#he would be such a research bitch it’s right up his alleyway

[miserye]

Sakusa kiyoomi is so research lab coded

[philtstone]

Sam & Bucky, “grabbing onto their arm”

soooo ... i watched "why didnt they ask evans?" remembered that i loved agatha christie novels and immediately landed here. obviously wave the historical accuracy away bc i did just enough research for Flavour but not much for anything else. premise: everything remains the same as canon except bucky didnt fall off the train & a whole lot of characters were born much earlier in the 1900s. this isn't technically finished yet but it's enough to justify answering the prompt; i want to try to get the latter half of this "part" done & perhaps if the fates align even write a part 2 to actually complete the story but for now have this!! if you'd like to see more pls let me know <3 thanks for the prompt zainab love u

Sam figures this is just typical. So he’d decided to go to New York – get that loan. Hell, they need that loan. Boy, don’t do it, Sarah had said, but Sam figured it was his right just as anyone else’s, and Stark talked all that talk about his new GI grant. They won’t have you, Sarah said, and like an idiot Sam went anyway. He went, and he sat himself down in that nice fancy apartment building lobby across the room from the saddest lookin’ white fella he’d seen in a while, which was saying a hell of a lot. He got up, walked over, he spoke to the nice receptionist, he wrote his name down.

Of course, he was right – they would’ve taken him. Had the paperwork done up and everything. Stark may have been a bit crazy, hell if Sam knew, but he had money to throw at things. 

Only then, the very next day, Howard Stark died. 

HEADLINE EXCLUSIVE: HOWARD STARK FOUND DEAD IN ALLEY BEHIND MANHATTAN APARTMENT

The New York Times, Monday, October 12th, 1947

Nation mourns death of eccentric millionaire inventor and war hero Howard Stark, found dead of a gunshot wound this morning in the alleyway behind his Manhattan home. With him, also dead, was socialite fiance Maria Caruso. Police have yet to identify the nature of the death but have not ruled out suicide. However, sources confirm that the firearm found at the scene was not Stark’s, but rather belonged to Stark’s comrade and fellow veteran Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.  

The thing about Peggy is that she understands him, which is just a bitch and a half sometimes.

“You threw the weapon out.”

She’s repeating this, flatly, but with enough inflection that Bucky comprehends the are you perhaps a massive idiot implied therein. Peg would say it like that too — use perhaps and massive and arch her eyebrows.

Bucky presses his hands harder where they’re clutched at his temples and grimaces. “Look, I wasn’t thinking clearly, alright?”

“James.”

James, full name, not Jim like when she’s being chummy and of course Agent Margaret Carter of His Majesty’s Royal Service never quite got around to following Steve’s lead on the Bucky front. Bucky grimaces harder. Peggy will stare and be sardonic and, God help him suspicious until he explains.

“I dunno what you want me to say, Peg – it was there in the drawer and I couldn’t bear lookin’ at it anymore.” 

Her resultant expression is just a touch too understanding for his taste. 

“How the hell would I know that tossing a Colt into the Hudson in the middle of the night would get Howard killed?” Bucky adds, to move past it.

Minutely as possible Peggy flinches. Balls of steel, he’s always said. The other guys thought the same, but none of them had the guts to say it aloud. Speaking of other guys –

“Dugan’s coming over.”

“Like hell he is,” Bucky says.

Peggy takes an elegant drag of her cigarette. She’s sitting at the dull brown edge of his made-up bed and being careful enough that the ashes don’t spill. What difference that’ll make Bucky’s not sure. His apartment’s the definition of sad. Becca nearly cried last week when she visited, but then instead of crying yelled at him ‘til he relented and got a pillow. 

“Evidently,” says Peggy, still on the topic of Dum-Dum, “he has not considered the double agent angle. His wife made you casserole.”

“Mm,” says Bucky, grim. He walks over to his meager kitchen, pulls a dusty bottle out from the cabinet and unscrews it. “Gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“Given my ongoing conviction that you are not in fact a spy –”

“Jury’s out on you though,” Bucky says, raising the bottle at her.

“-- you do realize that you are a prime suspect in the murder of our close personal friend.” She blows out. “If we can’t rely on our comrades, we’re rather fucked.”

“I am, you mean.”

Her mouth turns mulish and she looks away to the window then back. Maybe she did mean we, lumping the two of them under the tarp of some morbid umbrella. Steve’s dead and gone and sacrificed nobly, isn’t he.

“You didn’t kill Howard and he didn’t damn well kill himself,” says Peggy, steely. “I’d like to know which bastard did.”

Bucky puts his drink down. Sighs. Crosses his arms.

“So?”

“I’ll poke around at SSR –”

“You really do think it’s a spy –”

“Stay here. Word is they don’t want this in the press just yet, which, well. Neither of us were born yesterday.” 

“You callin’ me old, Agent Carter?” he asks, just on the right edge of bratty.

Peggy steamrolls forward, “Don’t do anything untoward, please.”

“You’re the one sitting on the bed of an unmarried man,” Bucky says. He walks over to the window and tugs it open, letting cigarette smoke out and giving him an eye to the dank alley below. It’s spring and the sunlight’s pale and his room’s not too high up; were anyone to jump, they’d barely sprain an ankle. And Howard’s fucking dead. Bucky turns back and flicks a thumb under his chin. “C’mon,” he says, “gimme the rest of your cigarette. I’m the one wanted for murder.”

“Christ,” Peggy mutters, getting to her feet. 

She hands the cigarette over anyway, and Bucky spends the minute it takes her to leave wiping off the lipstick stains. It’s a lost cause, more or less. 

He has to put it out, against the peeling windowsill. 

Sam’s rung the service bell a third time when the receptionist finally appears. 

“Concierge’s assistant,” she corrects in a trill voice. Her curls are pinned tightly and her skirt waist more so. The red of her lipstick clashes garishly with her hair. Her nametag reads Dolores. “Can I help you?”

“Um, yeah,” says Sam, “Ma’am.” He grips his bag. “I'm here to inquire about my loan.”

The lobby he’s in is just as fancy as it was the first time around, with tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers and fine imported rugs on the floors. It was pretty empty last time too, quiet and genteel the way rich white people pretend to be. Only last time Sam was kept company not just by Miss Dollie’s red lipstick but the scowling, oblivious man she kept batting her lashes at; this time the place is empty. Police have roped off the elevator and even the white folks’ plush seating area is out of bounds. Dollie looks pastier than usual.

“Oh,” says Dolores, “oh. From –”

“Yesterday,” Sam says, slow and expectant.

“You’d better go home,” says Dolores.

“They took my name down,” says Sam, a second time. “I wrote it on paper and everything.”

Dolores has busied herself with some stationary thing under the desk and distractedly says, “I just don���t think dead people can give loans. It’s a shame, don’t you think? He was a real dreamboat.”

“Ma’am – Ms. Dolores –” She stops looking wistful about Stark’s erstwhile good looks and refocuses, “Now c’mon. I paid train money for this. My sister’s got two kids – our family’s business is on the line. I’d like to talk to someone.”

“I’d guess you oughta get a lawyer,” Dolores says mournfully. 

“Dollie,” Sam starts, “can I call you Dollie?” She perks up, which is inconvenient, as Sam remembers that he knows better than to flirt with a white woman. “Don’t they have some kind of insurance in place?” he asks. “His family – estate, somethin’? I mean, Howard Stark, a guy like that wouldn’t leave millions lyin’ around.”

Not that Sam knows much about men like Howard Stark. But if the police won’t bother listening to him, he’s just gotta run with his own theories.

“Jeez,” says Dollie, sniffing. “I couldn’t tell you. The whole back door’s swarming with cops. No one’s even gone through the rooms yet.” And then she says, “Oh – oh!” And bursts into tears.

Sam hovers awkwardly on the other side of the reception desk and offers her his ratty handkerchief until she has collected herself enough to wave him off with one hand and stumble away to the bathroom. Her low heels thump unevenly on the carpeted floor as she goes. He straightens the tie of his dress uniform and looks around again. He can hear voices, but far past the desk, closer to the alley door and the mail room. Hell, he’d bet even the cleaning staff have been either sent home or brought in for questioning. 

“Ain’t this just our luck,” Sam mutters. 

There’s no one around. The elevator is right there. Sam takes a deep breath and heads upstairs.

Upstairs is fancier than downstairs in the sense that Sam’s been in lobbies before but has never been in the type of suite that takes up a whole floor. The tall gilded windows look out on nearly all of Manhattan. Someone – he guesses the same police who told him to stop wasting their time, they had better things to be dealing with – has taped off the entrance to each room, but other than that, Dollie was right: it’s more or less untouched. 

Which makes sense, ‘cause there’s a whole lot to touch. Sam can barely see the bedroom (with its big four-poster bed) or the bathroom (with its marble counter) because there is stuff everywhere. There’s a painter’s easel with a feminine aura to it in the corner and paints laid out, slowly drying, and yesterday morning’s newspaper. A large cylindrical contraption moves back and forth beside the desk, over the carpet in one corner, like someone forgot it there; it emits a loud suctioning noise (Sam can see the carpet hole forming) while steaming a smoking jacket to misshapenness at the same time. The coffee machine has three levels, one each for cream, milk, and sugar; the coffee smells burned. These are not the weird things. The weird things are the three stacks of metal drawers emitting a strange humming noise, and the industrial sized ice box, and the half-deconstructed bicycle sitting on top of the desk with what looks like a freakier version of a machine gun strapped to the handlebars. It has wires and hydraulics and everything comin’ out of its ends.

“Just check the desk and leave, Sam,” Sam mutters to himself, pushing down his nerves. You’re the fool who got yourself into this, says Sarah’s voice in his head.

She ain’t wrong. 

The glossy desk is smaller than Sam expected. He checks it; two drawers with locks on them, and the third opens to a couple loose lead pencils rolling around. He supposes an important man like Howard Stark wouldn’t keep his papers sitting just anywhere. Under the desk, maybe?

Nothing. Not even a damn cardboard box. 

He straightens, hums at the locked doors. In front of him a lopsided chalkboard reads CADILLAC IN OUTER SPACE???? ASK JARVIS in giant block letters. 

“Going around wastin’ my time …” Sam mutters, picking his bag up and rubbing behind his neck. “Maybe we do need a lawyer.” 

Then he narrows his eyes. 

There.

Right there.

Someone has picked the lock. 

The first drawer sits just off its latch and the second has scuff marks under where the key goes in. “Well, shit,” he mutters. He gets back down on his knees. There is definitely a splinter, right down the middle of the second lock, like someone wrenched at it when a gentle picking didn’t do the job. “Now why the hell would he have to do that if he’s got a key?”

Sam’s habit of asking himself rhetorical questions is very suddenly put on the spot when, instead of the silence he usually anticipates, he is answered by a faint creak from the foyer beyond the study door. Sam freezes. He doesn’t think his dress uniform is enough to stop him getting arrested if anyone were to find him here now. Then again, with these locks and the general strangeness of the situation, arrest could be the safer option. Scooping up his bag, Sam slowly rises to his feet and pads softly around the desk, just barely missing the steam-cylinder and its jacket (it lets out a sad whistle), and slips a small pocket knife out from the inside of his left sock. He stalls at the doorframe, trying to breathe as quietly as he can. There’s definitely someone on the other side.

Inhaling sharply, he pounces.

“Oomph!”

“Shit!”

On instinct Sam grabs the arm that swings at him. He brings his knee up and his elbow down and there is a moment where they grapple, with strong emphasis on the moment part – very suddenly Sam finds his arm knocked out of the way and himself grabbed by beneath his chin, and slammed into the foyer wall like his cousin Deedee’s flour sack doll, so hard that all the breathe leaves his lungs in one fell swoop. His hat gets knocked off of his head with the force of it and falls to the floor.

Sam blinks. There is a scruffy, pale face in front of him, which features two big blue eyes that are blinking right back, looking equally startled.

They stay frozen like that for the space of two heartbeats. Sam’s fingers tighten where they’re fisted at the guy’s collar, refusing to yield. He’s pretty sure his knife has skidded under the shoe rack. 

He really liked that knife, dammit.

“Who the hell are you?” asks the man suddenly, both loud and Brooklyn about it.

“Funny,” wheezes Sam, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He releases Sam, which is nice of him. Stumbling, he moves a few steps back, and looks quite suddenly more bewildered than before. He’s not much taller than Sam is, with dark floppy hair that hangs over one eyebrow and a frame like a heavyweight boxer. Despite his startling strength – Sam aint exactly the smallest of men – there’s an exhaustion that sits fragile under his eyes and a tense, well-concealed tremble in one arm. There’s something very familiar about his face. His slacks have scuffs at the knees and he’s wearing a lumpy-looking knit sweater that does little to mask what Sam’s dress greens are plainly revealing to him – that whoever he’s just run headlong into, trespassing in a dead guy’s bedroom, is a fellow soldier.

Or was, anyway. No more war to fight and die in. Sam tugs at the hem of his jacket. It’ll be a pain in the ass to steam again, and Sarah will raise hell about it ‘cause he’ll beg to borrow her steamer. They don’t get all that nice starching stuff at the dive motels Sam can afford. 

“No one’s supposed to be up here,” insists the man, still looking baffled. 

Sam straightens and rubs at his jaw, which feels like it just got caught in an industrial press.

“Sorry to disappoint,” says Sam, “but I am. Why are you here?”

“I asked first,” says the man, so unselfconsciously mulish that Sam can only stare.

“I didn’t just slam me into a wall.”

“You came at me with a knife!” protests the guy, which Sam thinks is a little unfair; that knife was kind of useless. He narrows his eyes. He oughta pick his hat up from the floor, but he figures it’d be kind of stupid to let his guard down. They stand there, eye to eye, at impasse. After the weird-looking carpet cleaner has whistled three times the man says,

“You don’t look like a German spy,” muttered, like he’s really thinkin’ about it.

“Seriously?” splutters Sam. He says this so forcefully that the other guy has the nerve to look a little offended. But now, come on – come on, Sam thinks. It’s a fair question. Only Sam’s been having a really difficult forty-eight hours, so he doesn’t appreciate it.

He decides to consider the situation a bit more fairly; how does he know this crumb hasn’t been having a tough time, too? 

It’s here that something big and important feeling clicks in Sam’s head. He’s seen that scowl before – just yesterday, ignoring poor Miss Dollie.

And just this morning, in the papers plastered all over his motel lobby.

“Oh,” says Sam, “you gotta be kidding me.” 

But alas, there’s no kidding to be had. 

“From the paper – they think you killed him, man!”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes pales three shades under what little tan he has, but otherwise doesn’t react. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says instead, a divot deepening between his thick eyebrows. “It isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” says Sam. “Some guy just grabbed me by the throat.”

Barnes does not seem to find this amusing. Instead, he looks a funny cross between ornery and miserable, and sets his jaw to considerable mulish effect. Sam hums to himself. Fact of the matter is, Barnes has had plenty of opportunity to kill Sam so far and hasn’t taken advantage of it. If he really was guilty – Sam thinks, briefly considering the warped mind of a cold-blooded killer, a few inches removed from the necessities of soldierhood – wouldn’t he want to get rid of any witnesses or evidence? 

And yet here Sam is, very much not dead.

“Well … you don’t look like a murderer,” he says aloud, slowly, but keeps his arms crossed. Somehow despite his sardonic tone and clear mockery (at least, that’s what Sam hopes is coming across), there is something profoundly relieved about the expression that flickers across Barnes’s face.

Then it is back to its customary scowl.

“You gotta leave,” he repeats firmly, pacing once, back and then forth. Sam watches him carefully; there’s that tremble again, along with a steady, even tone and deliberate eye to the skyline behind them. More than just Barnes’s face is familiar. 

But Sam is still annoyed.

“Through the window?”

“There’s – a stairwell.”

“Through the stairwell definitely crawling with cops?”

“For the love of God –”

“I am just listing my options, here.”

“Just leave, go away, pretend you never saw me,” Barnes says, waving two hands in front of Sam’s face like he’s batting the whole morning away, and looking harassed. “Okay? Jesus, it ain’t that hard.”

“Pretend I never saw you, creepin’ around the apartment of the fella you’re supposed to have killed,” Sam says. “Yeah, no, I’m gonna tell somebody.”

“Seriously?!” It’s Barnes’s turn to sound offensively incredulous.

“Or,” Sam says, “you could tell me what’s goin’ on.”

There’s a long pause. Sam hardly thinks his voice is friendly – if anything, he’s annoyed as hell – but Barnes opens his mouth, two beats, a sudden vulnerability stuck to his chin. Too vulnerable for whatever Sam’s asking. In that split second it sucks the breath outta the room.

Sam doesn’t have any idea what it is that’s just made Barnes’s head whip around until a bullet explodes into the lobby mirror above their heads.

“Fuck!”

Two rough hands shove him back into the study and Sam nearly knocks over the artillery bicycle; he looks up in time to see Barnes throwing his lanky frame against the opposing wall and holding his arms up over his head, yelling loudly in annoyance when another three bullets spray into the beautiful engraved wood above their heads and nearly bring down the chandelier. The coffee maker starts whistling out of control. Sam groans. 

“Gimme your gun!” demands Barnes, which is beyond unhelpful.

“I don’t have a gun,” says Sam, waving one hand in the air to demonstrate this. “Where’s your gun?”

“I threw it in the fucking Hudson!” says Barnes. He looks like a guy who’s had a very long forty-eight hours; Sam can relate. “I’ve been framed for murder, remember?”

“We actually never established that that’s the truth,” Sam feels the need to point out, a second before another bullet tears through the poor over-steamed suit jacket.

Bang.

“Common sense!” exclaims Barnes.

Bang.

“Somethin’ you don’t seem to have much of!” yells Sam.

Bang.

“THERE IS A MAN SHOOTING AT US.”

Bang.

“HOW IS THAT MY FAULT?!” 

Jiminy Christmas, says Sarah’s voice in Sam’s head. His sister is not gonna be happy about this.

They scramble for the front door as another two bullets sound off. Sam just barely has the time to reach down and grab his hat, and can just make out a slight, shadowed figure ducking back behind the wardrobe in the bedroom before they burst into the elevator lobby – right in time for the elevator door to ding open, and the tomato-red of the huffing police commissioner’s face to peek through.

Barnes has grabbed him by the arm again and pushed him into the stairwell going back downstairs before Sam has any time to react. 

And, maybe importantly, before any of the many police officers squeezing themselves out into the hallway can see him.

Huh, he thinks, a second before the other man’s bulky shoulders burst through the door in turn, knock haphazardly into Sam, and half tumble them down the staircase with a garbled, “Come on, move!” tacked right onto the end.

“Can’t run anywhere with you fallin’ on top of me!” Sam says.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

And for all that Sam was raised Southern Baptist, he has to agree.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Dark Antoni: The Job

In another universe, Antoni took out Mr. Davies - and set himself up as a talented, discreet hitman-for-hire. His latest assignment takes an unexpected turn. Features @comfy-whumpee‘s Jax Gallagher, used with permission.

CW: Intimate whumper, character death, severe trauma dissoci@tion, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied noncon (interrupted), referenced noncon, long-term captivity, conditioned response

---

Antoni watches through the scope as the target's husband gives her a kiss, a faint smile, places the drink in her hand. Through his earpiece, he hears her voice, low and sultry, as their fingers brush. “Come sit with me.”

The husband moves like a man pulled by someone else’s invisible strings, sitting next to her on the chaise, letting her turn his head with the barest brush of fingers over his chin. She pulls him in for a kiss.

Antoni’s well-hidden, and not worried they'll see him, finger hovering over the trigger. They’re lined up perfectly like this. He could kill them both, one-two shot, drop the target before her husband’s body even hits the floor.

Something in the way the husband moves, though, stops him.

He bugged the house two days ago - or rather, he has the existing bugs feeding into his own earpiece now, the target’s own obsessive need for total control and security turned against her. The cameras are off, he took remote control of those and switched those screens to black.

He wonders if the husband knows about all the cameras, or if Savannah Marcoset had them placed without his knowledge. Maybe she’s worried about infidelity. Maybe she’s suspicious about assassination.

If she is, he hasn’t heard her say anything about it.

He's listened to them for two days while he planned the kill. Antoni has been privy to every gentle I love you, every moment they spend together, more than a few moments he would rather not have heard at all.

The husband is to all appearances utterly devoted, entirely in love, and…

Something isn't right. 

He needs to pull the trigger and finish the job - his client specifically wants them both out of the picture. If she goes, he goes. They’ll be together, they’re never apart, but I can’t have any witnesses who can be questioned after the bitch is dead. 

Too great a chance of retaliation by the family, and the client was sure the husband would be little more than a liability. Antoni doesn’t like liabilities, and he doesn’t leave witnesses.

Still… his instincts are screaming at him not to drop the husband, too. 

He hesitates, equivocates, waits far too long as the woman downs her drink and lays back, laughing softly, pulling her husband down on the chaise with her. Her dress, a flimsy, filmy thing she wore to the gala they have just returned from, drapes just so against the velvet fabric of the chaise. Her husband’s suit is perfectly tailored, and she undoes his jacket buttons with one hand while they kiss, her other hand behind his neck, tangled in his brown hair.

She murmurs something even the bugs don’t pick up, and laughs. The husband smiles back, and drops his head, kissing along the column of her neck, pale and draped in heavy jewels that contrast with how thin her dress is. She hums, tightens her fingers against his nape, arches her back to press against him.

He makes a sound, an exhale with just a touch of voice, and an alarm goes off inside Antoni’s head, one that stubbornly refuses to explain itself. 

Antoni can’t figure out what he’s missing here, crouched up at the railing of the stairs with his rifle still aimed, watching as she slides the jacket off her husband’s shoulders, nips playfully at his lips, his nose, his chin. 

“I love you,” She whispers against his lips, and even from here Antoni can see his responding shiver.

“I love you, too.” His voice is low and soft, barely audible. The hand at his neck pushes his head down towards her chest, her other making quick work now of the buttons on his crisp white shirt. She rolls her hips up against his, her hair a waterfall of shimmering dark brown, nearly black, curls and waves. She looks like a Renaissance painting.

They look like a portrait of two people madly in love.

“Do you want me?” She asks, in a tone that says she already knows the answer, head tilted to watch him, hand slipping into the open front of his shirt to run down his stomach. He exhales loud enough for the bugs to pick it up and translate the sound into Antoni’s earpiece.

“Of course.” The husband’s accent is faded, but there - English, fits with what Antoni saw in the description of the assignments, his research files. “Of course I do, Savvie.”

