#i might be fine with natural disasters shaking the world left to right. but unlike you i dont take pleasure out of it

[noneya-business-me]

The Language of Anger

T/W: Blood, fighting, assault, hospitals 

Midoriya Izuku was frustrated. Scratch that. He was beyond frustrated. He was pissed off. He’s been a Pro-Hero for a couple months now, still extremely young for the position he was in. He wanted to be a side-kick first, just to get comfortable with the new world he was supposed to protect now. However, All Might insisted that he go Pro right away like he had. Like an idiot he had nodded and agreed. The Hero helped him get a contract with the hero commission so he could work independently, which also meant that he was on call 24/7 apparently. He’d been called in for every crime imaginable, natural disaster, even small incidents that the police were usually sent to deal with. Bottom line, he was exhausted and the more people he wasn’t able to save the more frustrated he became. He had been regretting the decision to listen to All Might for a while now, but now it was really cementing in his head how stupid he had been. Even Bakugou had swallowed down his pride and took a side kick position with Best Jeanist. The greenette couldn’t help but growl when remembering the blonde laughing in his face when he told him that he already went Pro. 

“By who’s standards?” He laughed, “you haven’t been on the scene yet to even qualify to be a Pro.” 

“All Might suggested it.”  Midoriya shrugged nervously.

The blonde gave him a meaningful look before sighing. “You’re going to end up burning yourself out,” He said, crossing his arms, “you being a self-sacrificing idiot and all that. Maybe you should reconsider.” 

Midoriya couldn’t help the small flare of anger from flashing on his face. “Just because you aren’t able to go Pro right away like you wanted doesn’t mean you can jeopardize my opportunity to.” 

Bakugou suddenly looked like he had been slapped before he glared at him. 

“Fucking fine! But don’t come crying to me when you realize that you weren’t ready.” 

That hadn’t talked for a while after that. But of course because of their friends they were eventually forced back together and they were able to reconcile. However, in this moment the green haired Pro could only think of the encounter in fury. Bakugou had probably been watching him fail and laughing behind his back, while sending him messages of condolences and worry. The blonde since graduation and guidance from Best Jeanist had become someone extremely caring for his friends, family, and co-workers. It even showed in his work as a side-kick. It was probably all for show anyway, as a way to mask what he really felt for others. Just the thought of that made Midoriya turn and leap across roof tops towards the blonde’s apartment. He’s always looked down on others, why would that change now? It was dark by now, which means that the blonde would be home since side-kicks aren’t allowed on night patrols until their second years in agencies. How nice that must be.

He was standing in front of his door before he realized, the night air cooling him off significantly to the point of not really remembering why he was even there in the first place. His thoughts were cut off by the lock clunking open and the door opening slightly. A poof of pale blonde hair stuck out of the crack of the door, before opening fully to show the much shorter blonde standing there with sleepy eyes.

“Deku?” He questioned, obviously confused as to why he was there before moving out of the way to let him in. 

He was wearing pale blue pyjamas instead of the sweatpants and tank top he was infamous for wearing in high school. Making him seems a hell of a lot more soft than what he actually was. Midoriya moved into the front entry way, slamming the door shut behind him. The blonde jumped a little, still fumbling around from sleep, making the steady stream of anger come back. ‘Why does he get to come home and sleep in his own bed every day when I have to camp out on roof tops.’

Bakugou lead them into his living room before turning to him, while rubbing his eyes. “I saw one of your recent saves on the news. You did a good job,” He stated, motioning to the couch for him to sit, “Do you want tea or coffee? Or something else?” 

The Pro stayed silent, trying to reign in his anger. Why the hell would be mention something like that if he wasn’t trying to piss him off or start something? 

The blonde raised a questioning brow at him, before his face softened. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice full of concern. 

It was like something snapped in the Pro-Hero, in a split second he had turned into a feral beast. His fist swung swiftly into the blonde’s nose, feeling it crack under the pressure and gush blood around his fist. The blonde stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing heavily beside the couch. He looked stunned as his eyes blew wide in confusion, “W-wh”

Midoriya was on him before he could even form a sentence. 

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO LOOK DOWN ON ME!?” He screamed, grabbing for the blonde’s ankle before he could scurry away, throwing another punch to the side of his head. 

“What are you talking about?!” Bakugou yelled back at him, spitting around the blood in his mouth, and landing a kick to his sternum. 

He was able to shakily get to his feet, and stumble towards the kitchen where his phone was plugged in and charging. He was able to grab a plate form the drying rack and throw it back at his assaulter to buy him a couple more seconds. The heavy porcelain hit him smack in the middle of his forehead before smashing on the ground. He grabbed his phone, rapidly pushing on the side buttons, hoping to God that it would actually call his emergency contacts; before he was grabbed by the back of his pyjama top and yanked backwards, making him choke and hack as he was thrown into the cupboards. 

“I’M NOT THE SAME WEAK QUICKLESS BITCH THAT YOU USED TO MAKE FUN OF!” Midoriya screamed, grabbing the blonde’s hands as they began to pop as a last resort. 

A wicked idea suddenly popped into the green haired mans head as he gripped both of the blonde hands in tight fists so he couldn’t pop off without hurting himself. 

“Maybe you should feel what it’s like to be quirkless for once.” He stated, in an eerie monotone. 

Bakugou stared up at him in horror, before he began to struggle with renewed energy. Midoriya couldn’t help the deep chuckle that slipped out as he watched him struggle helplessly. This was supposed to be someone that was going to be a Pro-hero some day? Pathetic. He couldn’t even escape from a classmate. 

It was surprisingly easy to crush his ex-friends fists in his hands, morally and physically. Of course he was expecting for the blonde to be screaming, what he didn’t expect was what he was screaming for. Bakugou Katsuki was screaming for help. Never in his life, even them growing up could be remember the blonde asking for help, let alone screaming for it. The thought made him even more angry, throwing him to the side back towards the living room. 

“Really Kaachan after all these years you’re finally asking for help?” He sneered, glaring down at the other, “you could never take it from me, but now you’ll take it from anyone? Is that it?” 

He couldn’t help but notice the fear that shone in the other’s eyes, but he could still feel the undercurrent of contempt. He huffed, slamming his knees down over top of him, spitting in his face. “Do you see how pathetic this is Kaachan?” 

The blonde stayed silent, but never shifted his gaze where he was intently watching where the greenette’s hand were. 

“I’m the pro hero here and you’re nothing but a side kick.” He growled. 

The blonde opened his mouth a moment, flashing the empty spot where one of his front teeth should be before closing it again. “Don’t be shy now!” Midoriya yelled, shaking him, “tell me what you’re thinking!” 

“It’s been really tough for you hasn’t it?” 

It was suddenly like ice water was thrown over him. The next punch lands directly in the blonde’s mouth, another tooth cracking and being spit out by the blonde. Bakugou’s hands tried desperately to clutch the others shirt, but failed to grip with all his broken fingers. Midoriya couldn’t help when his fists started to glow with green static. The blonde’s arms weakly rested above his face, trying in vain to block the punches. 

“WHY DOES THE ONE TIME THAT YOU’RE RIGHT HAVE TO BE THE TIME THAT IT DESTROYS ME?!”

“Please,” the blonde muttered between blows, his face swollen and bloody, “you’re going to kill me.” 

The grenette only growled in his face, before the front door blew into splinters and he was tackled to the ground by a wall of muscle. The air got completely knocked out of him as he was pinned to the ground by immense coldness. 

“KATSUKI!” Someone screamed, “just hang on baby, the paramedics are coming up now.” 

“Eiji?” The blonde croaked, trying to open his eyes, but the bruising was preventing him from doing so. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” The red head sniffed, going to hold his hand before his noticed the state they were in. 

He grimaced, instead opting instead to shuffle as close as possible, not sure what parts of his body were broken. 

“Deku?” 

“He’s captured, you don’t need to worry.” Kirishima replied, glaring in his direction. “Is he okay?” The blonde questioned as the paramedics quickly wheeled in a stretcher, and got to work accessing his injuries and getting him out of there. 

“He’s…fine.” The red head replied, glancing over again at the greenette, not seeing many injuries on him at all.

** 

 Unlike what he was expecting, Midoriya was placed in one of the soft rooms in the hospital, the same one that were used to tell family when news was bad. He wasn’t left alone though, Shouto was in the corner watching him from over the top of his phone. He couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t thrown into a jail cell already. His blood was taken on the way to the hospital in another ambulance, while Kirishima travelled in the back of the other one with his fiancé. So far he hadn’t heard from anyone. 

He was wringing his hands together nervously when the door opened swiftly and shut. He glanced up to see Kirishima standing in the door way, his face grim and livid. Midoriya couldn’t help but look away towards the ground again.

“The test results came back,” Kirishima stated, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, “you’re not under any sort of quirk.”

The greenette couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, “so that’s why I’m here.” 

“You just appeared in front of our apartment in the middle of the night for no reason except to beat the shit out of my fiancé.” Kirishima spit back, “so I want to know why. I wouldn’t be able to get access to you if you were in a prison cell.”

Midoriya couldn’t help but glare up at the red head from where he was sitting. “I was pissed off.” 

“You were pissed off?” The red head hissed, moving forward before Shouto was beside him, pulling him back slightly. 

“We’re not doing round two of this shit tonight,” Shouto said quietly, “Katsuki needs us to be 100% right now.” Kirishima gave him a small nod before taking a deep breath, “explain.” 

“I’ve been called in constantly for everything, and I can’t fucking do my job right.” He hissed, “how come you guys get to relax while I have to work my ass off for nothing?!” 

“He told you not to go pro right off the bat.” Shouto replied, his glare completely unimpressed. 

The green haired pro rolled his eyes, remembering that Todoroki was indeed around when the two had had that fight around graduation.

“I know!” Midoriya yelled, slamming his hands down on the arms of the chair, “and it pisses me off because he was fucking right! But now he’s still looking down on me because he knows that he was right.” 

His friends watched him silently. “He had the audacity to bring it up too!” 

Kirishima sighed heavily, his shoulders falling in exhaustion. “You seriously need to get your shit together. It’s fucking embarrassing at this point.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Why the hell do you think we’re in our costumes right now?” Kirishima asked, motioning to the two of them, “or why I wasn’t home in my own apartment?” 

It seemed that Midoriya’s situational awareness was off because for the first time that night he decided to listen to the red head and take a glance at his surroundings. 

“Do you seriously think that you’re the only one to go Pro right out of high school?” Kirishima spit, “I did the same thing. I was offered a position at Fat Gums as a pro but that’s because I was working in a side kick position in high school. It’s the same with Shouto.” 

“What you don’t get is that we had experience as side kicks so we knew what we were getting ourselves into.” Shouto added, “you didn’t. I feel like you still don’t.” 

“So don’t you dare blame others for your inability to form coping mechanisms or to even speak up for yourself.” Kirishima snapped, “you’ve been letting All Might be your barrier for everything and now that you can’t solely rely on him to do everything for you, you take it out on the only person that tried to help you back then.” 

The red head leaned against the wall, worry creasing his brow but there was disgust still evident in his tone. “I can’t believe he wants to help you out so bad.” 

“What are you talking about?” Midoriya questioned. 

The red head scoffed, looking away from him, anger radiating off of him. 

“Bakugou’s been accelerating his side kick track so that he can go on night patrols to help pick up the slack for you,” Shouto replied when Kirishima kept silent, “he’s seen how stressed you’ve been and wanted to help you.” 

“He’d never do that,” Midoriya argued, “he wouldn’t do that for anyone, let alone me.” 

He couldn’t help but remember himself standing over the blonde just a few hours ago, feeling that the blonde was looking at him with fear and contempt; but was that really from Bakugou? Or was that coming from himself? 

He could tell that Kirishima’s patience was quickly wearing thin as he stomped forward grabbing him by the front of his costume and pulling him to his snarling face, “MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T SO BUSY PLAYING HERO YOU’D BE ABLE TO SEE THAT HE’S NOT THE SAME PERSON HE USED TO BE!” 

He threw him back against the chair.

“You need to realize that you’re not special. You’re a copy and paste of All Might except you can’t handle the fucking pressure.” Kirishima continued, making his way back across the room before he did something that he would regret, “you’ve pushed all of us aside one too many times and now I don’t think anyone knows who you are anymore. If you’re going to blame anyone, if you don’t want to accept blame that much you can blame All Might.” 

“I have to give him props he did a better job than my dad of shaping you into what he wanted you to be.” Shouto added, absentmindedly. 

Shouto looked a little bit relieved when Kirishima let out a small chuckle. For Midoriya it was difficult to argue back because as much as he hated it, he was kind of right. He’s always done whatever All Might wanted because he was blinded by admiration for his hero. 

“Excuse me?” A soft voice called, with a knock on the door. 

Suddenly all the energy drained out of the red head and the person that was standing there wasn’t Red Riot anymore, he was a worried sick desperate partner to someone who was gravely injured. It was the first time that he was hit in the gut with guilt. 

“Yes?” He asked with a small smile. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to go over Mr. Bakugou’s procedure plan.” The doctor stated, before noticing the others in the room, “do you want me to wait until you’re alone?” 

“That’s okay,” Kirishima replied, wringing his hands together anxiously. 

He nodded, motioning to the couch in the middle of the room, sitting down next to him and opening the file in his hand. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. Your partner is badly injured, however we have some amazing surgeons here that are going to do their best to get him back on his feet,” the doctor began, “with your permission, Dr. Aya has began the burr hole trephination to relieve the brain bleed and swelling. We’ve determined that it’s an intracranial hematoma which is common with trauma. However, we were able to catch it quickly so it should be relatively easy to repair and it’s not as invasive as a full on craniotomy.” 

He flipped to the next page. 

“After that procedure is finished, he will need to continue being intubated because of bruising and swelling of the windpipe, so it’ll be difficult for him to breath of his own. Likely he’ll be kept asleep just so it’s easier on his body.” 

The red head nodded along with his explanation. 

“From there, we can hopefully do the final surgeries off the tail end of each other. There was significant damage done to his hands. So we’ll have to go in and repair the bones in his hands and the glands in his hands that are used for his quirk. At this point it is uncertain if we’ll be able to repair full function to his hands. Dr. Hima, who’s going to performing the operation on his hands has a quirk that gives him an image of the original structure of someones anatomy so he can repair to the best of his ability to the original. Rest assured if it can be done, he’ll be able to do it.” 

“So he might lose his quirk?” Kirishima asked quietly. 

It was like the colour was slowly draining out of the sturdy hero the more that the Doctor talked. 

“In the worse case scenario, yes.” The doctor replied, “we’re lucky that the bones weren’t crushed too bad, but the glands and vessels that help the sweat travel to his palms were pretty damaged.” 

Unfortunately for them all, he had pictures of some of the blonde’s injuries in the file, which they saw a flash of before he was onto the next page.

“Near the end of that surgery, the plastic surgeon is going to work on reconstructing and setting his broken nose, and broken cheek bone. He’s very good and usually the stitches will heal with minimal to no scarring.”  

He finally closed the file, placing it on the coffee table. “We’re going to do everything we can to help him.” 

The red head kept his head down, as he clenched his hands into the pants of his costume.

“Do you have any questions?” The Doctor asked. 

Kirishima hesitated for a moment, before he let out a shaky exhale. “Is Katsuki going to die?” 

All at once Midoriya’s chest seized and it was like gravity was weighing down on him like a ton of bricks. 

“At this point everything is looking good, but there’s always the possibility of complications with any sort of surgery.” The Doctor replied, “Yes, Katsuki is in critical condition, but he’s responded well to every test and as far as I know the surgery has gone perfect so far.” 

“Of course he would be the perfect patient.” Shouto added, “Katsuki doesn’t half ass anything.” The red head gave him a grateful smile, before turning to the Doctor. 

“Thank you for everything so far, you’ve been incredibly nice.” he stated, “especially for it being so early in the morning.” 

The Doctor only gave him an appreciative nod, before standing up and moving towards the door. 

“We’ll let you know as soon as he’s in a room and stable. For now you can just stay in here if you’d like.” 

“Um, I just have one more question,” Kirishima stated, getting up after him, “do you still have the pyjamas that he was wearing?” 

The Doctor gave him an odd look. “We need them for the investigation.” 

“Oh right,” he responded, “we had them bagged as evidence in the triage room, so I’ll make sure they make it back to you.” 

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

The silence was heavy after the Doctor closed the door behind himself. The green haired hero curled into himself, his head hanging down between his legs as he tried to make sense of the situation that he not only put himself in but also Bakugou and Kirishima. They were right, he couldn’t handle the pressure and now he could see that he was no longer even a hero. He went after someone that he considered his brother and fought extremely hard for him to feel the same way. The thought that he could possibly die now because he snapped was destroying him all over again. 

