where the alcohol had collected. You squirmed beneath him, moaning and whining for him to simultaneously stop and continue this torture. But, he didn’t listen, he kept licking a trail down your taut stomach, licking up the whiskey that pooled around your belly button.

He rested his forehead against your abdomen, trying to control the animalistic desires he felt. But, with you moaning his name like that it was growing harder and harder to stop himself.

“Tell me what you want.”

You glanced down at him, combing your fingers through his hair in a comforting manner.

“You know what I want, Daddy…what you want.”

He closed his eyes, collecting his mangled thoughts before he shook his head and kneeled down. He pushed your legs apart, not wasting anytime as he shoved his face between your wet folds. He immediately grunted into you, the very taste of your juices making him want to shove himself inside you. Stephen drew his tongue up your sex, eyes set on your face as he sucked your clit into his mouth. He shook his head, stimulating your swollen need with the vibrations.

“Stephen!”

You reached for his shoulders, wanting something to hold onto but he just grabbed your wrists, pushing your hands to the side and holding them there. He didn’t need you interfering, even if you were wildly sensitive and almost cried in utter delight at the pleasure he was giving you.

He only ever pulled away when he needed to breath, but he continued to hungrily eat you out. The lieutenant lapped up and down, kissing and nipping around your inner thighs every chance he got. He left love bites behind, marking his woman, so if he wasn’t to survive this war, something of him would be left behind. Even if it was just evidence of a passionate affair.

For what felt like the fifth time that night, you whimpered out a strangled version of his name. Your eyes were screwed shut, hair a mess on your head as you clawed into the wood of the table. He pulled away from your clit with a soft pop of his lips, watching as your sex twitched form your blissful high. He rose to his feet, boots thumping loudly into the ground as he shuffled around. He pulled his belt off, wrapping it around your wrists and flipping you over on the table so your backside was rising and exposed to him. He sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, lubricating them with his spit before bringing them down and pushing them inside your slick entrance. You were already so wet it was almost unnecessary, but the feeling of his fingers scissoring inside you was a welcomed pleasure.

“Daddy…daddy, please. I need you.”

Stephen took a breath, bringing his hand quickly down, smacking your ass and watching as a red, angry looking mark formed. He removed his fingers from inside you, settling himself at your entrance. He stroked himself a few times, closing his eyes as the endorphins began to build inside him. He nestled himself between your spread legs, pushing into you at a leisurely pace.

“Bloody-” He groaned out, one hand grabbing your bound wrists and the other resting against the smooth surface of the table. He tugged you back by the belt, shoving himself deep inside you and making you cry out in pleasure.

“Daddy!”

“Lieutenant…” Stephen growled out, wanting you to refer to him by his proper title. Which you so willingly did. His pace quickened with every word that left your pretty lips, hips working overtime as he tried to reach that point of high that made everything seem to fade.

Your body shivered under him, your mind a complete mess of heaven and hell as he fucked you. The sound of other soldiers walking passed his tent caught your ears, and something about that only ignited the fuel inside you. His cock rubbed against your sweet spot, making your head snap back as he continued to hit that perfect part of you.

“Lieutenant Wraysford!”

Stephen grunted loudly, hips now snapping forward, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the tent. He was close, and he waited until you were screaming out his name to finally let go and fill every single part of you.

Warmth spread between your legs, and you moaned out pathetically as his cock slipped from between you. Stephen fell forward, resting himself against your back that was slick with sweat.

“Don’t ever leave me…”

He whispered out, nuzzling into your neck for comfort. You tried catching your breath, angling your head back a bit to kiss his cheek.

“I never will, Stephen.”

*****

I hope you all enjoyed it!!! ❤️ I didn’t proofread because fuck that…

[jokessho]

Fic[Update]: Lasting impressions from first impressions

Yay, an update that didn’t take half a year. Improvement! Anyway, this is the penultimate chapter, so will be finishing this fic off in the next one.

FFN

“Taichi! Yamato!”

The door to my room burst open again, and in came a frantic Sora. She had startled us so badly that we had both shot up into sitting position from our slumber. Seriously, couldn’t we get more than a few hours of sleep before being rudely awoken by one of my crazy female friends?

“Quickly!” Sora was at our bedside, yanking on my arm. “The Count’s guards are here, and they’ll be searching the whole house!”

My eyes widened and I looked into Yamato’s equally wide blue orbs. We shot out of bed, Sora pulling on my wrist, me pulling on Yamato’s.