Finger still hovering millimeters from the trigger, Antoni thinks over his files again.

Savannah Marcoset, queenpin of a human trafficking empire.

Run by her father's family until her paternal uncle's sudden death by car accident six years ago, shortly after Savannah married her longtime partner. 

Savannah Marcoset, a violin prodigy that burned out young and faded away from the spotlight, reclusive until she took control of the family business, now a sparkling socialite. Married to one Jackson Marcoset, neé Gallagher, UK resident by birth. Unclear how they met or became romantically involved. Estranged from family. 

Something is wrong about this picture.

“Of course I want you,” The husband says, in a low voice that could very nearly have passed for desirous. “I always want you.”

Antoni knows, all at once, exactly what his intuition is trying to tell him.

Jax Marcoset is just like Chris, and he has been like Chris for a very long time.

Antoni makes the decision in an instant, following his instincts where they lead him. When Savannah Marcoset hikes up the skirt on her dress and pushes her husband’s head down between her legs, Antoni aims and fires in a single silenced shot.

Savvie’s body jerks as the bullet goes right between her eyes.

The husband looks up, staring blankly, then scrambles back in belated panic as he sees the single small hole in her forehead, empty glazed eyes. “S-Savvie? Savvie, what-... what’s-”

“Hands in the air,” Antoni calls out, pitching his voice low and authoritative, standing slowly and keeping his rifle aimed just in case he’s called this wrong, in case the husband will attack him or try to call for help. “Move away from the body, Jackson Marcoset, now.”

The husband pushes slowly to his feet, hands up, standing in his suit pants and unbuttoned shirt. Antoni can hear his heavy breathing through the earpiece, echoed faintly even across the room into his other ear. He turns, very slowly, to look up at Antoni-

And the soft, supple black leather collar buckled tightly around his neck is suddenly visible, no longer hidden by the high neck of his shirt, the bow tie he’d been wearing when they came home. 

I was right, Antoni thinks, a lick of violent triumph running up his spine. I was right, he’s like us, I was right.

He keeps the gun trained on Jax Marcoset, anyway, walking slowly towards him down the stairs, each foot placed carefully, one by one. Neither of them speaks, although Antoni catches Jax Marcoset looking over at the body of his late wife, hands fallen limp to the side now, skirt still hiked high up on her thighs. It’s indecent, really - Antoni tells himself to pull her dress back down before he leaves.

He tries to give the bodies a little dignity - after all, every death since the first one has been strictly business and nothing more.

He left so little of Mr. Davies.

He’s tried to improve on that, ever since.

“Are you going to be a problem?” He asks, keeping his voice level, his accent smoothing off his vowels, sharpening the consonants. He reaches the landing at the bottom of the grand staircase in the entryway, rifle aimed through a large open doorway into the sitting room where the chaise was, right at center mass. “If you are a problem, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Jax Marcoset seems to struggle to speak, or operate on a delay. For a beat there is a weighty silence, and then he says, just barely audible, “I won’t… be a problem.”

Antoni can see scars that run down his stomach, like he was clawed until he bled, again and again, to make them. The collar, the way the husband isn’t looking back at his dead wife any longer, wholly focused on Antoni, shifting submissiveness trained by violence and fear immediately to the next threat, to appease, placate, and hopefully survive.

It’s all familiar, sickeningly so.

It’s the way Chris acted, when they met. Antoni’s assignment then had been to take out a household of drug runners. He’d found Chris in the alleyway bartering a place to sleep, trading his body because he had nothing else to offer them. Antoni had started firing just after hearing them agree to the trade, but only if Chris would take them all at once.

Once they were all dead, Chris - terrified and teary - had started trying to trade himself to Antoni just to keep from being slaughtered.

It’s all exactly the same, no matter the differences on the surface. 

“I cannot leave you here alive. Do you understand?” He expects fear, or begging. Some kind of plea. But all Jax Marcoset does is slowly nod, hands still held in the air, and stay right where he is. He doesn’t ask to be spared, or for one more goodbye to the dead woman six feet away. He doesn’t beg, or go to his knees, or do anything at all.

He looks exhausted, emptied of all feeling, incapable of bringing anything up but resigned certainty. “Yes, sir.”

Too far gone, maybe.

But Antoni has to try.

“You may lower your hands.”

Jax’s hands drop like weights, down to his sides, where his fingers curl into fists. Antoni knows, from his own experience, that if he were to tell Jax to show him his palms, he would be obeyed, and there would be a row of half-moon scars there.

Just like Antoni has.

He lowers the rifle, slowly, ready to aim and fire again if Jax moves, but he doesn’t. Just stares dully at Antoni, waiting for whatever happens next, utterly incapable of making a choice for himself. Antoni moves over to Savannah Marcoset’s body, pressing two fingers to where her pulse would be and finding none. Not that he expected her to survive a direct shot to the head, but you never know.

He pulls a wipe from one pocket and wipes what might have been left of his fingerprints from her neck, then turns.

Jax Marcoset hasn’t moved a single muscle except to turn his head to watch Antoni’s movements around the room. 

Antoni hums - job done, more or less, and no one needs to be the wiser that he’s left one of the targets alive - and turns to leave. He pauses, and gestures. “Come on, then,” He says, and Jax Marcoset falls in beside him, almost jerking into motion like a puppy trying to find someone new to hold his leash.

The night is dark and silent except for the crunching of Antoni’s shoes on gravel, and even that is barely a whisper of sound. Moonlight glints off the platinum wedding ring Jax Marcoset wears, off the matching lip ring and ear piercings. It briefly illuminates the buckle of the collar at the back of his neck, his eyes focused firmly on the ground in front of him, never looking up. 

Antoni’s car is hidden, of course, and it takes them some time to walk there in silence. He keeps expecting Jax to ask a question, or cry, or do anything. But all Jax does is remain perfectly quiet, pliant, and empty.

He slips off his shirt willingly enough when they reach the car, lips thinned a little, and looks maybe mildly, just barely, surprised when Antoni hands him his spare shirt to put on instead. Their hands brush and Antoni feels the telltale roughness and scarring he expected.

Through it all, his intuition whispers, he’s like Chris, and he needs help.

Once they’re in the car, driving down a small two-lane highway, cutting through the late-night darkness, Antoni says quietly, “You are coming home with me. I cannot have you questioned, or have you speak to police. You will stay with me for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Jax mumbles, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. He hasn’t tried to remove his collar or his ring, and Antoni knows how hard taking off your collar the first time can be for someone like them, and he doesn’t ask.

Instead, he offers, “Would you like to choose a station on the radio?”

There’s a long silence, Antoni aware he is being studied, Jax Marcoset watching him with utmost care, deciding what he will do or say. What he wants, Antoni thinks. Appease, placate, survive. It’s all the same, in the end. Even though he noticed Jax has no barcode when he changed shirts. If Jax is a pet, he isn’t a legal one and likely never was.

Jax slowly moves his hand, hesitating before he touches the dial as though he thinks his fingers will be slapped away. He changes the station, scanning until he reaches 90.1 FM.

Classical music drifts from the speakers, and Jax pulls his hand back quickly, folding them back in his lap, and closes his eyes. 

“Will you miss her?” Antoni asks.

“Yes, sir.” His voice is barely audible, underscored and nearly overwhelmed by the sound of a single violin.

[sourbkg]

𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜

[𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎]

➪ synopsis: a villain hits you with a quirk that makes you forget things. 

➪ pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader 

➪ warnings: angst, cursing, reader & bkg are 3rd years!, for plot reasons: dadzawa/dadzashi, eri is ur lil sis bc i said so <3

➪ word count: 4k+

➪ a/n: i think this is the longest fic i’ve ever written. ty @bokunokangae​ + @a-boy-is-a-gun​ for being my beta reader ily guys. 

No one would ever guess Bakugou Katsuki was a sucker for planning dates. Or maybe he’s just a sucker for you. Regardless, he’s good at anything he does, and this includes taking you on an unforgettable trip in the city for your belated one year anniversary. 

You never thought you’d date Bakugou, having joined U.A. late in your first year and getting belittled by the blonde; claiming you’d fall behind quickly due to not being there from the start, and singling you out in an effort to wear down your will. You butted heads constantly, and when everyone found out who your parents were, things only escalated. You don’t know when, you don’t know why, and you definitely don’t know how, but by some miracle, the bickering simmered down and began to mold itself into something different.

Something entirely new that neither of you would expect. 

By your second year, you’re dating, and that leads to where you stand now- in your third year, holding the blonde’s hand while walking to the next meticulously planned date spot. Bakugou gave no hints as to where your next location would be, despite your persistence in asking. 

“Not even a hint?” You question, tilting your head to the side. The streets are empty, save for a couple stragglers who pay you no mind, and the warm night air keeps your spirits high. 

“Nothing.” He replied, not looking at you. He can feel your pout. 

“How about if I guess?” 

“Nope.” 

“Are we going to the record shop I like? Or maybe to the food truck with all the spicy noodles? Or maybe-” 

“I’m not gonna tell you if you’re right, so you might as well stop.” He rolls his eyes. You huff. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll let you keep your surprises-”

A yelp is drawn from your lips as you pass an alley; something- no, someone pulling you into the darkness. Your grip on Bakugou’s hand is lost at the sudden game of tug-o-war, and despite your training, it takes a moment for you to process what exactly is happening. Bakugou is quick to act, attempting to take you back from the offender's embrace, but the sight of metal being pressed against your neck makes him hesitate, before he’s stopping altogether. 

“What do you want?” He asks, voice rough while his palms spark. His eyes continue to look over your form, to the person who has you hostage. An opening. All he needs is an opening. 

You feel nothing but helpless, attempting the shy away from the blade that presses against your skin. The man holding you gives a laugh. You don’t find any of this funny. 

“You may not know me, but I know you- Child of Aizawa.” 

Everything clicks quickly as he continues to speak- over-explaining as villains do. How your father threw him in jail, how he fought tooth and nail to get break out, and how he planned on ruining one of his most important things in his life- you. 

Villains who seek vengeance through others are nothing but cowards. Someone using you against your parents is truly the worst, especially now as it interferes with your date with Bakugou. 

“Your bone to pick is with my father,” you can’t help but bite, wincing when the metal nips deeper into your skin, “I don’t have anything to do with his affairs.” 

It’s not entirely the truth, but you’re buying yourself time. You can see the calculations running through Bakugou’s head, the possible ways he can go about this without you getting hurt- you just need to get him an opening. A time where you’re out of the way so he can give this guy hell. 

“Maybe,” the villain's breath fans against your cheek, you hold in a gasp at the feeling, “but I’m sure you can imagine the look on his face when he sees his child, beaten and bloodied due to his own faults.” 

You’re throwing your head back at the man’s face without a second thought, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose. The knife splices against your skin as you jerk away, but it’s not the worst injury you could’ve sustained through such a reckless move. You wrangle your body out of his grip just in time for Bakugou to whirl past you, unleashing a hellfire of punches while you press a hand to your neck. 

There’s only a moment of reprieve, before Bakugou’s being thrown to the side like a ragdoll. You can only stare as he’s slammed into the wall of the alleyway, while the villain stands as if his punches did nothing. But you know your boyfriend. He’ll get up and finish this guy, he just needs a moment- 

The villain's eyes settle on you. You make out a smirk forming under his hoodie. 

“Now where were we?” 

Your quirk is a simple one. It allows you to move through shadows, but there’s a couple rules; you must have a destination chosen to exit- if not, you’ll just be spit out in a random shadowed area. Your eyes always take a moment to adjust when you come back to the ‘real’ world, and you’re always so cold after going through the realm of shadows. It’s dark. It depletes a lot of your energy. 

Bakugou still isn’t moving. 

Your eyes flicker to your boyfriend, then you feel yourself being swallowed by the shadows. Your chosen point of exit is right behind the villain, in hopes of knocking him unconscious before he can do anymore damage. It seems he’s done his research on you, on your quirk, because he’s prepared. You’re unready for his retaliation, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you against the ground. 

Clawing at his wrist does nothing, kicking at him does nothing. He’s unaffected by any weak attempt you have at fighting back, grip on your neck only increasing. There’s no shadows for you to disappear into, there’s nothing in the alley to aid you, and your struggling is just getting weaker and weaker the longer his hands cover your windpipe. 

He holds one hand over your face, letting you watch as his fingertips glow a dark red color. His quirk. You know nothing about his quirk. He grins as you struggle with new vigor. 

“My quirk is nothing special,” he turns his hand so his palm faces up, examining his own fingers, “but the backlash is extraordinary. How would you feel about forgetting the people you care about? How will you parents feel, knowing they’re the cause for this sudden amnesia?” 

He presses the tips of his fingers against your temple. You don’t feel anything at first, before you’re feeling it all at once. Memories flash in front your eyes, only to disappear into a blank slate seconds later. There’s an explosion going off that feels like it’s miles away, but the pressure being removed from your neck tells you it’s Bakugou. Your mind goes white, then you’re unconscious. 

When you wake up, your adrenaline is spiked. Sitting up and looking around hurts like a bitch, but you’d be damned if you weren’t ready to fight again. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights above you, and the blurred voice of someone telling you to calm down brings your attention to the right. 

“Oh my god, we didn’t know when you’d-” 

It’s Hizashi, you can make out the blonde hair falling over his shoulders from his loose bun. Blinking a few times helps your eyes, and you rub at them with the heel of your palm, looking around the room once more. 

A hospital. You’re in a hospital. But why? You don’t….. Oh. Oh. 

The villain really did some damage to you and Bakugou, huh? 

Why were you with Bakugou in the first place?

“-an you hear me? Do I need to go get the doctor? Sho just left to get some coffee, I wish he w-” 

“I’m okay.” You say, voice rough and throat dry. Hizashi offers a bottle of water that you take gratefully. 

“‘M gonna go get the doctor, let them know you’re-” 

You’re reaching out to grab his arm without realizing, grip weak, but it’s enough to make him falter and look at you. 

“Please don’t leave me.” 

It’s a whispered request, yet he hears it loud and clear. With a nod, he’s sitting back down and pressing a button beside your bed to call for a nurse. Your mind is still frazzled, but you find enough sense to ask a few questions. 

How long you’ve been unconscious, if they caught the villain, what happened after you passed out. 

Three days, no, Bakugou called an ambulance before he passed out himself were the answers you received. You open your mouth to ask another question, maybe why you were with the blonde, before a doctor steps in with Shouta. 

Shouta looks tired. Both of them do, but he gives a small smile when he realizes you’re awake.

 The doctor introduces herself, and explains what they believe is wrong with you. They think you have a concussion and ask you simple questions. The year, what school you go to, what year you’re in, what class, and if you can name some people for her. 

She starts with the two men sitting beside your bed. 

“Do you know who these two are?” 

You nod, “Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa.” 

“And their relationship to you?” She prompts. 

“My parents.” 

“Good, okay, that’s good.” 

She has Shouta and Hizashi show you pictures of your 3-B classmates and people who you should know. Eri, Kendo, Tetsu, Shinsou, everyone has a name to their face, and the doctor seems satisfied with each response. 

Then, Hizashi’s pulling out his phone and showing you a photo. It has your brows furrowing and eyes glancing over to your parents. 

“Do you know who this is?” Hizashi asks, shaking the device lightly. 

You nod, “Yeah, that’s Bakugou but… why am I kissing him?” 

The photo is very clearly you, taken from a mirror in your dorm. You stand on your toes while Bakugou stands with his arms crossed, your lips pressing against his cheek. 

Hizashi and Shouta share a glance between each other before looking back at you. 

“Do you know what he is to you?” Aizawa asks. 

“An acquaintance?” You feel bare as they stare at you, “Right?” 

“May I speak with one of you outside, please?” The doctor asks, writing something on her clipboard and stepping out the door. Hizashi stays, squeezing your hand in his own. 

He talks about things you’ve missed. How Eri says she can’t wait to visit, but seems to enjoy being babysat by Mirio and Tamaki. How Nezu’s promised to waive any tests or assignments you may have missed, but that doesn’t mean you can slack off. He stays away from the topic you’re itching to talk about- what you're missing. You aren’t stupid. You know their reaction to whatever you don’t remember isn’t good, and you doubt they’ll tell you until they know how you are mentally. 

You jump when the door swings open, followed by Bakugou stumbling in while a nurse and your dad try to keep him out. 

“You’re okay…” he breathes out, heaving a laugh, “they told me you were but I just had to-to make sure…” 

His right arm is bandaged from wrist to elbow and his lip is busted, but he looks fine otherwise. You spare a glance to Hizashi, who’s now standing from his seat. 

“What’re you doing here, Bakugou?” You ask, pulling the blankets closer to yourself. Your mind flashes to the picture your dad showed you previously, and you shake your head. There’s no way… 

“What am I… Bakugou?” He seems more surprised you use his surname than anything, “What’s up with you, (y/n)?” 

You make a face at him using your given name, scrunching your nose but offer no other rebuttal. 

He sputters, looking to his teacher and the doctor, “Why are they acting so weird?” 

You have half a mind to ask why he’s acting so weird, but Shouta… 

“It seems they don’t remember you’re… dating.” 

Dating. You? With Bakugou Katsuki? Dating? 

Bakugou’s eyes cut to you and you flinch under his stare. “No. No, no, no, no, no, come on (y/n), tell me they’re lying-” He’s stepping towards your bed, but Hizashi stands in front of him before he can get too close, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. 

“I-I… I have no idea what you’re… we were dating?” 

He visibly deflates, giving another glance towards your parents and the doctor, before Hizashi’s leading him out the door.  

A week passes, and you learn Bakugou’s been discharged while the doctor requests you stay a couple days longer so they can monitor your ‘amnesia’. Hizashi and Shouta promise they’ll bring Eri by, and you’re pleasantly surprised when Hizashi opens the door with the little girl in his arms. She fights against his hold until she’s being placed down, not stopping for a second to clamber her way up your bed and embrace you in the biggest hug. You laugh. 

“Eri, I’ve missed you!” 

“I’ve missed you more.” She says, face burrowed in your neck. The two of you stayed like this for a moment, Eri content with sitting in your embrace, before she’s pulling away and messing with your tangled hair. 

“I miss you and Bakugou playing with me,” she says after a pause, pulling her hands to herself and looking down. 

You only force a smile and rub her cheek, “I miss playing with you too.” Is all you can come up with. 

There’s no speaking on Bakugou’s behalf, hell, it’s hard to believe he’d even have the patience to sit and play some dorky princess games with Eri and you. But, it seems he managed some amount of tolerance, since Eri’s able to recall fond memories. You wonder if there’s really anything to miss about Bakugou. Everytime you dwell on the thought, or try to remember any semblance of a memory, you end up with nothing but a headache. 

It’s frustrating. 

Eventually, Eri wears herself out and falls asleep on your chest. You don’t mind, used to her using you as her personal pillow. Running your fingers through her hair, you look over to your parents. They speak in hushed tones next to your bed. You look away, instead focusing on the wall directly in front of you. 

“Did I really love him?” You can’t help but ask, voice soft. The two adults pause, glancing over to you in time for you to catch their eyes. “Bakugou,” you clarify, though you’re not sure why, “did I really love him?” 

They hesitate, looking to each other. Hizashi opens his mouth to answer, but Aizawa beats him to the punch. 

“We don’t know that you’re ready to discuss that yet.” His tone is in no way harsh or demeaning, and yet it feels like a slap in the face. This was your life you were asking about- the least they could do was tell you about it. 

“I think I deserve to know,” you can’t help but snap. Eri shifts in her sleep, and you take in a small breath, looking away from your parents, “I just… I wanna understand…” 

You see them share a look from the corner of your eye, before Hizashi gives a soft sigh. They both sit up straighter- well, Hizashi sits up straighter. Shouta leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a vacant look coming across his features.  

“You started dating about a year ago,” Hizashi starts, pulling out his phone and scrolling through some apps, “you told us about a month and a half after- you were scared Sho would string Bakugou up by his toes if he found out.” The blonde can’t help but snicker at the thought, sparing a glance to his husband. 

“I would’ve, too,” Shouta adds nonchalantly, clasping his hands together, “if you hadn’t been so adamant about us ‘playing nice’.” 

Hizashi hands you his phone and you see he’s opened a photo album called ‘The Love Birds’. You make a face at the cringey name, but begin scrolling through it nonetheless. It’s filled with pictures of you and Bakugou; holding hands, going on what you can assume are dates, and even some of you kissing (though it’s mostly just small pecks on the cheek). 

“Those are all photos you’ve either sent us or that we’ve taken ourselves. Bakugou wanted them to make a scrapbook or something.”

Your heart honestly hurts at the sight. These are all photos of you, and yet you have no recollection of any of them. You look so happy in each of them, too, gazing at Bakugou with such an adoration that you don’t think you could ever muster right now. You lock the phone and pass it back to Hizashi. 

The doctor releases you the next day, having been convinced fairly easily by Shouta. You’re back at home with them for a full day, before they allow you back at the dorms. While they’d prefer you to just be home, the villain is still loose. They know you’re better off constantly around your peers than sitting at home alone, however, they make it a point to stop by when time allows it. 

Everyone in class B gives you a warm welcome back, and no one asks about your situation. Kendo helps keep you distracted by planning game nights and offering to do face masks when she can. Testu tells you jokes that keep a smile on your face when he’s around, and sometimes joins you and Kendo on your game nights. Monoma helps you catch up on any assignments you may be confused with, seeing as you’re being thrown back into classes after missing about two weeks. Shinsou makes sure you’re never alone, and is a shoulder for you to cry on or a face to complain to. 

Things are relatively normal, you’re slowly getting back into the swing of things, and yet… 

Something still feels off. 

Deep down, you know what it is. Your relationship, well- lack thereof, with Bakugou. You feel like a piece of you is missing, but it’s just… hard to really believe you dated him. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you were in a relationship with the Bakugou Katsuki. 

Staying up at night becomes your new norm. It isn’t too bothersome, Shinsou taking after your father in the fact that he rarely sleeps at night, and is more than happy to keep you company. Some nights, he falls asleep before you, or doesn’t have the time to stop by. On these nights, you try to keep yourself busy. Catch up on homework, getting ahead on assignments, maybe throw in a few exercises if you’re feeling especially motivated, but tonight… 

Tonight just feels different. Your room feels cramped yet too big at the same time, so you do the one thing you can think of in the moment and leave. It may not be the best decision, walking outside in just pajama shorts and a t-shirt, but it seems like the most plausible choice given the time. 