“What happens now?” He asked shakily. 

“You’ll be charged with assault, and your hero license revoked.” Kirishima replied immediately. 

Midoriya grimaced but nodded. “I understand.” 

The two other heroes glanced at each other, before looking back to the shaking greenette. 

“However, unfortunately it’s all up to Katsuki to decide if he wants to press charges or not,” Kirishima added, “I for one will be encouraging him to have you arrested.”

Midoriya nodded again.

“I’m going to stay here until Bakugou is out, could you go to our apartment and get me some clothes for the both of us?” Kirishima asked, turning to Todoroki. 

He nodded, glancing over at Midoriya. “What about him?” 

“Can you just take him with you?” Kirishima asked, hopefully, “I really just want to be alone for a little bit.” 

The two toned man nodded, motioning for Midoriya to follow him out. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Shouto stated, disappearing out the door. 

Midoriya paused in front of the massive red head, who was finally taking off his hero mask. 

“Kirishima,” he said quietly, “i’m so sorry.” 

The red head glared at him more coldly than he ever had in his entire life, “I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to.” 

“I know.” Midoriya replied dejectedly.

“Just hope that he’ll be around to hear it.” 

**

Thankfully Bakugou made it through all his surgeries successfully, as if he’d ever failed something in his life. The swelling had gone down over the past week, so he wasn’t intubated anymore. He was propped up for the past week because of the swelling on his face, a portion of his head had been shaved and his head bandaged with a cap over top. So far he had woken up and responsive to everything that the Doctors were saying and at that point was considered a complete success. For Midoriya, it was up to him to explain what happened to the blonde side kick to Best Jeanist and other agencies in the area. It especially came into focus how out of touch he was with everyone when he realized that he didn’t know a majority of the staff at both Best Jeanist and Fat Gum’s agencies. Safe to say, for the moment, he wasn’t welcome anywhere near their districts. 

It felt like it was inevitable when he finally got a call from Kirishima.

“He’s wants to see you.” was all he said before he had hung up. 

That’s how he found himself standing in front of the blonde’s hospital room. He raised a hesitant hand and knocked softly on the door. Kirishima opened the door, the bags under his eyes darker than ever. He scowled but let him through anyways. 

He stopped after a few steps, when Bakugou noticed that it was him. The blonde gave him a small smile, regardless of the fact that his face was heavily bruised and covered in bandages. 

“Eiji, do you mind going to get me some food?” Bakugou asked, turning his gaze to the red head, “the Doctor said this morning before you got here that I can have some solid food.” 

The man looked nervously between the two, “what do you want?” 

“Katsudon? From that place around the corner at home?” He shrugged.

The red head bit his lip before nodding, “Call me if you need me, okay?” He stated nervously, kissing his forehead carefully before disappearing out the door. 

They were silent for a moment, before the blonde coughed and pointed to the chair next to his bed. 

“Have a seat,” he said, “we need to talk.” 

The greenette nodded, sitting himself down and curling into himself. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally muttered, as a tear rolled down his cheek, “I’m so so sorry.”

Bakugou just stared a him before he let go of a shaky breath. “You know I realized a lot of things over the past week and a half,” Bakugou started, “I’m also sorry.” 

Midoriya’s head snapped up to stare at him in disbelief, “what could you possibility need to apologize to me for?!” he shouted, before clapping a hand over his mouth, “I assaulted you. I tried to destroy your quirk Kaachan.”

“I know,” Bakugou replied with a small nod, “however, I did the exact same thing to you for years.” 

The dumbfounded expression never left the Pro’s face. 

“The shit you were screaming at me while you beat my face in reminded me too much of myself and I realized that it wasn’t enough to just ignore what happened,” He continued, “so I’m sorry.” 

“Kaachan, seriously I’m so sorry.” Midoriya shook his head, “I clearly hit you too hard in the face and now you’re not thinking right.” 

Bakugou a quirked brow at him. 

“We were kids, but I’m a grown adult and I should have known better.” Midoriya stated, “I forgave you for that a long time ago.” 

The blonde was silent again before he burst into cackles. “No shit you should have known better, moron!” He laughed, “but you finally got your shit together right?” 

“Um, yeah. Kirishima and Todoroki helped me realize some things.” He replied, sinking into his chair. 

“Eiji didn’t give you too much of a hard time right?” Bakugou asked, shifting around the blankets on his bed. 

“I almost killed his fiancé. Of course he gave me a hard time.” Midoriya groaned. 

The blonde cackled loudly again, “that’a boy!” 

“So where are you going to be side kicking?” Bakugou asked.

The greenette’s brows furrowed in confusion, “what are you talking about?” 

“Well you said you figured your shit out so I’m assuming you’re going to be a side kick for a while.” The blonde replied. 

“Kaachan, my hero license is going to be revoked.” Midoriya explained, “I’m probably going to jail.” 

“Not if I don’t press charges,” Bakugou shrugged, with a small smirk, “you haven’t assaulted anyone else right?”

Midoriya suddenly stood up, his chair toppling over behind him. “That’s not fair Kaachan! I need to pay for what I did!” 

The blonde watched him unimpressed, “you gonna make me have you arrested?” 

“I don’t want to make you do anything!” The other yelled back.

Bakugou settled down into his sheet, with a smug smirk. “Then I guess you’re going to be realllll nice to me for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a side kick position with Jeanist.” 

Midoriya went to yell again before he huffed. There was no winning when it involved Bakugou, there was only losing or teaming up with him. “He’s not going to let me within 100 feet of that building.” He sighed.

“It seems that you have some time off then until I get back and can introduce you myself,” Bakugou hummed, “we have some catching up to do anyways. Besides you’ll need a job if you’re going to pay for some veneers to replace my teeth. Look at me. I’m gorgeous and then I open my mouth and I look like I’m from some weird backroad town in America.” 

It was like a massive weight was finally lifted off his shoulder as he gave his oldest friend his first genuine smile in what felt like months. 

“Yeah, I got you.” 

[galacticnova3]

I Demand Iru Facts (if you’re up for it ofc!)

A

Yes I am up for it! I don’t think I talk nearly enough about my fcs here but I think I wanna change that. At the very least it will be the problem of everyone following me here and not just my cool and epic Discord friends. That being said I’m gonna just share the major info about him before/instead of just giving facts bc otherwise nothing will make sense. That’s just how it is with a lot of my stuff. This gets super long because I am bad at keeping stuff brief and in general there’s just a lot to him, whoops... Looks like I’ll be using another readmore tonight.

Iru was an Umbramaker! They are bootleg Mirror World Starcutters, which Mirror Halcandra definitely designed on their own and not by stealing and subsequently copying Overworld Halcandra’s Starcutter blueprints. To be fair, there are a few differences, but most of them are just aesthetic and don’t really change much. Anyways, Iru was specifically designed for disaster relief and material transportation. That’s why, if you have seen his refs, he had those two big mechanical arms. Very useful for moving rubble or lifting large pieces of metal for use in construction. Nowadays they... aren’t used for such beneficial things, though...

Like their Overworld counterparts, Umbramaker AIs are programmed to learn from their environment and the people around them, which is pretty useful! At least it is until one spends a lot of time around someone who’s not a great person, and subsequently picks up habits and ideas that make them insufferable! That’s what happened to Iru. He’s misogynistic and a thot, self-centered, inconsiderate, manipulative, generally annoying, and blames people not liking him on jealousy or misunderstanding. So, in other words, an incel minus anything literally sexual. Obviously that was a problem, and it got to the point that basically everyone who knew him had negative feelings toward him, other than the guy who rubbed off on him. He died though, and Iru didn’t really care at the time. But everyone hated him, and it really fucked up his relationships with other Umbramakers, most notably leading to him being broken up with by another ship he had been “dating” (Umbramakers can��t really date because of a lot of reasons but their relationship had that vibe), who had discovered she was biromantic and also couldn’t stand what Iru had become.

Iru was already pretty fucking hurt and pissed over that, except she then went on to spread rumors about him being involved in anti-government activities. Which, well, Mirror Halcandra didn’t take lightly, on top of having already been looking for excuses to “recycle” (see: kill and repurpose the parts of) Iru because he and his obnoxious personality were getting in the way of efficiency and productivity. There wasn’t any proof that he’d actually done anything wrong, but basically anyone who disliked Iru was saying it was true... which was just about anyone who had known him for more than 10 minutes. Given it was his word against the vast majority, and Umbramakers weren’t even considered to be people(mush like Starcutters in the Overworld), it probably isn’t difficult to guess how things went for him. There was no trial, and in fact they literally turned his voice off to make him shut up. Then his AI was shut off and he was taken to be disassembled.

At an earlier time in Mirror Halcandra’s history, his story would have ended here. This was not an earlier time, though. See, the truth is, such treatment of Umbramakers wasn’t extremely unusual. Despite having emotions and thoughts and relationships and all that, they were still viewed as nothing more than your average computer, just in a larger form. Unlike Overworld Halcandra, which was and still is doing less than great financially, Mirror Halcandra could afford to replace their toys as soon as they showed signs of breaking or underperforming. It happened often enough that they reached a point of complacency. During Iru’s disassembly, something was removed improperly, which registered as damage. He woke up, and it wasn’t difficult for him to figure out what was going on.

Another usually useful feature of Umbramakers, which actually wasn’t copied from Starcutters, is their ability to use parts interchangeably, so long as there wasn’t too much of a size difference. Great for the situation of a ship damaging something like, say, a wing; they can use a wing not originally designed for them temporarily until the damaged one is repaired or replaced. Not so great when that allows a now rogue ship to just grab whatever he could attach to himself and then escape the country before preparations could be made to stop him. Negative levels of great when you consider the temporary aspect of using the wrong parts; now you’ve got perfectly fine ships being attacked and having their parts stolen, and storage facilities being raided, for the bastard to keep replacements on hand. Oh, and he also looks like shit because he’s got multiple conflicting aesthetics.

Iru honestly didn’t enjoy living like that. For one, it was uncomfortable physically, even if he’d managed to convince himself that what he was doing wasn’t uncomfortable morally. Secondly, it was just boring! Nobody to talk to or hang out with, all he did was just fly around or plan his next attack/raid for new parts, nothing to shake things up. Sure, the sense of power it gave him was cool; nobody listened to him at all before, but now he had the influence to make people beg. He found satisfaction in being feared by anyone who recognized him. But even that lost its shine after a few decades... Until he connected to the messaging system of another rogue Umbramaker. She was smaller, too small for him to consider getting parts from, and a much older model anyways. She also didn’t know who he was, or what he looked like.

Naturally, he saw this as a huge win, because obviously he was going to get a new gf who wouldn’t betray him like his old one. That didn’t happen though, on account of him still being obnoxious and a creep. Didn’t help that when he finally tracked her down to meet up she was disgusted by him and immediately left. He still kept in touch, against her will, even to the point that you might have called it stalking. Through that, he learned of a Starcutter; she didn’t have the cool and aloof personality he was interested in, but at that point he didn’t care because he was sick of being rejected. Same thing happened again but faster, due to there being no physical encounter because god damnit he forgot the milfs can communicate with each other. He still wanted to meet her though, and he did! Mostly to find out more about the other Umbramaker’s whereabouts, and as an added bonus he tricked the Starcutter’s pilot into giving him admin rights over himself! Threats really work wonders, huh?

That was all fine and good, and by now he’d taken to vibing outside the Mirror World because that’s what the other two were doing. One day he spotted the Starcutter again, and took to following her around and trying to flirt with her because he’s a fucking creep. He would not admit that it took him several days to realize he had, in fact, been talking to a mimic the entire time. Partly because he was too self absorbed to realize the “Starcutter” not immediately telling him to fuck off was unusual, because he assumed he’d charmed her. The mimic was just as confused as he was, honestly; usually they fail to keep up the act to a convincing degree for so long around people who know the real ship that they’re imitating. Even more confusing was the fact that when they were found out, Iru didn’t try to attack them or something. No, he actually stuck around for some reason, casually ignoring murder because he finally found someone who didn’t hate him.

The two become what could arguably be considered friends, and eventually Iru opens up about himself and his old life and how much it sucked to be him and how sick he was of the monotony of his existence and probably some overdramatic stuff mixed in with all that. The mimic hears all that and keeps it in mind for later. Stuff gets more difficult for Iru as parts that fit him become better guarded and the ships he could steal from get harder to find. His raids become riskier, and eventually the mimic decided enough was enough and points out that he can’t keep that up forever. Iru is like “oh wow thanks for the advice /s”, until the mimic introduces the concept of him becoming a mimic. It takes a solid not-even-an-hour to convince him that that’d be preferable were it possible. In the process he delivered a powerful and emotional monologue, which the mimic didn’t care about because look, they figured out how to get the monster juice out of themself that’d make him a fellow disgusting flesh boat! Iru is offended but also takes the chance for a better life.

Currently, he’s living at some point a few weeks after that, much to everyone’s dismay.

And that’s how Iru became a vile meat creature after having already become a horrible Frankenstein’s monster of different ships’ parts! The moral of the story is, if you’re gonna kill someone, do it right, or else they might defy the laws of nature, science, and the government to become physically capable of biting you in the ass.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

thērepōdos (II)

I heard ya’ll like Dimileths~

FE3H | Dimileth | Gen

~~

“You’re doing it wrong, come here...look.”

Dimitri frowns, watching as Sylvain lifts Alexei into his arms.

“The head goes here, look, like this!”

The protocol for a royal baby is clear, even if Alexei himself doesn’t know it yet. Now that a week has passed since his birth and both he and his mother are in good health, the time has arrived for him to be properly introduced to not only the nobles of the realm, but the people of Fhirdiad.

Some traditions are meant to be broken, though.

While the newly established heads of houses Gautier and Fraldarius were first through the gates, they were not the only ones to receive an invitation. So too did an innkeeper, four professors from the monastery, an opera starlet recently turned noble, two mercenaries and a mysterious hooded figure bearing the emblem of the knights of Seiros.

The ceremony to welcome Prince Alexei is two days from now, leaving every corner of Fhirdiad rife with anticipation. The last time they welcomed a prince was after Dimitri took control of the capital en route to Enbarr, an infamously bittersweet moment for all involved. For years the idea of welcoming a healthy heir to the throne in a time of relative peace remained little more than a wish whispered into the night. The people of Faerghus have become skeptical, hearts hardened by war and disaster. No one is quite so aware of this as the King.

Dimitri remembers his throne being stolen with far more clarity than he does reclaiming it. He was well read long before his arrival at Garreg Mach, devouring any text he could find that discussed the qualities of an ideal ruler. He spent nights poring over philosophy and proverbs- prepared for the crown of his country to weigh on his head and heart.

The crown was deceptively light in the end, though. He turned his head too quickly the first time he wore it and fell into shocked silence as it clattered on the ground at his feet. His instinct was to laugh and crack a joke; he has never been the gentle type, after all. He’s broken more lances than anyone could reasonably count, snapped Mercedes’ sewing needle in half; dented both his armour and crown. Somehow he even managed to headbutt Byleth during their first kiss.

Tradition calls for him to stand on the balcony of their grand palace with his child in his arms, telling Faerghus the name of their future ruler. He has both dreamed of and dreaded this moment, for reasons all too clear to those who know him best.

It’s been a week now and he has yet to hold the baby, convinced beyond all rational doubt that something awful will happen. Perhaps he will bend the baby in two; perhaps he will lift him with far too much force. Byleth has told him more than once that it’s unlikely, but the idea of landing any scratches or scrapes on his legacy is too much to bear. He only ever watches the baby from a safe distance; only dares to touch him by stroking his hair.

He knows Byleth wishes he would hold him and today he has little choice in the matter. It is the King’s job to introduce the world to his legacy and in doing so reassure the people of stability. Even so, his hands shake at the very idea and he can scarcely look his friends in the eye.

Of the Blue Lions, Sylvain was the first to have children-a red haired girl named Isolde, who’s spent the past half an hour peering into the cot with a grave expression. She’s too young to understand the more complicated issues at hand and Dimitri almost envies her ignorance.

Sylvain, who spent so much time with Isolde in his arms that she now gets incredibly upset at being parted from him, was horrified by the prospect of Dimitri being so distanced from his own child. His own scars are different in size and shape. He doesn’t fear holding his child too tightly, but giving them any inkling of rejection. Isolde bears no crest, yet he still calls her ‘princess’.

As per tradition, Sylvain arrived with gifts from House Gautier, among them a gaudy vase that no one in the room has pretended to like. Perhaps most importantly, it is almost exactly the same size and weight as a human child.

“Like this,” says Sylvain, shuffling the vase in his arms. “Look, you need to support the head.”

“This is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing either of you have ever done,” yawns Felix from his spot by the window.

