#i point threateningly in that certain person's direction

[lightyearssurrogatedaddy]

text me on discord my user's theyeast. please I want to send a cartain someone a threatening image of a gas pump

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[imaginethoseguys]

Liquid Courage

Hi, I need to submit a seminar paper in 10 days so naturally I wrote this 3k+ fic for Itadori Yuji girl, bye

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x fem!S/O Word count: 3.3k Warnings: fluff, drinking, drunk confessions, slight angst, au motifs Summary: No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys who she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.

Yup, no way that was happening. a/n: Itadori's in his 20s (as well as s/o)

gif credit

It wasn’t Yuji who offered to spend the Friday night at a bar. He didn’t enjoy drinking that much, and there was some weird old movie at the local theatre that they could watch and make fun of together. But it was an unusual occasion, they were on a week-long mission, dealing with curse activity in Osaka, and, well, it was  her  who asked, so of course he agreed. He never went against her suggestions, he trusted her fully, maybe even too much. Possibly, it was her way with words. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say in situations where Yuji often found himself at loss for words. She was reliable and reassuring and had a certain kind of warmness to her.

Or, possibly, it was Yuji’s six-years-long crush on her that had him blushing and hyperventilating at anything she did, so opinions were divided on this one.

No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys with who she felt comfortable enough to be herself. Yup, no way that was happening.

“Oh, look, they have homemade plum wine!” her exclamation brought Yuji’s attention back to reality. “And it’s in pitchers too. Lucky!”

“You do remember you can’t hold your liquor, right?” he said, propping his face on his right hand while watching her mumble giddily “plum wine and soda, plum wine and soda.” She lowered the laminated menu sheet and leveled him with an annoyed gaze.

“I am a grown young woman who earns a living by exorcising curses, I’m pretty sure I can handle a glass or two,  Yuji .”

“Including that time when you threw up on Fushiguro mid-conversation?”

“That was graduation! And we did shots.”

“Yeah, it was also 7pm.”

“Enough of you, mister.” She threateningly pointed a finger at him and turned around to call the waiter. Receiving an acknowledging nod in return, she turned back. “Besides, if we’re talking about you, everyone is terrible at holding their liquor in comparison.”

“I’m just heavyweight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just a beast machine who suppressed the King of Curses and can run 50 meters in 3 seconds,” she shook her head at her own description, “no wonder you’re Special Grade. Why do you bother drinking at all? Pretty sure it does nothing to you.”

“I don’t do it on my own. I like the company.” He said timidly.

“Aw, see? This is why I love you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened unintentionally, but she didn’t look at him long enough to see it, her attention swiftly taken away by an approaching waiter. He assured himself he was better at controlling his feelings, but it was all falling apart now, like a bunch of lies, because he could feel his entire face and ears pulsate from heat. He stared at the way her lips moved, making the order.

as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend

“Yuji? Yuji!”

He snapped back, looking even more surprised.

“You wanted the Ginjo-Shu, right?”

His gaze lingered on her face, open and bright, with eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yeah.”

This is fine.

* * *

“Ah, see? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Yuji furrowed his eyes helplessly and took the glass from her hand. She tried to down her drink in one motion but missed and spilled it over herself. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure if it was her being lightweight or her not stopping in time.

“When did that even happen,” he mumbled to himself, “she was fine a minute ago.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she moaned in drunk annoyance, “because I  am  here.”

“So it seems,” Yuji smiled.

“And I may be many things, but there’s one thing that I am not, and it is deaf. Or stupid.”

“Yup, that’s two things though.”

She sighed loudly and leaned back on the wooden wall of their booth. They were surrounded by soft mixes of white noise: distant frying and sizzling from the kitchen, clinking of glasses, and giddy discussions of the upcoming weekend. They could almost feel like they belonged here, to the normal crowd of Osaka drinking their weekly stresses away, complaining about their bosses, bills, and personal dramas.

Is that what it’s like to be normal?  Both of them thought.

Yuji looked over at her and felt the heat returning to his cheeks. This drink spill felt too deliberate to be accidental. And her bra was very thin, and the bar’s AC was on and—

Yuji groaned and swiftly took his hoodie off, almost throwing it in her direction.

“Wear this, please.”

She didn’t really fight it and slowly put it over her head, beginning to crawl inside. She stopped somewhere in the middle and breathed in.

Ah, it smells so good. Smells like him.

She pressed the fabric into her face, taking in his scent. When did he manage to put on cologne? That’s just unfair.

“You okay in there? Are you stuck?” Yuji looked questionably at the wrinkly bundle that was now his hoodie with her somewhere inside.

“Listen, Yuji.”

“You’re just gonna talk to me like this, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft voice. “I know this isn’t how you would spend your night, but—I wanted to—you know. But in the end, I just—and—”

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug, and her head popped out of the hoodie, revealing Yuji’s face lightened by a warm smile.

“I told you, I like the company.”

There was a needle prick somewhere around her heart, and she pressed her lips together, taken by a sudden wave of sadness.

“Let’s get back, yeah?”

* * *

Their hotel wasn’t far from the bar, but due to her condition, the walk back took longer than usual. Summer was ending, the air was still warm, but there was a tingling coldness with each wind blow,  a careful reminder of the approaching grey sky and smell of wet concrete, covered by tired leaves.

The path to the hotel entrance was hidden among the sleeping quarters, illuminated by floor lights, and framed by tall bamboo sticks. Yuji walked first and was right in front of the automatic sliding doors when he stopped and turned around to check on her. Instead of right behind him, he saw her at the beginning of the entrance path with her head down.

“Hm? Are you okay? Wait, are you sick?? Then stay right there, if you wanna throw up, do it—um—” he swiftly looked around. Seeing a gardening pot near one of the doors across the street, he pointed at it. “Here, maybe in this pot? Wait, no, this is a nice neighborhood, imagine waking up and finding vomit in your plants… ah, maybe in this bamboo? I’m not sure if it’s real though… ah, but this hotel allows hosting of jujutsu sorcerers because the owner is a friend of someone from the higher-ups, and if we vomit here—"

“Yuji.”

“Oh, maybe vomit in my t-shirt? And I’ll carry it to the nearest dumpster? No, that’s a horrible idea. Are you sure you can’t hold it until we get to our room? Then—”

“I’m not sick, Yuji!” she said loudly, maybe even too much so. “Although all this vomit talk is grossing me out.”

Yuji raised his eyebrows. “Then what’s wrong? Wait, did drinking uncover your hidden phobia of hotels? I read that somewhere…”

She smiled sadly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He bared his teeth, clearly offended. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to be helpful! Jeez, if you can’t walk – just say so, I’ll carry you to our room.”

“I don’t want to go to our room!” she yelled again. Yuji’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

“Because then we go to sleep, come back to Tokyo and—I—” She squeezed the hem of his hoodie, “and I’ll never get another chance.”

There’s a short silence after her outburst. Yuji glanced over her hands that were clenched in fists and looked to the side.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our only chance to visit Osaka, we can always book a vacation and come back here.”

“Huh? Who cares about Osaka? It's—”

“I’m not very smart,” he interrupted her quietly, “so you’ll need to be straight with me, otherwise I won’t understand what you mean.” Then, his voice got even quieter. “Or I’ll start imagining things that aren’t real.”

“Yuji, I—” she tried to speak fast, because she felt a betraying lump in her throat, “I never wanted to drag you into a bar. There was this old movie at the local theatre that we could have watched, but I—If I didn’t drink, I would have never gotten the strength to say the things that I’ve been meaning to say for a long-long time. And this trip felt like a perfect opportunity, and you’re right, I’m a lightweight and I overdid it, and I was so close to saying it, but I thought—I cherish you so, so much , Yuji, it hurts me to even think about it. I tried to tell you before, after graduation, but you distanced yourself from me that night, so I figured it was a bad idea. I still think it is, but I—Yuji, I—”

Yuji shortened the distance between them with a desperately fast sprint and grabbed her with both of his hands, squeezing her so tight that she could barely talk anymore, her face pressed into his chest. He was silent for a bit.

“I distanced myself from you during the graduation night because you looked so vulnerable. I thought you were doing things you would regret the next day, so I didn’t want to take advantage. Because when you’re like this with me, I,” his hands trembled, “It’s so hard for me not to be selfish.”

“Wait, Yuji,” she tried to move away from him, but no matter how hard she pushed, she would never win Yuji in a battle of strength. “Please, let me finish.”

“No,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “When you say that this is not the way I would spend my night… You can invite me to dumpster dive or read books about molecular physics in a public library, or lick poles in winter, and I’ll choose it over anything else. When I found out we would go on this mission together, I was so happy. I can be doing the grossest, most stupid, and pointless things, but if I’m with you – it would be the best way to spend all the time I have. I hate being alone, and it's all I ever felt for so many years of life. But when I met you—when I’m with you – I feel so warm. You make me forget about the bad stuff. When you’re next to me, I—I feel wanted. So please,” his hands weakened his grab on her frame, letting her lean back and catch a glimpse of his face. “Please, don’t give me false hopes.”

Their breaths were hot and shaky as they looked each other in the eyes, hypnotised by each other’s presence. She cautiously moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Yuji swallowed thickly, he had to stop himself, but her hand was soft and warm, and the number of times he dreamt about this exact moment didn’t let him move an inch of his body. She raised herself on her tiptoes and leaned to his lips. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so close to his that—

“Ghh, stop,” Yuji groaned and pressed his forehead to hers in agony.