Sora led the way to the dining room, intent on hiding me and Yamato in the bomb shelter. Her grandfather had had it built ages ago, when the town was in danger of being attacked by the neighbouring ones. The threat of war was long gone, but the well-hidden shelter had remained. I would have forgotten its existence had Sora not brought it up when we were planning Yamato’s rescue. She and Koushiro had figured that the guards would come looking here; they were bound to do their research and find out where I lived. I had never been more grateful for their strategic thinking.

Sora fiddled with the latch in the corner of the room, where it was hidden from anyone that didn’t know it was there.

“Go!” She shoved us in as soon as she had the door open wide enough for us. She closed the door without another word, plunging Yamato and me into darkness.

After about a minute of sitting silently in the dark, I started fumbling around. I was trying to be as quiet as possible, least I give away our location. It was pointless, as the room was soundproof, but it made me feel less anxious if I kept the noise to a minimum.

At last I found the candles and accompanying matches we had placed into the room. I lit the two candles, bringing some light to the darkness.

The orange glow of the small flames fell upon Yamato. His eyes held fear and sadness.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, just barely loud enough for me to catch it. “This is all my fault; I’ve done nothing but cause you and your friends trouble. I’m sorry.”

“Yamato,” I reached for his hand, placing my palm over his fist. “If anything, this is my fault. But I won’t apologise; I wouldn’t change anything, not if it meant giving you up.”

“I wouldn’t change things either. But I can’t not apologise.”

I let the topic drop.

We were quiet for a while, trying to pick up any noise from the outside. Obviously it was futile.

I watched Yamato staring at the small flame of one of the candles. He seemed completely entranced by it. Of course, it was quite hypnotising to watch fire dance, so I, too, started to stare at the same flame. We spent a few minutes like that, in silence, but my mind had started wandering, and I glanced at the blond.

“Um…”

He didn’t look up, the flame still holding his gaze.

“You know, it started bothering me…” I hedged, biting my lip lightly, whilst his eyes flew up, blinking rapidly. “Why did you think that I was selfish for sleeping with Sora?”

He blinked a few more times, probably trying to get rid of the lingering image of the flame.

“It just made it sound like you were using her; like there were no feelings involved. It shouldn’t be like that for the two of you. For someone like me, sex is jus sex. It doesn’t matter who you do it with. But you two are close, and have been close for ages, from what I can tell. If you wanted her, then you should have taken the time to form a proper relationship with her.”

I thought about that for a bit before replying. “Well, there weren’t feelings involved, really...” His eyebrows shot up. “We had both lost our families and were just looking for comfort. The only feelings were sorrow and grief. We just both used each other, but we spoke about it before and after, and we’re fine with that.” I grinned at him. “She was being just as selfish as I was.”

“I guess…” Yamato said slowly, looking down. His eyes didn’t stay down for long, though, as he lifted them to look me in the eye. “I’m sorry for accusing you of being selfish.”

“It’s okay.” I assured him, but added: “I was, though, with you at the tree last night—this morning, whatever. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s—” He shook his head, dropping his gaze once again to his lap. “It’s okay; it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it…” He finished his sentence with a mumble and blush.

I smiled, deciding not to put him on the spot and let yet another subject drop. I did still feel guilty for what I did, but, to be fair, I hadn’t had any action for the longest time, so… Not that I was trying to pin all the blame on my hormones and pent up frustration. Just some of it.

“Wait a sec!” I turned to him, realising something we had spoken about earlier. “I thought you didn’t know anything about normal relationships.”

“It’s not like I don’t know about them.” He rolled his eyes, but then blushed lightly. “I just never really believed in them. I never knew any two people who would be able to care for each other like that. But now, with Sora and all your other friends, I can see that having a loving, caring relationship is possible. It exists.”

It seemed like he was talking more to himself than to me, so I kept quiet, letting him mull over his own thoughts.

His eyes suddenly shot to mine. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to come back?” He whispered.

I dropped my gaze, contemplating this; I had thought about it briefly, but had shoved the thoughts away in fear of the answer being no. I could feel his eyes searching my face, looking for any clues as to what I was thinking. I didn’t want him to feel bad about tearing me away from home forever, but what else could I say? We could never return; it just wasn’t feasible.

I was forced to look up when he placed a hand over mine.

“Someone is bound to kill the Count sooner or later, Taichi. We can come back when he’s gone.”