Dimitri glances from the vase wrapped in furs in Sylvain’s arms to the sleeping baby and clenches his hands into fists.

“You can do it,” adds Dedue with a nod.

Dimitri rubs his hands together, taking a deep breath and reaching for the vase. His hands are trembling, his stomach churning. He knows it’s a vase and not the real thing, but it’s difficult to think of anything but either of them shattering on the floor.

He takes the vase into his arms, back straight and shoulders rigid. He can feel it slipping even though it sits stock still. Sylvain takes a couple of steps back, grinning triumphantly at his own success.

“There it is, perfect,” he says, “though...maybe you could relax...a bit?”

“You look like you’re taking a shit,” adds Felix.

Dimitri sighs and passes the vase back to Sylvain. Why was he cursed with such clumsy hands? Why couldn’t he be as skilled with delicate work as he is on the battlefield?

“Don’t worry so much about it,” laughs Ashe, no doubt sensing his tension. “Babies were built to survive new parents!”

“That’s right, that’s right,” says Sylvain, taking the vase from him with little to no effort. “Soon you’ll be bouncing them around and-“

SMASH

Everyone reacts at exactly the same instant.

Sylvain, who tossed the vase up into the air for emphasis, falls into shocked silence. Felix, who took a second to roll his eyes, squeezes them shut altogether. Dimitri takes two steps back, having tried and failed to catch the vase. Ashe flinches. Both Alexei and Isolde cry.

“This...this doesn’t mean anything!” Sylvain drops to his knees to gather the parts of the vase left intact. “Look...see-ow!”

“This is how it’s going to be, isn’t it?” Dimitri murmurs as Sylvain examines his bloodied fingers. “For the rest of my life…”

“No, no,” Sylvain exclaims, “this is just an accident...don’t think too much about it! It was fine until I took it, honestly!”

Dimitri sucks in a deep breath and storms out of the room, away from the chaos. Sylvain flops down onto the floor with a sigh, dropping the shard of ceramic that sliced open his fingers.

“Do you think we should go after him?”

“And say what?”

Felix’s words are sharp, though betrayed by his tone.

“I dunno,” says Sylvain, “that feeling scared is normal when you first have a kid.”

“Did you hesitate to hold Isolde?”

At that, Sylvain’s eyes drop to the floor. Everyone knows that he didn’t.

“Speaking of Isolde,” pipes up Ashe, “where is she?”

~~~~~~

It’s been a while since all of the Blue Lions have gathered at once. Byleth sees Mercedes and Annette at the monastery fairly frequently, while Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix remain in touch via council meetings and the day to day running of the kingdom, but the only time they all seem to be in one place at the same time is at a wedding or a baptism.

Byleth has missed the idle chatter of her students and it’s plain to see that they have missed one another’s company. She acquired a fragrant tea and lemon cakes for the reunion, only for them to lay forgotten in the excitement of updates on one another’s lives. Hours have passed and conversation has barely halted, leaving only Byleth to sit in relative silence. She’s always been something of an introvert and at present there’s a lot on her mind.

Today her son will be tested for a crest and then presented to the people of Fhirdiad. She knows that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering how often crests and their holders have changed the course of history, yet somehow the reality of it is only just hitting her.

Since Dimitri’s ascension to the throne, the topic of crests has been hotly debated. Where before it was a cornerstone of life as a noble, now it is considered outdated at best. It’s certainly true that noble families have continued to have their children’s blood tested, though the results are rarely-if ever-made public knowledge. The practise itself might not have survived were it not for the consequences of using a relic without its proper crest, leaving it as a safety measure and little more. Even so, Byleth feels anything but safe.

She does not want anyone to break the skin on her son’s finger, no matter how gently it is done. She brought in Hannemann for the task in the hopes that she would feel better about it, but her stomach still churns with anxiety. She did not know she had a crest herself until adulthood and that knowledge gnaws at her heart. Would it really matter if none of them knew if Alexei had one either?

She only half listens as Dorothea and Manuela frantically exchange notes on the newer compositions they heard in taverns on the journey to Fhirdiad. Enough time has passed that the war of the three houses has fallen mostly into legend, with travelling bards the world over composing tales of the noble chivalry and grand deeds of the Blue Lions and their allies. One particular ongoing theme (and consequently, ongoing joke) is the valour and strength of Ingrid of house Galatea and her incredible modesty on the matter. Ingrid has never truly known how to respond to the stories comparing her strength and beauty to that of the goddess. Naturally, her blushes only inspire Manuela and Dorothea to repeat them with gusto and their current tale involves a certain knight falling from the sky.

“...and next, next the beautiful stranger opened her eyes….”

“Oooh!”

Annette leans in closer, as if she’s listening to a secret. Ingrid blushes furiously, though tries to hide it from view.

“...she asked the innkeeper to listen closely and he crouched at her side to hear her whispers…”

Byleth has heard this story before. During a raid on a number of bandits, Ingrid fell from her horse, crashing through the roof of the inn. Somewhat miraculously, she escaped relatively unscathed from the impact, far more dazed than bruised. She stayed in the inn for a couple of days at Mercedes’ insistence and, while the true sequence of events was rather dull, the retellings grow increasingly dramatic with each passing year.

Everyone in the room knows this story, yet still wait with bated breath. As such, when Dorothea opens her mouth to whisper the request of the grand lady knight, only to be drowned out by the chaos of the door crashing open, everyone is startled.

The shock is only temporary, though, and quickly transforms into curiosity when it’s Isolde who rushes into the room. It’s certainly true that some present know Isolde better than others, but everyone in the room is acutely aware of two things.

One, that Isolde is nothing if not intelligent. She knows exactly how to manipulate her father into giving her extra dessert or a later bedtime, much to the ire of her mother.

Secondly, that while her loyalties certainly fall with Sylvain, who is easily the softer of the two, she will run to her mother whenever she is truly frightened.

“Momma,” she calls out, cheeks as rosy red as her hair, “Momma! Papa dropped the baby! It broke on the floor!”

~~~~~

By now, Alexei has fallen silent, sleeping soundly in the crook of Dedue’s arm. Sylvain disappeared in search of Isolde, leaving Felix and Ashe to sweep up the broken vase.

“Stupid idiot,” mutters Felix, “leaving us to clean up his mess…”

Ashe can’t contain his laughter. Felix, after all, was the first to grab a broom.

“Don’t you find it nostalgic?”

“Nostalgic?”

“Mhmm,” says Ashe. “It might sound silly, but it sort of reminds me of when we started to restore the monastery.”

Felix presses his lips together and continues to sweep, albeit in completely the wrong direction. It is nostalgic even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Back then, Byleth added restoring the monastery to their list of after school chores. It was difficult to retain morale with enormous gaps in the ceiling. Many of the Blue Lions and their allies continued to clear the rubble long into the night. Felix complained the loudest, but more often than not stayed until dawn.

Ashe can’t keep the smile from his face, even as the door flies open and the Professor rushes in, the remaining Blue Lions and Isolde in tow. Byleth has never been easy to read, but it’s all too clear what’s running through her mind as she crosses the room and stands up on her tiptoes to peer into Alexei’s sleeping face.

“Is that...a vase ?”  Annette crouches on the floor and picks up one of the shards, holding it up to the light. “Why is it in a blanket?”

“Baby,” says Isolde, pointing at the mess.

Byleth peers around the room, taking note of every guilty face with two significant exceptions.