U.A.’s campus is pretty at night, you discover. The air around you is cold, biting at your skin, but it’s not something you’re unused to due to your quirk. It makes you realize that more time passed than you thought. Stars twinkle in the sky and you smile to yourself at the fact that despite everything changing, the world has stayed the same. Walking around aimlessly does good at helping clear your head, regardless of the frigid air surrounding your frame. You jump at the feeling of something being draped around your shoulders, whirling around to face the sudden intruder. 

It’s Bakugou, who holds his hands up in surrender and ensures there’s some semblance of distance between you while he speaks, “Just thought someone should tell you to not be a dumbass and come out with no jacket.” 

Even though what he says has an edge, his tone holds no malice. His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid speaking any louder would scare you away. It’s the first time you’ve interacted with Bakugou since the hospital, and you genuinely wonder for a moment what he’s thinking. 

You pull the jacket closer around you and look away, mumbling a small, “thanks.” 

The two of you begin walking together with no particular destination in mind, mostly content with one another's company. Bakugou asks why you’re awake and you give the simple reply of not being able to sleep. He mutters out a short same and soon, you find yourselves sitting on a hill that has the perfect view overlooking the city. It’s then you notice Bakugou isn’t wearing a jacket himself, clad in only a dark tank top and sweatpants. You wonder if he realized he was being hypocritical in giving you his own. 

“Do you want this back?” You find yourself asking, gesturing to the jacket, “I remember you… don’t really like the cold.” 

“Nah, I don’t need it.” He waves you off with a shake of his head. Truthfully, he’s freezing his ass off, but he knows you despise the cold more than anything. He knows it’s all you feel when you use your quirk, and made a promise to himself to do whatever he can to help you avoid feeling this way. 

The silence that surrounds you is nothing unwelcome, but you’re itching to ask the question everyone has been avoiding. You bite the bullet. 

“What was our relationship like?” 

He isn’t as surprised as he should be by the question, but it still makes him falter. It takes him a moment to regain his thoughts, and you wonder if maybe you’ve crossed some unknown boundary-

“It was nice,” he starts, looking up at the stars. You pull your legs to your chest and rest your cheek on your knees, keeping your eyes on him to let him know that you’re listening. 

“I asked you out on a whim,” he continues, “Denki said if I didn’t, he’d ask you out for himself, and I couldn’t be one-upped by that idiot-  even then, it wasn’t really me asking you out. It was moreso a challenge.” 

You laugh a little at the thought, because that’s such a Bakugou thing to do. He smiles at the sound. He looks so soft, so tired, so worn out from what life has thrown his way as he’s bathed in the light of the moon, not pausing as his gaze remains on the sky. 

“I told you were gonna wrestle- no quirks, and if I won, I’d get to take you on a date.” 

“What’d I ask for if I won?” You ask, only for him to shake his head and scrunch his nose. 

“In the moment you didn’t say and I didn’t care to ask. I wasn’t thinking far enough for what you could’ve wanted. I was hellbent on winning, anyways. But,” he goes on, “we fought. I had the upper hand, you were pinned down while Kiri counted the seconds and you…” 

He pauses, closing his eyes as if the memory was still fresh in his mind. Maybe it was. 

“... you leaned up and kissed me. It threw me off, and you used that to flip us over. You ended up winning.” 

Bakugou opens his eyes and looks over at you for the first time since beginning the story. You can make out the pink dusting his cheeks under the moonlight, and you never thought you’d think of Bakugou as something akin to angelic, but here you are. Fantasizing about a memory you don’t even remember. 

You wonder if his lips are as soft as they look now. 

“What happened next?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. You must sound like a child, asking a parent to finish a bedtime story, but you don’t care. 

“You laughed at me,” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh of his own, “you rubbed it in my face that I lost, and I threw it in your face that you cheated.” 

You can’t help but grin, “But I won.” 

“Yeah,” he looks down for a moment, forming a soft smile of his own, before looking back at you, “yeah, you won.” 

“And after that?” You can’t help but press on, wanting to know more about the story that was more than just a story.

“You finally told me what you wanted for winning.” 

“Which was?” 

You don’t realize you’re slowly leaning towards each other, or that his breath is lightly fanning against your cheek until it’s happening- you can pick out every freckle he has and see how his eyes aren’t just red, but the color of a ruby. 

“A kiss.” 

He feels your own breath hitch against his lips and he…

Fuck...

He’s about to close what little distance is left when someone calling your name draws you out of it. You pull back like you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to, and hell, you might be with how late it is and how deep in the campus you are. With a glance behind you, you realize it’s only Shinsou. He remains a distance away, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Saw your dorm door was open and couldn’t find you in the building. Got worried.” 

You and Bakugou remain on the ground a moment longer. Then, Bakugou’s standing and offering a hand to help you up. 

“You should go to bed,” he says low enough for only you to hear, “it’s late.” 

You give a small nod, “You should too…” 

There’s a pause, as if he has more to say, but decides against it, then he’s walking off in the direction of the dorms without another word. 

“Your jacket-” you begin to take the item off, but he shakes his head without a second thought, not bothering to stop and retrieve his clothing. He knocks shoulders with Shinsou as he passes. 

“Keep it, it was one of your favorites.” He doesn’t turn around as he speaks, gives a wave of dismissal. 

You hug the jacket closer to yourself in return.

[spilled-some-blood]

Deal’s A Deal

Freddy Krueger x F.Reader

Welcome to Charlie at 2 am writing for the Freddy fans instead of working on their job application because they don’t make good life choices

Summary: In which Freddy Krueger meets a child who seemed unfazed by him, ending in a strange bond over the years.

You opened your eyes, your hands brushing against cold stone ground. You swore you had fallen asleep.

Glancing around, it felt all to real, and yet not. Were you lucid dreaming?

That was perhaps the most possible explanation, you were in a dream. That makes sense.

You stood up off the concrete floor, leaves were piled around you. It was dark, still night time and there was a fog in the air.

You had begun walking to the exit of the alleyway you were in before a shadowed figure appeared ahead, walking towards you.

The sounds of screeching metal rang through the alleyway, and you were heavily confused.

Then the figure became more clear the closer he edged towards you. Strolling to you casually.

You didn't move, staring at the man with a frown as he came into view, making out the details.

A striped green and red sweater like one's your aunt would buy you for Christmas. Interesting choice, but you did like the feature of a fedora. You always thought those were cool.

"And who are you?" You rose a brow, intrigued buy the fact his skin... it was burned you guessed, or radiated.

"Your worst nightmare." He cackled, only a few steps away, and you took notice of the claw-like blades.

"That does not answer my question." You reply unfazed, catching him by suprise.

He walked closer, leaning down and his eyes met yours. "Freddy Krueger." He grinned, bringing the claw up infront of your face menacingly. "Are you not scared? I could kill you right here and now." He states, one of the blades brushed against your skin in a small prick.

"I've... seen scarier." You then state with a grimace to the fact. "And this is a dream, it's impossible to hurt me in such a state."

"You're much different from other seven year olds aren't you?" He says with an irritated look.

"Obviously." Was your reply before staring at him. "I'm eight, get your fucking facts right."

He raises a brow, "have not met a kid who swears." Bending down to meet your eye again.

"You pick it up after a while." You shrug. "And like I said, this is a dream." You roll your eyes, brushing past him to walk out the alleyway. You wanted to explore this strange setting. "So where are we?"

"Elm street." He scoffs, following after your smaller form. "You're not scared of me?" He asks for more confirmation.

Your eyes turn to him, widening when his eyes roll back, going into his head and bugs begin to pour out from the empty sockets. You shivered, yet you weren't afraid.

You saw him clench a hand, pulling a centipede from his eye before the eyes just roll back.

"That's disgusting, not scary." You snicker when he scowled, enjoying making him annoyed. You moved away from any bug that did try to crawl at you.

He grumbles something incoherent, and you turn back to continue your stroll, unfazed by his preformance.

You turned down the street, walking down the sidewalk

"Are you real?" You asked, then added; "like... do I know you in real life? I've heard that people you see in dreams you've met in real life."

You ask, curiously.

"I'm very real." He says in a tone that speaks menacing. Though he still follows you. "This is our first meeting."

You pause, turning your head to glance at him. "You say that as though it will not be our last."

"It won't." He states, and you eye him before turning your attention back to exploring the darker version of Elm street.

•▪°○°▪•

Like he had stated, it was not your last meeting.

You thought he was calling bluffs when you thought he couldn't hurt you physically, until he proved you wrong.

It was a single small cut on your arm, it hurt like a bitch. You'd tell him repeatedly, still thinking it'd be gone when you woke up.

But once again you were wrong.

You awoke with a hiss, feeling a warm liquid seep into your shirt. You opened your eyes to the dimly lit room, and saw the cut on your arm, still completely real.

You were wrong.

So you had turned more cautious. Not scared, but cautious of his actions.

And yet, he hadn't killed you. Or caused any more harm to your being, after seeing him be so smug as you confessed you were wrong.

Days of seeing him in your dreams turned to weeks.

Nothing in your strange relationship has changed, it seems as though you tried to get reactions from each other.

There was always that one night when he has always tried to scare you, to make you fear him.

In every situation you always said the same thing;

"I've seen scarier."

And them weeks became months.

Months to a few years.

•▪°○°▪•

You came home, groaning in frustration as you heard your parents fighting in the living room, again.

You snuck past it, not wanting to be thrown into the mess.

You had homework to do, senior year of high school has not been so easy for you. Although you could celebrate in some ways.

You were almost 18, a legal adult. Eventually you could leave this prison of a house.

You were never scared of the man named Freddy Krueger, because you didn't have many fears.

You have seen scarier, scarier than guts and blood, scarier than bugs or spiders.

You had grown up independently, unable to rely on your parents for even a single drop of support your life. They had always fought, and if they didn't fight one or the other would verbally abuse you.

You supposed it was an immunity you had created after such a long duration of exposure to their toxicity.

You didn't even know why they hadn't choosen to divorce.

Seeing Freddy every night in your dreams always reminded you he was the only possible "friend" you had.

It kinda hurt to admit it.

You were well aware of his past when you did your own research (- not snooping around or anything -) at the age of 13. A child murderer.

So why didn't he kill you?

Years past and yet you still ask this. Were you special in some way where he decided to spare you?

You snicker, probably not... though it doesn't answer my question.

He had found out about your life in the waking world when you were 14, breaking down as soon as you woke up in his realm. It had been because your father genuinely looked like he was about to hit you, so pent up in rage it's image was scarred into your memory.

They had never tried to hit you before.

It was the first and only time (so far) that Freddy had seen you in such a weak state. You hadn't let it happen again, regaining your lost composure.

You went into the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar before silently running upstairs.

You evening consisted of studying and homework, eating the granola bar as soon as you sat down.

You fell asleep late, exhausted, and hungry (by the fact you missed dinner, knowing they'd be downstairs.)

"Wakey wakey, sugar-tits."

"That's a new one, when'd you think of that?" You roll your eyes as you get up off the ground.

Freddy watches you amused from where he stood. "You look more mentally drained than usual." He comments.

"Yeah, no shit. My parents are fighting again. And I had to deal with school." You let out a groan, sinking down onto a white wooden bench. He sat next to you, fedora tilted down to shadow his eyes.

To say you had gotten used to his appearance was an understatement. It felt natural to simply sit down and talk, like you two had always been.

You haven't been more comfortable around anyone else.

Which was a funny thing considering your friend was a killer.

You turned, laying back against Freddy with a sigh. "Can't wait to finally move out from their house."

You felt him chuckle, "why not let me kill them?"

"Because, I might be seen as a suspect. I'd rather move out, wait for a year, and maybe I'll ask you to kill them."

"Sure sure." He waved it off, slinging an arm around and layed it on your stomach casually.

You both stayed silent, and you had began to fall to a deeper slumber from your dream state, and he let you sleep the rest of the night dreamless.

•▪°○°▪•

You stood at your locker placing your binder and pencil case inside, and took out your small money purse and jacket from the metal box before closing and locking it.

You'd be getting yourself lunch today from a café close by. Knowing you have enough to buy yourself a small muffin too.

You slipping on the jacket; you walked outside, humming a melody you had heard in your dreams. You're sure it was from the little kids you saw every once and a while sing it.

It was actually very catchy.

You were stopped by the gates of the school yard. Of course, (B/n) and her gang steps in to ruin your day.

"Hey there (Y/n)." She snickers, stepping into your personal space.

"What do you want?" You ask, eyes narrowing before continuing your hum quietly.

She holds a hand out, "you'd be owing us some food." She smirks, eyeing the small purse.

"I believe I don't." You mutter, stepping to the side, though she mirror's your action. "Sucks makeup isn't edible, then your inside' could be as "pretty" as the out." You snicker when her face goes red, frustrating her was always as fun.

You were pushed back, still snickering as you hit the ground, fortunate that the layer of snow numbed the fall.

"I don't owe you shit." You grin, eyes challenging her. Perhaps you should ask Freddy to... take care of her for you, after all she has been harassing he freshmen too. She deserves it.

And everyone dies, why not have her date a little closer?

She clicks her tongue, "whatever, you're probably broke as shit anyway."

You laugh again as she along with her proxies walk away back to the school, and you felt her glare at your back as you got up.

Brushing off your clothing you walked off, towards the café with a smug look. I'll definitely bring her up to Freddy... you mentally noted.

You entered the warm café, the warm fuzzy feeling pooled in your stomach. You felt more at home here than at your own house.

"Afternoon," you greet the older woman at the counter, she was the closes thing to a big sister for you. The best family member you could ask for, and she's not even related to you. "Sandwich and tea, please." You tell her, scanning the various flavours of muffins. "And one of those please." You add, pointing to the most appealing.

She chuckles, "what kind of sandwich do you want?"

You grin, "suprise me."

She shrugs with a smile, holding a hand out. "$12.53," she says, looking at the cash register.

You hand her fifteen, muttering a small, "keep the change."

She smiles at you gratefully, and turns to make your order. "How are your studies going? I've told you before you can always come to me for help." She says as she brews your tea.

You shrug, the place was empty other than a few other teens sitting at tables, eating or chatting away.

"It's alright." You answer, then continue; "I promise that I'd come to you for help, I just get a lot on my plate right now."

The 23 year old woman nods, adjusting her dark brown hair pulled up to a ponytail. You had already planned on asking if you could move in with her for a while before getting your own apartment. So you could get on your own two feet.

She passes you the tea over the counter, and you wait as she brings your sandwich and muffin.

"Thank you," you say with a small smile that she returns.

"No problem, your signature spot is still reserved over there." She pointed to the table with two chairs by the window.

You nod, walking over there with your lunch and sat down. Listening to the music from the small speaker in the café as you ate quietly.

After lunch you left the café with a farewell to your "big sister."

You continued with your classes through the afternoon, taking the chance to go to the library when school ended.

You didn't mind going home late, your parents didn't really notice unless they needed you to do something.

You went to a secluded table near the corner of the whole library. You studied, and when you were done you decided to read one if your favorite series of books.

Due to your lack of sleep, you must've fallen asleep cause you felt a familiar set of claw-like blades dancing along your back from where you were hunched on the table.

"Freddy." You mumble with a yawn.

"Falling asleep in the library now? Maybe you should hold back on the late-nights, sugar."

You raise your brows, both a smile and a smirk grow on your lips. "Is that concern I hear?"

You watch him roll his eyes, "don't let it get to your head." You laugh, which makes him grin with amusement. "I'm pretty serious though."

You hum with the nod if your head, "I've been wanting to ask of a favor from you."

"Oh?" His eyes get a mischievous gleam. "And that is...?"

"A small group of bullies at my school, I was hoping you could maybe get rid of their leader? (B/n)?" You smile, not one of pure happiness and innocence. "Seeing their leader dead will most likely have them scrambling." You hum in thought then add; "and if not, I hope you don't mind me asking for you to kill the rest of them?"

He let's out a chuckle, taking the seat next to you and crosses his legs. "What'll I get in return?" He hums, leaning closer and tapping his cheek.

You raise a brow, snickering. "Yeah yeah, okay. Do me that favor though?"

"As long as I can bring this "(B/n)" along with a friend of hers, I'll be letting the other one escape."

"To what? Spread your name?"

"That's exactly it." He replies, laying back. "You'll be there to confirm it." He smirks making your brows knit, and a small scowl grow.

"Your making me join in on whatever nightmare your making for them?"

"Aw sugar, you read me too well." He teases - or is it mock? Either way it has you rolling your eyes with your scowl loop to a grin.

"Fine, I'll go along with this plan of yours." You agree, "now can you wake me up before I get in trouble?"

"No problem, sugar. See you in your dreams."

•▪°○°▪•

You walked down the street, looking around for any sign of the two Freddy would be dragging into his dream realm.

You never really had someone else in your dreams other than Freddy. So it may be interesting for a change to experience it. A part of you was giddy, though another part was nerve-wracked. While the thought of being blamed for the weird occurrence was exciting, you did not want to be in huge trouble because of it.

"Freddy?" You call out, starting to get irked by the fact he nor anyone had shown up.

You heard a loud shriek from afar, your heart jumped and you ran towards the scream with adrenaline.

Even if you couldn't be so easily scared, you did for a fact enjoy seeing others scared.

You skidded to a stop as you turned at the sidewalk corner.

(B/n) stood there, petrified as bugs started to crawl up her legs from holes in the ground around her. Her friend stood a meter away, staring wide eyed at the scene.

You whistled, impressed, of course insects would work on someone like (B/n).

"(Y/n)?!" She screeched, "fucking help me!" She commanded, making you cross your arms with a smirk.

"Awh, (B/n) don't you remember what happened erlier today?" You reminded her, almost jumping when a snake was placed around your shoulders. It's face moved infront of yours, peering at you with curious eyes before its tongue slithered out to tickle your nose.

"Frederick." You acknowledge, feeling a hand press to the small of your back, though you didn't move your eyes from the fact (B/n) hasn't stopped staring at the bugs.

Another shrill scream left her lips as she tried to shake the bugs off, jumping up and down.

"Why are you doing this?!" Her friend cried out to you and your companion.

"I'm not the one who's causing it, deary." You smile bitterly.

Freddy moves from your side to them, circling them like a shark. A low and dangerous chuckle left his mouth, tipping his fedora.

And in a quick blink, he vanished.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you."

Oh dear, here he goes again. You smile with a chuckle, the tune was far too familiar to you.

Two girls skip out from the front yard of a decaying house.

"Three, four, better lock your door." Instead now they began to skip around the two, their faces were blank.

"Five, six, grab a crucifix."

You pet the snake around your neck, waiting in enjoyment as fear flooded of their forms.

"Seven, eight, you better stay awake."

They giggled before continuing, the cement around (B/n)'s feet began to crumble away. Her incoherent yelling was silenced when centipedes crawled into her mouth. You saw her friend gag, trying not to throw up.

"Nine, ten, Freddy's back again."

She let out a loud scream, the ground decaying under her feet and she fell down into the darkness. Her screams echoing until the ground regenerated itself.

The bugs melted into a thick substance, pooling together.

"Would you look at that..." You were grateful that Freddy hadn't killed her in a gory mess infront of you. You walk up to (B/n)'s friend, crouching down infront of her.

"Tell them Freddy Krueger is back in town, will you?" You booped her nose, looking up at Freddy who crouches behind her.

She turns her head back slowly, eyes wide with fear as Freddy leaves a deep cut into her arm with his claw.

A dark laugh left his lips when she screamed, scrambling away. So with the snap of his fingers, she disappears in a cloud of smoke. What you guessed was she went back to the waking world.

You stood up after placing the snake on the ground, letting it slither off into the fog.

"That went more smoothly than I expected." You commented with a grin, sparing a glance at Freddy.

"All planned, sugar tits." He replies, turning you to him. "Wheres the trade, hm?"

You roll your eyes, "yeah yeah, a deal's a deal." You peck him on he cheek, grinning when you didn't miss the slight disappointment that flashed in his eyes. "Somethin' wrong, Freddy?" You played coy.

"Damn fucking tease."

You laughed, not expecting those words. "Indeed I am... though I thought you'd know that by now." You hum, "deal's a deal, what do I get if I do that?"

"The enjoyment." He grumbles, grabbing your collar and pulled your lips to his.

You snickered into the kiss, he wasn't entirely wrong.

•▪°○°▪•

You walked through the school yard, glancing at your watch. You were on time, had some minutes to spare too.

"You!"

You blinked, turning around 180 degrees and stared at the accusatory finger of (B/n)'s friend. The familiar face you saw in your dream stared at you in horror and clear fear.

"What was that?! (B/n) is dead." She said, far to loud than necessary.

You raise a brow, faking a frown. "Is... is that so? I apologize for your loss."

Her brows knit, "no... you were there, in my dream with her and that - that Freddy guy!"

Your face contorted to confusion, "I was in your dream?"

"Yes!"

"I'm pretty sure dreams can't be shared," you start your lie, "and plus, I don't remember dreaming at all last night."

From how her face changes, you could already hear the sounds of Freddy's laughter as you try to hold hers in.

"Then Freddy! Who's Freddy?! It was his fault then!" She bursts, stomping towards you.

"Look... I think you're being a bit loud on this," you glance around at the various students who stared. "I don't know who this "Freddy" is, perhaps try and search him up?"

Her face goes red, and you weren't sure if it was from embarrassment or anger, but she walks away, muttering under her breath with clenched fists.

You were far to amused, and the rest of your day was unbothered.

•▪°○°▪•

"I should thank you," you smiled genuinely, toying with the glove he treasured so much. "It worked out perfectly."

"All planned," he grinned leaning back against the couch cushions.

"Mhmm... all planned, you sure?" You nudge his arm, slipping the glove onto your own hand.

"You think I don't always plan ahead?" He raises a brow, tipping his fedora and turned your head to face him.

"Oh, I'm sure you did." You chuckle, before your lips could touch, you grabbed his fedora and jumped off the couch. Placing it on your head and snickered at his expression, taking him aback.

"Where is the fun if there's no real chase?" You smile wide.

•▪°○°▪•

Thanks for reading if you did -Charlie

[cryptidsandcatacombs]

What If I Killed Someone For You

Rating: absolutely postively adult for violent yandere content. Anyone under the age of 18 better go away. No reading allowed for anyone under the age of 18. Plus there's like one adult joke in here so no one under the age of 18 allowed for that reason either.