“Why?” She asked breathlessly, “you don’t want this?”

“ No ! I mean, yes. God, I want this so much my head could explode, b-but,” he leaned back slightly, revealing his glowing red face, from the neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re drunk, and we’re tired and I,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I want this to be right. If you wake up tomorrow and don’t remember any of this, I—”

“Stop talking,” she moaned and pulled him back by the fabric of his t-shirt, crushing her lips into his, arms then moving up to snake around his neck. Yuji had to resist. He had to, but when she touched him like this, the taste of plum on her lips, and when her—

“Mhm,” Yuji groaned hopelessly, feeling her tongue explore the insides of his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he felt like his heart could stop. Suddenly, he was so putty in her hands, he would do anything for her to keep touching and kissing him like this. No, for her to do anything she wanted with him. He would make a pact with a curse and sell his soul to stay like this a little longer, or to never feel the need to breathe again, so her lips can remain sealed with his forever. Still desperate for air, however, he forced himself to pull away, a shining string of saliva stretching between their lips.

She breathed in, preparing to talk. “I—”

“No, please, don’t say it.” He pressed their foreheads together again, breathing heavily. “Allow me to be selfish. I—I want you to say it tomorrow, in the morning. So that—”

“—It’s real?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled bashfully, looking into her eyes. He could see himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes. They were bright and kind, and they looked at him the way he never thought would ever happen. He never thought he would be close enough to her to have the chance of examining just how deep and gentle they are.

Yuji moved a hair strand away from her face. “C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

He lifted her in one motion and pressed firmly to his chest. She could hear the rapid pounding in his chest, and it made her heart race after it. Pressing her ear closer, she could almost hear his thoughts. She didn't really need to hear them, she got the general idea from how uneven were his breaths and how his fingers trembled around her form.

While they waited for the elevator inside, she looked at him.

“Can I keep kissing you?”

His face heated up for a hundredth time this night, as he diverted his gaze nervously. She could feel his hands now squeezing her a little tighter.

“Y-yeah. I would like that.”

* * *

Yuji did not know that pain can bring such an amount of happiness with it. There were two single beds in their room, but they ended up sharing one of them together, which resulted in soreness and numbness in different parts of Yuji’s body. His back ached from arching it so that he didn't fall, and he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore because he went to bed while hugging her. Not that he was complaining though. He could go to sleep on hot coals for all he cared if that meant she would lie on top of him. Feeling her body next to his sent vibrations down his spine. Suddenly, he heard her groan, and his heart fastened its pace.

Nanami Kento was right when he said that getting old is manifested in small things. One of them was getting morning sickness and headaches from any amount of drinking, moderate or otherwise. She hid her face in both of her palms and turned to the side, trying to hide from the morning sun. Sliding the palms down to her chest, she was met with Yuji’s glowing but anxious face: his hair was a mess, and there was a big imprint on his right cheek from the pillow wrinkles. She smiled softly, reaching out to fix one of his hair strands.

“Hi,” she rasped.

“Hi,” he responded, sounding relieved.

“Remind me to never drink again,” she said, turning on her back tiredly. “I lose years of my life from each hangover.”

“I mean, it’s exactly what I’m doing each time, but the strategy doesn’t seem to be working.” He chuckled, slowly getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring you an aspirin.”

Her eyes traced his features radiating in the morning sun as he made his way to the coffee table across the room. He had plenty of scars across his back and more on the chest. None of Jujutsu High students got anything close to normal school life, but Yuji certainly took the cake. And to remain so gratuitously giving and caring all while dealing with so much burden and pressure—her heart sank from just the thought.

She sat up as Yuji sat in front of her on the side of the bed, giving her a glass of fizzling water. She smiled in gratification and brought it to her lips.

“By the way, can you tell me what we ended up doing yesterday? I don’t remember shit,” she said nonchalantly before starting to gulp down the medicine.

The look on Yuji’s face filled with terror and chagrin; he felt his fingertips grow colder as he grasped the bedsheets beneath his hands. He lowered his gaze in silence, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Meanwhile, she downed the glass and put it on her nightstand. Looking back at him, she lifted the corners of her lips.

“Kidding.”

He let out a questioning yell and grabbed a pillow, aiming a blow. “You’re so mean! Never  ever  do that shit again!”

He threw the pillow into her face, and she laughed, grabbing his hand, and pulling him on top of her. Yuji positioned his hands on both sides of her head and felt the familiar heat run up his neck to his cheeks, nose, and ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She lifted her hands and palmed his face, looking deep into his amber eyes. Yuji swallowed thickly, both of his palms twitching uncontrollably.

“Yuji.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I love you.”

The warmness from her hands went deep beyond his face. He felt her arms reach out gently into his chest and cradle his heart, calming its frantic heartbeat and holding it with such care that it sent lumps to his throat. He fought back the quivering of his lips as her thumb stroked across the scar right beneath his eye.

“I love you so  so much,” she murmured fondly, squinting from her growing smile. Yuji lowered his body closer to hers and hid his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind.

“If you don’t stop, I might die.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t… feel this happy.”

She closed her eyes contently and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, dumbass.”

She played with his messy hairs, breathing in his scent.

“But if you don’t reciprocate, I might die as well.”

Yuji rose sharply on his hands and leaned forward, crushing his lips into hers for a quick second.

“I love you,” he said loudly after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” he kept repeating after kissing her over and over again. “I lov—” She interrupted him mid-sentence and took initiative, thrusting into his lips and parting them with a twirl of her tongue. He moaned and gave in, moving his head to the side.

Please, don’t leave me

I’m with you until the world collapses

[nanabbi]

Look. I love Hizashi as much the next person. But his Hero Hairdo? No. Just a plain no from me. I like the memes and yeah, it’s pretty characteristic, but what the heck was he thinking???

It’s A Matter of Spite. Thank you, @onemaebee for checking this over!

“Excuse me…?”

Hizashi couldn’t help but wonder if the battery of his hearing aids was running low again.

“Objectively.”

The Hero Public Safety Commission representative --or the stickler for short, as Hizashi had mentally dubbed him in his inability to gather enough investment to memorize his name-- who had summoned him here to supposedly speak about his Hero career, gestured vaguely in Hizashi’s direction.

Well… More precisely, he gestured at all of him.

“Objectively speaking, you are pretty,” the stickler added and sat straighter up his chair. Someone should have colored Hizashi surprised at this point, because he wasn’t expecting the dude to be able to sit any more like he had a cane up his--

“You have nice features,” he continued, clearly missing Hizashi’s distaste with how this conversation was going “And despite your--” his eyes very pointedly scanned over Hizashi’s leather jacket and its extra spiky shoulder-pads “--packaging, you have managed to attract certain demographics.”

Sure he had, and not thanks to your organization, bro.

Newbie Pro Hero with loud personality. Self-sacrificial and badass to a tee. Endearing human flaws. Excellent fashion sense and taste in music --thank you very much-- and all of that at barely twenty one.

Of course Present Mic was appealing to certain demographics.

“You are interested in media entertainment, aren’t you?” The stickler continued to speak when Hizashi failed to find a proper way to respond.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have a comeback, it was more that… HPSC did kind of have the power to defame him if he ended up running his mouth as he felt it right now. Having his fashion sense insulted by a man wearing a terrible plaid tie was one thing, but having them chip strongly on his career because he insulted their bureaucracy? Better be cautious with that.

“Radio,” Hizashi replied and hoped that he didn’t sound as annoyed as he felt.

“I am interested in radio, specifically. I have a voice quirk, as you might be aware?”

If the stickler noticed the sarcastic tone, he didn’t show it. Instead he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh as if Hizashi was being unreasonable.

“Yes, I know. But why? That’s kind of a waste, isn’t it?”

“Because that’s what I like!” The water glass he had been offered vibrated threateningly. Hizashi didn’t raise his voice much but catching the right frequency would be enough to shatter it. He took a deep breath and composed himself. “What exactly am I here for?”

“What do you think you’re here for?” The stickler asked, not seeming particularly bothered by the small ‘outburst.’

Hizashi glared. It wasn’t that he didn’t have many reserves of patience to offer, but this particular occasion didn’t feel worthy of his restrain.

“You want a poster boy,” he stated. If they stopped beating around the bush, maybe he could get this over with already.

Bad-tie-man had the audacity to smile and give Hizashi a patronizing nod of approval.

“Precisely, Mic. Appearances are the beginning and end to preserve good relations between Heroes and regular citizens. You have the looks already, and your persona is appropriate for handling crowds. If you decided to work with us and became a little more camera-friendly, we could put you on the top ten –if not top three- popularity chart when it comes to Heroes. You could help us keep common folk happy.”

“Camera friendly.”

There was no much hiding the pure un-amusement and borderline disgust Hizashi’s tone held at this point as he repeated these words.

The stickler’s plastic smile fell slightly, being replaced with a more professional strictness.

“You have a style. We respect that and wouldn’t dream of changing it completely. You are remembered by it after all, but we would have to implement some edits to show off your features more. Your fashion choices are so loud that I doubt people even notice what’s underneath it.”

Yeah. That was kind of the whole point, actually.