“Where’s Dimitri?” she asks.

~~~~~

There are very few paintings of King Lambert in Fhirdiad, though not through any sort of misfortune. In truth, he was far more interested in practising his sword arm than sitting down for a portrait, and as a consequence his likeness was captured only once.

The portrait of King Lambert sits pride of place on the wall of the heroes gallery, one singular floor of the palace dedicated to preserving the legacy of notable citizens of Faerghus. There are statues of Loog in every corner, portraits of long dead and largely forgotten kings, dusty tomes detailing the history of the land. To be placed in the gallery is one of the greatest honours in the country and Lambert’s portrait is the brightest of all. The artist captured him perfectly, from the sharpness of his jawline to his gleaming armour. He appears dignified, noble…

...and not at all as Dimitri remembers.

Dimitri remembers only his final moments, an image that so often drowns out the rest. When he tries to remember his father’s booming laughter, he recalls the sound of his final gurgles. When he thinks of his proud form, his mind immediately drifts to the moment it fell still.

He made peace years ago with the knowledge that Lambert was never coming back, but he wishes more than anything that he could remember more of him than the moment of his death.

Dimitri very often visits the painting of his father and it’s there that Byleth eventually finds him. His arms are folded, his back straight as an arrow, staring into the eyes of the painting so deeply that he doesn’t notice Byleth approach until she’s standing beside him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says.

“With what?”

“The silence.”

She stays quiet, as is so often her way, eyes drifting from him to the portrait. She, of all people, should understand. They’ve both been numb for as long as they remember and this past year has brought wave after wave of emotions to the surface.

Today they are duty bound to present their son to the kingdom and promise the very thing neither of them remember. Who are they now that there’s no battles to fight?

In the end, Byleth says nothing at all and instead links her fingers through his.

She doesn’t let go, not even as Hanneman pricks their boy’s finger and casts his blood into the flames, revealing the Blaiddyd crest.

She doesn’t let go as they stand on the balcony, waving to their subjects and declaring the arrival of an heir to the throne. As far as the people of Faerghus are concerned, the baby’s mere existence is a victory.

They don’t need to know how badly their king’s hands are shaking; they don’t need to know about the tears in their queen’s eyes as Hanneman’s needle broke his skin.

From this distance they can’t see the dents in his crown, nor can they tell that the bundle nestled in the crook of Dimitri’s arm contains nothing more than one of Isolde’s dolls.

The real heir to the throne is fast asleep in his nursery, as blissfully ignorant of the celebrations in his name as he is the battles that won him his birthright.

That, in itself, is the true victory.

[lemonjoonah]

Under Fire - Pt 18

Title: Under Fire Word Count: 7.1K Rating: M Genre: Gang AU/ Mafia AU, Drama, Slow Burn Romance Warnings: Violence, Blood, Referenced sexual activity, Referenced voyeurism (3rd party viewer without consent to watch). Pairings: Hyung Line x Reader (Primarily Namjoon x Reader), very slight OT7 x Reader.   Pairings (in this chapter):  Namjoon x Reader, Jin x Reader, J-Hope x Reader, Suga x Reader

Summary: As a child you lived among the most wealthy and powerful, after the death of your mother you were shipped off to stay with her sister. Even after finishing your education you continue to live apart from the elite, but a visit home creates an unexpected disaster. You are suddenly roped into a darker world, and who better to be your guide than the infamous gang known as BTS.

Chapter 18 - Dust to Dust

POV RM

“I’ve just sent them the all clear,” Jk mutters looking up from his phone.

I nod in response keeping my eyes on the computer screen with the hacked footage, waiting patiently for you to hit the casino floor. Fuck I wish I could be beside you instead. If this goes south quickly, I won’t be able to get there in time.

I just need something to go right today, I need you to succeed where I had failed.  My most recent endeavour has come to a crashing halt after JK gave me the news earlier this morning. A contact that I had made several days ago, one that was willing to step forward again had just been killed, in a so called ‘workplace accident’. Kim is clearly keeping a close eye on me or other past plaintiffs, continuing the facade of innocence with his manufactured deaths.

Until I can be sure that no more harm will come to them, that I won’t bring the devil to their door, I have to hold off on my own revenge. It’s not enough to take everything from him, the thought of him behind bars is so much more alluring, especially when his own men have committed acts against many prison inmates. Kim will not survive long in incarceration and I’ll make sure of it. That’s the only way this can end. You’ll finally be free to do as you wish, and maybe I’ll be free of this burden that still hangs over me.

These past couple of weeks have been unbearable. More than anything else I just wanted to see you. I couldn’t even keep to my office knowing what had taken place there. Every time I would stare down at my desk I would just think of how good you looked on top of it. The feeling of your warmth would return to my lips, my fingers, and my cock. My ability to concentrate would vanish with every thought consumed by you.

I deeply want to take back all of my words and the choices I have made when it comes to distancing myself from you, but instead I continue to force myself to replace the intoxicating memories of my office, with the sobering recollections of the library.

There is still so much I haven’t told you. You still don’t know about her, and about what happened to bring me here. But with the anniversary of her death looming, I find it harder and harder to bring up, to touch on that subject of selfishness when at points I have fallen into a somewhat similar trap while trying to protect you.

After her death I knew that my revenge and my survival would come as an unlikely pair, but at that point I didn’t care. I had nothing left to live for. There was no happiness to my end, only a lack of enemies. If I had to die in the process of taking them down I would do so.

But then you came along and made me question everything. One touch from you sealed my choice, showing me there is a reason to keep going, even after everything is complete. You made my selfishness return, but even now as I watch you exit the elevator holding your head head high as you go to met Cha, I find myself still wondering if it’s such a bad thing.

I double check my watch, the delivery is already late and still no word of visual from Suga. I clap JK on the back before moving to the van door “Stay here and keep an eye out will you? I’m going to check in with Monsta X.”   

..  

POV (Y/N)

J-Hope runs to meet them at the elevator while you throw everything off the dining room table and turn on every light in the room.

Jin and V carry Jimin in while JK keeps pressure on his stomach with a gauze patch. Setting him down carefully while Jin throws his medical bag down on the table next to him, pulling out several instruments and wrappings.

“(Y/N) hold this for me.” He hands you a bright flashlight. “I need to check the damage before I make any attempt in closing him up. Sorry Jimin this is going to hurt.” Jimin looks to be too far out of it to even notice Jin’s words.

JK stands behind Jimin ready to use force if necessary to keep him in place. But when Jin’s fingers breach the wound, he’s flat out with no reaction.

“Hope, check him.” Jin orders with an edge of fear.

J-Hope with his fingers on Jimin’s throat leans an ear over Jimin’s mouth. “Breathing and pulse are still steady.”

There’s a sigh of relief from Jin, “It’s not as deep as I feared, it didn’t penetrate past the muscle. He’ll be fine once we can get a transfusion into him.”

V looks at the jacket Jimin was wearing finding the pocket torn. Pulling out the contents he finds Jimin’s phone with a shattered screen. “Looks like the blade glanced off his phone first.”

“(Y/N) I’m going to need the disinfectant and my suture kit.” You quickly dig through his bag and hand over the necessary tools, before looking up and taking an evaluation of everyone else, finding two members absent from your midst. “Where are RM and Suga?”

“They’ll meet us here later, they’re not done yet...” V replies.     

As the first stitch goes in Jin begins to berate the youngest member, “JK what is the number one rule of knife wounds?”

“Don’t remove the blade,” JK replies quietly.

“Then why the fuck did you take it out?!” Jin shouts in frustration.

JK looks terrified as does everyone else with Jin’s loss of composer. “I’m sorry I panicked. I’m not used to being the first onsite. There was blood everywhere I didn’t know what to do.”

“We’ll good news, you can repay your stupid mistake by being the blood donor. You and Jimin share the same type.”

There’s an audible groan from JK, “Maybe next time you’ll remember then?” Jin reprimands.

With the tensions somewhat relaxed you turn from their conversation to find V examining J-Hope’s face intently and with confusion, it’s only another second before a smirk slowly pulls at his mouth. He takes a kerchief from his pocket and reaches across you to hand the item to J-Hope whispering, “Nice lip colour Hope, but I think it looks better on Fire.”

J-Hope instantly blushes and takes the cloth to wipe his mouth. Any dignity you could have salvaged or story you could have fabricated was gone with J-Hope’s lack of composer.

“It’s none of your business V,” You quietly quip back to him.

“No you’re right, it’s not my business.” He chuckles as he pulls out his phone to check the time.

J-Hope takes this moment to lead you on to the balcony out of earshot of the others, a blush still present on his face, “Fire, about earlier. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have come on like that. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

The meeting with Cha had put you on your edge, having J-Hope beside you expressing you how well you worked the situation in your favour, it was the acceptance that you craved so desperately. When he kissed you... it was unexpected yet it didn’t feel wrong, only like it was a natural progression. As if it was your reward from him for your accomplishments and fuck you wanted it. But now as the heat of the moment has died down you are left conflicted, “So where does that leave us now?” you ask with worry, scared of the outcome, and the possibility that you might hurt him too.

“Wherever you want. Wherever you feel comfortable, I would never say no to a repeat of today’s session but I also know that things are complicated right now. I don’t need a label, I just want you to know, if you need me I’ll be there, if you want me you can have me.” J-Hope drapes his jacket around your shoulders, the weight of the fabric is heavy but comforting in the cool night air, “I just want to be there for you the way that you were for me.”

“I don’t want to leave you hanging onto something that might not happen Hope.”

“Who said I was hanging, there’s no cliff okay? I promise there’s no risk with me, as long as you're here, as long as you’re happy, I’m content.”

...

Jimin is moved to the bedroom still in his unconscious state.  Jin sets up the blood transfusion, after taking what he needed from JK, then eases into a seat beside to monitor his condition. When the other boys moved out into the living room you stayed with Jin. The exhaustion finally showing in him when it’s just the two of you remaining.

You rest a hand on his shoulder, to which he leans his cheek against as he takes your fingers in his. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.”

“Do you want to get some rest? I can watch over him.”

“No, it’s not that. I doubt that I could sleep right now. I just... I hate this, I hate knowing that there might be one day where I can’t save them, the bullet will hit something vital, or the blade will go too deep, and there will be nothing I can do.”

“No but we all know the risk, if any of us go down, no one will blame you if you can’t pull us back up.”

Jin sighs, “What’s become of us, to have this as a topic of discussion? Who would have thought those two innocent kids would ever be in our position.”

“I’m just following your lead.” You proceed to laugh at him.

“If you recall I distinctly told you not to,” Jin shakes his head. “(Y/N)... just please don’t be the one. Don’t be the casualty I can’t save. You can say that you know the risk and your willing to pay it, but I am not. Not after I finally got you back.”

Jimin wakes with a start followed by gasps of heavy breathing. You reach over forcing him back down knowing that if there was too much movement will rip the stitches that Jin just sutured.

“Jimin, you’re okay.” You and Jin try to settle him but Jimin grabs your wrist.

“Where is RM?”

“He’s not back yet.”

“They were looking for him... they thought he was with JK. They went to the van to target him.”

You freeze with fear, Namjoon hadn’t been in contact yet, neither had Suga. V said they went to radio silence for the teams safety, but what if something else had happened and they weren’t able to call for help.

“We need to find him!” Jimin urges trying to sit up again.

“Jimin, it’s okay he knows, we know. JK was there to warn us.”

Jin’s response puts you into shock, “Wait, what?! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because there’s nothing we can do.”

You throw Jin a look of distress, “What do you mean? Why is he still out there then if there’s a target painted on him, why is no one else out there with him but Suga?”

“Because we had to get Jimin back here. He has other teams with him, Monsta X, VIXX, Seventeen, and Pentagon, he’s not alone. They still have a mission to do and if he was targeted he didn’t want to anyone to follow him back here. They’ll come back when they are sure that it’s safe to do so.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t join them now,” You counter.

“I’m sorry, but we have to stay here. Those are his orders.”  

“Jin we’ve heard nothing. What if they’re in trouble? I can’t just wait to see if everything will be okay.”

You have to do something, even if you could just find them to be an additional hand in the operation. Your opportunity rests in the pocket of J-Hopes jacket that still rests on your shoulders, the keys to Suga’s motorcycle. JK had pulled up their last location at a warehouse that wasn’t far from where the accords had taken place. Making a break for the door you find yourself blocked by J-Hope who must have heard your raised voices. You try to skirt around him as Jin calls out to you.

“FIRE!” You come to an abrupt halt as Jin uses your code name for the first time. His tone is serious and even as he stares you down, “This is not about me holding you back for personal reasons. If you leave to find them, if anyone of us goes to search for them they will only be endangering themselves. They’ll be walking into a situation in the dark, no guidance, no notion of the current plan, nothing. They cut off the com-line for a reason, we have to wait for them to make first contact now.”

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, they’ll be fine I promise.” J-Hope whispers, carefully taking the keys out of your hand and steering you to the couch that you and he were on a mere hour before. JK is dozing off in the chair to your side. While V searches the internet for any news story or article covering what might be currently going on out there.

A grin slowly appears on his face as he sits back with a sign, “They did it...” he turns the laptop over to you and J-Hope, featured on screen is a truck embroiled in flames, “They got hold of the shipment and torched it.”

“Anyone found on the scene?”

“Nothing posted yet.”

...

Several hours later you find yourself still waiting. J-Hope is passed out behind you while you lay there in his arms eyes wide open staring into the dark. He was sure to keep hold of you as he fell asleep, you can tell that he’s still worried that you might slip off in the night to find them.

The phone next to V begins to vibrate, but with its owner in a snoring state that leaves only you to answer it. You breathe a sigh of relief seeing the caller ID display RM.

“Namjoon?”

“(Y/... Fire? Sorry I thought I called V.”

“You did he’s just getting some rest.”

“How is Jimin? Suga’s with me now and we’re almost there.”

“Stable, nothing critical but he’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“Good...”

“Namjoon what happened? Jimin said that you were a target, why would you stay if you knew the danger?

“It was a risk I had to take, just like your meeting with Cha. Did the arrangement go as planned?”

“Yeah a little too well. He gave us more than we asked for, and that has me worried.”

“We’ll be there in a minute, send me the elevator code and get everyone up we have a lot to discuss.”

He hangs up the phone his professional nature leaving you visibly downtrodden.

“He still has feelings for you, you know.” V mutters making you jump out of your skin, his eyes flick open up to you. “I know that this too is none of my business but it’s true.”

“H-how did you... don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m just reading the facts. You don’t know everything about him, you don’t know his past like, I do. There’s a reason he is acting the way he is, I think it’s time you asked him about it.”

“If he wants to tell me he can do so himself.”

“That’s not his style, his past is something he has no wish to burden anyone else with unless he has to. He will hold on to it to prevent others from taking on it’s weight. If you want him to share it, you have to ask him for it. But trust me when I say he still cares for you, you didn’t see the way he reacted when he found out you were in Suga’s room after the accords, and how much of a wreck he has been ever since. Insufferable mess might be a more accurate description actually.”

“Jealousy doesn’t count V, that’s not...”

“He wasn’t jealous, he looked more concerned.”

“But, why?”

“Damn I was hoping you could tell me...” V chuckles, “Guess I’ll have to find out another way.”

The elevator dings open a few minutes later, both Namjoon and Suga step out with matching looks of exhaustion and frustration, but no visual injuries.

“Jimin?” Namjoon looks to you.

“Through there.” You point to the largest bedroom suite. He gives you a weak smile before hurrying of to see the wounded member.

“RM said that everything worked out on your end.” Suga approaches you pulling the long rifle case from his back, setting down carefully on the floor next to you.

“For now,” you nod, “Not sure how long it will last. We saw that you were successful.”

“We got there in the end but the dust shipment was late, substantially late. They knew we were there and wanted to see if they could flush us out without damaging the cargo. The only conclusion we can draw is that someone must have organized an intentional leak.”

Namjoon pokes his head out, “Get everyone in here. We need to talk.”

...

“Shortly after RM left I heard sounds just outside of the Van, I thought it was just a couple drunken men passing by I made a call out to Jimin who was nearby to see if he could get a visual when they broke into the back door. They held me as gunpoint and kept asking for RM’s location where he had gone. Luckily for me Jimin wasn’t too far off.” JK looks to Jimin with guilt as he sits next to him on the bed.

Jimin looks unfazed though, the pain medication Jin had given him must be kicking in. “I took them by surprise and was able to disarm them of their guns but one of them pulled a knife. JK finished them off but not before... well... this.” He points down to his abdomen with a rough sigh.

Jimin notices your grimace as you look at his wound. “If you think this is bad you should see what happened to the guy who did it,” His face dawns a crooked smile, patting the youngest member on the back, “JK didn’t let him off so easy.”   

“Were you able to take down any of their lead members?” You ask hopeful that at least one of the men that killed your father would have been eradicated.

“No it was mostly the lower ranks and rookies. I spotted Youngjae there in the beginning but he was the first to flee, when he saw that they were outnumbered. I couldn’t even get a shot at him in,” Suga grumbles with disappointment. “I don’t think they expected us to come at them with everything. We had to lay low after just in case it was a ruse to follow after we succeeded, Seventeen and Pentagon took care of disposal, so there shouldn’t be too much for the news to report on.”

“Where going to have to evaluate the situation again later,” Namjoon sighs rubbing his brow, “For now though I want to hear what happened on your side,” He requests looking over you and J-Hope.

“Yes do tell, I hear you had a rewarding night too?” V encourages you with a forged smile of innocence.

You throw him a brief glare and recant the night’s events before anyone can guess there’s a double meaning to V’s words. “Cha will take on the bill or so he says but we should still air on the side of caution...”

J-Hope nods beside you, “He gave this as a parting gift as well, said that we would find the differences enlightening, whatever that means...” J-Hope pulls out the black envelope that Cha had given you.

There’s a groan from Jin, he reaches into his bag and pulls out the matching invitation you saw a week ago. “Every year my father holds a foolish themed New Years party for the more entitled members of society, basically the same crowd that attended the fundraising auction. I haven’t gone since breaking ties with him but he always sends an invitation.”

“Looks like Cha got an invite too then.” You state opening the envelope that he had given, and proceeding to scan the two invites reading through the pretentious nature of the letter to find Cha’s contained a few more lines tucked right in at the end.

...In addition to the main event, I would be honoured for you to join us for a more private gathering in the Orchid Room at 10pm to partake in a venture that I reserve for only for a select few...

“Cha said that Kim was trying to sway him to his side to get him to make a choice,” You mutter.

“What’s this then, an offer of some sort?” Jimin asks.

“Or a trap for us,” Namjoon adds, his hands crossed in front mouth as he contemplates the situation.  

       “It’s not unlike him to have a smaller affair such as this off to the side,” Jin explains. “But as I’ve said before RM this whole thing is too risky to make an appearance at. If Cha is plans to get the bill through we don’t need to make an appearance for social standing.”