Summary: This is literally fueled by my love of yandere content #nojudgingcringecultureisdeadandikilledit. Noe better watch himself because he's been my muse lately. Anyways uuuu idk yandere stuff here so you know someone's getting stabbed. We should probably do something about that, but we're not gonna. Thems the rules chief. No, you can't stop it either you total fucking killjoy. I'll start stealing toes if you do. What will I do with said toes? Black markets are a lucrative business and I need the money cause I'm broke fam. So really it's the economy's fault that I'm chopping toes. Say thanks late stage capitalism. This is brought to you by idk the monster under your bed who chops off the toes for me. He gets paid by the hour so try no to run too much ok.

Oh and this fic contains lyrics from If I killed someone for you by Alec Benjamin. Yes I'm inserting song lyrics into a fic like it's the early 2000s.

I'm packing up my things and I'm wiping down the walls I'm rinsing off my clothes and I'm walking through the halls I did it all for her So I felt nothing at all I don't know what she'll say So I'll ask her when she calls

Would you love me more? If I killed someone for you

Oz was considered by most a laid back sort of guy. Never angered easily. He can get frustrated like every other person, but not so easily angered.

However, despite his laid back nature, he had a vice. Jealousy. One that he was very self aware of. He often tried not to let it get the better of him, but there it was. A beast clad in green with eyes of emerald staring him directly in the fact tempting him with its siren song.

The siren song came in the form of Noe Archiviste and....whoever this girl was that was hanging all over Noe right now. She had a voice as sweet as molasses and brown curls that fell down her shoulders like waterfalls. She would run her hands over Noe and look at him with her doe eyes. She was a cute on overall. Couldn't blame Noe for taking interest if it was there.

He seemed to not the mind the attention he received from the lady...nor the frivolous compliments....nor the blatantly flirty way she seems to be touching him with every caress of his hands into hers and the way she wraps her arms around his neck.

Oz's eye twitched. Oz could have stuffed down all this rage and envy that suddenly sprouted from the ether, but jealousy was truly Oz's vice. One he wasn't planning to fix any time soon. He wanted to sit there and be happy for his dearest Noe. Stay to the sidelines and be happy for his good fortune for love is one of the greatest things you can find.

However, there was another urge. One just as strong.

"I want her to die," cried Oz's thoughts. "I want her gone. She can't take Noe away from me. She can't. I know him and I aren't together in a romantic sense, but...I don't want her taking away my chance either. She has to go"

"Now now Oz," said another voice in Oz's head, "You know that's wrong. You can't go around getting rid of anyone you see as a competition or obstacle towards someone you care about."

Oz was prone to scolding himself at times like these. He always held himself to high moral standards. Sometimes too high. To the point of self-loathing. Impressive if you ask the writer. Self awareness? Bitch please for shame. This isn't a call out post for myself. What is it you may ask? Hey, we're getting off topic you little trickster. You're supposed to be a reader. Not breaking the fourth wall.

"Yes yes I know I can't do that. I'm not going to. That still doesn't save me from any form of feral urge to wring her neck and ship her body down the river and hope and have her loved ones pray she can be identified by her dental records. Fuck does she even love him. What if she's out to hurt him or worse just wants him for his body? Look at him! He's gorgeous. Who can blame her? What if she doesn't love him like I do," said Oz's internal thoughts.

"Oz you're being dumb. She might love him unconditionally too and he deserves that for himself," Oz argued internally with himself back.

"I know I know, but I'm just saying what if. I just don't like the idea of him getting hurt nor the idea of her taking him away from me. I'm entitled to that feeling aren't I," Oz continued to debate with his voice of reason.

"Fair, but lets just wait and see. He's a big boy and can handle himself," Oz's voice of reason stated.

"Yeah a big boy in more ways than one I bet," said the third internal Oz voice of being horny and all around slutty that constantly lives there.

"This is getting us nowhere," Oz himself decided to just cut the internal argument off before it turns into a blood match to the death. This was disturbing his routine of stalking Noe for ...research purposes.

Oz looked over to now see them sitting down at the nearby cafe. They were seated across from each other. Oz noted Noe might be enjoying his usual coffee or tea. He liked it extra sweet either way. The man has one hell of a sweet tooth.

"Yeah I bet that brown haired hussie doesn't know that, but I do," Oz thought to himself smugly.

Oz looked back at Noe's companion to see her touching his arm and doing the egregious crime of looking into his magnificent purple eyes. Wait....was she now touching his face?

"You lucky bitch," Oz thought to himself this time with anger brows drawn on the words for dramatic emphasis.

Oz ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Damn it! How long is this date going to last? I hope it stops before I puke up a lung," Oz thought to himself this time internally rolling in pain.

Hours passed and Oz with surprising tenacity had stayed there all day following Noe around with the clever disguise of wearing a hat and ya know some shabby clothes. Truly no way he could be recognized. Yep, he's got it all figured out.

Oz decided to follow them home from a fair distance. Oz looked up to see the sunset. It was starting to get dark and Oz hated the dark, but he hated certain people who might harm those he loves even more. A little nyctophobia isn't gonna hurt.

Oz followed quietly until he noticed they stopped in front of a flat. It was her flat. Noe escorted her to the door like the gentleman he is and waved her good night. Oz had found a nice dark alleyway to hide in so he wouldn't be spotted.

Noe headed towards Oz's direction which caused Oz to hide deeper into the darkness. Oz bit his lip from the anxiety of being found and having some explaining to do. Like who was he kidding? This disguise was paper thin!

Noe looked like he was passing by Oz, then stopped. Oz froze. Oh god had he spotted him?

Before Oz could register what happened next, Noe had gone in a flash. Oz knew he was fast, but he couldn't see where he went.

It was then a grunt and the sound of what seemed to be something getting bashed against the wall behind Oz. Oz slowly turned to find Noe whose hand was pressing something against the wall.

It was then he grabbed whatever he was holding and slammed it again. Oz stared into the darkness to see his eyes glowing red to match the blood on his gloves.

After another slam, the clear sound of bone cracking from the impact could be heard. Noe dropped, what Oz could assume, the now lifeless body of the person he just killed.

Noe turned to see Oz and Oz froze. "Ok ok maybe he doesn't know it's you," Oz thought to himself. "Oh I know."

"Aye top of the morning to you," Oz did in his best Irish accent that he could muster.

Noe leaned down and inspected Oz. Oz could only look at Noe confused as Noe lifted Oz's arms and looked over Oz's face and the rest of his person.

Noe then gave a sigh of relief. "Good, I was afraid he had hurt you Oz," Noe said putting a hand on Oz's shoulder.

"Wait, you knew it was me," Oz said face turning hot.

"I mean, I'd recognize you from anywhere. You're not hard to miss," Noe pointed out.

"Oh uuu so what happened exactly," Oz asked now curious about the now lifeless elephant in the room.

Oz went to look at the supposed body only for Noe to yank him back and shook his head no.

"You're squeamish," Noe said taking his bloody glove off, putting his now bare hand on Oz's face,"I wouldn't look."

Oz shuddered taking Noe's advice.

"The man had been following you. I know of him. That vampire right there would have killed you where you stood if I hadn't done something," Noe said honestly.

Oz batted his lashes in shock taken aback. "I...almost died," Oz asked.

Noe nodded. "Fortunately, he doesn't kill in broad daylight, so I had to wait til night. I had just noticed him following you today. I don't know how long he's been doing it for, but if I had noticed earlier, he would have been dead on the first day," Noe nearly growled out. "I'd rather not have killed him in broad daylight either,ut if I had to, I would have," Noe wanted to point out. "If he had attacked you, I absolutely would have."(edited)

Oz turned pale. "W-wait, when did you notice I was...," Oz said not knowing how to word his next question.

"Following me," Noe asked for him, "Since I left the house. You're not exactly subtle."

Oz blushed. "Oh uh sorry I was just curious as to what your daily routine was like and then I noticed you had a female companion, so I was trying to see if you were safe," Oz said nervously.

"Her? She was lonely and needed company, so I obliged. She's a bit friendly, but so am I," Noe pointed out.

"So are you...interested in her? Dating her even," Oz asked getting to the point.

Noe shook his head. "Not in the slightest," Noe said heading towards the body making effort to cover it up. "I'll dispose of the body in a minute. Let's take the back ways so I'm not caught soaked in blood. I need to get you home," Noe said quickly leading him back.

"Wait what if someone finds it," Oz asked fearfully.

"This will be quick," Noe said picking up Oz and speeding off.

Oz could often forget how fast this unstoppable force of a man was.

A few minutes later, Oz was back on his doorstep. Oz rubbed the back of his neck looking towards Noe wondering what Noe was going to do now.

"Now, go inside and don't come check on me. I don't want to have to hide more bodies this evening should more make the fatal mistake of coming after you," Noe said waiting til Oz got to his door.

"Ok ok," Oz said opening his door.

Oz waved Noe off as he sped away to do the dirty work.

Later that night, Oz flopped over into the bed still registering the fact he just saw Noe Archiviste straight up body a man. The sweet, gentle lamb of a man just increased the body count this evening. The man was now a statistic in vampire based deaths. Truly mystifying.

Oz wanted to stay up and see if Noe was going to be ok. However, sleep took Oz before Oz could make any quick decisions. It had been a long day.

As Oz slept, Noe crept in with any blood soaked clothes supposedly disposed of. Noe bent down and ran his fingers through Oz's hair.

Noe's fingers drifted to Oz's pulse on his neck. Long has Noe fantasized about marking Oz's neck. The thought made him shiver, but he couldn't. He couldn't bare to do it with him possibly not consent as marking someone like that is a big deal.

Noe pressed a little more of the pulse of Oz's neck. The beat made Noe's heart race and what Noe could swear was drool. To be so intimate with Oz to the point he trusts Noe to drink his blood. It was enough to make him shiver.

Noe shook himself from these thoughts. He couldn't give in. Not without Oz's permission.

Noe got up quietly and shut Oz's door bedroom door behind him as he left. He couldn't bare to kiss Oz's face good night as he was afraid it would trigger something in him.

Noe fled out the door into the dead of night towards his place. He wouldn't let any harm come to Oz. Even if that danger was himself.

[alovesthis]

All Things Must Pass - Dean Winchester CHAPTER FOUR

Dean Winchester x Female!Reader Fic

Fic Summary: Reader, her sister Stevie and the Winchesters reunite after not seeing each other in a few years. Ever since Dean told her to leave him and his issues behind, reuniting wasn’t what you expected it would be like. Hunting, past feelings, memories and a life threatening situation that was placed upon Dean Winchester creates tension between you two and everything else.

Warnings: Slight violence, some angst

Word Count: 2.3k

CHAPTER FOUR

There’s too many people in the club to even count. People are practically piling up on each other, sharing drinks and dancing under neon lights. Awful electronic music pounds against the walls. Sam holds the door open for you, Stevie and Dean as you make your way outside, annoyed and discouraged that you weren’t able to locate a man named Dixon. The brisk air slaps the side of your face and your hands immediately stuffs inside your leather jacket pocket. This reminds you that you need to get your hands on a much warmer one for the colder seasons and one that is a lot more flexible for your job.

You listen to Dean and Sam complain what the hell you guys were going to do next, especially without having anymore leads to go off of. Before you even think about turning around consulting Dean about killing the vampire earlier (thinking about how she could’ve been a lot more useful then just getting the name of a club and a man to him) you run your fingers in your hair and turn your head to the side. 

Coming to a complete stop, your eyes catch another set of eyes looking your way as she nearly glides in your direction. Her hair bounces and her hips sway, dark clothes compressed to her skin. Your eyes drag up from her leather clad feet all the way to her deep cut shirt showing off bust. They finally reach her face again, noticing her unusual pale face and round eyes. Your mouth is ajar and your breath is taken away from her and the powerful wind that blows by. You’re blinking a few times to readjust yourself as you finally get caught by her. 

As your eyes catch each others you notice she’s biting her lip as she walks towards you. Suddenly, you’re beginning to panic just like any other person who comes your way. You shake your head to rid your thoughts of the blonde that catches your eye and then it hits you. She looks exactly like Lucy, if not a carbon copy. But no, this isn’t a shapeshifter case. The realization comes to you that Dixon is drugging women that look exactly like each other for some odd and creepy reason. 

She passes by with a wink, her teeth still hooked onto her bottom lip. 

“Well shit.” You whisper. 

“Yeah…” Dean says breathlessly as he stands beside you, looking off into the distance at the woman.

In seconds you feel Stevie pulling on your forearm, trying to get you and even Dean to pay attention. 

“Um, hello?” 

You’re clearing your throat as you turn around, coming face to face clear your throat turning around to stare at both Stevie and Sam. They’re looking at you and Dean as if you did something wrong, like children who got caught stealing something. Eyes are flickering back and forth between you and Dean in amusement that you were checking out the same woman and in bewilderment. 

“Yeah,” you’re shaking your head clearing your thoughts, “what’s up?”

“Well...Sam was just saying maybe we need to head back to the motel and just figure things out there. Do more research and call in other hunters that might know something?” 

You raise your hand and point to your sister, squinting your eyes in understanding. 

“Actually, you’re in luck. I think I just figured something out.” 

Sam and Stevie tilt their heads at the same time as if they’re twins. 

“How… how’s that?” Sam asks. 

“We literally just walked out of the club and you two are over here drooling over the same woman!” Stevie exclaims as she laughs. 

“And did you happen to even look at the woman, Stevie?” 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean figures it out just a few minutes after you did. You turn to him and nod your head, confirming that the woman who had just walked by really did look like Lucy. 

“Well, did you Stevie?” Dean asks. “Did you see the way she was dressed, hell did you get a good look at her-”

Stevie jabs her finger into his chest, “okay, listen buddy just because I love women doesn't mean I check out every goddamn one that walks by-”

“Okay kid, calm down.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just saying if you saw what we saw, you’d know-”

You cut him off, “let’s put it this way. That woman? Looked exactly like Lucy and I’m pretty sure Dean killed her. And since this isn’t shapeshifter case, I’d say that maybe Dixon has a type.”

You start walking and wave your hand for them to follow. 

Sam nods his head, “A type...yeah you know what, that sounds right. Three blondes went missing including Lucy. So what now? There’s no way he’s not hiding around here in the club.”

“I don’t know man,” Dean shakes his head. 

“They were all last sighted here, Dean. I’m telling you, this is the hunting ground.” 

“It is the perfect place for someone like him.” You reason. 

Dean and you are stopping in your tracks in sync as both of your eyes focus on the woman you were checking out, now in the arms of a man across the street. In panic, you’re slapping your hand and holding onto Dean’s bicep. He looks down at your hand then to your eyes then back at the couple. 

“Guys.” Dean points ahead to them for Sam and Stevie to catch on. 

“Guess we found the guy.” Stevie says. 

You and Dean turn around and stare at her, talking in unison. 

“We?”

“Thanks to us.” 

Sam pats you and Dean on the shoulder as he walks past you to catch up to the couple. Following in suit, you’re catching up to them up in yet another familiar alleyway. You split up again, this time you take Stevie and Dean takes Sam to approach them from a different direction. Everything is moving fast for the first time all night since Lucy attacked you. 

As Dean uses his left hand to stop him from pouring the blood in her mouth, he balls his fist up and throws a nasty punch to the guys jaw, causing him to fall over on the ground. Stevie pushes me to the side as she steps in from basically nowhere and starts kicking the man in the side with her hard ankle work boots. 

“So you like drugging women with your goddamn vamp blood, huh?” She spits.

“Hey, go get out of here!” Sam grabs the blonde and guides her back. “Go, go!” 

You’re yelling at Stevie to get her to stop so that you and Dean can get him tied up. Once you grab at her, the man stands up from the ground and tackles Stevie into the wet brick wall before you pull her away from him. Stevie’s head hits the brick once his hands wrap around her throat, his head tilting back getting ready to bite into her. You’re practically growling in anger, running and launching your fist into the side of his face where Dean got him good just minutes before. He lets Stevie go from a chokehold and turns around, a monstrous anger expression plays on his face. Stevie falls to the ground hard and Sam runs over to hold her. 

Dixon, presumably, stands back up from being punched and tries to take his anger out on you. He lunges forward but Dean instantly pushes him before he can get to you. 

“Is Stevie good?” You call out, as you watch your sister curse in pain. 

“She’s fine!” Sam yells at him as he holds onto your sister. “Dean!” 

You bend down to help Dean up and he takes your hand tight as he rises up. Dixon is gone, running away after he had previously knocked Dean into the brick wall. 

“I’m good.” He stares at you, then at Sam. “Let’s go.” 

“I’ll stay behind, get Stevie back to the motel.” You explain. “Go! Before he leaves.” 

The brothers nod at you and start running off around the corner of the alleyway and out of your sight. You grab onto Stevie’s waist and lift her arm around your shoulder to help her walk, but she’s shrugging you off. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just pissed I didn’t get to finish knocking him out some more.”

“I meant your body. You’ll bruise from the body slams.”

“This is our life, Y/N/N.” Stevie shrugs. “Gotta get used to it.”

“I’ll never get used to seeing my little sister getting beat up and hurt, alright? Let’s just head back to the motel so I can take care of you and get you some pills for the pain.” 

Stevie nods, an empathetic smile shows through the pain as they walk side by side together and to the motel. 

Sam and Dean are gone for what feels like hours. The sun still isn’t up yet and the night continues to drag and still, you don’t have any clue what the hell this case even is anymore and what to do. Part of you is telling yourself to leave Stevie here and go out looking for the boys and help. The other is telling you to stay and wait for them. Minutes turn into an hour, but it feels like longer. You can’t take it anymore. 

You’re throwing on your jacket in annoyance and concern for the boys who still aren’t here. You reach for the motel room door but then the lock clicks and it opens revealing Sam breathless and sweaty. 

“What the fuck happened?” You ask, walking backwards to let him inside. “Where’s Dean, did Dixon take him?”

“I don’t know! He doesn’t fit the M.O.”  

“Sam,” you say, trying to get serious. 

“There were two men with guns once we ran around the corner. It wasn’t the guy from before, it was man named Gordon Walker. A hunter.”

“Okay, so what does that have to do with Dean?” 

“Doesn’t really, but we know him and he knows us. He’s been on our trail for quite some time.”

“That man was Dixon, right?” Sam nods his head in response. “And he disappeared...damn it.” 

An hour or two passes you all by, and still no word or face from Dean. 

Sam paces back and fort then sits down on the dresser, his back against the mirror. He takes a look at you and Stevie on the bed and furrows his brows in his puppy eyed expression he always does when he’s upset, or heartbroken. 

“Is she alright?” 

“Nothing she can’t handle.” You say, trying to make Sam not worry. “She’ll be okay, just needs the rest.” 

“I should’ve done something-”

“Sam, things happened really fast.”

“You’re right, but-”

The door suddenly swings open, making Stevie groan as she was just getting to fall asleep moments before. 

“There you are!” Sam shouts. 

Dean comes walking in with a massive grin, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” You rise up from the bed. “Where were you all this time?” 

“Sorry guys, I stopped for a slice.”

“You’re an ass.” 

“I know I am, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes and glance at Sam, waving your hand at him to deal with it. 

“Nice move you pulled back there, Dean!” Sam shouts at him. “Seriously, running straight into weapons?”

“What can I say, I’m badass.”

You feel Stevie shifting on the bed, sitting up and laughing, “Yeah, you are!” 

“Don’t praise him,” You say. “It’ll inflate his ego.” 

Dean turns around and shoots you a frazzled expression, “Why are you being mean now?”

“Don’t be a child.” You smile. 

“Seriously Dean,” Sam shakes his head. “You-”

They boys stop talking as a phone begins to ring obnoxiously loud. It’s Dean’s cell. He’s not answering and he keeps talking to Sam once it stops. 

“So I guess Gordon’s out of jail.”

Gordon, another hunter, the one Sam mentioned to you earlier is hunting them down. 

“Uh, yeah guess so… How the hell did he know where to find us?” 

Dean shrugs and looks around the room and for a moment he catches your curious eyes and then lands on your sister who looks and is extremely exhausted. You’re watching him as he looks like his gears are grinding in his head, as if he was trying to figure something out. You watch as his his ears go back, his eyes going wide. 

“That bitch.” 

He takes out his phone, dialing a number and waits with his lips pursed. “Hi, Bela!”

Bela. Now who the hell is Bela? 

“Question for you! When you called me yesterday, It wasn’t to thank me for saving your ass, was it…”

You stare at them as Dean talks to someone on the phone, his tone of voice laced with sarcasm and annoyance. Tuning him out, feeling as if you’re intruding, you turn around to Stevie to ask if she needs anything. Her answer for what she needs is snarky, mentioning she’d like a vacation and to crack open all the books the hunting life never let her finished. 

After a few minutes, you hear Dean become much more angrier, his voice gets deeper and raspier. 

“Bela, if we make it out of this alive, the first thing I’m gonna do is kill you….Listen to my voice and tell me I’m not serious.” 

Silence fills the room as he hangs up his cell and sighs. 

“Who’s Bela?” Stevie winks at Dean. 

“No one you would wanna know, kid.” 

“Is that you trying to protect me, or saving her for yourself?” 

Dean tilts his head, taken back at her slick comment but shakes his head in annoyance. You can’t help but feel a bit of jealousy running around in your stomach. 

“I totally missed having you around.” He says sarcastically to Stevie.

“So you boys wanna fill us in now?” You ask. 

Quickly, Sam and Dean are catching you and Stevie up on everything in between with who Gordon is and why he’s hunting Sam down. You and Stevie weren’t surprised the boys are constantly met with enemies along the road, considering hunting was never safe in the first place. 

And because you had a few enemies of your own.

-

here’s the AO3 link to the fic for chapters 1-4. 

https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanwhowritesformany

chapters 1-4 are on my tumblr: search on my profile “All Things Must Pass Chapter __” for previous chapters! 

TAGLIST (if you want to be added, just ask!):

@akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @canonboobs @vikkiwalker

[iriswc1995]

Ash In Ordina

Chapter Two:  ‘Church’

The camera scanned the invitation, and the glass doors whisked open.  Ash tucked it back in her cloak and stepped inside the Worship Office.  Its vast main hall was nearly empty, supported by several marble pillars adorned with artificial torches, contrasting the square, clinical lighting fixtures illuminating the ceiling.  Her footsteps echoed through the hollow expanse.  She watched the shadows dance beneath the various grotesque furnishings, embellished with colorful trappings and expensive decorations.  She wrinkled her nose. The Redeemed were never doing badly for themselves.

At a desk at the end of the hall were two men wearing typical Rapturist attire who seemed to be waiting for her.  The smaller figure immediately smiled and stood up, moving around to the front of the desk with a posture of welcome.  He had a messy haircut dyed bright pink to match his large eyes.  The second man, a few feet behind him, had a darker complexion and grim countenance, towering over both of them, a large cleaver strapped to his back.  Ash met his cold gaze for a moment before the smaller one greeted her.