Hizashi loved the persona he had created. Present Mic was a great escape for him. He loved to entertain while being him. He loved to save people and be as over the top as he felt like, without worrying about how that looked, since it was part of the act. As an over-the-top Hero, acting the part didn’t raise many questions. He loved forgetting Hizashi’s problems when he strolled around like a peacock in Present Mic’s shiny leather clothes too.

He also loved how rarely he was recognized when he wasn’t Present Mic.

Hizashi needed some time of his own, to be as silent and still as he felt like, with no expectations to be anything more than a lazy pile. Kayama and Tensei didn’t mind him when he was like that. Aizawa… Well. Who knows what Aizawa was thinking about Present Mic, these days. Or even Hizashi for the matter.

The sleazy voice, coming up after translating his silence as an invitation to continue, was welcome this time.

That was a line of thinking he would rather avoid for the time being. It only ended to long alcohol-filled nights and Hizashi couldn’t afford that again. Present Mic was supposed to be on patrol tonight and he already had to ask Kanaya to cover for him twice this week.

“I’ve noticed you’re growing your hair.”

Taken aback by the observation, Hizashi’s fingers reflexively came to brush the hair, styled to heavily fall on one side and kept there with many layers of hair-spray. Hizashi had yet to decide how to style with the additional length so for now he had settled on the emo-punk look. It went well with Present Mic and nobody expected appearance-consistency so early in a Hero’s career (plus he hated people touching his hair and having it gelled discouraged them from it). The audience knew they would get Present Mic 2.0, 3.0 etc. It happened with most heroes.

“Yes?” He asked, sounding much more tired than he did a few moments ago, still feeling the remnants of pain that came whenever he thought of Aizawa these days. “What about it?”

“It is what drew our attention actually,” the stickler almost sung with a grin that made Hizashi fidget uncomfortably in his seat. “Made us take a closer look. Notice your potential.”

“Glad to know that through my work as a hero, it was my hair getting fancier that made you notice my potential,” Hizashi replied without even bothering to fake politeness. This felt like it was supposed to be a compliment but to Hizashi it sounded very much like an insult towards his abilities. “Cool priorities, there.”

This time, the stickler didn’t give him an eye-roll, but Hizashi felt the spirit of it passing over him anyway.

“I wouldn’t have called you if we didn’t already know of your skill.”

“But you did call me, because ‘I am pretty,’” the last words rolled off Hizashi’s lips laced with three doses of sarcasm and two of venom.

“It’s a package deal,” the stickler’s reply was drowned at the end by the sound of Hizashi’s chair scrapping against the floor as the blond stood.

“And a deal you won’t be getting,” the sleazy sweetness in his own voice, was overstated enough to make sure it was seen as fake. “Thank you for the interest. I think I am doing fine with my current agency.”

Hizashi expected to be interrupted before reaching the door. HPSC should start hiring less predictable people, with less predictable approaches (though it might be a good thing, no unpleasant surprises).

“Mic. Even if you don’t work with us, keep my words in mind. Image is important and you could use it.”

“Certainly,” Hizashi sang without even sparing the man a glance.

The door closed soundlessly behind him.

The bang came a week later.

Hizashi made damn sure that the fight in which he debuted his extra-gelled, pointy, cockatiel-stage-one hair was captured on camera and broadcasted on skyscrapers. It wasn’t even the final touch to the message he wanted to send to the Commission. It would take a few more months or maybe even years, but boy, could he not wait for their commentary on the upcoming moustache.

💛💛💛

[sooibian]

Twist of Fate

image credits: @/exoxoxoid (twitter)

Pairing: Criminal Psychologist Kyungsoo x Crime Reporter OC (Miss Jung) ft. Minseok, Jongin

Description: Much against your wishes, you are back in your hometown to write about the murders of two young women - your only ticket out is the criminal psychologist who has been assisting Superintendent Kim Minseok with offender profiling.

Inspired by: Sharp Objects, The Fall and this moodboard by @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ 

Tags/Warnings: Serial killer AU - angst, grief, loss, murders, descriptions of anxiety, reactive and attentive immobility, asphyxiation, indicative of humiliation, explicit and graphic situations. Please do not read onward if any of this triggers or upsets you!!!!

Word count: +3.7k

A/N: ...i need to stop watching crime dramas. 

@leewalberg​ @his-mochi-cheeks​ @changshapatrol​ 

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

When you left Cheongsong, you’d left for good. Or so you’d thought.

Ten years later what brought you back was not your family, for you had none left, but the murders of two young women that had left the quaint little town, surrounded by hills artistically contoured by apple orchards, shaken and distraught.

Everyone knew each other in Cheongsong which should have made Superintendent Kim Minseok’s job easier, but he was caught in an ugly snare of emotions which seemed to have clouded his critical thinking faculties. These were people he knew closely, people he’d grown up with. For him, pointing fingers at any of them meant carving permanent cracks in relationships that were stronger than most familial ties.

“Off the record, then”, you shoved your scratchpad back into your purse, turned off the recorder with a click and looked at Minseok square in the eyes, only to find the amiable, portly, catlike footballer you went to school with hidden in their farthest, darkest depths - reduced to a mere whimsy. The memories of the man who sat before you, now seemed abysmally distorted by the colossal burden of the unknown.

“It never is.” He chuckled darkly, took a measured sip of his bourbon and rolled it around his tongue before swallowing. “Never thought I’d see you here again.”

“That makes two of us. Write about killings in your hometown...it makes an impact because it’s personal, my boss says. We’re to...exploit the fact that nobody substantial is covering this.” You recited, eyes trained on the sliver of grime on the coaster.

Minseok clicked his tongue in disapproval and enquired, “Where have you been staying?” 

“A guest house by the Country Club.”

“So, not the Mansion”, he remarked callously.

Wounds that had barely healed came undone at the mention of your family home. Your throat tightened and you felt as if you had been shanked with a broken bottle in the stomach. The ill fated house reeked of misfortune, grief and loss. Its inhabitants had fallen one by one like lined up dominoes. This curse had forced you out to start a new life in Seoul.

“It’s still quite well kept, you know.” Minseok stated matter-of-factly.

Taking a deep swig of your bourbon, you explained earnestly as the burn of the liquid blazed down your throat, “Minseok, I want nothing more than to get out of here. So, please, give me something. A nugget.” 

“I don’t want to be quoted on this. Or misquoted. This is all new to me as well. Two bodies in three months? Can you imagine?” Overcome with emotion, he ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

You put a comforting hand on his and offered in a voice laced with empathy, “Listen, from where I stand, all you need is a new line of inquiry and linking these two murders would give you one. I’ve seen the pictures.” 

You swiped through images of two dark haired women on your phone - Park Soojin and Seo Jinri. Both of them were in their late twenties. They lay in their own beds as if soundly asleep, modesty protected only by sheer white blankets, crimson tinted lips parted ever so slightly, freshly painted nails shining in dim lighting. And roses. There were a couple of red roses placed by their side as if in condolence. The blood curdling strangulation marks around their necks made them look like dreadfully divine paintings. 

“They could be sisters”, you observed with moist eyes, voice hushed to a whisper.

Contemplating on the images with pursed lips, Minseok responded with a tight nod and waved a 50,000 bill in the waitress’ general direction.

“Where’d you find these?” He asked in a threateningly calm voice, averting his eyes from your apparently disagreeable gaze.

“You know that’s confidential”, you replied, half-shrugging, nonchalant.

“I’ll drop you home”, he muttered, and shoved his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. 

With a defeated sigh you grabbed your purse and phone and proceeded to follow Minseok out of the only bar in Cheongsong, “No, it’s fine. I could use a walk.”

Suddenly, he turned around, searched your eyes for a fleeting second before admitting begrudgingly, “Kim Jongin. He’s the prime suspect in the first case. The murder of Park Soojin.”  

Your legs froze. “What?! Why?”

You knew Kim Jongin, like you knew everyone else in this town. His family owned one of the biggest apple orchards in Cheongsong but Kim Jongin never manifested that in his behaviour. He was known to be friendly, kind, sensitive. Almost too sensitive some would say.

“That’s it. That’s your nugget. Here.” He handed you a business card bearing the name ‘Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’. “He’s been informally assisting with offender profiling. He’ll talk to you. Seems like he’ll talk to anyone, really. Now get in the car, it’s freezing out here.” 

.

.

.

“Dr. Doh, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’s home office was a detached unit with a separate entrance, distanced from his main residence. It was exactly the way you’d imagined a psychologist’s office to be - light coloured walls, comfortable chairs, soft pillows, insipid artwork. Neat and clean, fostering a sense of comfort for visitors. 

The Doh family had moved into Cheongsong shortly after you’d left for Seoul. Coming from old money in search of some peace and quiet, they invested in agricultural distribution, Cheongyang Pepper farms and assumed one of the more significant estates to live in while their only son, Doh Kyungsoo, was sent abroad to pursue higher education.   

“Please, call me Kyungsoo.” He took your hand in his, gave it a good, firm shake and gestured you to take the chair opposite his.

“I think ‘Dr. Doh’ should be fine”, you stated plainly and he acknowledged with a curt nod.

“What brings you here?” Asked Kyungsoo, holding your gaze, hands folded in his lap as he leaned back into his chair with a soft sigh. 

Grimacing, you waved your recorder at him, “They say you’re my ticket out of this godforsaken place.”

Minseok had helped you set up the meeting so you thought it proper to waive cumbersome introductions and niceties and Kyungsoo seemed very much in sync with your line of thought. 