“But Cha implied that getting the votes after might not be so easy, saying that the invitation or event might give us more information. If that’s the case we need to know what’s going on in that room. If the bill is taken in and then fails to pass we won’t get another chance so easily.”

“If we don’t go it fails, if we do we are risking a possible trap.” Namjoon considers aloud, weighing both options evenly.

You however find yourself skewed to one side, “At least if it’s a trap we can be prepared for it. We know the room, we don’t have to be inside if we can set up a visual,  we just need people close by and on sight ready with a distraction if this meeting proves threatening to our goal.”

Jin doesn’t look convinced by your argument,“Even being in that hotel will be a risk, any member or ally could be easily identified and brought down. There’s more opportunity for them to show their true colours at a place like this, not every room is in view of the public.”

“Have you seen this years theme?” You question, noting a possible advantage.

“No, why would I bother to check if...” Jin responds with confusion.

V takes the invite from you, his grin grows as he reads the fine print, “Oh that’s perfect... it’s a Masquerade.”

The atmosphere of the room changes to that of optimism, with several members embracing the idea.

“That could work...”

“They wouldn’t be able to tell...”

“You guys can’t seriously be considering this?! We would still run the risk of being identified.” Jin groans, you know converting him will be difficult but if you can get everyone on your side he too must fall in line.

“What if...” Namjoon starts and pauses, looking over in your direction. “What if just one of us was identified?” He approaches you, reaching out to the back of your neck. “May I?” His fingers touch the clasp of your mothers necklace.

You nod to affirm.

He takes the pendant in his hand before offering it to V, “How many of those do you think you can have made in a week?”

“If cost isn’t an issue, as many as you need,” He chuckles.

Namjoon continues with his explanation, “What if they kept identifying one of their prime targets over and over? Unable to tell who was who?”

“They’ll have to divide and conquer...” you look to Namjoon, pleased by the prospect of his plan. “If we can lead them astray, we can go wherever we choose.”

...

The next day you find yourself alongside Suga on the roof of a nearby parkade for the Shilla hotel, the intended location for Kim’s event. In the past couple of weeks you had accompanied him on several surveillance missions such as this, but you had never been the one behind the scope.

“Why are you so worried, it won’t bite. Well, not the shooter at least.” Suga chuckles darkly.

“I don’t know it’s just seems so technical, there are so many variables than a regular gun. It just feels like more could go wrong.”

“You’re right, there is a lot more that could go wrong.”

“Comforting,” you deadpan.

“But that’s why you take your time. If you find yourself rushing, you or whatever your protecting is already dead.”

“Jesus Christ Suga, do you have any uplifting advice?”

“Yes, as you practice you’ll get faster. It won’t be rushing, you’ll just be able to assess the conditions quicker and then make the appropriate adjustments with speed.”

Suga circles in around you, adjusting the gun in your grip, pulling the butt of the rifle to your shoulder. “Keep it here against you or the recoil will hit hard, move back with your whole body when it kicks and that should save your shoulder from injury.”

The curtains to the lilac room open allowing you to see inside. “Looks like they’re in,” You report. JK and V are currently taking a tour of the rooms with hotel staff, with the cover that they wish to rent a space for a future event. While in the future venue they planned to drop as many hidden cameras as possible.

Suga on the other hand wanted to look into vantage points that he could use. The high rises around the hotel are limited, leaving this as one of the few possible spots.    

“Okay Firework, let’s say I want you to take out JK’s knee what’s the MRAD differential?”

With the safety on you squint through the scope trying to estimate the distance of the shot. The wind coming from the north east is barely enough to move the branches of the trees and the angle on your scope is set at 15 degrees downwards. Typing the numbers into Suga’s convenient phone app you come up with the results, “1.62 up and 1.34 to the right.”

Suga double checks through his binoculars, while you might need the crutch of the app, Suga can eye the shot easily, “Nope, you’ve just shot him in the lower thigh he’s closer than you’ve approximated.”

“Oops,” you giggle in response.

JK is not amused by the topic of conversation coming through his earpiece, he holds up a rude gesture to both you and Suga from behind his back as to not let the hotel staff see. Suga keeps his eye on the window while relaying a message to back to him, “Very subtle JK, but if you’d like to keep that middle finger I suggest you put it away.”

After the room tour is complete for your team members Suga calls it a day, “Might as well start packing up, this spot should be fine and I think they’re almost done.”

“Sounds good,” you swipe out of the calculation app on Suga’s phone but in the process you accidentally access the next open window, a video player with downloaded security footage. Footage of Namjoons office, from the night of the accords... the red dress discarded beneath you on the floor while you sit exposed on the desk blocked only by Namjoon’s frame.

The security cameras... how could you have forgotten? But more importantly why is it on Suga’s phone? You’re hands begins to shake as you grip the device, your anger bubbling to the surface. Suga noting the change in your demeanour, looks to you.

“What’s wrong?”

Your finger hovers over the play button, but you can’t bring yourself to hit it. Watching even a second would be too painful. A reminder of what you had with Namjoon and now a secret that Suga has kept from you.

“Suga that night, when I asked if you could see me clearly,” Your tone wavers as you address him, despite your best effort to remain strong, “When I asked if you were emotionally biased. Was this already on your phone?”

You hold up the screen to show him. His mouth remains closed and he looks down at the ground in shame. But you have no patience for his actions or his loss of words.

You toss his phone back at him, “I hope you enjoy it.” your voice cracks. “Because it’s the last you’ll see of me for a while.”

And with that you bolt to the roof exit.

“Fire! Fire wait!”

You tear the headset from your ear as you run down the stairs.  Hopping into the first taxi you see, you order him to drive while you consider which direction to send him in. Going home to the manor alone would only bring up questions about what had happened. You need somewhere quiet, somewhere you doubt that anyone would have the gall to bother you.

...

The car pulls up in front of a beautiful and serene building, the final resting place for your father’s ashes. Due to the interruption on the day of the funeral, you had not been there to place his ashes in their case. The columbarium has a room reserved exclusively for your families use, the ashes of your mother would rest next to your father. When you went there to deposit your mother’s remains as a child, you found it to be so empty, a massive sized room for such a small family. You recall how you spoke to your father at the time saying that you worried she would be lonely.

You didn’t think that your father would take your words to heart. You thought that when you walked into the room that they would still rest alone in this lonely marble room. You believed that you would have the room to yourself to grieve, but you are wrong on all counts.   

Kim Namjoon stands on the other side of the room looking to an enclosure that was neither your mother’s nor your Father’s.

“Namjoon?” He turns to look at you in shock, he’s eyes wide and red. He takes a moment to register your appearance.   

“(Y/N)... did someone send you? I thought you were with Suga. ”

“I was... I didn’t know you’d...” You struggle to find the right words. You had come here to be alone, to remember what this was all for, to keep your mind focused on the plan and distract yourself from the emotions and difficulties falling in around you. Namjoon may be the centre of those issues plaguing you, but now that you find him here you don’t want him to leave.

“Did you come here alone?” There’s an edge growing in Namjoon’s voice, his tone lowers his displeasure evident. “(Y/N) what do I have to do...”

Your immediate response to his anger is far from typical. Your shoulders fall instead of rise. Your lips tremble instead of issuing a retort. You feel so defeated by your own team that you no longer have the strength to fight back. It’s fair to say that Namjoon notices the difference from your usual demeanour.  

He turns away from the encasement, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. Approaching you with hesitation, he inspects you with a touch to your cheek raising your head with a soft stroke of his hand before it comes to rest on your shoulder. “What happened?”  

“Did you know... did you realize that we were on the security footage that night in your office?”

He pauses with his mouth open, whatever he had expected you to say it was clearly not this. “Not until after, I swear it wasn’t intentional. I had it deleted that night, as soon as I realized we were recorded.”

So Suga had watched it before you went to see him. He spoke to you as if you didn’t know what was going on when he clearly did. He avoided the question of possible emotional comprise when he clearly was.

“Suga... he saw it, he downloaded it and he kept it.”

Namjoon’s grip tightens on you. “I’m sorry, I saw that he had accessed it. I hoped that he might have only glanced at it. I tried to tell you that night and go to question him about it, but when Suga stopped me, when he said that you didn’t want to see me, and how you had cried yourself to sleep. I knew I should give you space, seeing me would probably not be advisable after I hurt you like that. When I saw you again in the library...” He hesitates before continuing, his brow furrowing as he shakes his head, “I should have been more straightforward than I was. When you defended him I considered that maybe he truly had your best interest at heart. That maybe he wasn’t as selfish as I am.”  

“It was there on his phone I didn’t know what else to do but run. I couldn’t stay there, I had to get away. I know it was stupid, I know it was unsafe, but anything was better than staying there with him. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t...” You finally release the break you’ve been holding back, with tears flooding your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” He takes you in his arms burying your head to his chest, “Please don’t apologize, this is not your fault. I’m sorry I lost my temper just now. I won’t presume to know how this has affected you. So how can I condemn your reaction? I am not innocent in this problem either. I should have remembered the cameras. I should have persisted and told you when I found out and went to delete the footage.”  

He pauses for a moment letting you register everything he’s said before extending an offer to help. “I want you to tell me what you need. What I can do to help you, I can’t undo what happened but I don’t want to put you in a spot where you’re uncomfortable.”

“I just don’t want to see him right now, I need some time before I face him again.” You know you can’t put off seeing him forever, at some point you’ll have to ask him why. Why he didn’t say anything, why he betrayed your trust.

Namjoon lets go of you so he can step back and look upon you once again, “I can send him to the safe house, I promise you won’t need to see him until you decide your ready, okay?”

You nod lowering your head, it’s so hard not to feel that stab of guilt, thinking that maybe if you had acted differently things wouldn’t have played out this way. You begin to question if this might have ruined everything you’ve been working for.

Namjoon notes your anguish and raises your chin, “Please listen to me, it’s going to be okay.”

You take notice of his slightly red eyes once again. Swept away by your own conflict you had forgotten that Namjoon was here before you, that he had a reason to be here too, judging by where he stood he was not here to see your father. After the events of last night you know you aren’t the only who's at risk, so why would he make this trip alone?  You look to the case he had stationed himself in front of, not recognizing the faces in the photos but they all bare a slight resemblance to the man standing next to you.

“Namjoon are they...”

He turns back to the memorial display that he was facing before, “That’s my mother, my father... and my sister.” He answers before you finish pointing to each portrait next to an urn as he lists them off. “They’re the reason I’m here, why I met and worked with your father.”

You take his hand in yours, waiting to see if he’ll continue but he only stares at the encased pictures in front of him with his jaw locked. V was right, Namjoon isn’t going to share his story you unless you ask it of him. “Could you tell me what happened?”

He lets out a long breath. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“It is.” You grip his hand tighter.

His eyes continue to stare of as he starts off with a whisper, “My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was 12, her odds were fair and there was promising new treatments on the horizon. My father went to great lengths to get her whatever she needed, even got her into a trail that communicated positive results, one that was being conducted by Kim’s corporation.”

Your stomach drops as you think back to the case you had read. Seeing the recognition in your eyes Namjoon gives you a sad smile.

“Her condition worsened quickly, they told us it that this was part of the trend, that patients often appear to get worse before they get better. But she didn’t come back, and she was not alone. After examining the results several other doctors not part of the trial came to the conclusion that this never should have happened. That the medications effects were far more adverse and stronger than they needed to be for her stage. They tried to use her and others to sway their results because their chances to live were far higher.”

“Your mother’s death was a part of that case wasn’t it? The one that was referenced in the bill?” You ask almost certain of what the answer would be.

Namjoon nods, “That was the beginning of our legal battle against Kim’s company. We had several suites of wrongful death laid against him for false information and representation. They tried to settle but my father didn’t want money. He wanted those responsible put in prison, where they belong. He received several threats but disregarded them, He refused to drop the case. Two years after my mother's death he was killed, he was walking home one night when he was hit by a car.”

You can’t help but match the sorrow in his face, to lose one parent and then the other so closely after... you know how deep those wounds can run.

“The driver was determined to be under the influence at the time and he confirmed that it was an accident. I didn’t believe it for a second, and neither did Park.”

There’s a hint of a smile when he cites your father’s name, as if it’s a slight high point to his tale.

“He found us and took both me and my sister in. Offered us a place to stay no questions asked, no payment in return. He said that it was his fault that Kim had been able to continue for so long he felt responsible and wanted to at least make sure that we were taken care of. He didn’t ask me to help with his plans at first but I insisted. As our undertaking became more and more dangerous, he offered to send my sister to a safe location to give her a new name and identity. He said that he had done it before and that he could easily do it again...”

Namjoon meets your eyes for a second, looking guilty for drawing your past life into the conversation, but for you everything begins to make so much more sense. His actions and responses finally have a reasoning behind them.

“The catch would be that I couldn’t contact her, I couldn’t see her again or at least for a very long time. I declined his offer, I was selfish, I didn’t want to let her go, she was the only family I had left.”

He explains his choice with hesitation as if you might judge him for his actions. “We chose to keep her separate from our activities, she still went to school but she had to be careful not to take any unnecessary risks. I still remember the last conversation I had with her so clearly, in your father’s library. There was a concert that her friend had invited her to. I told her she shouldn’t go and it wasn’t safe.”

“Her response still haunts me to this day, she asked me what was the point in staying safe, when she couldn’t even live like a human? That she wasn’t asking for the world, just a little freedom. Eight years ago today she was gunned down, ‘having been caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute,’ she had snuck out to see the concert and I wasn’t there to protect her. ”

A tear sneaks past his defences but he is quick to catch it.

“I regretted not sending her off for so long, knowing that it had been my choice to keep her nearby.”

He pauses looking to you again, “The first time I met you, was the first time I stopped blaming myself.  I realized that no matter what choice I had made there would still be consequences. I could see how much you were struggling, how dangerous it was for you to be on your own.”

“I wanted to take you back with me, if I kept a closer watch on you I knew my team and I could keep you safe, there were far more of us, we were trained, we knew what to expect, we could make you one of us, and if you were by our side there would be no problem. What I did not anticipate was my feelings for you. For the first time in awhile I began to think about my life between, between the revenge with my team, and my end next to them.” He glances back to the urns which contain his family.

“I was overcome by selfishness when I found that your feelings matched my own. I have never wanted something so much in my life, I had to protect you even more. When I released how overbearing I had become I wanted to take a step back, I knew I couldn’t give you what you needed at least not until it’s all over.”

“What happened to Jimin... it’s a reminder that we still might not get a middle before the end. That I might not get the chance to do right by you, to show you who I am without all of this,” Namjoon shifts to fully face you, letting his hands reach up to graze your cheeks that are now damp with tears for him, “And that thought kills me every time I look at you.”

[lady-grae]

My Laughter, All For You

Prologue

Word Count: 1,710 words

Warnings: N/A

I have been working on this for the past week, trying to perfect it as much as possible. Honestly, I’m really proud of myself because this is the most I’ve ever written for a topic that is not considered educational in nature. I almost wish I could have this energy every time I write essays for classes. Anyway, I hope whoever reads this likes it! Enjoy!

Sadie sat in front of her vanity, deep in thought. In front of her sat a letter, worn from constant folding and unfolding. I should’ve kept my mouth shut that night, she thought as, for the countless time, she unfolded it once again to read its contents. Some of the ink had been smudged by her fingers, but she could still recognize the immaculate writing of her brother Lewis. 

Dear Sadie, it started:

A little birdie told me that you were thinking about moving to Gotham, possibly alone. What were you even thinking?! You know our mother would never rest comfortably if something were to happen to you! God knows that she would never let me hear the end of it.

I may have an idea that would work out for all parties: why don’t you come work at my toy company for a while? We may not be as famous as the Wayne family, but we’re slowly making a name for ourselves. Plus, I know you would enjoy working with all the children at events. Trust me on this, I don’t see how this couldn’t work out!

I know our cousin Rebecca has been looking for a roommate after her last living situation ended in a disaster (I still don’t know what happened, but maybe she’ll tell you). She’ll be so excited to have you around, you two always got along well when we were kids. I’ll be waiting for your response; don’t keep me waiting too long.

Your Big Brother, 

Lewis

P.S. If you don’t reply back within the week, I’ll just assume you’re staying home. Maybe it would be better that way. I don’t want to be keeping track of you constantly.

“Eugh,” Sadie groaned at that last part, and thumped her head down on the vanity. “I love you Lewis, but sometimes you can be a real ass.” She tossed the letter aside and stood up from the vanity. She walked over to the window, brushing aside the curtains. Outside, the towering skyscrapers and sooty grey sky of Gotham coldly greeted her.

Gotham. A cruel city filled with cruel people who, if given the chance, would quite literally throw someone under the subway train to get ahead. A city where a beating or mugging took place down nearly every alleyway, even during the day. At the moment a steady rain was falling from the sky, coating everything it touched in a dirty wet sheen. In the street three stories below, Sadie saw the flashing lights of a police car rush by, most likely on way to another murder.

Sadie hadn’t really wanted to move here; drunk one night with a friend, she had concocted a half-assed plan to move out of the house. But of course, word spread quickly among her social circle, and before she could do any damage control her brother had caught wind of it. When he had sent his letter, she had almost ignored his offer. If he couldn’t even bother to discuss this with her in person, why should she answer him? Besides, she had wanted to chart her own course in the world. But she needed money for that, and after recently completing graduate school with zero future job prospects, she knew she could not pass up the opportunity. So now, a few weeks later, here she was, living with their lovable and hyper cousin Rebecca.

A rapid knocking at the bedroom door made Sadie jump back from the window. “Come on, Sadie, we wouldn’t want to be late for your first real night here in Gotham!” a voice called from the other side.

“Just a minute!” Sadie answered back. Rebecca: now she was made for the hustle and bustle of Gotham. Sadie honestly did not know where she got all her energy from; it was so hard to keep her in one place for very long. Yet she could not deny Becca’s energy was at times contagious.