I wanted to believe him; I really did, but…

“Taichi?”

I had dropped my gaze again, looking at our hands instead of his eyes. I turned my hand over, my fingers playing with his. He was leaning forward, trying to catch my eye again. I refused to look at him.

His free hand came up to my cheek. I was expecting it to force my face upward, to look into those deep blues. Instead, he moved his thumb gently back and forth, not demanding anything from me.

It was true that the Count had lots of enemies. There were plenty of people out there who wanted him dead. Of course, this had been the case for years, and no one had finished him off yet… Would anyone? Probably not. Yamato and I would forever have to keep low, least the Count catch wind of our whereabouts. The Count was the type of man to bear a grudge. For life.

I was startled out of my musings by Yamato withdrawing both his hands. They went to cover his face, and I heard and saw him take a deep, unsteady breath. He held it for a few seconds, before letting it rattle out of his mouth. He was trying to hold back tears.

I wanted to move forward and comfort him, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t make false promises, and telling the truth would hurt.

At least…

“At least we’ll have each other.”

He drew in a sharp breath, letting his hands slide down his face and fall to his lap. His eyes remained closed, pushing back the tears.

“Yeah.” He choked out. “Yeah we will.”

I smiled, moving forward, minding the candles, and pulled him into a hug.

“I can’t promise that things will be okay. I can’t promise that someone will kill him. I can’t promise that we will be able to return one day. But as long as it’s with you, I’m okay with whatever the future holds.”

“Thank you, Taichi.” He mumbled into my chest. “And I’m sorry for being so depressed about this. It’s just that… I—no matter what you say, I don’t feel that I’m worth you losing everything. I’m just scared that, one day, you’ll realise that I’m not worth it all and that you’ll start hating me for it. Or worse: lie to me and tell me you’re fine with it all.”

“We’ll make it through.” I said, petting his soft hair.

“I thought you weren’t going to make promises you can’t keep.”

“There’s nothing else that we can do. Is there?”

He pulled back and looked up at me, eyes almost dry. A small smile made its way onto his face.

“I suppose not.”

I grinned, pulling him back to me, whilst his arms wound tightly around my torso. We stayed like that for an indefinable amount of time, until the door started opening.

Yamato and I blinked rapidly at the brightness. Thankfully Sora and Koushiro’s forms blocked the worst of the glare, and our eyes adjusted quickly.

“They’re gone.” Sora announced with a grin.

“They left a while ago, but we wanted to make sure they weren’t coming back right away, before letting you two out.”

“Good thinking.” I grinned at the shorter male, standing and offering my hand to Yamato. “Come on, up you get.” He grabbed my hand and I hauled him to his feet. We left the room hand-in-hand.

“Koushiro reckons that it’s safe for you two to stay here for a few more days, up to a week.”

“The guards seem satisfied that you’re not here, so they probably won’t be looking here anymore.”

“Excellent!”

“Are you sure?”

Yamato and I had spoken at the same time. His eyes were on Koushiro, mine were on him. I couldn’t read his face; it wasn’t exactly blank, but there was nothing there, at the same time.

“I mean, are you sure about me—us—staying here? That it’s okay?” He clarified.

I remembered Koushiro’s initial weariness of Yamato, and looked at the strategist. He eyed Yamato critically before smiling.

“It’s perfectly fine; you’re more than welcome to stay with us for a while longer.”

Yamato smiled back his thanks.

“What time is it?” I asked Sora, hoping it was dinner time.

Sora smiled knowingly. “Mimi and Meiko are almost done with the food, so go get washed up, and then come back.”

“Yes ma’am!” I saluted, marching off and dragging Yamato with me.

When we returned the food was out, as promised, and we took our seats.

“Thanks for the meal!” Echoed around the table as everyone dug in. Well, everyone except Yamato; he was staring at his plate, looking uncertain.

I nudged him, and he looked up at everyone.

“Um.” Everyone’s attention turned to him. “I just wanted to apologise for causing you all so much trouble.” He gave a quick, apologetic head-bow. “It’s my fault the guards invaded your house, and I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it!” Mimi was the first to accept the apology. “It was actually quite fun to lead those guards around on a wild goose chase.”

Koushiro hid his smile behind a forkful of food and I made note to ask them what, exactly, they had done whilst Yamato and I had been trapped.

Sora chuckled, nodding along. “It really wasn’t a bother at all, so don’t worry.”

Yamato nodded and started eating. Everyone else followed suit.