He smiled, “I’m merely a bystander, Miss Jung, with slightly more informed opinions, maybe.”

“Informed opinions are what I’m here for, Dr. Doh.” You smiled back, “Superintendent Kim Minseok doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“He’s a man shackled by bureaucracy and I’m a constant reminder of his team’s staggering incompetence, If I were him, I wouldn’t like me very much either.”

“Do you think there’s a link between the two murders?” 

He nods. “I’m fairly certain there is.” 

“But the police won’t look into it? Why is that?”

“Nobody likes a serial, Miss Jung. Besides, there’s no way the team could cope with the increased workload of linked inquiries. There are over a hundred statements, documents, officers’ reports waiting to be read and actioned. And the case of Park Soojin is a peculiar one.”

“Kim Jongin’s girlfriend? How so?”

“She was the ex-wife of a member of the parliament. This case does absolutely no favours to his image so he needs it solved immediately.” 

The word solved was treated to air quotes.

“So, they’ve ruled him out as a suspect?”

“His alibi checks out. They suspect Kim Jongin.”

“Why? Just because Kim Jongin fled immediately after her body was found? How did the police react to that?”

“Because Jongin fled, his brother was asked to provide DNA which turned out to be a familial match to the DNA gathered at the crime scene. But that does not necessarily mean it’s the killer’s DNA. Miss Park was in a relationship with him. There’s no surprise his semen was found in her esophagus.”

“Do you rule him out as a suspect then?”

“I prefer to reserve my comment.”

“Why do you think he fled?”

“Grief drives us to do irrational things, Miss Jung. Maybe he just needed a breather from everything that was going on here. Can’t say for sure.”

“You’re certain the perpetrator is male?”

“Yes, I am. The perpetrator is male and an athletic one at that. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties. While the strangulation marks may be different, the pathologists reports suggest petechial haemorrhage in both cases which means he strangled and released and then strangled again, over and over. He’s either a sadist, or his hand lacks strength. You try it, grab my wrist.”

He extended his arm towards you and you politely declined. So he wrapped his right hand over his left wrist and held firmly for a few moments. 

“Forty seconds. It’s amazing how quickly the hand tires!” He exclaimed as if awestruck. It was the maximum emotion the inscrutable Dr. Doh had displayed during the course of this interview.

“Victims of strangulation are known to make a mess of themselves. They defecate and / or urinate..”

“That is correct. The bodies were both found posed and clean. Which means he spent hours after, washing them and cleaning the sheets, even. There could be a religious angle to this. Washing away their sins...maybe his own, considering he probably gets into the bath with them.”

He pushed a cup of long gone cold tea towards you, but you shook your head. As a crime reporter, you thought you’d seen it all but the possibility of this being the work of a serial killer was a first for you. Also the fact that it was happening in the place you grew up in was starting to gnaw at you a little more aggressively than you’d liked. 

“I’m not going to lie, Dr. Doh, this gives me pause for concern. Do you think there is a sexual angle to these killings? As far as I know, the victims have shown no signs of any such abuse.”

Kyungsoo sipped on his tea and worried at his lower lip briefly before responding. “I believe he’s the kind to take pictures, momentos from the scene. They sustain him between killings.”

“And the roses? There were..”

“Three next to Park Soojin’s corpse and two next to Seo Jinri’s.”

“Does it indicate -”

“- a countdown? Perhaps.” He studied your face intently and offered you tea again. This time you complied and then proceeded with the interview.

“There was no sign of forced entry in either cases. The police think the perpetrator was known to the victims.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You see, Miss Jung, the problem is that these cases were treated as self solvers from the get go and that’s where it all went wrong.”

His smile at the end of that sentence was one of finality, somehow indicative that you’d overstayed your welcome. To be able to milk him for all he was worth, you were going to let him loose for the time being.

Clicking your recorder off, you tilted your head to the side, smiled politely, “Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Doh.”

“It’s been a pleasure.” 

While he was walking you to the front door, you couldn’t help but ask, “Dr. Doh, if I may, were the victims known to each other? Were they friends? Acquaintances?”

“That’s for the police to investigate. They were both in their late twenties, highly qualified -  one was a solicitor the other a botanist, both tan with double eyelids, a little over 5 feet”, He took a step closer to you, instinctively you took an uncomfortable step back but found yourself trapped between him and the front door. His burgundy turtleneck smelt like warm, sweet gingerbread mixed with the contrastive redolence of something woody. He put his hand on the clip that held your hair in a bun, an elusive smile dancing on his lips as he allowed your hair to freely ripple down to your waist. “...and they both had dark, waist length hair”, he whispered into your ear, sending a frisson of fear down your spine.

You looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights as he slowly retracted. Eyes locked with yours and face contorted in a fierce frown, he concluded grimly, “You fit his profile.”

.

.

.

Unable to sleep well that night, you went for an early morning run the next day and took a detour to Minseok’s residence. After discussing your findings with him, he offered you a close protection officer who’d moonlight to provide you security just until they’d made an arrest. Which meant you’d have one uniformed officer standing guard outside your guest house all day. You knew that they wouldn’t have done this for you if your family name wasn’t Jung.

“Kim Jongin’s back in town.” Relief seemed to have smoothened the lines on Minseok’s forehead and there was a boost of confidence in his voice when he broke the news to you.

“Are you planning to take him in?” you asked, sipping on coffee in Minseok’s kitchen while he made you some eggs.

He looked victorious and his brows shot up to his hairline as he explained animatedly, “We have enough evidence to put him on trial. I’ll get the warrant in two days.” 

“Hand to your heart, do you think he did it?”

“Yah, I’d never be able to make an arrest like that. If you promise not to quote me, I will say that -” 

He peered at you questioningly and you eased him with a reassuring nod, “Go on.”

“This looks like the work of an outsider.”

.

.

.

Later that evening, you found Jongin seated alone at a table in the bar. Beaten, as if overcome with exhaustion he was crouched over a glass of scotch, a silent tear sliding down his cheek. You sat next to him and ordered him another drink.

“I killed her.” He stated simply, eyes trained on the empty glass in front of him. To see a man whose taste buds didn’t even agree with coffee back in the day downing hard liquor effortlessly, broke your heart.

“What?” you enquired, sparing no effort to lay the edge off of your voice.

“That evening, we’d had a huge argument. She- she’d been wanting to move out of here for the longest time and I never agreed. It was as if she knew!” Burying his face in his hands, he broke into full blown sobs. It was a while before he composed himself and spoke again, “Here, you have your story. Following a trivial spat, a small town chaebol kills his girlfriend.”

Shaking your head furiously in disagreement, you held him tightly by his shoulders, “This is your chance, Jongin. Speak your truth. Tell them that you didn’t do it. They’ll need to hear it from you!”

Jongin looked you in the eyes, his own brimming with tears, “I was twelve when my puppy died and I couldn’t seem to get over it. My mother gave me this book which said the only way men can get over grief is by showing indifference, I tried that with Soojin.”

Brows furrowed, you asked, “And?”

“It worked for an hour.” He chuckled darkly, “I loved her and I always will. At this point I just don’t care. I should’ve listened to her. Maybe I even deserve this. I see the way people look at me, I- I feel written off, ostracized. A goddamn parliamentarian wants me in. My truth won’t survive their might.” 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you started to talk him out of potential suicide, “Jongin -” 

But he raised his forefinger to silence you. Trembling, he asked, “I just find myself wondering, can you die from a broken heart?”

.

.

.

Kim Jongin had turned himself in.

Acquiescent to the slow wheels of justice, moderately satisfied with the first draft of your article, and concerned about your safety, your boss agreed to call you back to the Seoul office, at least until there were further developments in the case.

During the course of your stay in Cheongsong, you drove past the little street leading up to the Mansion several times but not once did you glance in its direction. Before your flight the next morning, you decided to pay the house a little visit to say a final goodbye. The first snow had laid a fleecy white blanket on the ceramic roof that gleamed from the light of the astral light of the night sky. You were flooded with memories of chasing butterflies in spring, climbing the only mango tree in town which still stood proud in your backyard, the stories of monsters and ghosts your parents would read to you in the blanket forts you’d build together… blissfully unaware that in a not so far future this was all your life would entail - monsters and ghosts.

The great oakwood front door turned on its hinges and a familiar aroma of caramel apple hotteok invited you in. They say every house has a peculiar smell and yours smelt of caramel apple hotteok, even after all this time. Your lips curled upward at the strangeness of your sentiments. The demons you tried so hard to escape all your life seemed like bad dreams and what was left of this place within you was just the good. The pure, unadulterated joy that was once your childhood. 

You proceeded to the kitchen to fetch yourself a cup of hot water, and that’s when you heard a knock on the front door. You ignored it at first thinking it was just the wind but the knock came again. Louder, this time. You left the kitchen to answer the door.

“Dr. Doh!” you exclaimed, utterly surprised to see him here at this hour.

“Miss Jung”, he smiled sheepishly, “I went by the guest house but the guard said you were at the Mansion. I just wanted to say goodbye, I’m leaving for Gyeonggi in the a.m.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Uh - I’m sorry, please, come in.” 

He followed you to the kitchen and said apologetically, “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“No, not at all! Never quite realised just how massive this house actually is - It was starting to eat me up. Gyeonggi, you say?”

“Oh, it’s a cursed life as an independent consultant, Miss Jung. I’m mostly living out of a suitcase..”