Sadie gave herself a quick glance over in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her wavy chin length dark auburn hair, noting it was just a little curlier than usual. The eyeliner around her hazel blue eyes was also a little smudged, but it would have to do. It would probably be wiped away by the end of the night anyway.

She looked down at the letter one last time. I hope I made the right choice in coming here, she thought. I guess I’ll just have to see what’s in store for me out there. She grabbed her pea coat from off the bed and left for a night on the town.

--------

Already out in the rainy Gotham night, Arthur Fleck slowly trudged along, his head hanging low. He had had another long, hard day at work; Randall had been nonstop in his teasing, driving Arthur to more than one uncontrollable laughing fit. And to make matters worse, some teenage boys at his job site had mocked his dancing, pushing him around a few times before finally growing bored and walking away. Try as he might to keep a happy face on after that, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear.

As he continued walking home, Arthur kept his head down, both to avoid the rain and the eyes of strangers, and smoked another cigarette. The sidewalks were mostly empty, and the few people who were out brushed past him, their nights just as eventful as their days. One man bumped shoulders with him, even though he clearly had plenty of room to walk around. “Watch it, buddy,” the man growled, giving Arthur a menacing look. Arthur picked up his pace, slumping as far as he comfortably could into himself.

Suddenly, as he was nearing a street corner, he saw a blur rush by him: a young woman, dressed for a night of partying. “Come on! You better catch up!” she called back, laughing breathlessly as she continued running. He turned his head to briefly watch her pass; big mistake, for he heard a second pair a footsteps approaching fast.

“Becca, wait up!” another woman yelled. “Don’t-OOF!” As he rounded the corner, Arthur didn’t have enough time to step aside as the second young woman ran head on into him. They both fell to the ground, his cigarette flying into the air and her purse falling behind him. The wind firmly knocked out of him, Arthur managed to pull himself up on his elbows as the young woman did the same. 

Arthur glanced worriedly at her, waiting for the screaming and kicking to begin, the profanities to be hurled his way. A few small laughs left his mouth as his nerves started to get the best of him.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?!” the woman asked him, her voice filled with-genuine concern? His head whipped up fast, his eyes catching hers and the laughter dying in his throat as shock filled his body. He noticed she had blue eyes and wavy dark hair surrounding her face. She didn’t look angry with him, but actually worried.

--------

Sadie pulled herself up from the ground, still holding the eyes of the man in front of her. He had beautiful green eyes and brown hair damp from the rain. He actually looked scared of her, like she might do or say something horrible to him. She held out her hand to him. “Here, let me help you,” she said, smiling down at him. 

He looked at her hand for several moments, and she was almost afraid he would say no when he hesitantly reached out and grabbed it. She helped pull him on his feet; he seemed to weigh almost nothing, and she noticed he was very slender. They were still looking at each other, each trying to feel the other out for signs of anger.

The man cleared his throat and nodded, looking away. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered in a quiet, scratchy voice. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” He laughed nervously, then started coughing, throwing his hand up to his mouth and turning away from her. 

“No, it was my fault,” Sadie protested. “I was the one running.” He still seemed to be fighting between laughing and coughing; strange, but not freaky. Perhaps he was just shaken from the fall.

Just then she realized she was no longer holding onto her bag. “Oh shit, my bag,” she said, turning around in a circle where she stood. When she turned back, she saw that he had bent down and was picking up her bag, which had somehow fallen behind him.

“Here, miss,” he said, holding it out to her. He glanced up and smiled at her sheepishly. He seemed to have stopped coughing/laughing.

“Oh thank you so much,” she said, being careful not to grab it from him too sharply. 

“It’s not a problem,” he replied, rocking back on his feet, putting his hands behind his back.

“Sadie!” Becca screamed. Sadie saw her running back up the street towards them.

“I’ve got to go,” Sadie said to him. “Please be safe going home, sir.” She smiled one last time at him before walking to meet Becca.

“You too,” she heard him say softly as he also quickly turned to walk away.

“Oh my god, was that guy bothering you?” Becca asked her, worry and anger lacing her voice.

“No, it was my fault,” Sadie looked back one more time to see his hunched figure moving around the corner. “Let’s go. And no running this time, please. I’m tired.” She linked arms with Becca as they resumed, walking this time, to their destination.

--------

Arthur sighed in relief; he had at least managed to keep his nerves from fully getting the best of him. He hated his laughing episodes and how they made people stare at him, especially in front of women like her-Sadie. He recalled how she had actually been kind to him, unlike majority of the people in this city. Unfortunately, he knew that he would most definitely never see her again. Shaking himself off from the memories of her lovely face, he continued walking home, not realizing how far from the truth he really was.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

title: but i still don't understand just how your love can do what no one else can.

Look, another lyric ask I got way too involved in! I started this back in November, and by the time it was 7,000 words long I almost forgot it came from a prompt. Set during 1x11, after FP challenges Alice over dinner, they both think back to the secret of how they really spent Homecoming night.

FP x Alice, Riverdale. Also on AO3.

Alice Cooper’s life is like the Twilight Zone, in comparison to the hell he’s living in.

He lifts his right shoulder, lowering it irritably when that can’t rid him of the lingering sensation. She rested a hand there when she gave him his plate. A casual, friendly gesture–startling in its simplicity.

Or it would’ve been, if she hadn’t let her hand linger a little too long, brushing close to his neck as she drew it away.

FP knows that if the kids were paying attention, all they’d have seen was Alice using him to steady herself next to the dining room table. Nothing unusual, as she smiled like a shark scenting blood and encouraged them to dig in.

This was really the life she’d wanted? This…Norman Rockwell poster of fake perfection?

Alice Smith had been a force to be reckoned with, only describable with words usually reserved for natural disasters. Fierce, relentless, life-changing.

Alice Cooper bakes pie.

While Alice is still clearing the table after dinner, the kids leave for the dance, getting a ride with FP before he vanishes in his truck to wherever a rehabilitated Serpent goes these days.

Not that Alice believes he’s turned over a new leaf–she knows him too well for that. He’s hiding something. Hopefully Archie and Veronica will have discovered some clues as to what.

Once they’re alone, Hal tries to talk to her about moving back in, but he couldn’t have picked a worse time. Alice shuts herself in the master bathroom and waits to hear him leave too. He can live in the drafty office of the Register indefinitely for all she cares.

She will never forgive him for what he did to her, and what he tried to do to Polly. FP throwing Homecoming in her face in front of Betty and Jughead just makes it worse.

Alice is sitting on the cold tile floor, shaking, not sure if she wants to scream or cry or drink until the world goes black and she doesn’t have to think at all.

It would be unseemly for the wife of Hal Cooper to pass out and never make it to the dance, wouldn’t it? And that’s who she is now, who she’s been for so long. Mrs. Harold Cooper. All traces of her past erased, no matter what it cost her.

She may have cut herself out of the public record, she may have removed herself from the criminal element she grew up in, but she hasn’t forgotten any of it.

And while Alice doesn’t really think FP would have finished laying her secrets bare, she can’t be certain. He looked ready to kill tonight, eyes bright and hair slicked back at her dining room table.

It’s important to her that this secret stay buried, not just because it would horrify Betty and make Hal furious, but because it’s theirs. Because unlike Charles, she doesn’t carry this secret alone.

She’s desperately grateful that FP didn’t tell the rest of the story of Homecoming night.

****

“Alice, be reasonable,” FP heard Hal say as he dropped instrument cases on the floor backstage and started to unload them. “You know you can’t just–”

“Don’t you dare try to tell me what I can or can’t do, Harold Cooper,” he heard Alice snap back. “We may be dating, but you have no right.”

“I have every right! This is not just about you. You act like everything is, Alice, but it’s not. Stop being selfish and think about what’s best.”

“I told you I haven’t made a decision yet.” She sounded deflated, with an undercurrent of anger still ready to snap if her boyfriend made one wrong move.

FP recognized that tone. He could picture the matching expression, worry sneaking past his wounded ego. They’d been over for weeks, he didn’t owe her anything–but everybody knew Hal had a temper. What if Cooper pushed too hard?

It wasn’t Alice he was worried about, FP reassured himself as he slipped out from backstage. It was Hal or the next person to get in her path if Hurricane Alice got going. This was a public service intrusion.

They were squaring off in the hall, Hal’s arms folded over his chest and Alice’s curved across her stomach. Something about that seemed off to FP. Something he would think about later.

“You know what, Hal? You’re right. This isn’t all about me. So it’s even more important that I make the best decision for everyone. Not only me–or you. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Making it all go away. Your life staying on track.”

“No, it’s–” Hal looked past her and saw FP, hands in his pockets, leaning against a bank of lockers. “Hey, Jones, this is a private conversation.”

“Then maybe you should be having it in private.” He was looking at Hal, but he felt Alice turn to stare and softened his words for her sake. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s gonna be just fine.” Hal stepped closer to Alice, wrapping an arm around her.

The silent message was clear as day. Mine. Back off.

FP glared back on principle. The whole damn school was full of jerks and cavemen. He couldn’t help smirking a little when Alice ducked out from under Hal’s arm and put several inches between them.

“You should be onstage, FP,” she told him. Her eyes sent a message even easier to read than Hal’s. I can handle this.

“She’s right, go play in your band,” Hal added.

His need to have the last word almost pulled FP toward them like a magnet. There would be nothing more satisfying than punching Cooper in that square jaw of his, watching him bleed all over that expensive tuxedo.

But Alice shook her head, just a little, like she knew what he was thinking, and he reminded himself that anything he did would make things harder on her.

“Fine.” FP straightened up, pushing off from the lockers. “But if you don’t want every other student to come out here and see what’s the matter, shut the hell up.”

****

Because the universe had a wicked sense of humor, the happy couple had been crowned Homecoming royalty. The Fred Heads finished their set early, letting Fred and a couple of the other guys dance with their girls while a DJ took over.

FP didn’t have anyone to dance with. Well, no one he wanted to dance with. Some of the Southside girls had made their interest known, and a few rebellious Northsiders kept eyeing him and giggling when he looked away.

He only had eyes for Alice, in that floaty dress with her glossy curls twisted up off her neck. Hal probably paid for the hairdo, the same way FP was sure her new boyfriend paid for her soft sweaters and lip gloss.

What did she do with her leather and flannel? He couldn’t help wondering. Was it tucked away just in case she changed her mind? Or had she thrown it out along with him?

Maybe she paid for her own Homecoming wardrobe, he’d decided, watching as she laughed in Hal’s arms to the tune of “Bette Davis Eyes.” Maybe she did one last job with the Serpents to make the money.

It really wasn’t any of his business either way.

FP shook his head and went back to dismantling the drum kit. Fred could take the gear home when he and Mary left, but since FP had nothing better to do, why not get it started? Half the students were already gone, to empty houses for Homecoming trysts or after parties with alcohol that didn’t have to get smuggled into flasks and punch.

“How dare you?”

FP thought he would have heard Alice’s raised voice from a mile away. She’d never been the type to keep her feelings to herself.

Apparently the argument had only paused for the benefit of the Homecoming court, picking up where it left off now that things were slowing down–unfortunately within FP’s earshot again.

He hadn’t wanted to come to the stupid dance at all after how things ended between him and Alice, but he’d promised Fred over the summer. And anything was better than sitting at home with his old man, unable to stop thinking about her.

“You’re not listening to me,” FP heard Hal snap. He ducked his head and went back to packing up their gear. Not his business; not his girlfriend. He’d finish up here, then get the hell out of dodge. Alice was more than capable of handling Hal.

She could handle anybody. She’d never needed him for that.  

He couldn’t have said what she did need him for, besides a willing, warm body and a partner in crime. They’d known each other for so long, it was hard to untangle the knot of resentment and need that brought them together, then broke them apart. It was better not to try.

FP carefully closed Fred’s guitar case, listening to heavy footsteps retreat down the hall. He didn’t hear the click of Alice’s heels with them–but he did hear that quiet whimpering sound she made when she was trying not cry.

When she thought no one could hear her.

Really not his business, he lectured himself. Whatever the fight was about, they’d get over it or not. Didn’t matter to him either way.

He set the bass back down when the whimpers turned into deep, wrenching sobs.

Damn it.

FP hoped like hell nobody would lay sticky fingers on their stuff before Fred came for it, and went to find her.

****

It didn’t take him long. Alice might have been technically hidden away from passersby, tucked into a dusty alcove that most kids didn’t know existed, but he was familiar with all her favorite spots.

He used to find her there when he’d unsuccessfully looked everywhere else; Alice Smith had little good to say about school, but she liked the quiet she couldn’t get at her own house.

The beat up chair some student had managed to move into the tiny space was perfect for reading, she’d told him one morning.

FP had kissed the serious line of her mouth until it softened and she dropped her book.

Now he found her on the concrete floor in her blue dress, mascara running down pale cheeks and her eyes as big as saucers when she spotted him.

“Go away.”

Her skirt was made of that fluffy stuff, he didn’t know what it was called, that matched the theme of the dance. Man, the Homecoming Committee was a bunch of morons.

The color made her eyes even bluer than usual, though. She looked like a princess.

FP shook his head and stepped closer.  “If you wanted to be alone, maybe you should’ve gone to the girls’ room or something. I could hear you from backstage. ”

Alice sniffed back her tears, chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn’t quite control yet. “Doesn’t mean you have to come here like this. I don’t want you here, FP. I don’t want you.”

She was staring at her shoes, white heels that sparkled, instead of looking at him. He frowned and stayed put.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What? Us?” Her laugh was sharp, painful, like there was broken glass in it. “I really don’t.”

“No, not us. It’s your senior Homecoming. Shouldn’t you be dancing instead of hiding in here?”

“Shouldn’t you be tuning your guitar?”

“I was playing drums,” he reminded her. “Fred’s on guitar.” She always turned her nose up at his musical side, and it annoyed him. A lot. That was probably why she did it.

“Whatever.”

“I was just getting things ready to go, anyway. One of the guys will pack it in. Are you gonna tell me what happened, with Hal? You sounded pissed.”

And then heartbroken, he thought. She hated pity, so he didn’t mention that part.

“It was a fight. Couples fight.” FP assumed she was trying for defensive, but her tone landed somewhere between dejection and fear.

It would have been simpler if he’d stopped caring the moment they stopped talking, but life didn’t work that way. At least not for him. He couldn’t help feeling bad for Alice, the tear-streaked Homecoming Queen hugging her knees to her chest, too upset to put real effort into scaring him off.

“This place is hell,” she added.

“You don’t mean that.” FP reached down to tap her plastic tiara. “You’re queen of the night.”

“No, I was queen of the night with you. I was way better at being a Serpent than I’ll ever be anything in Hal’s world.”

He stepped back. He didn’t necessarily disagree with her–it was still jarring to see her glitter next to that preppy asshole–and yet there she was.

“What are you doin’ with him, Al?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to fight with you too, FP. I can’t.”

On a normal day, Alice would have sliced him clean through with her words until he gave up. She could be so prickly and guarded, the flipside of how fearless and free she had been in his arms.

But sometimes with Alice, a halfhearted protest was the same as a plea for help. It was the most weakness she was willing to show.

He understood that.

So FP didn’t leave. He stepped past her and settled in her reading chair.

“Tell me a story, Alice. Tell me how a princess ended up crying alone on the night of her coronation.”

****

It shouldn’t be FP asking, she thought as he waited. It should be Hal. But her boyfriend had stormed off, and she wasn’t eager to see him again. Especially not like this, splotchy and ugly-crying and probably staining the most expensive article of clothing she’d ever bought in her life.

Hal would make that face, and say what he always said, about what people would think. He’d be disappointed, disgusted. He wouldn’t sit just out of eyesight and ask her to spill her secrets.

Alice couldn’t tell FP what the fight was about, of course. It had been hard enough telling Hal she was pregnant, even after he’d promised her a future and she knew she was running out of time. It hurt to pretend the baby was his and see doubts cross his face. But not nearly as much as the way he offered to help “fix her problem.”

It was her own fault for being such an idiot. Sleeping with FP, when she didn’t matter to him. Then placing her bet on the easygoing boy with the bright future, so desperate not to make her baby a bastard too. Being left alone and miserable was the least she deserved, wasn’t it?

God, she hated this town, Alice thought as she tried to swipe the mascara stains off her cheeks. All she’d ever wanted was to get out. School was boring, the other kids were annoying. Being a Serpent had its moments, but it was all she’d ever known. She wanted more.

It was supposed to be Hal, with all his promises and how gentle he was, treating her like she was delicate. She’d done things with the Serpents that she knew he couldn’t even imagine, but it was kind of nice, being seen as soft and sweet and fragile. A comforting fiction.

Now, with the baby growing inside her, she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. She’d expected Hal to be happy. Surprised, sure, but supportive. He had been talking so much about their future, about marriage and kids and what that would look like…so they got started early, so what?

Instead, he was furious. Cruel. Callous.

If Hal didn’t want the baby, Alice couldn’t exactly blame him for that, but it wasn’t a problem to be solved. It was a person she helped make, who would be beautiful.

Even though it was FP’s, she thought. Especially because it was FP’s. After all, he was here. He saw her in hiding, a sobbing mess, and he was still here.

Forsythe Jones was a lot of things, but he had always been kind.

And she did want to tell him something. She felt like she was drowning, alone with it all. So Alice shifted until her shoulder was resting up against his knee, and exhaled.

“Once upon a time,” she began, hearing his chuckle behind her, “there was a girl who lived in the gutter. Her life was not full of riches, or of love. But she grew up tough and proud. One day she met a boy, a beautiful boy with sad eyes, and in him she saw a reflection of her pain. He couldn’t offer her money or status, but she didn’t care, because she finally knew what it was to find a home in someone else.

“That boy met her in secret, striving to be more than his humble roots. They had passion that burned as bright as the sun. And she was happy, for a while. But something was still missing, something she craved that she didn’t see in his eyes. One day she was courted by a prince from another kingdom, a place of gleaming wealth, where everyone seemed happy and safe. He said that he loved her, and would give her all she desired, if only she left her world behind.

“Though it felt like ripping out her own heart, the girl was so sick of being unhappy, scared, and tired that she saw no other choice. Abandoning everything she loved, she hoped in her absence the boy would find joy of his own.”

“That’s crap,” FP snapped, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

Alice brushed her fingers over his ankle. “You asked for my story. Let me finish.”

His hand reached down to tangle in her hair. She closed her eyes.

“The prince was not what she expected, but he did give her a new world. A new life. She tried to be the princess he wanted. Their coronation ball was the finest dance she had ever attended, and she was so excited. Then, as she put on her dress, she realized it was time to…”

Alice wasn’t sure how to continue. Any lie, FP would see right through. The truth was impossible.

“Tell him something?”

She sighed. Of course he would make it easier on her. “Yes. Something she wasn’t ready to face. But summoning all the strength the gutter gave her, she told him. And his reaction was worse than her deepest fears. He yelled, he tried to control her, he made her feel small and wrong and alone.