“Ah, you must be Ash!  Your appearance is very distinct, in a good way, miss!”

“Thanks.”

“And um, just to double-check, no last name?”

“No.  I’m curious why the Redeemed need to hire a freelancer.”

“Hehe, well…” The man scratched the back of his head before clasping his hands together.  “I doubt it’s going to be the usual sort of work you do… rather, we need you to find someone.  One of our high-ranking members has seemingly gone missing, you see.”

Ash tilted her head, but stayed silent, waiting for more details.  But then the man laughed to himself and spread his arms.

“Sorry sorry, where are my manners!  My name is Alistar Fey, Redeemed, director third-echelon, fifth mind.  And my partner here is…”

The tall man sighed, cracking his neck as he turned his head.  “Andre,” he answered coldly.

Alistar smiled and turned back to Ash.  “Politeness is what keeps the world spinning, I think.  Which is also why this is a strictly above-board, on-record job.”

“Right.  So who’s missing, and why do you need me to find them?”

Silently, Alistar took a small binder from the desk and handed it to her.  Ash’s breath caught momentarily as she opened it.  Real paper?  They’re rich enough for paper after everything they did?  Swallowing her annoyance, she skimmed through the details.  His name was Zachary Kells.  A life-long worshipper, decently wealthy thanks to his job at Skyvault as a researcher and engineer.  But it seemed he’d recently left his job to fully devote himself to the Church.  

“We’ve tried contacting him, of course,” Alistar said, scratching the back of his head.  “But no one has seen or heard from him in nearly a week.  He wasn’t involved in anything shady, to my knowledge, and was largely a homebody.  His residence is on this floor, and we sent someone to check there, but no answer again.  And since he lives in one of the Castles, well…”

Ash closed the binder.  “You need someone who’s good at getting inside places they aren’t supposed to.  And you don’t want the authorities involved, for reasons which I’m sure you won’t tell me.”

Alistar hesitated.  Ash nodded and continued.

“It’s fine.  I’ll find him... for the amount we agreed on.”

“Wonderful!  Then, that should be all for our business here.  Part of me hopes you’ll simply find him at home, but I rather doubt it, unfortunately…”

“Freelancer.”  Andre said, taking a step forward for the first time.  Ash flicked her eyes towards him and stood up straight, hands open at her sides.  He raised an eyebrow and simply folded his arms.

“Watch yourself.  Unsavory types buzz around these neighborhoods like hungry flies.  Zachary is an important man.  I trust you’ll do your best to keep him safe.”

Ash hesitated for a long moment, thoughts swimming beneath the man’s cold gaze.  Does he know something about me…? Finally, Ash simply nodded and turned to exit the office hall.

-----

Dark streets caked in rolling fog, dimly illuminated by fading streetlamps.  One could almost mistake this for outside, if not for the globes of faint light on the ceiling, nearly two-hundred feet above, staring like gray stars.  The housing here, the Castles, were essentially buildings unto themselves, like houses stacked on one another.  Security systems and relatively safe neighborhoods, on top of this, were what created the floors home to the wealthier-than-most but not nearly of the mega-rich status.

Ash walked to a street corner two blocks away from the Worship Office, where she found Cygnus waiting for her, playing a game on his phone.  He brushed his hair out of his eyes as she approached.

“So, is it about what we figured?”

She shrugged.  “No assassinations or whatever.  They're just missing one of their top guys.  I need your help getting into his place.”

Cygnus nodded, and started following behind her.  His face wore the same dark look that Ash figured she had made when she entered the Church.  Neither of them liked doing work like this, and Cygnus had even more reason than most to despise the Worship Unity and everything they did.  Their footsteps echoed along the cracked street.  No one else was milling around this late in the evening.  But then, someone made themselves known.

Harsh voices clamored from a nearby alleyway.  Scattered around the trash-filled crevice like chattering rats were several individuals of varying appearance, though the black, red-trimmed jackets wrapped around each of their waists indicated they were a group.  There were six in total, some tall, some muscular, some squatting on dumpsters, others leaning against the wall.  Almost all of them had some kind of augmentation or another - metal arms, thousand-eyes implants, studded or scaled flesh.  Their weapons were crude, but looked sharp - probably scavenged from the Bone Forest.  They turned to look at the pair as they began to pass, and Ash stopped suddenly as their gazes met.  She recognized their appearance, their vibe, and this scent.  These were Harvesters without a doubt.  Before there could be any pretense of just passing through, the group quickly filed out of the alleyway to block their path, their faces grim yet thrilled.  Ash sighed and turned to Cygnus.

“Go on ahead.  I'll handle this.”

“… you sure?”

She nodded.  Cygnus scanned the group with an analytical look before hesitantly stepping forward, whispering to Ash as he passed.

“Don't get in trouble.”

“I'll do my best.”

He walked past the Harvesters, not meeting any of their sharp looks, and while a couple of them spit in his direction, none of them made a move to attack.  The tallest one, most certainly the leader judging by her demeanor, stepped forward.  Her arms were muscular and heavily scarred, the sleeves of her jacket were ringed with iron spikes, and she wore a mask that covered the top half of her face, adorned with chaotic black and red designs.  Her wild, black-haired ponytail nearly reached her waist.  She leaned into Ash's face and laughed.

“How's it going, killer?  Where ya heading to?  Gonna chop off some more heads with that shitty sword of yours?”

Ash stared back, coldly.  Her stomach was tied in a knot, but she didn't let herself panic.  She knew this type.

“I don't see how that's your business, bitch.”

The group laughed again, and the woman smiled.  Ash knew better than to use honorifics like ‘miss’ around Harvesters.  The leader leaned back, walking around Ash as she replied.

“But it IS my business, motherfucker!  Our group here, we protect these streets from killers like you!”

She stood in front of her again, folding her arms.

“God damn, are you edgy-lookin’ or what?  I would have thought you were some gutless nobody if not for this scent… the scent of blood, so unmistakable… it clings to you like a haze~ and if I had to guess, you can smell it just like us, can’t you…?”

Ash rolled her eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Hahahaha~! So if I had to guess, you’re trying to turn over a new leaf or something?  Blood doesn’t dry that easy, kid.  A muzzled wolf is still a wolf.”

“You’re right,” Ash said, and flicked an inch of her sword from its sheathe.  Its red glow captivated the group for a moment, and several of them brandished their own weapons.  “So get out of my way or see the wolf for yourself.  I’m not better than any of you.  Except in terms of skill.”

Silence filled the street.  Strapped across the lead woman’s back was a massive saw-cleaver that made Ash’s katana look like a knife.  She sniffed a few times, then smirked.  Behind her lips, her teeth had been replaced with sharper ones modeled after a shark’s.  She stepped forward, and offered a hand.

“Name’s Tesla.  Any chance you’d wanna join us…?  We make serious dough off the rich idiots on this floor~”

Ash didn’t take her hand.

“Those days are behind me.  I hunt different prey now.”

She made sure to phrase her words correctly, sweat forming on her clenched palms.  To most gangs, you're either a threat, or nothing to worry about.  To Harvesters, you're either a threat, or a walking pay-out.  And either option makes them liable to kill you.  But mercifully, Tesla shrugged and finally backed out of her personal space.

“Fair enough, I guess… but don't go thinking you're done being a Harvester.  Everyone who's alive has to take from others to keep living.  At least the lives we take are put to good use when we sell off their lungs and heart!

“Save the preaching for the church.”

The other Harvesters laughed and playfully punched Tesla, yelling ‘she got you good!’ as Ash continued down the street, her cloak wandering in the breeze.

[orangecrane]

Could I request 57 & 28 from the fluff-hurt/comfort list with some platonic Ralbert perhaps?

i see stars (and i think of you)

Albert's not having a great time. But one late night phone call to arguably (definitely) the best friend ever might make it better, even if said friend insists on driving over in the middle of the night. Racetrack just hopes that Albert knows that he wouldn't do this for anyone else. 

A/n: Thanks for the prompt and sorry it took a bit to get around to, I hope you enjoy it! As always this is cross-posted on ao3

CW: Some swearing

Race’s phone is ringing. It’s one in the morning and he’s almost asleep when it goes off. He’s tempted to decline the call and block whoever dared to call him, he’s also tempted to throw his phone across the room. He does neither of these things. Instead he half-assedly reaches for his glasses and practically jams them onto his face, and finally checks the caller ID. Oh, it’s Albert. What the fuck does he want now?

It’s only by virtue of about a decade of friendship that Race picks up. “Albert I swear to all that is holy if you’re calling me to talk about some fuckin’ alien conspiracy theories I am hanging up and ending our friendship immediately,” Race says, not even giving Albert a chance to speak.

“Race you can’t seriously tell me you don’t believe in aliens, can you? They’re out there!” Albert replies indignantly. Race is all of two seconds away from hanging up when Albert continues, “No, but seriously Racer, I- I really need someone to talk to right now.”

“Oh shit Albo, what’s up?”

“I’ve just been having a bad day. Well, week,” Albert takes a shuddering breath.

And Race is suddenly more awake. He knows that Al wouldn’t have called him this late for something like this if it wasn’t serious. “Talk to me, Al,” Race says softly.

“I just… why are you my friend? Why are any of you guys my friends?”

“What?”

“You heard me Race, I- I’m not especially skilled or smart,” Albert’s voice breaks and he starts talking faster, “an-and I just need to know why you like me.” Race’s heart breaks, pain radiates from his chest and he feels sick to his stomach. His friend sounds like he’s about to cry. Albert almost never cries.

“Oh Albert… you’re my best friend in the world,” Race breathes out, “you may not be the most booksmart but that doesn’t mean you aren’t smart, you’re fantastic at skateboarding and researching things and taking care of your plants and you always find the best rocks and you’re the only one who can match me when we talk about astronomy. Those are all skills aren’t they? You’re also funny and you put up with so much of my shit, you’re like, the most loyal person I know and you’re always there for your friends when we need you. What’s there not to like?”

“... A lot,” Albert mumbles.

Race is insistent, “Well I can’t think of a single thing, besides, you know me too well to think that I’d lie to you about something like this. You know what? I’m coming over. I’ll see you in like twenty minutes Albie.”

“Wait, Race, you don’t need to-” Race hangs up. Too bad for Al, Race has already made up his mind. It’ll be easier to talk to him in person and maybe he’ll be able to slap some sense into Albert if he continues to think poorly about himself. No one is allowed to talk down to Race’s best friend besides Race himself, not even said best friend.

He drags himself out of bed and briefly considers just driving to Al’s as is, but quickly reasons that if he wants to stop by a store on the way over he’d need to put on pants. He fumbles around for a pair of sweatpants using his phone as a light. Finds a pair that doesn’t seem too dirty and throws them on, then makes his way downstairs quietly, grabbing his keys and wallet on the way out the door.

He’s about three steps outside when he shivers in the cold air, maybe not grabbing a jacket as well was a bad idea. Welp, too late for that. Grumbles to himself about how cold it is and how late it is on his way to the car and nearly all the way to the nearest twenty-four hour convenience store. Albert is so lucky he’s Race's best friend, he wouldn’t do this for anyone else. Like, seriously, he’s out here in a stupid store at stupid o’clock getting weird looks from the cashier while he looks for some stupid star stickers (they’re not stupid but Race is tired and grumpy and cold and he wants to complain) for his stupid friend (also not stupid: see earlier note). Not only that but Race is spending his hard earned money on these little glow in the dark star stickers just to make him feel better, well Albert better appreciate all that Race does for him.

He moves through the checkout station as quickly and with as little speaking as possible. He knows that glow stars are a bit of a weird thing to be buying at this hour, but he’s got a plan and they are a vital piece. Race takes his receipt and the stars and throws them in the passenger seat of his car and continues his drive to Albert’s house.

When Race arrives he grabs the stickers and hops the fence to walk down the side of Albert’s house. He walks down the narrow alleyway and crouches down about three-quarters to the end, slides through the open window in Albert’s room in the basement. Smiles to himself, he always enjoyed entering his house this way, there’s just a certain thrill that makes him feel like he’s in a heist or something. Though the way the window sill scrapes at his back is certainly less fun.

“You didn’t have to come over, Racer,” Albert says the moment Racetrack’s feet hit the floor.

“Yeah well I did, and I come bearing gifts,” Race proclaims. He quickly surveys the room, the only light on is the lamp on the bedside table and Albert is sitting on his bed, phone in hand and looking the slightest bit like he was trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying. That was mildly concerning, Race was glad Albert had called him.

“What?”

“Well since it seems you have little object permanence-”

“-What’s that supposed to mean!” Okay maybe Race shouldn't be teasing him right now, but maybe it'd be even weirder not to.

Race shakes the packet of stickers at Albert. “I have acquired some objects to be here permanently when I am not so you cannot possibly forget that I am the best friend ever.”

“Are those glow in the dark stars? Like for a ceiling?” Albert looks more confused than anything. That is… disappointing but expected.

“Yes, my dear friend, they are,” Race says with all the drama one would expect of the one and only Racetrack Higgins.

“Okay, but why?” Race falters. He’s not exactly prone to thinking things through but he was certain this made sense. However, Albert still doesn’t seem to get it.

“Well…” Race continues much quieter and considerably more nervous, maybe this is a stupid idea, “we always talk about the stars ‘n stuff and whenever I look at them now I think of you.”

Fuck, that was sappy, and not exactly to the point but important nonetheless. And Albert still looks like he doesn’t get what he's trying to say. So Race continues, now almost rambling, “And I kinda thought that maybe you did the same thing so if we put these on your ceiling then whenever you feel down on yourself or like I don't like you for some reason you’d see the stars and think of me and know that I’ll always be here for you, ya know? Best friends for life ‘n all that. Do you really think I would have done this for someone I didn't like or who wasn't a good friend?”

There's a moment where neither of them speak before Race starts cracking his knuckles nervously. “It kinda sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No,” Albert chokes out, and Race swears he looks like he’s about to cry, though maybe that was just from before Race and he hadn’t been paying enough attention, “it’s not stupid.”

Race shoots him a look that screams ‘Are you kidding me?’, now that he’d said it out loud he was almost certain it was a stupid idea. Seriously, who gets a call from their friend who is clearly having kind of a hard time and then proceeds to hang up on them, buy some cheap little decorations, and show up at their house like that would fix anything? God, what was Race thinking? “Okay, it’s a little ridiculous,” Albert amends, “but that is such a Racetrack plan I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“I… don't know what you mean by that Albie…”

“It means I like it and think it's a good idea,” and Albert gives him this grin, like he’s something precious, and it makes Race feel all warm inside. He loves being able to make the red-head smile like that. “In fact, we’re putting these up right now.”

“Oh, so now you’re making me do work? After I came all this way? You’re lucky you’re my best friend Dasilva,” Race teases, but he’s already opening the package to get going. He won’t admit it but he thinks that them putting up the stars together makes it a little more special. Reinforces the idea that they’re a physical reminder of Race and that he loves Albert enough to go through all this trouble for him.

Both boys get to work quickly, dragging furniture around to stand on and filling Albert’s ceiling. They laugh and joke as they work, occasionally trying to create actual constellations only to have the other mess it up. Race is almost successful at creating a dick out of stars before Albert notices and derails his art piece, leaving Race pouting and Albert caught between laughing and telling him off. By the time they finish they are both in considerably better moods and utterly exhausted.

“You gonna sleep here, Racer?” Albert questions, already half-asleep. Race takes off his glasses and sets them on Albert’s nightstand.

“If you think you can get away with waking me up in the middle of the night, making me drive all the way over here, forcing me to work for you, and then not giving me any cuddles in return then you have got another thing coming mister. Now scoot over bitch,” Race demands, not waiting for Albert to move before flopping down onto the bed half-way on top of the other boy.

“Stupider isn’t a word,” Albert says. He adjusts himself anyways, moving over to give Race some more room. Once they are both situated Albert wraps his arm around Race, allowing him to curl into his side. Albert sighs contentedly, holding his friend close and looking at his new ceiling decorations. There really was no way he’d ever be able to look at them and not think of the boy next to him and how much he cares for him. “Hey Racer,” Albert hesitates, “thanks for… everything.”

“‘S no problem Albie,” Race burrows his head into the crook of Albert’s neck and mumbles, “I’d do just about anything for you.”

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

The Alibi

[Future Foundation 2nd Branch. Day before the trial]

Sir?

Ah, there you are Harukawa...and...

S-Sorry for the intrusion...

Saihara. What is it? Shouldn’t you be with Kyoko right now?

She’s down at the police station questioning Mr Kizakura. I’ve decided to run a separate investigation here and I asked Maki to allow me in.

I see...What do you want to ask me?

Actually sir, I’m not here for you...

Would you mind letting me speak to Leon Kuwata?

...Very well...

*Byakuya presses an intercom.

Leon Kuwata? Mind coming to my office?

*A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and Leon walks in.

Wh-What is it? What did I do now?

Oh...hey, you’re that new detective, right?

Yes...I’m Shuichi Saihara. Mr Kuwata, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?

I’m...not in any trouble am I? I’m not looking for trouble...

No, you’re not in trouble, but I really need your help.

*Shuichi and Leon each sit down on armchairs facing each other. Byakuya remains at his desk and Maki stays standing, both of them watching eagerly.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but one night, about a week ago today, you were in a certain area of town in the evening, right?

Which area? The one with the Mighty Anchor bar?

Yes, that area. Can I ask what you were doing in that area at that time?

Probably going out with some girl...

W-Well, you’re not wrong...but it ain’t like that...

Then what is it?

Why do you guys sound like doting parents!?

*Sigh* I was with a girl, yes, but that girl was called Kanon Nakajima. Look I can show you a picture...

*Leon shows Shuichi a picture of Kanon.

Kanon...?

Nakajima...?

So is this your new girlfriend or something?

I keep telling you, that’s not what it is!

No, he’s telling the truth. Kanon Nakajima is a survivor of the demon hunting game that happened in Towa City. The participants of that event were people who were directly related to us, Komaru Naegi included.

If I recall, Kanon Nakajima was...

Yeah, she’s my cousin. She’s also the Team Manager for my baseball team.

Oh. Really?

Yeah, but it’s been a while since we actually met up and talked, so she invited me out there that night so we could catch up. We were going to meet at the Mighty Anchor, which is why I brought it up...

Did you end up meeting up with her?

Yeah, I did, but we couldn’t go to the Anchor because it was closed...

On your way to the club, something happened, right?

Yeah, that’s right? Some asshole who was walking down the opposite side of the street from me, for god knows what reason, just trudged up to me and slugged me. Knocked me down, making my face his the concrete.

And you didn’t hit him back?

I was dazed and by the time I recovered, he was far from reach. Besides...

He already looked like he’d been beaten to hell...

That man must have been...

What?

This person who slugged you...What did he look like? Did he have blonde hair, a pencil mustache, and a white fedora?

...

Y-Yeah, that’s exactly what he looked like...

And what time did this happen?

Midnight, I’d say. Like you said, it was almost a week ago...

Why’re you asking all of this though?

Because the man who hit you is the man that Shuichi and Kyoko are trying to defend in court for the murder. Your statement could be key evidence.

(He isn’t lying, I can tell that much...but if he isn’t...then this might be the proof we need that Kizakura left the nightclub by midnight!)

I have a huge favor to ask of you Mr Kuwata, but I really need this...

Tomorrow, would you testify in court and tell everyone what you told me?

I know that you two have an unpleasant history, but please, I’m desperate!

...

Eh...Not sure I really wanna be the guy who sets that bastard free...

Aw, to hell with it. How can I resist giving help where it’s needed.

Ok. I’ll talk for you, Saihara.

Yes! Thank you so much Mr Kuwata!

Also, you can call me Shuichi. It’s fine.

Then you can call me Leon.

In that case...Sorry Leon, but there is one more thing I want to ask you.

Oh...we’re not done?

Just one more question...Your encounter with the man. Where did that happen?

If I remember correctly...I think it was in Rood Alley, just outside of this one quiet little sushi place. No one was really around.

That sushi place...isn’t that near the batting cages?

Yeah. Think so.

(This must be my lucky day!)

I have a question of my own. Why did the man hit you? Did you antagonize him or anything?

That’s what I wanna know!?

Though saying that...Now that I think about it, the guy REEKED of fucking booze. He was obviously drunk off his head...I was walking down the street when I saw him stumble in my direction.

Acting real shifty too. Kinda freaked me out. I tried moving as far away from him as I could, but he approached me menacingly.

And he only hit you once, right?

Yep, just once.

Left a nasty fucking bruise though...I woke up next morning with my head ringing.

I went to Mikan to see if she could take a look at it, but it seemed alright.

If you went to see Mikan at the nurses office, then she’d remember that. She can back up your testimony.

And what happened after he hit you?

He stumbled off. I saw him go into some alley with stairs...

Oh, wait, now that I think about it...I think it was the batting cages...?

So around midnight, after hitting you in an alley, the man went to the batting cages?

Pretty sure. Though, I don’t remember fully.

(Bingo...)

One more thing Leon. Do you remember there being any security camera’s on that street?

I wouldn’t be surprised if there was. They'dve probably captured the whole thing...

Thanks. That’s all for now.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phonecall...

[Outside police detention center]

*Sigh*

That was a pretty heavy sigh...Is everything ok?

Makoto?

Yeah, in the flesh. Just came down to look for you.

I see...well, thanks for caring...

How did it go? Learn any new information?

No...Koichi apologized to me, but told me that he’d already told me everything the last time we spoke...

*Kyoko’s phone suddenly rings

Hm?

*She picks it up and listens in on the other end.

Yes...?

...

What?

Are you sure? The security camera?

Yes, I shouldn’t be too far...Yes, of course. Great work, this’ll really help.

See you soon.

What is it?

Shuichi found something big. Turns out Koichi had an encounter with Leon the night of the murder, around midnight.

Really? Didn’t he say that the fight ended around midnight and he left?

Yes, and he says he’s convinced Leon to testify in court tomorrow. All we need now is evidence of his alibi.

Shuichi told me Rood Street security camera’s should have caught the whole thing.

In that case, want me to go grab it?

Are you sure?

Let me just be helpful to you once, ok?

Fine...but be careful. That street is relatively near the Crazy Diamonds building.

The Crazy Diamonds have no beef with me. If I was afraid to go near the building, I wouldn’t have offered...

Ok...Just stay safe...

I will.

*Makoto heads off. However, nearby...