“I wish I could say differently. So your presence here was requested by Minseok’s team?” You asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“No, I arrived just about a month before the first murder. My parents passed in a car crash three years ago. So I decided to sell the estate and the pepper farms.” He explained, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Would you like some tea? I brought some tea bags with me. I don’t know which tea it is, though.” You offered, mindlessly pouring hot water into two cups. 

“Sure” , he nodded.

“So did you?”

“What?”

“Manage to sell everything? And I’m sorry - uh about your parents.” 

You didn’t feel sorry. What you felt was an inexplicable weight in your chest rendering you breathless. Your heart started pounding erratically and your mind clouded over with a sense of impending doom as you went about the mundane task of making tea. 

“You seem a little out of it, Miss Jung. Is something bothering you?” He got off his chair and guided you to yours as your legs threatened to give away.

You sipped on some warm tea to steady yourself and said to Kyungsoo, “Oh, no it’s … It’s just this house. Maybe you were right, Dr. Doh. This isn’t a good time. I’m sorry but I might have to ask you to leave.”

Kyungsoo didn’t react. At all. He stood still, eyes fixed on your trembling frame.

“Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill”, he whispered.

“What?” you asked feebly, still trying to get a hold of yourself.

Kyungsoo sauntered over to the kitchen counter and brought you a glass of water. “Pay attention, Miss Jung. Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill. He was sloppy with the first one and it was only by a stroke of luck that he managed to get away. So he planned better with Soojin. Got even better with Jinri.”

Startled, you looked him in the eyes and he gave you a smile that raised goosebumps on your skin. 

Unperturbed Kyungsoo continued, pacing leisurely in the kitchen, a spine-chilling hint of exhilaration in his voice. “His criminal sophistication indicates that he understands criminology and knows police work. Unfortunately, Miss Jung,”, his voice dropped and you suddenly felt shackled to your seat. Squirming, but unable to make any big movement like reaching out for something that was heavy or sharp or both, “The tragedy is that he’s always believed he’s inferior to these women. But -” 

Kyungsoo levelled his face with yours and grinned with a glimmer of victory in his eyes, “for every tragedy, there is a happy ending.”

It took all you could muster to hold it together and dash for your purse to retrieve your cell phone. But you didn’t find it in there. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Kyungsoo, teasing as he pulled your phone from the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed it to you. 

You tried to turn it on to no avail. Voice as steady as could be, you said to him, “Please, please just leave!”

He took two easy steps towards you and you found yourself encased between his body and the wall. “Well then you shouldn’t have let me in! Tell me something, how could the close protection officer have given me your whereabouts if you dismissed him immediately after Jongin’s arrest? Haven’t you learnt since you were a little girl - always keep your guard up. Think before you speak. Did you think you were invincible?”

He took your hand in his and guided you back to the kitchen table. Eyes brimming tears, body trembling, and mind overcome with dread you followed him as if he were the pied piper. The familiar scent of gingerbread wafted up your nostrils making you nauseous.

As soon as you took a seat at the table, he put on his gloves, and lay a bottle of red nail polish and a red rose before you.

“Just think about how you can be with them again, Miss Jung. And don’t worry...I’ll be gentle.”

***

A/N: YES! you’re absolutely right! i just wanted to write turtleneck murderer Soo -_-

[purplesorcery]

“  for once in your life, what is it that you want? ”

From this prompt list.

Gilmore smiled sadly. “You know, it’s funny. No one ever asks me that.”

“No shit,” Kima said. “That’s why I did. And you gotta answer. None of that vague hand-wavy shit you always do when the focus is on your needs.” 

Gilmore laughed out loud. She was always so direct. “I love you.” 

“Same. Now answer the question, before I kick your thicc purple ass. No more trying to change the subject.” 

Gilmore took a deep breath and released it before answering. “I want…everything. I don’t necessarily want to keep it, but I want to hold it in my hands and see what it’s worth at least once. I want to be worshipped and adored, but not in a way that brings oppression or subjugation. I want to be adored in a way that makes people delight to see me, that lifts their hearts and inspires them to do what makes them happy. I want to be loved for who I am, not for my unique talents or this glorious facade. I want to be truly seen, by someone who wants to see me for me. Who can look at me with all of my flaws and imperfections and not flinch away.” 

“Well give a whole lecture why don’t you.” But when Gilmore glanced up at Kima, he could see she was teasing. “Hey, I gotta give you credit. You didn’t outright say, ‘I want all the gold and gems in the world’.”

“Darling, I’m a dragon, not a monster. Just because I’m driven by my very nature to hoard precious things doesn’t mean I want to hoard everything.”

Kima grinned. “Just the stuff that’s worth the most.”

Gilmore shrugged humbly. “It’s subjective. What might appear to be trash to someone else could certainly be treasure to me.” 

“You mean like a certain half elf?” 

Gilmore swatted at her, playfully. “Stop. You’re so mean.” 

“Hey. I’d gladly take back my title of dumpster fire for the guy if he’d ONE time treat you like a person with feelings, and not his own personal therapy rock.” 

Gilmore shrugged, pretending it didn’t bother him. “He’s troubled, and he trusts me. I can’t be mad at that.” 

Kima leaned forward, almost threateningly. “Yes. You. Can.” She put her hands on her hips. “That little fucker never comes around here but he wants something from you. And what do you get in return? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Not so much as a thank you.” 

She clapped her hands on each of the words she said next: “Your emotional labor has value.” Kima gestured with her hands as she continued: “It’s not okay for him to demand it of you time and time again, much less for free!” 

Gilmore tilted his head. “Well, isn’t that what friends are for?” 

Kima got right up in his face. “Fuck no! Are you kidding me, goldie? Friends share each other’s burdens. They don’t just take take take with no thought for what the other person is going through.” She stood back and pointed at him. “Admit it. Generous as you are, even you have to admit that you deserve better.” 

Gilmore let out a laugh that was half sigh. “Well of course I do.” 

She clapped her hands again. “Then why do you keep letting him use you like this?”  

Gilmore shrugged. “Perhaps it’s my generous nature. Or maybe…” His expression grew pensive. “Perhaps I’m afraid I wouldn’t see him at all anymore, if I ever stopped.” 

“That.” Kima pointed at him and then hopped up on the couch to sit next to him. “That is the truest thing you’ve said today.” 

When Gilmore opened his mouth to protest, she stopped him. “Don’t say anymore. Just think about it.” 

Gilmore cradled his cup of tea, feeling somehow worse than he had in some time. “Hey.” Kima nudged him. “I love you, queen. You know I just want to see you get the appreciation you deserve.” 

She was right, of course. That was the worst part. If he was honest with himself, Gilmore wasn’t sure Vax’ildan had ever truly seen him. Or that he had any desire to. 

“You are…” Gilmore searched for the words. He did love her. Deeply. “...a good friend.” 

“You’re damn right I am,” Kima shot back. “Now help me think of what to get Allie for our anniversary. You know I’m no good with the whole mushy gift thing.”

“Ooo.” Gilmore smiled, brightening immediately. “Can it involve shopping?” 

Kima grimaced. “Oh, fuck me.” 

His smile widened. “You asked.”

[witchblrgrimoire]

Hello. someone has been bullying & disrespecting me for a while and i have spoken to them and argued a lot, Yet they still disrespect me. can i make a poppet for them and use it to teach them a lesson? it's justice so i assume it's only fair to get them back not by harming them because i don't feel comfortable doing that in my practice. I feel bad about myself because i don't like to hurt others even if they deserve it, but that's a matter of my own personal limits. I know it may be hard to give me your opinion since we all have different limits when it comes to revenge. Also is there anything i can do to make the possibility of the poppet working bigger? anything that helps strengthen sympathetic magic?

1) - A good solid physical taglock makes a difference, particularly in the speed of the working coming to fruition, in my experience. You *can* use things like a full name, a photograph, a pgm-style listing of their parentage - “X, Son of Y” and so on, but hair or spit or blood or skin are best for quickest results, and all of the above if you’d like to go particularly hard. 

2) Poppet work is simple enough as sympathetic magic that It’s fairly difficult to screw up - Just make sure the doll is transubstantiated to the target. “I name you X, and breathe into you the life of X, that whatever shall befall you, befalls X” blah blah blah. 

3) As for teaching them a lesson - You can absolutely write down thoughts you’d want them to experience and stuff them in the head of a poppet. This is a little bit more delicate than general cursing and imo, it’s best to keep the poppet around, rather than destroying, so that you can feed the working over time - Praying over it, lighting candles over it, commanding it - for weeks or months, sometimes - to alter their behavior. You can also wire in a nice little killswitch that dissipates the curse once they learn their lesson, with directives like, “Until you X, you shall know no sleep nor rest, no peace shall you see until you X”. This is fairly standard for compelling work, which is what we’re getting into with these kinds of spells. I’d recommend you dress the doll and any implements used against it with some kind of compelling oil - I like morning glory vine, ivy root, wild bindweed, sweetgum pods, devils claw, and a few proprietary ingredients in a base of castor oil with just a tiny sliver of dried chili pepper and ashes from a written charm - I don’t know your background, but sections from the PGM, from from hymns to your Gods, or from certain psalms or passages from the bible are fairly standard -  Provided they re-enforce the commanding aspect in their subject matter. The oil should be consecrated for it’s purpose, preferably under Saturn if you swing that way toward planetary correspondence. If you’d rather skip all that, my friend Mahigan has a Bow Down oil ready-made available at their shop, https://www.kitchentoad.com/for-sale/p/bow-down-oil which I’ve heard favorable things about. 