“She cried until she could barely breathe, and she ran like Cinderella after midnight. Unlike Cinderella, her prince didn’t follow. He didn’t search for her at all. It was her lover who found her instead, the girl from the gutter wearing a fantasy of a dress. Stupid enough to think it could make her one of them.”

“So stupid,” Alice added in a whisper. She opened her eyes when she felt FP move away, watching as he lowered himself to the floor at her side.

“Stupid, maybe,” he told her. “But brave, too. The bravest he’d ever known. She may have broken his heart when she left, but it never stopped beating for her.”

The tears started falling again, but this time she let them, past caring about her makeup or what people might say.

“FP…”

“You don’t have to say anything. That’s how my story ends, and I thought you should know. I figured out how I felt way too late–you were already gone. But nobody will ever light me up like you. And with or without me, you deserve better than someone who makes you feel small.”

He trailed a finger down the curve of her cheek, through the sheen of saltwater. “Get your happily ever after, Alice. Don’t settle for anything less. Never forget you were a queen long before they gave you a crown.”

Tomorrow she would decide what to do about keeping the baby. About keeping Hal. Whoever this baby would grow up to be, they were definitely her kid, because they’d already managed to make a mess of everything and they weren’t even born.

Tonight, she was an abandoned Homecoming Queen, and the first boy she’d ever loved was drinking her in with those warm eyes like he might never see her again. FP always looked at her that way, as though she was a quiet revelation.

She hadn’t realized how much she would miss him, when she left. She thought she’d be too busy moving on to care. It crashed over her in that moment, and Alice was drowning for the second time.

She leaned in, taking his face in both her hands before she kissed him. Until their lips brushed, it felt like some crazy dream they would both wake up from–but the contact brought him back down to Earth. FP jerked away.

“Alice, you don’t–you’re upset.”

“So?”

“Tomorrow you’ll still be with him, and you’ll hate me for taking advantage.” He shook his head. “We can’t.”

“I may be having the worst night of my life, FP Jones, but you really think anyone could take advantage of me? You should know better than that.”

Alice traced his bottom lip with her tongue, smiling when he reached for her. FP’s hands gripped her hips and dug in.

“I’ve missed this, Al. Damn it, I’ve missed you.”

She froze. The feelings she used to believe FP didn’t have for her would bruise him later if she wasn’t careful here. “This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together,” she said in a rush. “This…”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” he agreed softly. “It’s just tonight. Don’t worry.”

Alice almost laughed. She had so much more to worry about now, he had no idea. But she’d always been safe with FP. They made their own oasis wherever they went, and at the moment that was behind some stairs while the Homecoming DJ wound down his playlist.

Right then, the whole world was his mouth drawing out her sighs and their hands mapping all the places they used to love.

****

Contrary to tradition, it wasn’t Hal she went home with on Homecoming night. Her future husband spent his night at Sweetwater River, listening to the rush of the water and thinking about becoming a father before graduation.

When he called her the next day and she met him at Pop’s, he was calmer. So collected, so goddamn reasonable it set Alice’s nerves on edge.

“Of course I want you to be the mother of my children,” Hal promised. “But do you really want to start so soon? Not even getting a honeymoon, some time to be a married couple before the baby comes? Do you want to walk around town, knowing how everyone would talk and how they’ll treat it?”

That was what did the trick. As soon as Hal saw the guilt cross her face, he pressed the point. “Think about that child, Alice,” he pleaded with her. “What kind of life could it have, with an unwed mother still in her teens? How hard would it be, to carry that shame around for all of its life?”

Hal didn’t get his way, in the end. Alice clenched her jaw and told him in no uncertain terms that she would not wish this baby out of existence.

She didn’t tell him that it was partly because she and FP were finally, truly over, and a baby made from both of them was something she couldn’t let go of.

She also neglected to mention that she didn’t go home after the dance. Or that Serpent connections meant she and FP didn’t need to do anything so cliche as rent a room. A motel appearance might’ve become gossip, but Serpents didn’t snitch. So FP took her to a friend’s house, and she spent her night saying goodbye.

It was the goodbye they didn’t get before, when the Midnight Club destroyed everything. And it felt almost like the first time again: desperate kisses and her legs wrapped around his hips, so different from the way she was with Hal.

If only a future could be built on this, Alice thought, while FP ran his hands down her bare back in the afterglow, then her choice would never have been a question. At this, they were perfect. She always felt loved in his arms. It was everything else, the fighting and the secrets and his talk about out-of-state college, as though he could leave her so easily.

Like she didn’t even matter.

She wasn’t sure if Hal loved her, in the consuming passionate way that FP did. She didn’t love Hal that way. Maybe it was greedy to hope for it with two people.

She knew Hal wanted her, though. He was proud to have her on his arm. And with Hal, Alice knew where she fit. His pride and ambition and loyalty to his heritage would always come first. She had enough pride and ambition to appreciate that, and no heritage at all, except what she wanted to escape. She would have a safe life with Hal Cooper.

But until the sun came up, the future could wait. Every time FP’s lips or hands brushed across her belly, she thought, That’s your father, little one. In case you never get to know him, he makes up half of you. The impulsive, protective, passionate half.

All of those words fit her as well as FP, though, didn’t they? No wonder this was all they could have. They’d always been too much alike.

Alice and Hal were fire and ice, with him expecting her to cool off any time they disagreed.

She and FP were nothing but flames, licking around the edges of anything good, looking for a way to burn it down.

She had to get out of the Southside, give herself the possibility of being better than that. To stop ruining her own chances. And she needed to give her baby the best life she could, which meant letting go.

It took all the strength she had not to tell FP that night, as they fell asleep tangled up together and everything was warm and safe and soft.

****

She would leave for the Sisters that evening, before there was time for rumors of their fight to spread. That way nobody could realize how far along she was and do the math.

“This is the plan,” she told Hal at Pop’s, her fingernails digging into her palms as he took it in. “No negotiations.” If he couldn’t accept it, then she never wanted to see him again.

“It sounds like what will be best for everyone,” Hal assured her carefully. “Of course I’ll support you. Give you a ride, make sure you have whatever you need. Just say the word, Alice.”

“After all, that’s my baby too,” he added, and the way his words tilted up at the end sealed the fate of the child she carried. He wasn’t sure; he would never fully believe the baby could be his.

He was not as dumb as he looked.

Hal wanted her, and their life together. He didn’t want her baby. She would be a terrible mother anyway, Alice told herself as Hal smiled at her across the table at Pop’s. The kind of girl who slept with her ex after being someone else’s Homecoming date. The kind of girl who could love a boy who didn’t want her, and lie to the one who did.

She was lucky. Hal would whisk her away, from rags to riches, just like she wanted. And FP was a lot of things, but never cruel–so she knew he wouldn’t tell anyone what happened between them.

And someday, when she held her baby in her arms and stared down at his tiny, perfect face, she wouldn’t be able to see his father there at all.

Charles didn’t look like FP, Alice remembers, walking up the stairs of the school as her daughter gets out of FP’s truck. He didn’t have FP’s deep eyes or dark hair. He just looked like her.

She was so young then…barely older than Betty. She’d closed her eyes as the nuns took him away and prayed to God that her little boy would find his way to a better home than she had.

****

It’s only a matter of time, FP thinks as he drives away from the school. Things are unraveling. He can’t expect to escape the consequences, but he doesn’t know what to do other than try.

Alice Cooper’s life is like the Twilight Zone, in comparison to the hell he’s living in.

He lifts his right shoulder, lowering it irritably when that can’t rid him of the lingering sensation. She rested a hand there when she gave him his plate. A casual, friendly gesture–startling in its simplicity.

Or it would’ve been, if she hadn’t let her hand linger a little too long, brushing close to his neck as she drew it away.

FP knows that if the kids were paying attention, all they’d have seen was Alice using him to steady herself next to the dining room table. Nothing unusual, as she smiled like a shark scenting blood and encouraged them to dig in.

This was really the life she’d wanted? This…Norman Rockwell poster of fake perfection?

Alice Smith had been a force to be reckoned with, only describable with words usually reserved for natural disasters. Fierce, relentless, life-changing.

Alice Cooper bakes pie.

It was as if she’d packed away all the parts of herself that she hated–coincidentally, most of the things he loved–and thrown away the key.

Every venomous glance and sharp tone over dinner was a reminder of what he lost, but FP prefers it to her carefully curated performance the rest of the time. He misses his Alice.

He wonders how much pressure it would take to crack through the glass wall between her and the world.

Maybe if he had more time, he’d try to find out. But the Sheriff and the Blossoms are breathing down his neck, he can feel it. Even Alice is watching him a little too closely, though he never knows with her–professional curiosity or personal interest?

She was in reporter mode over dinner, trying to mount a one-woman investigation into his activities and his past. Funny thing there is, she already knows his past. She is his past.

And a lot of her questions, circling around the point, struck him as more personal than journalistic. If she wanted to know what he’s been up to all these years, FP thinks, she could have taken the short drive across town anytime and asked. It’s a bit late now to act like she cared. Like she ever wondered, the way he did about her.

It took him years to put the pieces together. When she disappeared for half the school year and everybody knew she was out sick but everyone seemed to have heard a different story, he wondered. But he kept his nose out of it since she wasn’t his anymore.

When she came back to school dressed like Hal Cooper’s perfect match, with a kind of blankness behind her eyes, he thought maybe it was drugs. Maybe she’d finally gone crazy like her mother, and she’d been turned into a zombie by the medication.

It was a shame to see her looking half-dead inside. So broken. He passed Alice in the halls and she didn’t even make eye contact–not like she was avoiding him, more like she didn’t realize he was there. Or that she was.

After graduation, Alice married Hal in a small ceremony FP was not invited to. He got so drunk that night that Tall Boy and a couple other Serpents had to carry him home and dump him on the porch of his trailer.

Squinting up at the glare of the rising sun, certain he would start throwing up any minute, FP finally figured it out.

The argument he overheard. The way she looked like she had given up a part of herself and would never recover from the loss. Most of all, the length of time she was gone from school: exactly the amount of time it would take a girl to go from developing a bump that the whole school could see to giving birth to a baby…or losing one.

Hal got her pregnant, FP thought as the newlyweds began their honeymoon. Either she gave the baby up, or something went wrong.

The specifics didn’t really matter, so many years later. Still not his business. Still not his girl.

But the way she became more fragile as a Cooper than even bastard-born Alice Smith once was, the way she lashed out at the slightest provocation–FP was certain by now that his theory was on target.

And if he’d had any doubt, her reaction over dinner confirmed it for him. The way she froze and paled when he brought up the argument, the way her hands stopped trembling as soon as he lied his way out of telling the kids what he knew.

She remembered that argument, and she wished she didn’t–and even more than that, she wished he didn’t have it as leverage. Alice was afraid of what that information could mean to FP, how he could use it.

He would only use it if he had to, to protect his son and their fragile attempt at rebuilding their relationship, but she didn’t need to know that. She should know him better than that anyway, but they were different people now.

Alice decided that for both of them, when she married Hal Cooper and moved to his side of town and had his children. She made her choice, before FP realized there was even a choice to be made.

He’d been slower than his son not just in book-learning, back in those days, he can’t help but think as his truck rattles over the train tracks that separate his home from the likes of Alice Cooper.

He loved her. He loved her before she ever went out with Hal, but how was he supposed to know that? Until Hermione asked him, FP hadn’t even bothered to think about his feelings. Or his situation. He just liked girls, and they liked him.

He was young and stupid and didn’t know how to tell Alice that he wanted more than sex.

He didn’t even know he did, until he woke up the morning after Homecoming to an otherwise empty bed.

Alice had never been much for sentimentality, giggling at Hal in the halls in a way that sickened him because FP had known her for years on the Southside, long before they’d ever hooked up, he just plain knew her–and everything she had with Hal was clearly fake.

It never would’ve occurred to him to bring her flowers or slide affectionate touches into their frantic makeout sessions or give her poetic words. He’s certain she would have laughed in his face if he had.

So Alice Smith didn’t do anything as fanciful as leaving him a Cinderella shoe, a token of one last night before she disappeared from his life forever. She didn’t even leave him a note. He would have gratefully accepted a simple goodbye, he was that parched for her since she’d become someone else.

But as an adult, FP could look back now and understand that he only saw part of the picture. The ferocious, broken girl he loved was never as tough as she claimed, and she proved it that final night with him.

He woke up in their borrowed bed, cold sunlight making him squint as he reached out for Alice and found nothing but icy sheets. Once his vision cleared, he realized she was gone, along with all her formalwear and the little purse she’d been carrying when they fumbled their way through the door.

Why did girls always carry those things? FP wondered as he hunted around for his boxers and then shrugged his slacks and jacket back on. He didn’t bother with the tie, crumpling it into his pocket as he glanced around. She had been meticulous in leaving no trace, which was smart and cut right through him in equal measure.

No proof they were here meant no ammunition against either of them, should it come up. Her new reputation could remain unsullied, and he didn’t have to fear that the Homecoming Queen might be used as his weak spot in negotiations with rival gangs.

That was a benefit of their past being so secret, he thought as he headed to double check the master suite’s bathroom. It protected her from association with him. Not that she needed it, but FP didn’t need any soft spots to worry about. Especially ones outside his reach these days.

His father was a reckless leader, encouraging intergang rivalries to curry his favor, allowing for all kinds of schemes that made things worse. That was probably why FP felt the need to be extra careful. No way Alice would’ve left any of her things in the small bathroom, if she’d even used it on her way out…but he had to be sure.

Flipping on the light and scanning the dimly white space took moments; it was his reflection in the mirror that forced FP to pause.

His open collar, haphazardly buttoned shirt and bleary eyes gave him a rakish look–fittingly like a guy who spent the night getting some. Who was just sober enough for an after party.

But the effect was ruined by the precise, perfect imprint of deep pink lipstick on his forehead. It was slightly off center and a little tilted, making it easy to imagine Alice leaning over him to leave it there for him to wake to.

It didn’t surprise FP that he’d slept through it; she had worn him out, and he slept like the dead. But he was stunned by it nonetheless, by the evidence of the night they’d had.

Without her mark on him, it had already begun to fade in the silent morning light, a vivid dream of a girl he never seemed to be able to get out of his head. Something FP would start to doubt in a month, something he’d think he imagined by next year.

But it was there. A glossy, shimmering brand, reminding him that Alice may not have chosen him as her Homecoming date or to be hers after that, but she chose him that night. It was real.

And considering how thoroughly her makeup had been smudged off by his kisses crushing her close and her mouth exploring him everywhere…she had to put her lipstick back on to brand him that way. Must have been carrying it in that little pink purse.

She woke up that morning, pulled herself together, and left that mark deliberately.

Only Alice would finally claim him and also make it a goodbye.

****

He’d told himself he was over it. Before Jason Blossom, before his son broke his heart open with the hope he still carried, FP did his best to avoid that neighborhood where he used to jam with Fred Andrews, where he knew Alice had moved in with her kids and was probably living the life he thought he would have someday–a college degree, a settled family, a respectable life.

But seeing her outside Jug’s birthday party proved to him just how wrong he was.

He isn’t over Alice. He’ll never be over her, even if now she’s tied to Hal Cooper–even if, or especially if, she’s throwing bricks at the man in public and rolling her eyes whenever he speaks.

FP understands being married on paper but losing all hope for a future; Gladys stopped returning his phone calls after the third drunk dial, and honestly he can’t blame her.

The worst of it is that up close, Alice Cooper is even hotter than he remembered her being in his hazy teenage memories. Snarling and sneering and acidic words are still her forte, calling back to days of brass knuckles and switchblades and punching walls when somebody pissed her off.

But she is so controlled now. So tightly wound, he wants to see how much further he can wind her up. He wants to be the one to watch her let go. Something about the twinsets and manicures and the way she measures every word, crisply and cleanly as though she were playing a role in a movie…it makes his mouth go dry.

It gives him all kinds of ideas that he refuses to entertain with blood still pooling on the ground in his nightmares and her instincts breathing down his neck.

He can’t shake the memory, though, as he steps into his trailer in clean dinner clothes. History he brought up by accident when he’d just meant to shake Alice off her lofty perch.

I know you, he told her silently with a stare as she twined begging with intimidation and waited to see if he would bare her to her daughter. You should be more careful, Alice, because I’m not the only one at this table with secrets, and I know yours.

He’d been aiming for the pregnancy that she had managed to keep from the whole town, minus her husband. And he hit his mark, absolutely.

Dead-eye.

But he’d wanted one casualty and got two, because he pulled up his own memories of that night along with the one that was most dangerous for her. It was impossible for him to separate any of it: going stag to Homecoming and watching her with Hal…playing with Fred and hoping for an early escape…finding a devastated Alice and rekindling things just long enough for it to hurt.

Just long enough for it to confirm what he’d feared all the way back when they started playing G&G.

She was his first love, the one he would never be able to shake.

And that might have been it, a sad tale from his past that helped make up who he is. A woman he crosses paths with in town sometimes, who lifts the same eyebrow that used to silently convey ‘Fuck me’ and now says ‘Fuck you’ and it feels like she really means both. But he might be projecting there. Who the hell knows.

Alice could just be his ex, a fling that was barely even anything, who haunts him in ways he’ll never admit to another living soul.

But now he’s a father, watching his own son fall for the pretty Cooper girl with rebellious blue eyes, and he can’t avoid the truth. He loved Alice the night of Homecoming, and he loves her still, and she’s ready to send him to prison or to hell, if the daggers she throws with her eyes are any hint.

Alice is well over him. That much is clear.

As he pours himself a drink, FP thinks that he would try to get over her too, if he knew how she did it. It hurts so damn much, of course he’d rather be free. Maybe someday he should ask, he thinks with a humorless chuckle.

Maybe if he asks real nice, she’ll tell him her secret.

He downs the whiskey, memories of taffeta and home cooked dinner and pinning Alice up against that bedroom wall and making her scream his name all bleeding together in his head.

Police lights outside his trailer pull him back to the present, and Tom Keller digs a gun FP’s never seen before out of his closet.

Then Alice’s unspoken wish comes true, and FP finds himself in prison and hell all at once.

[parttwoactuallywrites]

If you're still taking requests for bad things happen bingo, how about Virgil x Mel + natural disaster? - theportalwedeserve

@theportalwedeserve 

ahslkdjfhlHLKJASHDLFKJH I was considering reposting that bingo card so people might consider requesting, but this came at a really good time!! Thanks a million for asking!!!!