They’re on their way...Rood Street.

Ok...This is where Kyoko said the camera was...Apparently where Leon and Kizakura met...Where is it...

*Makoto looks down the alleyway...

Ah! There it is...

*He prepares to grab a ladder when suddenly someone calls out to him.

HEY!

Huh!?

*Makoto turns sharply to the entrance to the alleyway, where a large group of people wearing leather jackets block his exit.

...Well, well, well...what do we have here?

Wh-Who are you?

Who do you think I am? I’m Eje-fucking-Karma. Captain of the Crazy Diamonds.

...

Ah...!

*Makoto turns away and looks down the other exit to the alley, only to find out more gang members blocked that way off.

Say...you work for the Future Foundation just like Shit-hara does, right?

H-How do you-

Think I’m dumb? I did some research...and I had someone spy on your convo with that purple haired bitch...Apparently the guy who broke into our building works for her...

Tell me...You wanna grab that security camera as evidence to prove Kizakocksucker innocent, yeah?

Give it to me now. I’m gonna break it...!

Why!?

WHY!? Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting that motherfucker back on the streets! I’m gonna do whatever I can to make sure he stays rotting in jail!

Now hand it over!

Never!

...Fine....

Then I’m gonna take my sweet time with you...If I hafta’ kill you, then fine! I’ll fucking do it!

Th-This wasn’t...part of the plan...!

[buffyversefanfiction]

Tristan Tormented

Warning: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse. 15 years +, Mild to Strong Violence, Sexual References. F/F, F/M, M/M, Other +

Volume 8 - Shadow Self (Part Two)

PART ONE HERE

“All that I am saying is I do not see why Spike needs to come especially with Buffy on her way there is such a thing as too many people for a séance.” Angel complained to Faith as the two of them walked through a cemetery located somewhere within New York. “Spike knew Mandi and their friendship believe it or not is a lot less complicated than Tristan and Mandi’s so if it is her haunting Tristan my bet is on Spike convincing her to either lay off or crossover.” Faith explained to the brooding vampire. “Spike is needed for this little séance you and Buffy are here to be there for your kid.” “Is Willow coming too? I mean Buffy goes everywhere with her friends and having a witch during a séance makes sense.” Angel replied to her, giving in to the notion of having to soon play nice with Spike. “I doubt Dawn and Xander are going to be there with the baby and everything…but then again I doubted Spike would be there and hey presto.” “Calm down big guy,” Faith laughed at Angel’s jealousy with Spike. “Willow is not coming I told B it was better for her to come on her own so you and her could you know do whatever parents do with their kids that does not involve messing them up.” “And yet Spike still got an invite?” Angel moaned once more. “I get you and Spike have this beef over B and then there is some messed up shit with Dru that I do not even want to approach but you have both been fighting on the same side for a while now it is long overdue that you two stop being a pair of bitches and learn how to get along.” Faith told him straight. “The last thing Tristan needs right now is dad to be fighting with mum’s on/off lover over stupid shit!” “You are right.” Angel reluctantly admitted. “When did you become the voice of reason?” “I know, scary right?” Faith laughed. “New York’s been a good move for me so far…well until Dru made her little comeback anyways.” “Do you think it is Mandi that is haunting Tristan or something else?” Angel questioned her as the two stopped walking and stood still on the path. “Honestly, I think Mandi is gone and that’s the worst of this because if she is at least haunting him then Tristan has a chance of closure.” Faith replied to Angel. “But then on the sinister side ghosts are known for breaking windows but other than Tristan’s nightmares there has been no other signs of a haunting.” “Well he did not break the windows himself so if this séance is a bust then we take to the research I guess.” Angel answered her, “I hope for Tristan’s sake it is Mandi.” “Never did I think we’d be hoping for a haunting.” Faith said, as the two shared a laugh with each other. “I miss the good old days when it was just vampires and slayers.” Faith was glad Angel was in town despite their awkward attempt at becoming something more the two of them had always made good friends, in a way she was thankful for the fallout they had over a year ago as it led to the two of them finding their unique friendship once again, a friendship Faith valued deeply. Faith had always had a soft side for Angel and it was good to learn he did too but after their brief romance which was just a series of make out sessions she was glad to once again refer to him as a friend having never really been one for relationships, or maybe Faith had just not met someone she could imagine herself being all in for.

With the constant nightmares, the exploding windows and the shock arrival of his father Angel, Tristan Summers was more exhausted than he had ever been before but with the hope of a séance getting to the bottom of his recent ordeal Tristan decided to get some time to himself and ran a bath. Tristan never lasted long lying in the bath he had made for himself before he quickly found himself falling asleep despite trying his hardest to avoid it he couldn’t resist his exhaustion any longer and before long he had found himself fast asleep. As his eyes closed he found himself transported to standing in the garden of his family home in Riverborn, shocked to how he got there and uncertain of whether or not he was dreaming as he looked at his home noticing it looked lived in and abandoned like the last time he was there as he began walking towards the front door only to be left shocked as he reached the porch to find Drusilla opening the front door. “The demon inside you grows stronger by the day my darling boy.” She said as she walked over and gently raised her right hand to stroke Tristan’s right cheek softly. “You have been lost for a long time but soon you will find your real home…with me.” “No, you are wrong this is just some weird way of you messing with my mind again.” Tristan replied as he pulled away from the female vampire. “I will never be with you again unless that is me killing you.” “Silly boy if you wanted me dead you would have tried harder,” Drusilla laughed, revealing what Tristan already knew himself deep down. “Yes, you are mad, but I am the last bit of family you have, and mummy will always love you!” “You killed my friend!” Tristan snapped at her. “You and I both know I was not the only one to kill her.” Drusilla replied, adding more guilt to Tristan’s conscious. Before Tristan could reply to Drusilla he suddenly found himself in a dark cave within a blink of the eye, confused by how he had went from his family home to a cave so quickly as he looked around for any sign of Drusilla only to be met by nothing but empty space and shadows. He wanted to go towards the light and walk out of the cave but something inside him wanted to see where the cave led to and before long Tristan found himself walking further and further into the darkness until he found the first slayer stood in front of him. “You’re the first slayer I remember you from my last wacky dream.” Tristan greeted her. “Why are you here now?” “Be stronger than the monster inside!” Sineya warned Tristan, but before he could respond to her he felt a cold chill behind his shoulder which forced him awake, back in the bathroom of the apartment he shared in the bathroom, back in a now cold bath. “Well that was different,” Tristan stated as he looked around the bathroom. “At least there’s no broken windows this time.” “Hello friend,” A version of Mandi greeted Tristan as she appeared from out of thin air with jet black eyes, shocking Tristan by her presence. “Goodbye friend!” The twisted jet black eyed Mandi grabbed a hold of Tristan’s head and shoved his entire body under water with an unfamiliar superhuman strength as Tristan began struggling to come back up only to be met by Mandi’s cackling as she continued to drown the demonic slayer.

Buffy Summers stood in the alleyway outside of Rogue’s front doors hesitant to walk into the bar owned by her son and her former friend turned enemy turned friend again Faith, as she tried to prepare herself to go into mum mode. Now when it came to monster hunting, she was an expert, being a big sister she managed and she believed she was a good friend but when it came to being a mother she had little practice only having a few weeks with her new born baby before losing him to a portal to the past and she was more than nervous to take up her motherly duties once again. It did not help that her son seemed to be thick as thieves with Faith which added to Buffy’s fears knowing that Tristan could relate more to Faith than her, even Angel had one up on her in the department not to mention nobody exactly asked Buffy to come to L.A. to help Tristan’s redemption, although nobody told her not to either. Suddenly a loud screaming sound came from within the bar that Buffy instantly recognized as her son’s scream forcing her to face her fears and run into the bar as fast as she could, hearing his screams louder when inside the bar which were now matched with sounds of splashing. Buffy quickly jumped over the bar counter and ran into the backroom, rushing towards the stairs which she quickly charged up before reaching the bathroom door and kicking the locked door open with force shocked to see Tristan lying there in the bath looking completely traumatized but his head was now above water and as Buffy looked around the room she concluded he was alone. “Did a ghost try to drown you? They love drowning people, well not just ghosts actually vamps love it too but their a little better at it, especially The Master.” Buffy rambled to Tristan before receiving a non-amused look from her son. “I guess I should close the door and wait downstairs for you to get changed.” She could tell something had just happened that she had just stopped something from going any further but she could also tell her son was wet, naked and in need of getting changed and so she left him to it quickly closing the bathroom door behind her as she left Tristan alone in the bathroom once again. Whatever attacked him was clearly gone and so Buffy felt safe in leaving him to get himself ready before meeting her downstairs, saving him from whatever was tormenting him was an easy task for her, it was just another day as the slayer to her but she knew what would come next, what he needed from her, would prove to be her hardest job yet; being a mum.

After yet another near death experience Tristan had well and truly met his limit, he was done with all things supernatural, with always having to fight every single day and mostly he was done with being haunted by a friend who he believed had every right to torment him like he believed she was. He had spent so much time loving Lucas and then loving Dante that he never stopped to fully appreciate the kind of love he had with his best friend Mandi Jenkins, a girl who always had his back no matter what and even plunged forward into the darkness with him so he did not have to be alone. This loyalty did not go unpunished with Tristan choosing Dante and Drusilla over Mandi repeatedly before going on to kill Mandi’s boyfriend and yet Mandi was one of the biggest advocates for his redemption. The truth is he had given up on her and even himself a long time ago and yet she had never give up on him, her belief in him being what Tristan truly believed had left to her untimely death at the hands of Drusilla. “Why did you have to be such a good friend?” A now fully dressed Tristan mumbled to himself as he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You deserved so much better than me!” Tristan continued to investigate his reflection, beginning to notice that his eyes kept changing from it’s normal color to jet black before he started blinking quicker and quicker hoping to see his eyes stay their normal color, growing more and more frustrated, leading him to punch the mirror with his right fist as his face went full vampire mode. “That is who you really are, you can keep trying to pretend you’re not a monster but deep down we both know better.” Dante stated as he appeared from out of thin air, shocking Tristan out of his vamp face, as he struggled to understand how his dead lover was suddenly standing right next to him. “You are not real you cannot be real!” Tristan replied, after managing to stumble up the courage to speak. “If you were going to haunt me you would never have waited so long…” “Oh, I am real I’m just not Dante it’s just easier to talk to you with a face you like.” The being displaying Dante’s body claimed. “You tried drowning me.” Tristan responded, admitting for the first time Mandi was not behind recent events. “You’re a vampire you cannot really drown,” The Dante imposter scoffed. “I just needed to get your attention.” “Why?” Tristan wondered, fearing the answer. “Go downstairs and find out for yourself.” The enigma replied before vanishing how he appeared, within a blink of an eye. It was in that very moment Tristan knew for a fact neither Mandi or any other ghost was haunting him, that Drusilla was right about her claims of the soul he now had being that of the demon’s, the shadow demon’s. He knew that the thing plaguing him was actually himself or rather something within himself and the only way to get rid of this plague was to face the ancient demon within, no matter it’s risk, the risk being the potential of losing his soul forever.

Buffy, Angel and Spike all sat at the counter of the bar on the stools within the Rogue’s bar as Faith stood behind the bar ready to begin a séance she did not fully believed needed to be performed but knew Tristan needed all of their company now more than ever. Buffy had informed them all about her bathroom break in with Tristan, how spooked her son looked by the time she had got to him and how there was no sign of anyone else, not that it would be the first time the slayer had encountered an invisible foe but it was the first time one plagued her son. Faith shared the nightmares she had witnessed Tristan waking up from, how he was convinced Mandi was haunting him and how deeply she feared that the demonic slayer was beginning to lose his mind at the hands of something, if not himself. Angel admitted to his worries about the son he shared with his first love Buffy but also admitted to the hopes that they could pull him through this, being somewhat confident after his recent father/son moment with Tristan. And as for Spike, he didn’t have much to add to the conversation, mostly avoiding the awkwardness of being around Buffy after their latest breakup and the general feuding he had with Angel lasting centuries long, while drinking the bottle of beers Faith had been handing him in order to keep him there. They talked about Tristan over and over while all trying to avoid any other topic of conversation; Faith wanting to avoid the Buffy, Angel and Spike love triangle that never went without it’s drama, Buffy wanting to stop herself admitting her jealousy over Faith’s bond with her son and Angel and Spike just wanting to avoid each other. “He has been up there a really long time!” Faith noticed, keeping the conversation on Tristan still, as she began to grow more worried for the demonic slayer. “Maybe one of us should go up there…” Buffy suggested, fearing being the one to check on her son but also fearing to stay alone with Angel and Spike. “I am more than willing…” Angel began to say, before being cut off. “I’ll go check!” Faith interrupted, not meaning to be rude but just being used to the one handling Tristan, her eagerness not going unnoticed by Buffy. Before long Faith found herself in the backroom of the bar and rushing up the stairs, shouting Tristan’s name repeatedly as she walked into the hallway of their shared apartment before noticing the bathroom door was left opened. She wasted no time into walking into the bathroom, already knowing deep down she wouldn’t find Tristan there only to find the broken mirror as evidence to her theory, concluding Tristan had left to god knows where, fearing if she did not act quick she may never see him again as she worried about what danger lay ahead for the demonic slayer. One thing Faith knew for certain wherever he was going spelled trouble and she was going to need Buffy, Spike and Angel’s best efforts to find Tristan in time and save him from whatever had left him so tormented.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[xxsovereignsarayaxx]

Supernatural - Road to Revenge Chapter 2

Authors Note: So here is the second chapter of this series and I'm really loving how it is coming together and I hope you guys too. Thank you to everyone for the likes and reblogs it very much appreciated ❤ (There is a flashback in bold) Word Count: 2908 Warnings: Some mild language. 

Chapter 1

“This day just keeps getting better and better.” I said with sarcasm dripping from lips to the other person on the phone.

“Nice to hear from you too, where are you?”

“None of your god-damn business, you’ve got a lot of nerve ringing me. Considering you wanted nothing to do with me, so what’s changed this time?” I replied bitterly.

“I’m using up my ONE free call for you, be grateful…”

“Grateful? You are joking?” I shouted, getting irritated.

My shouting in the kitchen brought Sam into the room. He looked at me with concern written all over his face. 

“But I feel so privileged that you decided to call me, so what did you get arrested for this time? Shoplifting? I teased.

“As much as I would love to carry on our conversation my call time is almost up.”

Sam raised his eyebrow, he knew exactly who I was talking to, and he also looked shocked that I was speaking to them. Realising that the fridge door was still open I reached in to grab two bottles of beer, shoving the phone in between my shoulder and ear I twisted the cap to the bottle and took a large swig. “You got yourself into trouble, I trust that you can get yourself out of it.” I said getting ready to hang up the call. 

“Coley, wait please. Something wasn’t right and it’s...it’s your kind of weird please just get me out of here and I’ll get my shit together.” 

Letting out a sigh I placed the bottle on the island in the middle of the room. “Where are you Nia?” 

“Nevada.” 

And with that the call dropped so either my sweet sister hung up or she ran out of time. I bent down and rested my head on the counter, letting out a groan.

“Do I dare ask what’s going on?” Sam asked me leaning against the island, handing me my beer. 

“Nia got herself arrested again...I have half the mind to let her ungrateful arse rot in jail.” I said with a huff taking my beer and downing the contents.

“But she said something didn’t add up which means there could be a case or that the bail is far too much and she’s using what I do as a method to get herself out of jail...again” I added.

Sam let out a chuckle since he was familiar with mine and my sister's love-hate relationship.

“She’s family though Nik.”

“Take note of your own words Sam.” I scoffed and got up and brushed past him and went to find Dean. 

Turns out Dean had given up looking for cases and research and had retreated to the ‘Dean Cave’ he was engrossed in some horror movie, I entered the room, plonking myself in the recliner next to him I swiped the bottle of whiskey he was still drinking from. 

“You look happy.” Dean teased not looking from the large TV on the wall.

“Fancy a drive tomorrow?” I asked him, taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage feeling the burn as the contents slid down my throat. 

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Nevada...” I replied with a grumble.

Dean turned to look at me and he raised an eyebrow as a sign to get me to explain what was going on. A look I had seen many times before. 

“So you know my favourite sister Nia?” I asked, playing with my fingers.

“Nia is your only sister…” 

“Well the moron got herself arrested. She claims something wasn’t right and basically is insinuating that it’s a case. I’m in two minds of going because she’s played this trick before.” I explained.

“If it is a case we can gank whatever son of a bitch it is. If not I can have great pleasure irritating your sister.” Dean replied with a chuckle.

“No wonder she doesn’t like us.” I laughed leaning towards Dean almost climbing in his seat resting my head on his shoulder.

The rest of the evening consisted of beer, whiskey and a horror movie marathon which was nice for a change. We agreed that we would leave first thing in the morning and it would be best to try and get some shut eye. Brushing my teeth in the sink in our room, Dean was on the laptop whilst laid in bed. “So it seems that there was a robbery last night.” 

“Wobbery?” I asked while still having the toothbrush still in my mouth, earning a snigger from Dean I spat the toothpaste out and tried again. “Robbery?”

“Yeah seems the Monroe Art Gallery held a ‘Black Tie Event’ last night and a painting called ‘The Souls of Gabriel’ was stolen only to find it dumped in an alleyway with part of the frame smashed to pieces. According to the police reports Nia’s prints were all over the thing.” Dean explained as I got into bed, as I snuggled closer to him I looked at the police report he currently had loaded on the screen. 

“Seems that Nia can’t account for her whereabouts, they even ran a tox screen on a blood sample which came up clean.” I said reading out loud. “You thinking demon?” I asked. 

“Could be, we won’t know for sure until we get down there and ask her.” Dean replied, shutting the laptop and setting it on the bedside table. Bringing me closer in his arms. “I know seeing Nia again after all these years is going to be difficult Nik, I’ll be there every step of the way.” Dean whispered to me, planting a kiss on the top of my forehead. As he laid on his back I rested my head on his chest. The steady rise and fall of his chest sent me into a peaceful slumber.

I couldn’t sleep, my mind was just racing with memories of me and my older sister mainly the last time we had spoken. 

Nia paced around the motel room hands on her hips, I got up from the chair in the kitchenette heading over to my sister trying to comfort her. “You're crazy! Mom and Dad should have left you to rot in that foster home, you got them killed with all this nonsense.” 

Tears formed in my eyes feeling hurt by the harsh words that came out of Nia’s mouth.

“Nia...Listen to me you saw the demons…” I said as I choked on my tears. 

“No Nicole! You listen! You were the reason that Mom and Dad died if you hadn’t have come into our lives they would have still been alive!” She shouted as she headed towards the door, she turned… 

“We’re done.” And with that she left the room and I was left in a state of shock and upset...

I shot up awake, Dean was snoring softly - at least he was settled for once getting some much needed sleep. I turned over in bed trying to get myself comfortable when I heard a door squeak open and close and the sound of boots walking down the hallway. I checked my phone to see the time - 12:36AM. Wanting to find out what Sam was doing I carefully got out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans and one of Dean’s shirts quickly pulling on my boots and exited the room as quietly as possible, taking in a quick glance at Dean to whom had just turned onto his side facing away from the door. Slipping out the room I crept through the bunker making my way through the library. I grabbed the keys and helmet to my motorbike as that was the quieter vehicle and proceeded outside, as I sat on my bike I saw that the run-around Sam often used was missing so putting on my helmet flicking the visor down so it covered my face and then started the engine to my bike giving it a few soft revs and then left the bunker leaving Baby in the driveway. 

I must have driven a few miles up the road as I saw a layby and a familiar yellow 1976 AMC Gremlin along with Sam’s car parked. I saw a figure sitting on a picnic table and a taller figure stood up. Pulling into the layby I saw two heads turn to look at me as I parked very close to the two, turned the engine off I took off my helmet shaking my long hair in the process. “I should have known you would have brought Charlie into this mess Sam.” I said bluntly. 

“Hiya Nikki.” Charlie interrupted the awkward silence hopping off the table to give me a hug.

“Hi Charlie.” I replied embracing my favourite nerd.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” Charlie asks Sam as if they were continuing their conversation.

Sam looked at me nervously. “Don’t stop on my account.” I said sarcastically.

“I got hold of a codex which is sort of a...a collection of supernatural code-breaking tools and it should help crack ‘The Book of the Damned’.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean that thing you got out of that safe in the suicide house you and Dean went to?” 

“Yeah.”

“That would be awesome if the book, you know, actually existed.” Charlie replied.

“She’s got a point Sam you burned it when we were at the cabin having our asses handed to us.” I told him.

“It does. Uh I, um...I swapped it out right before it looked like I burned it.” Sam admitted looking down at the floor.

“Okay. Well, Dean wanted it burned. So is he pissed?” Charlie asked her voice full of concern while I was still sitting on my bike. “He doesn’t know. I didn’t know until now.” I said sternly, giving Sam a good glare. 

“Look Dean’s not in the right place. He would try to stop me. He's given up, I have an expert looking at the codex as we speak…”

“If you say Rowena is your expert you need your head examined Sam, she can't be trusted.” I yelled. “Going behind Dean’s back? Did I mention that this whole thing reeks? Nikki is right she is one of the most dangerous witches…” 

“If we don’t do this...this might be the only shot at saving Dean.” Sam admitted looking defeated.

The three of us stood in the cool air in silence, Charlie was the first to make a move giving both me and Sam a respected hug, got in her car and left saying that she needed some time to think it over. I knew that one way or another she would help as we were a family. Charlie saw Dean and Sam as her brothers and she would do anything to help either one of them. As her car faded into the distance Sam spoke. “I should have been honest with you.” Letting out a sigh. “Damn straight you should have, I want Dean to be back to normal just as much as you do Sam but keeping secrets and going behind our backs isn’t the way to do it.” I replied in a softer tone of voice. 

“I’m sorry Nikki.” Sam said as he brought me into a hug. “Look, me and Dean are going to find Nia and get that whole situation straight with her. Use that time to find the answers you need...I just wish I stayed back at the bunker now Sam, as I now have to hide this all from Dean and one way or another it’s going to end up being messy.” I admitted pulling away from Sam. 