4) if you have a ritual knife you use, such as an athame or dagger - They work real well for commanding and compelling work - once your doll is all transubstantiated and pinned and whatnot, leaving a knife of some variety pointing at the poppet threateningly on the altar is a good shout. 

5) Not really going to address the ethics here. I’m of the opinion that all magic is essentially cheat codes, at the end of the day, and you certainly can and should (I think, personally) use it to make a shitstain learn a lesson every now and then. it goes to state however that most works of compelling are in a sense a very specific hex - you may not be causing physical harm, but you are placing them under an influence against their will, sending magic they didn’t ask for, applying pressure to them to act in a manner of your choosing - I believe this can be constructive, at least from the casters point of view, but let it be known that I don’t personally  subscribe to any sort of “Magic against anothers will is evil and will come back to bite you.” so much as a belief that it’s just fairly easy to accidentally fuck up a curse and have it bleed into your own life.  if you do subscribe to a moral imperative that prohibits magic against anothers will, you will want to examine this avenue thoroughly to be sure it sits right with your conscience. 

6) Don’t neglect aftercare once the spell is cast. Banish if you feel it necessary, give your spirits license to depart, take an uncrossing bath in salt water, and re-enforce your  wards after - just in case of fallout or undetected protections on the part of your enemy. 

Good luck, fuck em up. 

[mistymark]

VIGILANTE/S. I

 part one // 2.0k words // superpowered!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; mentions of blood and death, depiction of some violence

notes; this is shorter than its supposed to be but the second half I hated so have this in the meantime :(( also this isnt related to my superpowered!au timestamps <3

Perched atop the building opposite the bar, you had a perfect view of its entrance and the laneway beside it. It wasn’t that late, but you always made sure to stop by it on your way home. Even at midnight, well-known Supers were stumbling out the door, drunk already and on their way either home or to meetings. On their arms were Shields, combat supers with abilities that would win in any fight if you were stupid enough to challenge them. Only some of them had bruises or blood on their faces, courtesy of the barfights that always broke out at The Den.

Normally, you’d only watch for a couple minutes for any easy trouble but tonight, it came a lot faster than expected. A group of four boys only a few years older than yourself walked out, their laughs carrying in the empty city air. This part of town was always abandoned at night, and it was mostly because of places like The Den, bars and casinos that became riddled with notorious supers and criminals.

Yelling and pushing each other along the sidewalk, you watched carefully as they walked past an alleyway, a man in a sleeping bag leaning against the building catching one’s eye.

“Hey!” He called out to the rest of the group, who had continued walking. “Look who it is!” They turned around and tried to make out the man in the darkness, before turning back around and walking to the intersection on the main road, searching for a taxi.

Meanwhile, the one left behind began to softly kick the man in the sleeping bag, muttering. You stood up and carefully slid down a drain pipe of the building, keeping a close eye on the drunk boy. It didn’t surprise you when it quickly turned violent, and you rolled your eyes, Seriously?

You dashed across the street and stopped a couple metres from him, “Hey!”

Your voice caught his attention immediately, and he stopped kicking the groaning man in favour of turning on you. A lazy smile made its way onto his face as he looked you up and down, “I think you’re in the wrong part of the city, babe.”

Babe? Okay, so you’re definitely an asshole. He raised a hand slightly, palm up, and wiggled his fingers slowly, crackling white energy winding its way around his hand and wrist. Lightning. No way.

You stood casually, before turning your hands over so that your palms were facing the sky, and you could feel it. The power rushing through you was almost addictive, and you wiggled your fingers in the same way he did. Within a second, the same coils of lightning were wrapping around your hands. “I think I’m in the right place.” You cocked your head to the side, “But thank you for your concern.”

The look on his face was priceless. This was always your favourite part – seeing someone who thought they were special realise they’re not the only ones with their abilities. In truth, as far as you knew, it wasn’t possible for any two people to share an ability. That’s what made your mimicry so special – as long as you were in range of that person, you could have their abilities, too. Beat them at their own game.

There was no reason for you to harm this drunk fool, so you nodded in the direction of his friends, “Go.” He stood, frozen in shock. You rolled your eyes and focused on the lightning in your hands, swirling it into a crackling ball, and raising it threateningly. This time you tried to be as stern as possible, “Go.”

He nodded and ran from you – in the wrong direction, but you didn’t care about that – and you bent down to see if the victim was okay. The man was already asleep before you could ask him any questions, and you wanted to stay but the sound of gunshots coming from The Den startled you into action, scrambling up a nearby fire escape. You were happy to deal with bullies and petty crimes, but gun fights, notorious criminals and gangs were not your scene. Especially when they happened to be supers, too.

You preferred to act as a sort of friendly neighbourhood spider-man, without the cool webshooters. When you were at a safe distance from the bar, you began to make your way home, only turning around when you heard muffled voices and shouts of pain.

You watched with wide eyes as the senator was dragged from The Den into a nearby black van. Everything came to you at once: the bag over his head tightened by some sort of cable, the blood on his pressed pinstripe suit, the numberplate of the van, the trio of men in matching black outfits keeping watch from the bar’s entrance, the overwhelming feeling of power you felt from them. Heat vision, bulletproof durability and light manipulation. You could feel each power. You could feel it from the top of the four-storey building. They’re more powerful than anyone you’ve ever met.

But then you felt a sudden addition – a shape shifter.

There were only three people on the street.

Fear crept across your back as you slowly turned around, analysing the rooftop for any company. There was no one there, but you could feel the familiar feeling of power running through your veins, and the trio of kidnappers had already retreated into the underground bar.

But then you saw it – the tiny bit of motion from the rooftop opposite. The one you’d been watching from earlier in the night. Whomever it was, they were not used to watching from there; retreating down the stairs slowly before walking down the street in the opposite direction to which the black van drove.

“Yeah, we were right,” Mark spoke lowly as he descended the stairs of the rusty fire escape. “They took the senator.” He had the odd feeling of being watched, but he let it go.

“Knew it,” Donghyuck responded, his voice loud and breathy from the proximity of his mouth to the microphone.

“Donghyuck, how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t speak directly into your mic,” Johnny’s voice was firm. “Get back to the house.” Mark knew that order was for him.

The ‘house’ was actually a huge warehouse located two blocks away. Though it looked abandoned, the warehouse was fully fit out on the inside as a proper training space, headquarters and dorm for the team. Mark still didn’t know how Jaehyun had paid for it all, but at this point he wasn’t going to ask. Questions weren’t exactly well-received by the team’s leader.

He walked the distance in total silence, keeping an ear out for any odd sounds or footsteps. There was nothing. Not even the sound of cars driving by – everyone knew better than to be in this part of the city this late at night – nor the sound of rain. No voices.

When he got to the entrance, he opened the squeaky gate and slipped through the small crack. He was greeted by Donghyuck, who waited in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe casually, “What’s up?” There were no working lights on the outside of the building - all the 10 year old bulbs had blown long ago – but the moonlight provided enough light for Mark to make out the look on Donghyuck’s face, and know Donghyuck was up to something.

“Let me in,” Mark’s voice was deeper, more aggressive than usual, more like a growl.

“Not until we deal with it,” Donghyuck’s voice was too eager for Mark’s liking, and there was a certain sparkle in his eye that made Mark weary.

“Deal with what?”

“This little spy,” Doyoung’s voice came from behind him, and Mark turned around to see Doyoung dragging a dark figure towards the entrance by the elbow. “Bring back a souvenir, did you?” His eyes narrowed at Mark before he pushed the stumbling figure through the gate.

“You’re taking her inside?” Even Donghyuck seemed surprised by this, and hurried to move out of the way so Doyoung could step into the warehouse.

“I’ve put a block on her mind – she won’t remember me or how she got here.” When Mark looked at the figure’s face again, he noticed the glazed over look in their eyes, and the stillness of their face, a token expression of a person who had had their mind messed with. He couldn’t help thinking, If it weren’t for Doyoung’s compulsion, you’d probably be quite pretty.

Once they got past the false entrance, a small room with dilapidated walls and holes in the ceiling, they were in the main part of the warehouse, where the rest of the team had been awaiting their arrival. Jeno and Jaemin were practicing in the large combat ring in the centre of the warehouse, and Mark could see Jaemin zipping around Jeno, dodging his punches. His superspeed gave him the advantage, but Jeno managed to land a punch, his super strength nearly knocking Jaemin out of the ring entirely. He barely gave the newcomers a second glance, until he realised Doyoung was holding onto a captive – a witness, probably, a suspect, hopefully – and held his hand out to Jaemin to help him up, the bruise on the latter’s face making him scowl. He accepted his friend’s hand, anyway.

“You’re getting better,” Jeno said, though his tone said otherwise. Jaemin probably was getting better; that was just way Jeno spoke.

“There’s a reason I’m the getaway driver and not a fighter,” Jaemin responded, dusting his pants off, before grabbing a fistful of Jeno’s shirt and hitting him square on the cheek. The whole thing happened in half a second, and Jaemin stepped back before Jeno could grab his hand and crush it as easily as he would a fly.

Jeno sent him an approving nod and they exited the ring together to greet Donghyuck.