Some quick notes before I start - This is my first shot at writing both Virgil AND Mel, and honestly? I have no idea how I did, so feedback from those who actually have written these guys/know more about them then I do/ etc. is always appreciated! Sorry if it’s not quite up to snuff! Secondary sorry that this took so long, I wrote this during my study-breaks for my midterms (which start this Thursday and I’m ahsdkfjhsjf). This was also originally gonna be WAY shorter but I’m a mess lmao. 

This fic is best enjoyed listening to Gymnopedie No. 1 and Cherche La Rose on loop. Sorry this wasn’t angstier, I wanted to write some comfy stuff ‘cause it’s cold out. 

The two of them were always regarded as an oddball couple, woodsy folk who lived a mile or so out of town in a little log-cabin they’d built themselves with the extra hands of whoever wanted to help - which was, evidently, the entirety of the little community of Laurel River.

It made sense, at least to Virgil. Though he couldn’t help but think of himself as the most “other” person there - Hah, I’m calling myself a person, now. - he seemed to fit right in. Hard workers with practical genius and warmth he’d never seen down in the salt mines. He supposed you had to be a certain kind of person to work at Aperture, and those types didn’t have a predisposition to warmth, now did they?

Speaking of, the warmth was only really metaphorical. The weather hadn’t gotten above freezing in weeks, the days got shorter and shorter, and with no real work that could get done with the ground and the river frozen, the town and its inhabitants got rather sleepy.

A cold, cold wind blew over a mostly-empty town square as Virgil stepped into the little general store for the groceries.

“Hey, Lil,” Virgil said, closing the door behind him as softly as he could.

“Hello to you too, Virgil! How’s the weather out there?” Lily asked, without turning around. She was an older woman, soft spoken and gentle. She made lovely bouquets in the summer and spring, with a garden to kill or die for.

“Bad,” He said, pulling his neatly folded list out of his pocket, “Cold, windy, cloudy.”

“Oh dear,” She said, still re-organizing the things behind the counter, “Well that sounds about right. There’s supposed to be a storm coming, a big blizzard. First of the season.”

Blizzard.

Virgil knew what those were, knew that they were big screw-off storms with strong wind and snow that made it so you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. He knew that blizzards took down trees and power lines and covered up solar panels in a foot-and-a-half of snow. Sounded like a recipe for losing power, or worse, their house getting destroyed.

He frowned, one by one grabbing the things off the shelves and putting them into a canvas bag he’d gotten when he first came into town. Flour, sugar, milk, eggs, brussels sprouts, carrots, leek, butternut squash, ‘any herbs you can get your hands on’…

He put the worry out of his mind. The clearing the cabin sat in was far enough away that a few trees coming down wouldn’t be a terrible issue. The house kept the heat well and he’d be willing to trudge a ways into the woods for more firewood if they lost power and ran out. They could camp out in the living room and snuggle to stay warm, or maybe…

Well, that assumed either of them would be willing to get their clothes off. Unlikely, given the predicted circumstances, but a nice thought nonetheless.

Virgil set his things down on the front counter one by one, lost in his unlikely-but-still-nice-thoughts about the days to come, just the two of them, snowed in together.

“Name the kid after me,” Lily said with a pleasant smile.

“Wha- Good lord, Lil!”

She laughed, took the money from the counter and handed him back a few bucks in change. “Seriously, you kids be safe, and don’t you hesitate to come to town if something happens.”

“We’ll be sure of it. Thanks, Lily.” He slowly loaded all his things into his bag.

“Any time, Virgil. Have a nice evening, honey.”

He pushed the door open, waving as he walked out. “You too!”

And then once more he was out in the cold. A gust of wind blew in his face, stinging his eyes and making them water. That might be the only thing he missed about being a core, his fantastic inability to feel most external stimuli, and with that, his inability to feel the cold stiffening his fingers, making him regret not wearing his gloves.

It was gonna be a long trudge home.

Virgil came home a few minutes out from frostbite as the sun was starting to set. He huffed as he gently set down the bag on the floor by the front door, kicked off his shoes carelessly, and wondered how long it’d take before his ears stopped burning and feeling returned to his face.

The smell of bread wafted through their small home, coupled by hot cocoa floating in beside it.

“Making something, Mel?”

She hummed. “You were taking a mighty long time out there,” She said, moving through the kitchen slowly, leisurely. “Thought it might be nice to come home to something hot to drink.”

“You’re my savior, you know that, right?”

Mel giggled. “You’ve said so on more than one occasion.” She set two cups down on their modest kitchen table, filling them with the cocoa. “What’s the news from in town?”

“We’ve got a blizzard coming in,” He said, walking towards her “That’ll be your first snow in over a hundred years!”

“It’ll be your first snow ever.” She handed him a cup of cocoa and leaned back against the kitchen counter to drink the other herself.

He took it in both hands, taking a long sip, letting the sweet drink warm him. “Mmm… This is good.”

“Thank you.”

“But personality cores are based on, well… Personalities. They were all people, once, including me,” Virgil said, “Don’t remember any of it, but I bet you I saw snow back then.”

“I still don’t get how you’re supposed to pour a person into a box, and then have that box… Do things,” She said, flatly.

“Mel, we own a computer.”

“Yeah, and I like it, but that doesn’t mean I understand it. Last I checked, TV’s were the size of our oven and only played blurry and in black and white. It’s just after the apocalypse, and we got color and crystal-clear pictures.”

Virgil shrugged. “Fair point.”

The storm came early that morning, before first light of dawn and well before either of them woke. Virgil vaguely remembered sleepily arguing for Mel to stay in bed, to sleep another hour or two with him, before being given a pillow to hug instead as she went about her morning without him. She only actually woke him up some time later, gently shaking him awake to a dark bedroom.

“Power’s out, Virgil,” Mel said, “Virgil, wake the hell up.”

“Huh?”

“The power’s-” Mel was cut off by a clap of thunder that rattled through the small house, startling Virgil fully awake.

“What the fuck-” Virgil shot up in bed, grabbing Mel’s hands almost instinctively for support.

“Looks like it’s a thundersnow,” Mel said thoughtfully.

“A what?”

Another clap of thunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning. Virgil yelped in surprise, this time, earning him a comforting hand on his shoulder from Mel. “You alright?”

“Fine!” He squeaked, “Just fine.”

“Well, the power’s out,” She said, “So if we’re gonna make breakfast, it’ll have to be over the fireplace.”

“Do you need a hand with that?” He kicked his legs over the edge of bed, planting his feet on the ground and stretching up.

“I can get the fire set up and all that-” Mel cringed as his back cracked.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem, not a problem,” She said, dismissively. “Could you make that stew of yours, though?”

Oh. The stew. He’d made it over the fireplace, once or twice before, with decent success. Not that it was particularly difficult to make, more or less a “sear some stuff and then leave it alone for three hours” type of situation.

He wanted to say no, anyways. Last time he did it, he burned his wrist on the pot and he still had a little scar from it. It was dangerous and difficult to cook over the fireplace, but Mel looked so hopeful and she loved that stew…

“Yeah, alright,” He said, “I can do that.”

Mel sweeped him up into a hug, pressing kisses to his face indiscriminately. “You’re the best,” She said, after landing one right on his eyelid, “Easily the best.”

“That’s high praise coming from my savior.”

When he actually got a chance to look outside, it was a little astonishing. He could hear the wind whistling almost constantly, or the odd clap of thunder in the distance, but he had no idea just how nasty it was, out there.

The world was covered in a haze of white, he couldn’t see the trees of the backwoods or the river that ran through the area they designated as their backyard. It was almost spooky, like the house itself had been isolated from the rest of the world.

He turned his attention back to the cutting board, back to cutting the vegetables they had on hand. Mel was curled up on the couch in their modest living room, warm and cozy by the fire she’d just started, reading something by the soft light of the window.

Yeah, burning his arm again would be worth it, if it came to that. Definitely. Mel worked too hard, too long, too sustained almost constantly. She had no ‘off’ switch, though, he supposed, that is what got them out of Aperture and into town in the first place.

Virgil dropped the vegetables into the almost cauldron-like cooking pot, letting them sizzle satisfyingly. The browned meat sat in a little bowl next to the pot, along with all the stock anyone could ever need. He absentmindedly stirred things around, more aware of Mel’s contented humming than he was his own hands.

Luckily, he didn’t burn himself, this time.

As if on auto-pilot, he put everything left in the pot, one by one, with the exception of the random assortment of root vegetables he’d throw in towards the end. He poured in the stock, covered the pot, and turned to Mel, who opened her blanket and patted the spot next to her.

“Kept your seat warm for you.” She said, grinning.

“Think I could stand to take a nap?”

“I’ll wake you up in two hours,” She said, “Stew smells great, by the way.”

“Thanks, love,” Virgil said, grabbing an extra blanket and curling himself up next to her, falling asleep in her lap.

Virgil woke up to the smell of stew and the sound of bowls being shifted around in the kitchen.

“Mel?” He called to nowhere in particular. Did I wake up in time to add the parsnip?

“You didn’t wake up, I handled the rest of it,” She said, almost reading his mind, “Stew’s done, if you’re hungry.” She handed him a bowl, as he sat up, complete with a piece of toast with butter. She dug in without waiting, putting a spoonful in her mouth and sighing with pleasure. “Christ, this is good…”

He looked down into his bowl, contemplative.

The world was scary, wasn’t it? Terrifying. There was a blizzard out there that could’ve probably killed him, back when he was a core, that would’ve definitely killed him if he was out there, now.

But he wasn’t.

He was warm and safe, in his own home, just him and Mel. Larger than that, they came off the heels of a war, and they were better for it. Would Laurel River have helped them build their home, been so kind as to open their doors for them before the war?

He didn’t think so. From what Mel said about the world, back then, they’d have had white picket fences up and would’ve judged ‘em both for how they dressed and acted, when things were ‘improper’ - whatever that meant. 

He couldn’t help but thank the maker that he was alive, really alive, then. In his home, with the love of his life, safe and warm and eating stew.

He ripped off a small piece of bread and dunked it into the stew, taking his first bite before it went cold. 

She was right, it was pretty good.

[dokuhebi]

shikkotsunin said: “you should lay down.”

post - trauma sentence starters // @shikkotsunin

It had been by the gracious permission of the  Daimyou of Mori no Kuni, that the serpent was able to make the arrangements to meet with Konohagakure overseers. The serpents release had not been planned, and while it would the greatest suicide mission of all the eras to engage them in hostility, it would be equally shortsighted of the Sannin to assume Konoha would approach them peacefully. They were, no matter how powerful and secure within the utopia that was the High Priests kingdom, an escaped prisoner. The estate of Mori no Kuni itself was no place for the serpent to hold their meeting with Konoha’s overseers. But an offset of land, where servants representing the Daimyou himself could accompany the Sannin, was offered.  Close enough to the uncharted land of Mori no Kuni, that the false sage may still have their allies as a foreboding shadow looming at their back. It is a precaution, but false in their sagehood or not, they have the rather strong belief they will have no need for allies, should anyone underhandedly turn this meeting in to a trap. It is unlike the viper however, to not plan for every and any potential disaster. It is why they choose the relatively neutral grounds offered by the High Priest, along with his representatives, and one long-time ally. Someone who Konoha would be just as displeased to see. It is why they have asked Sakura to attend in disguise, so she can overlook the meeting seamlessly, and step in should the serpent signal her to. Usually, arrogance would have the Sannin attending this meeting along, laying their demands, and taking little care to consider their reignited enemies opinion. This time however, this time they have the biggest weakness of all - their still trapped children. Konoha is in full possession of the serpents precious sons’. Twenty years. Rogu has been without his parent for an entire duration of childhood to adulthood. That is enough to shake the serpents naturally indifferent demeanor. Their youngest would be preserved within his makeshift womb, still dormant, still fast asleep. He would not know his parent had been away for so long, he would wake up to meet their eyes as his very first welcoming in to this world. Or so they hope. For that can only be possible if they can get to their children before Konoha does. Dreadfully so, the Hidden Leaf had a painfully advantageous head start.  They request Sakura to sit beside them, even if she wears a guise of a mere stranger. If she appears to be just another servant in the Mori no Kuni ranks. The tension in the air could be severed by a knife, as the Sannin finally comes face to face with their past captors. This time however, there is no cage nor muzzle placed on the once ensnared and prized captive. There is nothing stopping them from restoring a natural and primitive pecking order, where the strong make the demands, and the weak simply heed the law of the mightier.  There should not be any surprise however, when the leading Konohagakure overseer antagonizes the serpent. When the extravagant room is marred by taunting comments, and out of line responses. The serpent sits across from the leading overseer, watches her with an eerily calm gaze. They make no show of wanting a fight, clad in the clothing from Mori no Kuni, a silken hanfu, dark shades of violet and lighter shades of beige mirroring something far too refined to be reduced to a scrap. The pristine hall they sit at is just as regal a sight, it too demands the respect of proper etiquette. That to shed blood here would be a sin in itself. Yet she persists. The overseer speaks and speaks, dismissing their words and terms, making a clear sign this was not a fair negotiation. And they know that she is provoking them on purpose, they know that she thinks she can, because she holds the power of their precious children over their head. What she doesn’t know however, is twenty years of caging has made the serpents usually calm and rational mind develop in to something more akin to a ticking time bomb. Unpredictably lethal. When her filthy tongue speaks ill of their children, when the line of respecting their precious kin is crossed, the serpent finally interjects. To let her know her games are well noticed.  “You want to make me angry,” they reply, their voice a rather curt, soft spoken and emotionless sound. Slender hands mostly covered by overly long sleeves are places on the table, so they can ever so regally correct their posture and stand. “Very well.”  The glass of the high rising hall shatters, vines from the large sequoia trees surrounding the magnificent room reaching in at the beckoning of the serpents wood release. Thick vines twist in to the now chaos erupting hall like serpents might, pouring in and winding around any moving body pertaining to Konoha. Twisting tightly, constricting until screams can not be heard, only seen in the dulling eyes of those ensnared. A vibrantly insidious glow has flared around the Sannin, as eyes lose their white, and the gold iris overtakes their entire gaze. Horns protrude from midnight locks like a devilish crown, as the chakra, buzzing like a swarm of locusts, starts to hungrily run down the vines of the nearby sequoia, gathering around the bodies trapped in the vines hold.  It would be ever apparent for Sakura now, to know what her role in all this was. The word of a False Sage had been circulating, the mention that the serpent was not as holy, not blessed with the rare mark of the divine. What was worse than a non-sage, than a lowly sage using batesian mimicry? Killing two birds with one stone was their obvious option forward. To send a message to Konoha that their powers had been fully awoken, to shake them enough that the village would know better than to harm its only leverage against them - their dear boys. But also, to shatter the rumors they could not wield their own sage mode. To make such a show of it, that the demolished building of Mori no Kuni would forever resonate with the energy they left here. That one would have a physical ground to view their powers - a temple of testament.  The bodies tangled in the vines grow limp, shriveling, deteriorating, the serpent is feeding off them parasitically. Absorbing each ones chakra to fuel their own transformation, long enough for the servants to usher themselves out of harms way, but to remain rather credible witnesses. The only one who would have no need to shy away from their volatile power, was the True Sage in the room herself. The one who despite a guise, meets their gaze with her characteristic one. She would not only be the sole person allowed to see this front, nor the only person able to survive it, but she would equally so be the only one who could tend to them when they put needless strain on their body. When the energy they drain from the Konoha shinobi was inadequate.  They push themself further than they should have, it is only briefly apparent in their own subconscious when they notice their lower half has lost itself to a tail. When they mirror a naga, not human. When the chakra they sense from Sakura triggers their prey drive like a fleeing rabbit does a wolfs. The moment she is close, they have turned on her, snapping like a wound up coil and encircling her figure with a reptilian body. Slender fingers from one hand wrapped around her throat, as their natural instinct to drain the most tempting and transcendent chakra overpowers their senses. Because failing at the sage mode resulted in more animalistic traits coming out, an opportunistic hunter, was a mark of their serpentine character. Power like hers was overwhelmingly tempting, a chakra-hungry sage could not shake the lure anymore than a predator can the scent of blood. They go blind from there. The very last sight they can remember, her green eyes sharpening as she holds her ground. Blacking out when the lust of battle outweighs their need for self control was common during their trial stage of using their new powers. No doubt, they had attacked the woman as if she were the enemy. They rely on the fact that she wasn’t. They rely on the fact that she can bring them down when their chakra begins to turn inwards and ravage their own body.  When they finally awaken, both from unconsciousness and feral trance, they are welcomed to a far more peaceful scene, their slender form upon a bed in the far removed safety of their temporary home. A palace suited for the gods, rather than queens and kings. They waste little time slipping from the bed and sauntering across the marbled floors. The fabrics of their immaculate gown tailing after them, as bare feet soundlessly traverse the abode to inspect for her. Knowing she would be around, would be close by. They cross the intersection of the room where sun filters warmly through open arched windows, until they can locate the woman. She too, is immaculate. Not a wound upon her figure. That is not a show of how little damage the Sannin may have caused her. Instead, they know it is a result of her own regenerative properties. She speaks before she looks up to them, she must have known they had awoken even when they were not in her room. - ‘You should lay down’ -.They feel fine, be it due to her healing as she mended the damage they had done, or be it because they had relied on their own regenerative abilities. Had she abandoned them, once getting them home, they would not have been in any state of health crises. Injury is fleeting for immortals like them.  “I am all right, thanks to you,” they state, before finding their seat in a sunny patch beside her, their gaze tracing her figure for any sign of displeasure. They could have told her about their planned stunt, and saved her a great deal of trouble. But springing the idea on her had less potential for her to say no. They had needed her, and they had decided asking for forgiveness was simpler than asking for permission.  “I will be declaring war upon Konohagakure,” they tell her, their voice politely quiet, as if they speak not of monumental bloodshed, “I have tried to break bread with them, I have tried to appease them. I have found they either fear me, or want me to fear them. I have an eternity to redeem myself, but if wrath is the quickest way forward, if they will not let me rest for so long as that village stands... then I will ensure it stands no more. I have lost faith in the concept, that even we can be saved. You do not have to pick a side, but I hope that you will.” She would be an invaluable ally, she would tip the odds in the serpents favor. They get to their feet once more, to saunter over to the window itself and to gaze at the scene below.  “For what it was worth, we tried to do things the right way, we both gave it a chance in the past,” they say, eyes narrowing as they watch the peace of the servants below. A bubble, a small utopia at the center of such hell, “but my anger has lead me further than my patience, and taking has earned me more than asking. If cruelty does not win out over doing things the ‘right’ way, then someone ought to have taken me down by now,” they turn their head to address her over their shoulder, “with our powers amounted, it is in our hands to kill or spare them. Ask yourself dear, how kind were they to us?”