Putting my helmet back on I left Sam in the layby, the gravel shifted underneath my tyres as I sped off back to the bunker. I loved riding my bike, it was the power and speed of how the bike played with my adrenaline and cleared my mind at the same time. Carefully bringing the bike to a stop, setting the stand so it wouldn’t tip over and scratch the paint I made my way back inside playing my helmet and the keys on the table in the war room. Trying to fix my serious case of helmet hair I heard a clearing of the throat. I turned to see Dean in just pajama bottoms. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asked voice laced with a little sleep. “Yeah this whole thing with Nia, is just keeping my head awake.” I said partly lying. While I was concerned about my sister it wasn’t the thing keeping me from sleeping. “Is that my shirt?” He asked me as he reached out pulling me to him, I collided with his bare chest softly. “Maybe.” I teased. 

By 9AM we were on the road, Baby was eating up the miles as we got ever closer to Nevada. We had the best of ‘Mullet Rock’ playing on the stereo while I checked the map finding out where we were. A couple empty fast food take out cartons were by my feet as I slurped the last of my fizzy drink. Dean had the driver window down enjoying the drive. “After mile marker 90 we should be about 7 hours out.” I told him as I folded the map up and placed it on the back seat and then pulled my sunglasses down on my face to keep the sun out of my eyes. “Well we’re in no shortage of motels.” Dean said, turning to look at me briefly before bringing his attention back on the road. Taking the wheel in just one hand he rested his right hand on my thigh. I smiled, placing my own hand on top of his.

We got to a motel at about midnight, both exhausted from the drive we slumped into the room slinging our bags on the table in the kitchenette, as Dean made his way to the bathroom I fell face first onto the bed slightly bouncing when I hit the mattress. Within minutes I was fast asleep. 

I must have woken up a few hours later seeing Dean sat at the table on the laptop. “Hey sleepyhead.” He said with a chuckle. Climbing out of bed I walked over to him wrapping my arms around him as I peered over his shoulder looking at the screen. “So that is ‘The Souls of Gabriel’?” I asked. Dean nodded. “Seems like it’s had quite the adventure, been in the possession of a few owners over the last couple of centuries. Rumor has it that there was a scroll hidden inside the frame. Could be why the painting itself was found in the alleyway and why the frame was destroyed. Whatever was on the scroll must be important. Dean explained. “I bet.” I murmured into his shoulder. 

The next morning Dean and I were dressed in our ‘Fed Threads’ as we headed over to the police station, entering the building I noticed the hustle and bustle around and we made our way to the front desk, fishing out our fake FBI badges from our jackets we showed the officer who was typing on a computer. “Hi I’m Agent Kevin, this is Agent Perry. We’re here because you’ve got my informant by the name Nia Williams.” The officer pulled a look of disbelief. “Agent Kevin and Perry?” 

“My mother wasn’t a fan either when she married my dad.” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. 

“Nobody by the name of Nia Williams here.” The officer said turning back to the computer.

“Perhaps you’ve seen her instead.” Dean added trying to save the conversation showing the officer a picture of Nia off his phone. 

“Her? Yeah she’s here but booked her in as Lila Cox, she’s cooling off in interview room 2 real temper that one.” 

“We alright to speak with her?” I asked.

“I’ll get the detective who has the case.” I nodded and then the officer left.

“Lila?” Dean asked me close to my ear. “I know we have aliases but I’ve seriously lost track of the countless ones Nia uses.” I replied with a whisper.

“Agents.” We both turned to see the detective who was in charge.

“We’re here to speak with Lila Cox.” Dean said to the male.

“What can I do for you? She’s a suspect in a robbery charge. If you insinuate that she walks free, I’ll hang up my gun and badge. We caught your girl, end of story.”  

I crossed my arms, altering my posture slightly to try and make myself a little more intimidating. “Detective, have you heard of a sting operation? Am I right knowing that the painting was recovered with minimal damage? Yes the frame was chipped slightly but no harm no foul.” 

“Chipped? The frame was smashed, thousands of dollars worth of damage…”

“Which will be covered by the bureau, we caught the bad guy we needed, but in order to finish up the never ending amount of paperwork we need to speak with Lila.” Dean added trying to back me up. 

“In the meantime perhaps you want to speak with our superior whilst we speak with Lila.” I offered to hand him a business card from my jacket pocket. 

He refused the card. “No need, this way.” He said showing us the way to the interview rooms. 

Thanking the detective and entering the room I saw Nia with her head resting on the table and hands still cuffed together. 

“So Lila.” 

[bittersweetsongbirdsworld]

Don't Mess With The Dove- Yoonmin Social Media AU

The crunching of the snow under Jimin's feet hardly fazed him. The cold, bitter winter weather didn't shake Jimin at it; he hardly batted an eyelash at the large specks of snow that fluttered down the dark night sky. The cattering of his teeth wasn't from the cold, but the adrenaline that flowed throughout his vains. This was the most action Jimin had gotten himself into after living in Russia for the past six months and he wasn't going to let it get away that easily. He'd be damned if he let this rooky group get away with the most powerful man's body. He'd rather die than have this low life of a group get away and destroy Yoongi's body, he really would.

Taehyung and the others were close behind, Jin managing to save both Hoseok and Sangwoo. There really wasn't much to question, both Hoseok and Sangwoo knowing what had happened to them. Sangwoo was poisoned by a women while Hoseok was knocked out by another women, a man watching further back as he played back up. After they knocked out Hoseok and poisoned Sangwoo, they jumped though the window, snatched Yoongi's body, then took off.

Thankfully the poison wasn't too toxic, a simple open cut nearly cleared him from the nasty chemical. Hoseok was easily coaxed out of his deep slumber when the smell of warm blood knocked him in the face. Well, Taehyung aggressively shaking him awake also helped, but the sight of Sangwoo laying in a pool of his own blood, he was sure his fiance was dead. Namjoon had to calm a hysterical Hoseok down, the younger simply pointing out Sangwoo's heaving chest, the lack of blood taking a toll on the poor man.

Still, they had enough engery to follow the rest of group, Hoseok a lot more alive than Sangwoo. Though, Hoseok didn't have his arms gouged open so he could drain poison from his blood stream, but still! Hoseok had to poke fun at Sangwoo's back though, the poor man covered in his own blood because they didn't have time to change. He just sucked it up and followed close behind, Jin staying close to the two so if one were to collapse, he'd be able to work on them right away.

They didn't have to stop though because when they ended up in a alleyway with Jimin, they knew they weren't in their territory anymore. There stood the new group, seven of them bunched up as they stared the new group down. Jimin was on the ground, his twisted in pain as he grabbed at his elbow, a looming figure looking down at him. No one can say they've seen this man before. How could they identify him when he had a damn mask over his face. A porcelain mask was tied to the man's face, the nose down colorful with bright colors; the top half a glistening white.

He didn't say anything though, Jimin doing all the yelling as he stumbled back onto his feet. His face was red with anger, his hands balled up at his side, his body shaking ever so slightly as he stared at the person who took Yoongi away from him. The person didn't speak though, he simply signed with his hands, confusing everyone but Jin and the group behind the one doing the signing.

"His name is Sikashi. He's the leader of the DBB and this is his territory, not ours," Jin called out, Jimin whipping his head around as he stared at Jin with wide eyes. His mouth was gaping open, the man before him, Sikashi, walked over to Jin, the man signing some more before he walked back over to his own group. "He's mute and can only communicate by sign language."

Jimin's jaw clenched as he chewed on his words, a bitter taste in his mouth as he stared at the man before him. He dare take a step forward, the group in front of him quick to step in front of his, weapons in hand as to protect their precious leader. As he stared him down, Jimin asked one question.

"What did you do with Min Yoongi's body?"

A quiet snicker from one of the girls made Jimin's blood boil, the temptation to slap the smile off the girl's face nearly boiling over. Just as he was about to do as such, Sikashi signed again, Jin's hand flying to to cup his mouth. He gasped loudly, Jimin whipping around just in time to see hot tears roll down Jin's cheeks. He choked on a quiet sob before he could even tell Jimin the news.

"They burned it."

___________________

After the death of the most feared man in Seoul, Min Park Jimin takes the throne as the baddest bitch in Korea. But, life isn't luxurious for Jimin, not even the slightest. With the fact he can bring the one he loved back, he spends all his nights researching and reliving the horrible memories of Min Yoongi. Will he manage to bring Yoongi back, or will he parish before he can even start?

💋 4/?

[blstys]

endless.

one  word  prompts    /    A C C E P T I N G    /    @shockpop

time  does  not  yield  to  grief.  hour  still  folds  evening  back  into  itself,  the  clock  keeping  track  in  endless  circular  rotation.  katsuki  still  has  to  keep  moving  with  it  and  he  does.  morning  comes,  sleepless,  to  remind  him  again  what  a  piece  of  shit  he’s  been.

cats  get  fed,  kissed,  a  note  for  care  ( a  vague  text  message  to  kirishima  ensuring  that  they’ll  be  fed  in  case  their  other  human  refuses  to  resurface  in  the  next  three  days )  placed  high  on  the  fridge  where  sootball  can’t  hoard  it  away.  

an  overnight  bag  sits  packed  by  the  door.  dog  tags  chime  as  they’re  returned  to  their  place  around  his  neck.  denki’s   key  stays,   untouched,  where  he  left  it.

it  goes  like  this:  work  becomes  hyper - fixation,  too  closely  related  to  the  fall  out  to  be  the  hardy  scapegoat  it’s  always  been;  becomes  less  distraction  and  more  outlet  the  way  electrical  training  used  to  be.  get  through  it,  succeed,  get  passed  it.  this  is  the  new  loop  for  the  two  days  of  preparations.  the  new  intrusive  that  katsuki  slathers  over  the  i  look  at  you  and  see  nothing  old  one.  it  equates  to  chap - stick  on  a  second  degree  burn.  relief  exists  with  immediate,  irrevocable  brevity,  the  memory  of  how  his  previous  attempts  to  solve  problems  this  way  forgotten  in  the  face  of  desperation.  he  keeps  applying.  

force  focus,  force  sleep,  rinse,  just  repeat.  get  through,  succeed,  get  passed.  review  recon,  plan  strategy,  get  some  sleep.  through,  finish,  passed.  the  argument  at  the  apartment  becomes  background  noise,  a  bad  dream.  a  pestering  sense  of  discontent  that  he  does  not  have  the  mental  capacity  to  tend  to. 

by  the  third  day,  the  numbness  of  repetition  sets  in.  wake  up,  did  he  wake  up,  did  he  really  sleep?  it  gets  hard  to  tell,  when  he’s  ignoring  all  facets  that  catch  the  sunlight,  which  ones  actually  demand  attention.  this  is  his  second  mistake.  

it  goes  like  this:  action  arises,  planned,  anticipated.  before  bakugou  can  blink,  he’s  already  in  the  thick  of  it.  which  is  the  thick  of  overwhelming  nothingness,  really.  things  go  well  beyond  expectation.  even  better.

it  goes  so  well,  in  fact,  that  katsuki  skips  right  over  pride  into  unease.  he  makes  it  behind  the  enemies  lines  alone,  without  incident.  no  need  for  improvisation  or  to  call  his  reserve.  without  a  single  confrontation.  without  a  single  instruction.

eyes  watch  him  from  a  forest.  not  the  maze  of  alleyways  he  currently  navigates  but  the  distant  memory  of  a  similar  feeling.  a  training  camp  ambush.

he  presses  at  his  ear  piece,  something’s  fucked,  half  n’  half.  i’m  falling  back.  a  long  pause.  hands  curl,  defensive.  maybe  he  imagines  it  to  be  longer  than  it  is.  he  presses  again.  todoroki?  i’ve  got  a  bad  fucking  feeling.  you  held  up?

there  is  no  answer  on  the  other  end  of  his  com - piece  —  but  for  the  faint,  far  of  ringing  of  interference.  shit.

blood  runs  frigid,  sweat  cooling  where  goosebumps  rise  on  his  skin.  the  temperature  has  dropped  unnaturally.  measures  are  taken  to  keep  him  on  the  useful  side  of  sweaty  under  unfavourable  conditions  but  his  body  isn’t  regulating  heat.    the  work  of  a  quirk  unaccounted  for.

unease  shifts  to  disbelief.  improvisation.  think,  run.  keep  running,  think  quicker.  sudden  clarity  says  there  is  no  difference  between  where  the  forest  ends  and  his  escape  begins.  the  interference  is  disorienting  him  on  purpose.

katsuki  rips  it  from  his  ear  and  crushes  it  in  a  fist.  keeps  running.  back - tracks  through  the  wrong  route  without  guidance.  through,  through,  through.  finds  the  crushed  com - piece  under  foot  twice  before  he  realizes  he’s  circling.  a  mouse  in  a  maze.

it  is  three  minutes  after  cut  communication.  the  first  building  quakes  to  pieces.  shatters  ?  it  seems,  the  rumble  nearly  half  glass.  a  skyscraper’s  corpse  collapsing.  uraraka’s  comets  have  trained  him  for  this  —  hands  raise  instinctual,  but  cold,  they  don’t  detonate  cleanly  —  half  strength,  panicked.  he  maneuvers  well  enough  to  stay  on  his  feet.  the  rumble  further  disorients  him,  the  ringing  returned  to  his  ears  from  his  own  explosion.  a  mouse  in  a  maze  with  no  exit.

cages,  restraints,  hands  made  half  useless.  the  ringing  grows  louder,  not  a  fault  of  his  own.  outside  source.  two  quirks?  fight,  flight,  freeze  argue  for  first  place.  there  is  no  clear  target,  no  clear  escape.  dread  rises  up  the  back  of  his  throat,  the  forgotten  fear  of  something  purely  unknown.

another  building,  further  out  crumbles  —  there  is  no  sound  but  the  pressure  of  it  reaches  his  ears,  delayed.  reverberates.  he  moves  away  from  it,  trying  to  get  his  bearings.  through,  through,  through.  debris  crumbles  from  over - head,  to  close  to  detonate  at  his  current  capacity.  fear  creeps  higher,  brighter,  a  feral  thing.  not  quite  terror  but  rising  ever  closer  toward  it  as  the  next  round  of  ruin  throws  him  off  his  feet.  explosions  flare  and  are  smothered  underneath.

pinned,  arms,  chest,  gasping.  wind  wiped  clean  from  his  body.

it  belongs  to  another  body,  knees  biting  into  wrists,  weight  centered  on  his  chest,  hand  curling  around  his  throat.  wind  moves  above  them,  cold,  colder.  katsuki  shivers,  dry  palms  flickering  out.

“ come  on !  did  you  think  it  would  be  so  easy,  blasty ? “  confirmation  is  only  half  retained.  bakugou  biting  out  curses  in  exasperation.  “ fame  comes  with  a  price,  you  know.  when  everyone  knows  who  you  are  it’s  harder  to  hide  your  weaknesses.  you’ve  been  in  the  limelight  a  long  time  now,  haven’t  you,  katsuki ?  spend  weeks  researching  things  about  us  that  we  already  know. ”  this  is  obvious  information  he  doesn’t  need  a  villain’s  speech  to  tell  him  that.  tries  instead  to  weasel  fruitlessly  out  of  the  clutches  in  before  he  realizes  he’s  losing  too  much  oxygen.  crimson  eyes  blink,  brows  creased  with  agony.  breaths  stutter,  sputter,  gasp  again.  

villain  hooks  their  fingers  through  the  chain  on  his  neck  and  steals  his  identity  from  him  in  the  same  way  he  stole  his  breath,  instantly.  

“ who’s  going  to  come  to  your  funeral,  bakugou  katsuki ? ”

panic.  flash  flood  of  a  fear  he’d  never  considered  rushing  to  the  forefront  of  a  oxygen  deprived  mind.  denki.  he  gasps,  not  to  answer  but  in  the  desperation  to  breathe.  he  would�� go,  wouldn’t  he?  hating  me,  angry,  always  wondering  what  i  died  without  confessing?

the  villain  covers  his  mouth.  “  ah,  that  was  a  rhetorical  question,  actually,  katsuki.  ”  

anger.  that  name  is  not  his  to  repeat. he’s  only  given  it  to  one  person.  denki.  he  would  get  the  stupid  fucking  dog  tags.  katsuki  never  changed  his  emergency  contact  information.

he  stops  listening;  has  trouble  focusing;  can  taste  his  own  blood  in  the  back  of  his  throat,  pooling.  

panic,  again,  again.  denki.

worse  for  being  comprehensible,  his  threshold  for  terror  maxes  out.  there  is  nothing  he  can  do  becomes  the  immovable  force  to  the  unstoppable  fact  that  if  he  doesn’t  force  something  to  happen  in  his  favour  he  will  die  here.

panic.  it  was  your  mistake.  live  with  it.  hands  struggle,  weak,  to  reach  the  one  obstructing  his  air  passages.  wrists  ache,  threaten  fractures.    it  was  your  mistake.  die  with  it.  teeth  gnarl,  barely  able  to  bank  the  fabric  of  his  gloved  assailant.  proof  the  cold  comes  from  a  separate  entity.

a  new  rumbling,  this  one  familiarly  shindou’s  —  but  far  off  in  the  distance,  indication  that  his  own  back - up  is  not  far  away.  are  they  close  enough,  though?

is  this  what  jeanist  felt?  he  chases  that  rabbit  for  a  beat,  too  long,  tastes  the  charred  lack  of  hope  in  it.  chokes  on  it.

no,  that’s  real.  katsuki  forces  his  focus  to  resurface  to  the  hand  on  his  throat.  if  he  goes  under  it’s  all  over.  his  mistake.  one  he  wouldn’t  get  to  live  with.  vision  blurs,  freckled  with  the  painless,  endless,  terrible,  silence  that  promises  to  take  hold.  that  offers  relief  from  his  predicament.  who  will  come  to  your  funeral,  bakugou  katsuki?  hands  grapple  again,  pinned  down,  ice  cold.

the  vision  of  a  back,  turned  away  from  him.  leaving,  leaving,  leaving.  katsuki  motionless,  doing  nothing  about  it.  if  i  die  here  i  will  never  see  him  again.  he  passes  the  threshold  for  struggling,  senses  overwhelmed.  the  villain  pinning  him  down,  a  cinder - block  shackled  to  a  sinking  boat.  denki  will  never  get  his  apology.  will  never  know  that  it  was  misguided  love  and  not  pride  that  got  in  the  way  of  things. 

the  voice  above  him  promises  a  quick  relief.  a  pathetic  death  for  a  disappointing  opponent.  katsuki  barely  hears  over  the  echo  of  ringing,  returned  brain  interference.  it  buzzes  softly,  almost  golden  through  streaming  tears  and  blotched  vision.  at  least  it’s  me  instead  of  him.  thank  fuck  i  made  one  good  mistake.  heat  rises,  too  close  to  his  face.  hands  removed  for  a  startling  —  sharp  shock  of  cold  air.  his  body  racks  with  the  swell  of  lungs  still  compressed  under  the  weight  of  a  human.

the  heat  blares  as  hands  return,  either  side  of  his  face,  confusing,  ringing,  glowing  golden.  the  interference  is  electric.

there’s  no  room  for  repeat  here.  get  through  it,  or  don’t.  there  is  no  certainty  that  passed  it  exists.  crimson  eyes  flash,  the  carved  stencil  of  a  laugh  traced  over  a  forgotten  expression.  his  voice  doesn’t  exist  but  a  rasp,   barely  spoken  through  the  jolt  of  a  body  reawakening:  “  uno,  bitch. ”

and  he  lights  up  the  reserve  switch,  sweeping  the  flash  of  searing  pain  through  his  nerve  endings  and  up  through  freezing,  up - turned  palms.  a  flash  flare.

katsuki  doesn’t  know  how  he  gets  to  his  feet  —  but  it’s  just  in  time  to  see  back - up  ascend  over  the  rumble,  shouting.  he  can’t  hear  them  clearly  over  the  crackling  of  electricity.

he  points  in  the  direction  of  his  half - seared,  unconscious  assailant;  lets  todoroki  do  the  dirty  work  of  apprehending  them  while  his  lungs  kick  up  an  old  fight  to  function.  finally  pulling  in  full  breaths,  limbs  trembling.  he  tries  to  assess  his  own  condition.  his  head  swirls  at  the  edge  of  fading  consciousness.  hands,  still  steaming,  lift  to  his  throat  just  to  be  certain.  blood  drips  over  his  lips,  unobstructed.  ribs  plea  for  less  gasping.  

good  enough.  he  can  make  do  with  that.  i’m  still  here.  a  silent  plea  sent  out  that  whatever  happens  next  denki  can  sense  how  fucking  grateful  he  is,  that  none  of  the  love  was  wasted.  that  he’s  coming  home,  so  fucking  help  him.

i’ve  got  unfinished  business.  denki  is  owed  the  common  decency  of  an  apology,  at  the  very  least.

[ship-ambrosia]

Silverlight - Chapter 3

I’m sorry about the wait guys, life has certainly been getting in the way lol

But I guess random update on my life, I’m now a research assistant in a lab on campus studying pesticide metabolism in a few different kinds of worms and Puerto Rican moths!

Please, please, please... if you’ve never commented on a fanfic before, here is your chance! Please critique this chapter... please let me know what you like and what you don’t! Fight scenes are something I am working very hard on getting better at writing, especially for any professional book I publish in the future, much of my original stories are very action-orientated.