Mark noticed Chenle and Renjun were nowhere to be found, probably off in their rooms somewhere, but Jaehyun was in his office – the walls surrounding the large space were currently clear glass, though he had the ability to make them opaque if he wished for some privacy. Johnny was in there, too, arguing with the leader.

Doyoung ignored the team as he brought Mark’s stowaway into Jaehyun’s office. Johnny immediately turned around when Doyoung interrupted their conversation, a frown on his face, but Doyoung said something Mark couldn’t make out and the walls turned black before he could see Jaehyun’s response.

“What’s with the girl?” Jaemin asked, unwrapping the bandages from his hands. He was looking at Mark now.

“She followed me from The Den. Doyoung thinks she could work for a Denner.”

“You don’t think so,” Jeno stated. It wasn’t a question – he knew this for a fact.

“No.” Mark sighed. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe she was following you home cause she wanted to fuck,” Jaemin let out a half-hearted laugh.

Donghyuck snorts, “Yeah, that’s likely.”

There’s a split second before Jeno reacts. With a swift hit to the back of the neck, there’s a horrible squelching noise as the vertebrae in Donghyuck’s neck are crushed, his body falling limp to the floor. He’s dead within moments.

Jaemin doesn’t even look surprised. Mark can’t find it in him to be surprised, either. Jeno’s aggression was the reason he was so deadly. All his arrests were due to the same reason: someone picking a fight with the one person they shouldn’t have.

“Oops?” He offers, and it’s the closest thing to a joke you’ll ever get from Jeno.

[ad1thi]

just friends (?) p4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4  ||  also on ao3

- its finally done!! im still thinking of doing an epilogue, and a companion piece w Tony’s perspective; but that’s probably going to have to wait until after AU-gust. major s/o to @iam93percentstardust and @/lilacqueen for looking over this, i wouldn’t have been able to post this without you guys

//

Despite what Steve told Sam, he couldn’t get his words out of his head. His answer might surprise you, Sam had said last week, and it ruminates in Steve’s head - refusing to let him go. Steve might not be the best judge of character, but he’d like to think that he can recognise attraction, especially when he’s the object of said affection. Could he really have - no there’s no way.

(Right?)

‘No it’s impossible’, Steve thinks to himself, fists pounding at the bag in front of him, as if punching it hard enough will make these words leave him alone, ‘I’ve been friends with Tony for 5 years, I would’ve known.’

Steve knows what attraction looks like for Tony, he knows it intimately and deeply, he watched it directed at every person who made Tony’s head turn, he saw it in every relationship that Tony pursued, he recognised it in every look of long lost fondness, and it was never directed at him.

Hell, Steve had been instrumental in some of those relationships himself, deluding himself in the belief that if he saw Tony with someone else it would somehow help him get over his own feelings and finally move on. 

Sam just doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Steve thinks resolutely, collapsing onto the floor of the gym in exhaustion, one hand half-heartedly extended to still the bag, He doesn’t know what attraction looks like for Tony. 

Steve wasn’t sure of a lot, but he was absolutely sure that Tony had never shown him any sort of affection. It wouldn’t do him good to dwell on Sam’s words - because he’d meant what he said, he’d rather have Tony part-time than none at all, and wondering about impossibilities is what ruined their friendship in the first place.

No, Steve had to make a concentrated and forceful effort to dull his feelings, or at the very least bury them so far down that nobody could reach them, if he wanted any chance of making his friendship with Tony work. He lays on the floor of the gym for a couple more minutes, trying to catch his breath - before ignoring his screaming muscles so he can stand up. He pulls up the end of his tank so that he can wipe off the sweat that’s collected on his brows, and just as he’s pulling it back down and adjusting it - he catches the receptionist giving him an appreciative once over from the corner of his eye.

Huh, he thinks, looking around for his water-bottle so that he can take a large sip (and also pour some on himself to cool down, Interesting. 

It’s been an age since Steve has flirted with someone, but it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how. He isn’t vain by any means, but he knows that he isn’t ugly, and that if he tried he might actually have an active love life - or at the very least, an active sex life. He just hasn't wanted to. Not since Tony, his traitorous mind supplies, and even now - just thinking of hitting on someone else feels like he’s cheating on Tony.

But he and Tony aren’t more than friends, and if he’s serious about moving on - then he needs to go all in. You have to run before you walk and all that jazz, he thinks to himself grimly, grits his teeth and puts on his most winning smile when he reaches the front desk. 

“Hey,” he says as he passes over his member-card, tilting his head and smiling warmly at the receptionist, “I’m Steve.” Predictably, she blushes, and says, “I’m Sharon,” as she passes his card back, “looks like you had a good workout back there.”

“Oh that?” he instills fake nonchalance into his voice, “That’s just an off day for me.” This can go one of two days - either she’ll wrinkle her nose at his obvious brag, or she’ll giggle. 

She giggles, and even though Steve isn’t attracted to her at all (he doesn’t think he knows how to be attracted to anyone but Tony anymore), he still preens internally, because after all his time, he’s still got it. They chat for a couple more minutes, and Sharon works in asking for his number before he can get around to it. Steve scribbles it on the closest scrap piece of paper that he finds, before waving goodbye and making his way out. 

He’s out of the building and about to turn the corner when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out to see a text from Sharon:

>> Sharon: free on Wednesday for a coffee?? X

His instinctive reaction is to say no, because Wednesday is his day with Tony, but then he remembers his newfound resolution to move on from Tony and pauses. Cancelling on friends for a date, that’s a normal thing right? Steve is almost certain it is. All in, Steve thinks to himself again, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

>> Steve: works for me!!

The entire way home, he vehemently tries to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. 

(He fails)

/

Steve’s in the middle of debating whether a button up is too much for a coffee date or whether Sharon will appreciate that he’s made an effort when his bell rings. And then rings again. And again. And then he hears fists on his door. 

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath, grabbing the closest vee and pulling it over his head as he makes his way over to the door, yelling “I’m coming!!” when the knocking gets more incessant. 

He opens the door and he barely has any time to digest the fact that it’s Tony at the door before Tony pushes past him in a huge motion of flurry and stops in the middle of his living room, spinning on his heel and pointing a finger at him. 

“You - !” is all he gets out before he lets out an incoherent scream, and Steve says, “Come in,” dumbly because his mind is still trying to process the fact that Tony is here, in his house, 20 minutes before he’s supposed to go on a date. 

Steve knows that that’s supposed to mean something, but right now his mind is hyper-focused on the fact that Tony is here. Meanwhile, Tony seems to have regained use of his mouth because he’s clearly yelling at Steve.

“ - because Rhodey says I’m supposed to be using my words, so this is me trying to use my words. What do you mean ‘you have a date?” he asks furiously, pointing at his phone aggressively, “What does that mean?” “I uh,” Steve fumbles his words, “the girl at my gym asked me out a couple days ago. Asked to meet for coffee. I said yes.”  “I know what a date is Steven,” Tony stresses his name, “I’m just trying to understand what you’re doing going on one.” Tony looks crestfallen all of a sudden, and for the life of him, Steve can’t figure out why, “I thought we -” he gestures half-heartedly between them, “Did I misread everything again?”

Something akin to hope starts growing inside Steve, and he blames the fact that his entire world view is changing on the fact that he almost misses Tony’s words. 

Almost. 

“What do you mean again?” Steve asks slowly, carefully, “We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. Just friends.”  “Is that really what you think?” Tony asks, and his voice sounds wretched, “That we’ve only ever been friends. Have I truly never been more to you?” His answer might surprise you, Sam’s words come back to him, unbidden, and suddenly Steve feels like his whole heart is in his throat. 

“Tony,” he says softly, deliberately, because if this goes wrong he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself, “Tony I’ve been in love with you for close to five years. It was never my decision for us to stay friends. That was always yours.” “Five yea - you never gave me any indication that you wanted more!!” Tony’s face is red, and his hands are running through his hair and leaving it messy and spiky.  “How could I?” Steve asks helplessly, “you always belonged to someone else.” 

He shrugs, eyes falling to his feet  “I never thought it was my place. Hell Tony, you fell in love with my bestfriend, what was I supposed to do - pull you aside and tell you to leave him for me? I couldn’t do that to Buck, or you.”

“No!” Tony points at him threateningly, “no you do not get to put Bucky on me. You all but begged Bucky to get back together with me, he showed up at my door talking this and that about you told him that we were ‘fated to be together’. How else was I supposed to take that apart from proof that you didn’t want me?” Tony starts listing names off his fingers. “Rumiko, Ty, hell you even convinced me to get back together with Sunset, saying shit about ‘Oh Tony you’ve just misunderstood her’ and ‘She just wants another chance’.” “I just wanted you to be happy,” Steve says in a small voice, “Even if it wasn’t with me.” 

Tony takes in a deep breath, and it’s like all the fight leaves him as he exhales. “5 years?” he asks, and Steve doesn’t think he’s making up the wonder in Tony’s voice. When he looks up, Tony is close enough that they could be sharing the same breath, “I could’ve had you for 5 years?”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, “You mean -?”

“Have you not been listening? I love you too, you absolute dumbass.”

Steve’s wanted to hear those words for so long, but now that he finally has - he doesn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Tony has no such qualms, and leans up on his toes, to press a feather-light kiss on his lips. 