Again, you can also read this story on AO3: Chapter 1

He hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she had seen him.  Silver hair, steely gray eyes that glittered like cruel gemstones to a thief. He was taunting her, daring her to make a move. So she did.  “Whoa, there!” Mercury laughed out as he dodged her fist coming at his head. “Not the face, please.”  While her intense, blinding fury had dissipated upon seeing it was him being harassed by a group of street thugs, a new, calm anger, a familiar feeling since Beacon Academy fell, washed over Yang. She did not lose herself, like she had done in the past. She was focused, smart, and she knew how to fight him and win.  Mercury responded to her stoicism by fighting back, snapping like a bullet being fired from the barrel of a gun. His boot struck her with the deadly ferocity of a Deathstalker’s stinger, however Yang caught the motion and blocked the strike with her gauntlet. She pushed back against his boot but he answered with his own pressure, their strength nearly match for match.   “You were following me,” she accused as she narrowed her eyes at him. When she had heard people mumbling around her earlier about a boy acting strange she’d honestly assumed that some weirdo or drunk from the tavern had been leering at her. It occurred to her now that it had been him. He had been surprised when she appeared to help, but he hadn’t been surprised to see her.  “Maybe I was,” Mercury’s answer was smug, just as he always had been. Even before she knew who he truly was, when he was masquerading as a student, he’d always been that way. “You aren’t really sure, are you?”  He kicked off to break their stalemate, launching himself into the air and causing her to stumble backwards from the recoil. Yang looked up and followed his arc, jerking her elbow back to get the ammo in her Ember Celica ready before throwing two shadow punches, firing glittering shells at where he was going to land. Mercury threw his arms up in front of his face to take the brunt of the shot, but the explosive shells made contact and knocked him back into the wall of one of the buildings surrounding the alley.  Another gunshot went off suddenly and Yang gasped when a bullet hit her shoulder, her Aura protecting her from any injury but she still felt the damage reverberate through her body. She whipped around as her eyes switched to crimson, intense fury returning as she knew where the bullet had come from.  “Bitch! We saw him first!” Yelled the thug who she’d sent flying, holding the smoking gun toward her. The group had reformed and surrounded once more, and their focus had now switched to her.  Before she could even act, she noticed just as the woman flipped her curved sword around, the blade breaking up into the shape of a whip.  “C’mere, sweetheart!” With an excited yell, the woman lashed out with her weapon. She caught Yang around the leg when she tried to dodge out of the way, pulling her balance out from underneath her. Yang landed hard on her ass as the small blades that made up the whip dug in, and she let out a cry as they dragged her closer. Though no cuts actually appeared, no blood spilled, she felt the sting of the blades slicing through her Aura. But Yang saw her opportunity and seized it.  Bringing her arms around in front of her, she fired off two shots from both weapons to boost herself into the air. With all the strength and momentum she could muster, she brought her body into a backflip while at the same time kicking her leg back in a violent arc. The other woman let out a scream as she was pulled into the air, up and above Yang, before being thrown harshly back into the ground. Utilizing the extra damage done by doing that all with a bladed whip cutting into her, when Yang landed her hair ignited into flames.  “Get out of here!” She yelled, slamming her fist into the man who’d shot her. The shockwave was so great that it caught up the rest of his thugs and knocked them all back several feet.  Yang watched them all run with their tails between their legs the moment any of them recovered, turning back to the one she actually needed to fight when she heard his voice.  “Always a pleasure with you,” Mercury spoke with his same cruel smirk, tipping his head to her. “That’ll be all.”  She shot two more firecrackers at him, but Mercury anticipated the move and catapulted himself out of the way. He landed on the other side of the alley and instantly broke into a run. Yang’s eyes widened when she realized he was just trying to escape like that.  Escape? That was the last thing the Mercury she had known, both the fake one and the one who worked for Salem, would do. He didn’t just run. Something was going on, and Yang only hesitated for a moment before chasing after him. She was going to make him talk.  Mercury ducked back into the crowd, disregarding every person he shoved and even jumping over some to get away. Yang ran after him with a similar intensity, but instead of a shit-eating grin she wore an intense glare. She spun to avoid colliding with people in her way, attempting to not bowl anyone over but not being shy. She couldn’t lose sight him.  She pushed herself to her limits to get after him, despite every muscle screaming in protest already. The fire that he ignited in her was more volatile and dangerous than anyone else, but it also made her feel stronger, an almost addicting high. She knew it was dangerous, but the adrenaline rush always reminded her of when she was learning to be a Huntress. She had to remember that every match against him was wagering life and death from now on. In another world, she and Mercury could’ve just been simple rivals, pushing each other further, perhaps even friends. And that only made her anger toward him burn even brighter.  Yang saw Mercury make another attempt to fake her out by slipping into a smaller alleyway just as Yang slammed into a dense crowd of people. She gritted her teeth and roughly pushed past the few more people before following him.  “Mercury!” She shouted at him, and emptied her weapons of spent shells in a defiant show of intent.  He slowed to a stop, shoulders moving as he gave a very heavy sigh. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you Blondie?” He turned around to face her, and Yang was taken aback for a moment by how guarded his expression appeared now. That was also very uncharacteristic of the Mercury she had known, but she didn’t get a chance to inspect it any longer as the look in his eyes disappeared when his smirk returned. “Play your cards right and I might just give you what you want.”  Yang rolled her eyes, but continued to try and read his intentions as she spoke. “What I want is information. Why were you following me? What are you trying to do? What is Salem planning?”  “Ohhhh...” He tapped his chin, glancing at her casually. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t actually give you any of that.”  “Oh, but I think you will.”  Mercury looked thoroughly entertained by their banter. “Then you’re going to have to take it from me.”  He stepped back into a fighting stance, holding his fists up in front of the smirk that had haunted her since their fight at Haven Academy, the first time she had truly seen him and confirmed he was on Salem’s side. Yang slowed her breathing - this was it, this was why she kept training harder and harder, why she had to keep getting stronger. To beat people like him, to prevent people like him from ever hurting her family again.  And why she was going to uncontestedly beat him this time without her Semblance.  Yang made the first move, propelling herself at him with her arm winding back for a very obvious punch. His response was exactly what she expected, and Yang caught the movement in her eyes an instant before Mercury’s boot would have collided with her head. He stopped her fist but the punch itself had been a feint, a point of rotation so she could throw her entire body at him.  He gave a short gasp of surprise when her shoulder hit him square in the chest, knocking him back. Mercury recovered much faster than she would’ve liked, launching off while she steadied herself back to her feet. Yang threw her arms up to block his attack, fast and powerful enough to push her backwards a bit though her defense held strong. When he shifted back to his other foot she lashed out with her fist just as fast as him, striking him in the nose. Though she felt the pushback from his Aura, the attack was enough to throw him off balance and suddenly Yang had the advantage.  She dodged his fists and got in close, quickly controlling the situation by separating his hands and exposing his body. That was the number one rule of their fighting styles, though hers were primarily her fists and his were his legs, they were both brawlers. You never let the enemy get inside your space, and you certainly never let them have control over it. As long as she had it she was going to make it work for her, because she was sure he’d figure out a counter soon.  Yang threw one punch, two, three - getting in a total of five solid hits before Mercury interrupted her rhythm, pushing himself into an acrobatic spin and bringing his kick down on her from above. Finally getting a strike in that actually knocked his opponent off balance, Mercury was relentless in his assault. He was always like that, and once her defense was down against him she knew it was always hard getting it back up.  Even in the relatively short time it had been since they fought at Haven Academy, he’d grown exponentially stronger. She felt it behind every strike, every movement he made had even more deadly accuracy than before. Sometimes she wondered if he had only thrown their match during the Vytal Festival. It was a strong possibility. In the beginning, Mercury had surely been leagues better. Yes, even with that, he’d become an even bigger threat.  “But so have I!” Yang exclaimed, as she brought up her own side kick to block his strike with her own leg.  There was a moment of shock that registered on his face before Mercury’s grin reappeared. “Well,” he said as he winked at her. “I can always appreciate a girl with a good set of legs.”  Yang’s answer was to simply hold out her arm and fire off another round of bullets at him.  Though he got her in the hip when he fired off his own shell to get away, Yang hit him several times in the shoulder. She felt her cold anger building up again as she pursued him, and as they clashed once more. Empty bullet casings littered the alley around them, wooden structures crumbling from missed shots. Was that a crowd forming? It wasn’t all that surprising, but Yang couldn’t divert her attention for one moment or else he’d get the advantage over her. Both parties deviated from their usual styles, Yang hitting him with everything she had in a blur of fists and kicks while Mercury ditched his speed for slower, stronger punches and a more defensive stance as each tried to beat the one person who matched them, who pushed them further past their limits than anyone else could.  Their clash culminated into one big burst of energy when their weapons collided, just as they had at the tournament. The force pushed both fighters away from one another, and Yang took the opportunity to catch her breath. While she hadn’t expected her trip to Mistral to be quiet, she certainly couldn’t have imagined it would turn into a punch-out with a member of Salem’s followers, let alone the one who had come to blows with her more often than not. He had humiliated her over and over again, but aside from that he had hurt so many people that she cared about. Messing with her family... for that, she had resolved to make him, and all of Salem’s faction, pay. They’d all be history, starting with Mercury.  She yelled as she ran at him again, moving first before he could. She went for the feint punch again, but Mercury wasn’t about to fall for that twice. When he caught her shoulder in his other hand, Yang adjusted and aimed her elbow up into his chin as hard as she could. He grunted and she took the opening to fire off a shell from Ember Celica at point blank. This time, there wasn’t an ounce of guilt; the jerk still had his Aura, after all.  She was surprised, however, when this didn’t stop him. Suddenly Mercury had her grappled, one arm twisted behind her back and Yang cried out a bit. Her Aura couldn’t protect her from the pain that action had caused.  “Are you still sure about this, Blondie?” He was almost purring the words out, right in her ear. Yang could hear the grin on his face. Cocky bastard. “I’m gonna make you regret this little fight.”  Without giving her a chance to respond - though her response would’ve been to spit on him, as she was trying to figure out how to do so with how he was restraining her - Mercury shoved her forward. He didn’t let go of her arm though, and as quickly as he did, he pulled her back toward him. She saw that grin for just a moment before he landed a solid punch to her cheek, then slammed his knee into her stomach. He was completely merciless and in control as she doubled over, his boot coming up to strike her in the head several times.  Yang felt a rage return to her, fury as she realized that Mercury was beating her with her own damn technique. He spun her around to keep her from steadying herself and form a counter, before letting go of her suddenly and sent her stumbling. More movement caught her eye, and Yang looked up just in time for Mercury to finish another acrobatic, and watched his leg sweep in a wide arc. Before she even recognized where he was aiming, a burst of yellow flashed in front of her eyes, followed by the feeling of horrible pain that spread across her lower back. Someone screamed. She realized it was herself.  Yang fell forward onto her hands and knees, heaving. She couldn’t believe her Aura hadn’t fizzled out at that attack, though she knew it was very low. The burst of yellow had indicated she’d taken a lot of damage from that one strike. Yang realized that meant if she kicked out her Semblance right now, she could end it.  Fury suddenly bubbles up inside her, but not towards Mercury; towards herself. She had sworn she wasn’t going to use her Semblance. Mercury still hadn’t brought out his, so she refused to also. This was going to be a brawl. She just had to win, there was no other choice.  Yang got up to one knee and immediately blocked two kicks close to her face, one on the left and one on the right. He was driven, she had to at least give him that, refusing to give her any room to breathe. Then again, that was how she fought too when she had the upper hand. She got into her own spin and threw a kick at him. Though she missed, she was able to get back to her feet with a renewed vigor, hands in front of her face to show him she was ready to go again.  Mercury had completely switched over now to his style of overwhelming, relentless attacks that were almost completely unpredictable, flowing more like he was dancing than fighting. She saw him wind back to take another shot and she threw another feint punch, this time instead firing off a round into the ground to launch into a corkscrew over him and leaping to his other side. Just as she’d done when fighting her mother’s goons, she figured on using her predictably full-on attacking approach to her advantage.  Yang landed behind him and went for her best move, dropping quickly to sweep his leg out from underneath him. When Mercury tripped she twisted back up and threw a punch to slam him into the ground. Before she had even finished pulling her arm back she took another strike to the head, and then another before she finally got out of the way.  Mercury had caught himself, legs flying in a deadly, sporadic arc of airflares that she remembered vividly but hadn’t seen since the Vytal tournament. A sizable amount of Dust bullets were already amassing around him like a cyclone, preventing Yang from going in to stop him without taking a heavy amount of damage. Damage that her Aura wasn’t going to be able to take. She was low, she could feel it, but Yang was pretty damn sure he was too. That had to be why he was going for such a trump card, because he needed to make sure he finished this now if he wanted to win.  But she had to think of something fast, or else he would. She had never had the time to figure out how his cyclone worked before, and she wasn’t quite sure she could now. All she had to do was dodge it, which was a hell of a lot easier said than done. The Dust swirled around in tandem with his legs, going at about the same rate. Yang noticed a faint purple glow in his boots, and a smile widened on her face. Gravity Dust, of course. She didn’t have to watch his bullets, she had to watch his legs.  When he swung and fired the dust at her, she was ready. Yang took a deep breath, and fired off several rounds from her gauntlets. A huge cloud of white Dust erupted around her. He probably thought she was out, but all it really did was conceal her.  “YEAAAAAAAHHHH!” With a fierce, unyielding cry Yang rocketed out of the smoke, flying toward him loud and brilliant just like the firecracker she was. Mercury had his back to her as if he had just started walking away, and she saw him turn slightly, saw his eyes grow wide.  She couldn’t believe she’d gotten him.  She brought her leg down in a swinging arc, simultaneously knocking him down and paying him back for every kick to the head she’d had to take. As she landed directly on top of him, Yang anchored her knee into the middle of his back. As soon as he hit the ground, she grabbed his arm and pulled it back towards her. She then pushed her other hand into the back of head, holding him in place.  “Stay down!” She barked at him. But as Yang watched, his silver Aura crackled, then faded, right underneath her fingertips.  A new wave of high jolted through her body. Her heart was pounding, chest heaving as she was finally able to fully catch her breath. She could hardly believe it. I won. I beat Mercury!  She heard Mercury groan with annoyance, and pressed her knee a little bit harder into his back. “I said-“  “I know what you said,” he sighed, turning his head a bit so he could look at her. “Well Blondie, what do you want to know?”

[astereaholloway]

- ̗̀ * ( sophie turner + cisfemale + she/her ) have you seen ( aster holloway ) walking around campus ? they are a ( twenty-one ) year old, studying ( botany + entomology ). we hear they are in ( theta sigma eta ), and can be ( opinionated & daunting ), maybe it’s because they are an ( aries ). they sort of remind us of ( abandoned greenhouses, spinning bike wheels , iridescent pocket knives ), maybe we can find out more ! *  ̖́-  + habitat

i yeet’d holliday for this child o’ mine pls love her bc i love her sm i’ll prolly change her fc to sophie turner as soon as i get tired of cropping gifs of saoirse but enjoy her face for now sksksk. like this n i’ll come to u!!

tw: fire, death, cancer, etc. etc.

gen. info

full name: aster holloway

nickname(s): n/a, give her one n she’ll cut you probably

b.o.d. - april 1st.

label(s): the hellcat, the minefield, the connard, etc. etc.

height: probably like 5′7″ or 5′8″ tbh

hometown: inglewood, california

sexuality: chaotic. lesbian.

bio. info

hasn’t had the most......stable, life

born to dahlia verbeck, a botanist, wildlife conservationist, and volunteer firefighter whose presence was very well known in south california’s environmental scene

to keep a long story short, she married maverick holloway; a sleazy low-rank cop with a smoking problem and an obnoxious personality when she was 19. he was nearly twice her age. nobody knows why she married him, or why she tolerated him

the relationship was by no means abusive, but it was lackluster

this led to dahlia having a one night stand, and baba boom baba bing, aster was conceived

 the only one who knew that the child wasn’t maverick’s was dahlia’s twin brother, donovan, whose career was p much the exact same as dahlia’s

they were basically both mad scientists; when dahlia started slacking because of her pregnancy, donovan would kick it up

like ykno the twin scientists in bioshock infinite ?? that them like they were eerily alike, always finishing each other’s sentences. nightmare fuel.

the only difference was that donovan was considerably less intense than dahlia b/c dahlia was the kinda lass who would set fire to your car

anywAYs so aster was born and everything was fine n dandy until she got a lil older and it suddenly became clear that this child was absolutely not maverick’s at all because they looked. nothing alike. like u know when u can just tell ?? yeah. yeah u could tell

maverick left dahlia afterwards and it was essentially up to her to raise aster alone. donovan had his own wife and kid to take care of and sort of backed down from his career to do so. house dads ftw

aster grew up knowing her dad as some ‘deadbeat no good’ simply bc dahlia was bitter

also grew up as the kid who would hold worms over another kid’s face and taunt them w/ it. so like, playground bully. that was aster. she’s not ashamed of it

she was often left on her own to do her own kinda shit b/c her mom was always busy out in nature n’ shit but aster never minded; loved her mom a Lot

aster’s life changed when she was nine

her mother had been doing research out in the ~wilderness~ with donovan, after months of convincing him of doing this one last project with her~ when the wildfires started

it spread so fast, and they were already too far away from the road

it took them two months to confirm that the twins were dead

rather than leave aster to maverick, elaine--donovan’s wife--took her under her wing and moved across the country to boston alongside myra, her daughter

elaine always held a resentment towards aster because of her mother, but never did anything about it--it was just always, sorta, implied ?

but myra and aster got along swimmingly despite being polar opposites

aster was p much a feral child, and myra had been receiving etiquette lessons since birth, practically--like, literally

elaine put them in the same hobbies but aster always found ways to be wildly different from the ~standard~

myra learned cello and flute, aster started up on bass and drums (breaking both instruments, repeatedly, for many years)

elaine forced dance onto the both of them, and whilst they both excelled at ballet--aster switched over to a more free-flowing dance as soon as she was able to

(that and when elaine tried to put aster in sports instead of dance--figuring her fiery nature would be put to good use--aster managed to get kicked off of every single team of every single sport she tried b/c of her aggression. theyve had to fight a few lawsuits after aster’s broken a number of noses and sporting equipments)

myra was learning two languages, aster? dyslexic and could barely read english as it was; science made sense to her, however. plants? especially.

people confused myra and aster for twins nearly all the damn time, despite only being cousins, they were so alike and yet so opposite

that was, of course, until they got into a nasty spat when they were seventeen

it was something about dead parents and resentments and yadda yadda; it didn’t end well

aster wound up running away......all the way back to los angeles.

n i mean like......homegirl literally managed to run away across the gd country w/o getting caught or murdered

by the time she arrived in los angeles her aunt was sort of like ‘fuck it ur almost 18′ b/c....aster was nearly 18 by the time she arrived in the city, and elaine contacted maverick who in which found aster

aster did not want to go with him, after hearing stories about him just being no-good

but at that point, maverick was one of los angeles’ head detectives with a beautiful apartment and a beautiful wife and a beautiful dog and just kind of living his best life ?? after dahlia’s death he had really cleaned himself up y’kno

aster still kind of resented him but that was more of an inner thing

anyways she started attending ucla b/c her mother attended ucla, but her mother wasn’t a part of a sorority

it was one of those spur of the moment decisions and like nobody knows how aster ended up in theta sigma eta b/c she’s like a grumpy grandmother

but like she dun’ did that

we stan

a year ago maverick was diagnosed w cancer and has been in the hospital battling it ever since, aster is admittedly effected by it but like would never tell anybody ever

she doesn’t really tell anybody anything about her life, like, it’s a gd mystery

uuuuuuuuh aster works in a floral shop as a florist and grows her own shit ranging from fruits, vegetables, weed, shrooms, uh opium poppies yeah she Does that

it’s organic n fresh n shit like the devil works hard but aster works harder

she doesn’t really ~sell~ too often b/c she’s kinda selfish w her stash but it’s some top notch shit when she does 

no she doesn’t grow in the floral shop she’s not Stupid

aster inherited some of her mother’s properties Out There so she drives up almost everyday to take care of her plants

uuuhh fun fact, aster’s part of a dance like...company, kind of? but not really ? outside of ucla b/c she hates being involved in school shit besides habitat for humanity

personality

v v v harsh tbh

she won’t beat around the bush, usually...brutally honest, tbh?

like lbr she’s kind of a bitch too

just v offputting at first b/c she tells it like how it is n doesn’t rly care abt ur problems

doesn’t go around lookin’ for new friends but if you’re tight w her then she’ll probably die for u like she’s v loyal

but if u wrong her like even once she’ll drop u and treat u like right shit

she either feels intensely or nothing at all n that’s like. smth u have to deal w/

she’s v v v chaotic neutral, bordering evil--really works in her own favors

became a botanist after her mother bc she admired her mother more than anybody else

not saying that being vegan is a personality trait

but

aster’s a vegan

n just super hardcore into saving the earth n shit?

litter and she’ll break ur nose, basically

v into sustainable living n shit. rides her bicycle everywhere if she can, rly rarely drives, doesn’t do fast fashion at ALL

v v passionate, will argue w/ u until u admit she’s right even if she’s painfully wrong

like super stubborn, v opinionated, assumes the worst of u immediately

a lil cynical, but is more realist than pessimist

BIG FUCKING GAY

like so gay

she’s not Out-Out but she definitely doesn’t hide it, just doesn’t think it’s necessary to be like ‘im gay’ every 5 minutes n doesn’t think it’s necessary to let ppl kno she’s gay b/c shes just like....its my business

kinda bitch to flirt w dudes for fun in order to lead them on, get them to do things for her, etc. etc. just to disappoint in the end

this is big dumbass energy b/c that’s how u get stabbed

unless aster stabs u first

kinda gal who’ll key ur car if u piss her off during a class debate, but will also stick thumb tacks into ur wheels n shit too

like.....i said she’s spiteful, right? b/c she can b so spiteful

really, genuinely, has no regard for other ppl’s feelings

her music taste is either heavy rock or straight up like grimes/die antwoord there is no in between (prolly listens to billie eilish tho)

owns a pet tarantula n yes she has it in her dorm n Yes she brings it out n plays w it n shit her name is stevie nicks n u better respect her

big slut

would never cheat on u but also probably wouldn’t date u in the first place bc she’s scared of like....being in a relationship b/c all of hers are p much on the rocks

probably carries around a pocket knife at all times

probably bought said pocket knife from a dude in an alleyway for like $5 

myra also goes to ucla and theyre 100% still not speaking but that’s bc they’re both too stubborn to go to each other but like lbr aster misses her cousin

v unruly, nvr brushes her hair, usually got dirt on her clothes bc she’s prolly been digging in gardens or stealing flowers or some shit

bright side is tht she always smells like flowers

theta sigma eta is lucky b/c she cooks her own meals w her own fresh veggies n shit n she always makes too much food n like ? so good

but anyways she’s also got like no manners okay she’s so impolite

uuuuuuh god i dunno what else

wanted connections

ride or die

other friends of varying closeness

ex-friends ???

...like somebody she’s into but also...not into? v conflicted feelings

on-and-off-agains bc their relationship is awful n probably toxic but it just. hurt so good

ex-gfs

ex-hookups

boys she’s led on

boys she’s currently leading on

flirtatious encounter gone wrong [not clickbait] ??

enemies

enemies but gone sexual [not clickbait]

buyers of her products - either weed, shrooms, or opium teehee

roommate

give her somebody she was a uwu soft crush on but would nvr do anything abt bc gross romance !!

alternately, unrequited crushes of any sorts

fellow gays b/c gays always end up knowing each other

party pals

frenemies ??

sdfgh give me her dad’s trophy wife pleathe....it’d be so funny

childhood friends tht knew her b4 she moved to boston so like...ages 0-9

childhood friends tht knew her after she moved to boston so like...ages 9-17

or acquaintances bc she was....a mean one

A TUTOR just b/c she can rly struggle w her dyslexia