“I love you too Steve,” he says again softly, against his lips, and Steve lifts an arm to cup his face, thumb carefully rubbing against his cheek. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Steve says, “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Well now that you have,” Tony says cheekily, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Steve doesn’t reply, just leans down ever so slightly and seals their lips together, feeling the knot in his stomach unfurl and unwind, until there’s nothing left in him but happiness. He kisses and kisses and kisses until he’s walked Tony backwards against a wall and he’s got a thigh in between his legs. He kisses until he’s left a map of bruises against his neck and Tony’s skin is flushed red. He kisses until he can’t kiss any more - because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do now that he has Tony in his arms; but he knows with singular focus that he’s never going to let him go. 

Fin. 

//

taglist: @honeybearrhodey, @rogers-stark45, @tried-our-best, @kirouskasa, @fincaffeinaddict, @endlesslove1084, @imaginestevetony, @illegalchandler, @poughkeepsies, @scarletluvscas, @thewondersoflebanon, @kylizzles, @medio-melon, @moon6shadow-main , @benjamin-solos, @dauntlessdiva, @capnstarkey, @geraderlopoly, @xarawnsamaax,  @angelmydear, @theavengays, @imposter-human, @tonystarkisanangel, @littlemissstark , @allthingsmarvel100 ,  @endrega23 , @riotfalling ,  @spiderrpcrker, @rxmanoff , @firebrands , @omg-just-peachy, @iam93percentstardust​, @dreamsofg0ld, @thxngam, @krzyktty101, @velvetjane, @rebel13lion39, @superhusbands-superfan

[bytheangell]

Getting Involved

(SH re-watch inspired fic: S01E01) (Read on AO3) Magnus sits on his ‘throne’ - as those who frequent his club are known to refer to it - and surveys the scene in front of him. By all accounts it’s a typical night at Pandemonium, the bass thumping while bodies twist and turn on the dance floor, pulsing in rhythm with the music and with each other. He has a drink in hand (well, not his hand, but in a hand held next to his mouth for him to sip from as he leans over slightly to the right) and no shortage of entertainment for the night, should he choose to partake.

Except one glance at Clarissa Fray, and the predatory expressions of the two Circle members that follow her, and Magnus knows that he’ll have little time for recreation in his immediate future. Right now, there’s business to attend to.

The Circle members aren’t even trying to be subtle, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. In the past, they say, as if the lives they took, the way their agenda set back decades of progress between the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders, isn’t as fresh in Magnus’ mind as that morning’s breakfast. He’s tempted to kill them right then and there - he personally believes he’d be well within his rights, Accords be damned - but that’s more trouble than he wants. Instead, he causes a little pain and makes sure the threat of what he’s fully capable of is there before escorting them out of his club.

Perhaps it’s time to update his warding, which is specifically designed to keep out any direct threats to himself. These Circle members weren’t here for him, so the wards let them through. It’s a weak point, though in his defense he didn’t imagine anyone associated with Valentine’s failed coup would be bold enough to step foot in here, non-threateningly or otherwise. It’s an error in judgment he won’t make twice. Then again, he’s known to cater to a certain clientele, and it isn’t as if he can block every dangerous member of the Shadow World...

Speaking of his wards, Magnus reaches out a moment to focus on them. Shadowhunters in his club are not unheard of, he felt his wards signaling their arrival, but now he wonders if it was for more than a simple night of dancing. Even when the two Circle members are forced to leave he can sense the presence of others - three, in addition to Clarissa, who he runs into during her own hasty retreat from the building. Magnus has half a mind to reach out to her, to tell her that he’s sorry for his role in her unnecessarily mundane upbringing, but there isn’t a single ounce of recognition on her face at the sight of him.

So if it isn’t because of him, he has to wonder what else she saw to cause that sort of wide-eyed, shell-shocked stare. She’s seen something, something more than your usual teenage ‘the guy I like is dancing with another girl’ sort of club drama. Magnus’ eyes trail in the direction Clarissa ran from, one of the curtained-off back rooms, and frowns.

He could walk away from this now knowing he did what he could to give Clary a little extra protection at the club and wash his hands clean of all this Shadowhunter business for the night (or, with any luck, forever). Something about that doesn’t sit right with him, though, and a moment later his cell phone is in his hand.

“Dorothea? It’s Magnus. We’ve got a problem. Or should I say, Jocelyn and Clarissa have a problem.”

[fallenrepublick]

Can I request a fic where reader is super competitive and tries to beat maul at everything? Is that enough to go on sry 😅

Oh my god okay no seriously, this is literally me. So I pretty much grew up with the movie Amadeus, and I shit you not, as a result of that, I basically inherited about 90% of Salieri’s personality. What I’m trying to say here is that this prompt is basically me just writing me, but with more emotions.

Warnings: None except some swearing or whatever

Perfection. That’s what he was. Perfection. Everything he did, everything he said, was without a single fault, as if his mere existence was an affront to reality itself. You despised it.

How can it be that someone could live without even an ounce of flaw, so much so that everything you’d ever worked for made you seem amateur in comparison? The way you saw him, it was without an acknowledgement that he had ever failed at Kenobi’s hands. No, that was simply a test. A test of his strength and resolve in the face of helplessness. And what did he do? He survived, or rather, thrived under the new circumstances. What was supposed to ruin him, reveal his vulnerabilities had instead only made him better.

What made the whole thing worse was that you loved him. Gods, you did. You would’ve been crazy not to. You were completely drawn to perfection, the idea of a flawless existence consuming your mind like a drug. And when he handed his loyalty to you on a silver platter? As far as you were concerned, there was absolutely no other option. You accepted, no debate in your mind about what you wanted.

But the more time you watched him, the hours on end you spent analyzing every single goddamn thing he did, you became more and more irked at his undeniable idealism. He could barely take a step without you having some sort of irritable thought in your head about it. But you knew, if he wasn’t there, it would be agonizing, because all you would do would be compare everyone’s inadequacies to what he had to offer. The only person that you needed to be better than him, was you.

Thus, you took it upon yourself to find a way to make that happen, no matter what. His most glaringly obvious trait was his combat abilities, and for that reason, you began training even harder than you had previously, mapping out every detail that you could find about his techniques, possible weaknesses, anything that might give you an edge. Of course, he noticed. He always did. When it came down to it though, you could justify the extra hours on preparation “in case of a sudden invasion.” It seemed to work as an excuse, and if it didn’t, he never pressed further.

The door opened as you sliced through yet another droid, the impact seamless.

Maul. His stance was straight, and his eyes curious, yet his countenance betrayed him. He knew what you were doing.

His saber hung at his belt and his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s been hours,” he tried to reason with you, his voice tired. “You mustn’t keep at this for too long.”

“Be that as it may,” you huffed, blade retracting, yet not looking at him. “I still have work to do here. Give me another two hours.”

It wasn’t often he denied one of your requests, but when he did, he was even more stubborn than you. “No.” He leaned against the doorway. “You’re done for the day.”

Turning around, you grimaced at him. “Am I? Why don’t you make me.”

The challenge hung in the air. Before, you hadn’t been as belligerent to him outright, hiding your one-sided rivalry beneath smiles and devoted words. But the adrenaline rushing through you from the training had brought out a side of you that needed to prove the point you’d been itching to make since day one. As far as Maul was concerned, obliging you meant you’d go to sleep for once.

“Very well,” he said, unclipping the saber from his side, feeling the cold hilt seep through his gloves. “Your wish, as always, is my command.”

Both of you entered your stances, his red sabers glowing threateningly at your yellow one. You struck first, a high slice falling down above him. He blocked it, curving the angle of his blades to the side, knocking you away. In response, he returned the slash, the red twirling in a circular motion around to your opposite side, trying to catch you off guard.

Dodging it, you backed up and your lightsaber clashed with his, pushing against it with every muscle you had. But he was much stronger than you, almost overpowering you within seconds.

From the direction the fight was going, you knew you had but one option. Over the course of the past few weeks, you had developed a certain move that you believed would give you the victory you so desperately sought.

You spun, running directly towards the white wall behind you. Picking up your feet, you ran up, pushing off of the surface once you were in the middle and leaping across the space. You soared over him, saber ready to deliver the final blow that would finally, finally defeat him after all this time.

You landed. But not before you felt his foot sweep behind your ankles and pull your legs out from under you. You felt it all happen in almost slow motion, yet were powerless to stop it.

On your back now, Maul’s saber was pointed at you, an order to surrender. You flipped the switch on your weapon and stood, fuming, tossing it to the side and holding your head in your hands.

“What was the point of all this?” he asked, your back turned to him. “There must be a reason behind you avoiding me most days except when it’s convenient.”

“Gods, you just can’t stop, can you?” Your sudden outburst surprised even you, but at this point it was best to keep going. “I try so hard all the time and what? What does it get me? Ten minutes up against you and I’m on my back like a crab that was put down wrong.”

Even the shock on his face was perfect. “That’s no indication of your skill. Surely you’re aware of that.”

“What are you talking about? That’s every indication. And it wouldn’t be so horrible for me if you weren’t so fucking perfect all the time, but if you weren’t, I wouldn’t love you this much!”

There was a beat, a moment where everything seemed to be revealed, as if not only had he not known that you hated him, but also that you didn’t. He stepped to you, a hand placed on your shoulder.

“I’m… not perfect.” He searched you, recognition reflecting in his eyes the color of a cool sun. “I’ve made countless mistakes. I couldn’t name them all even if I tried. The only reason you may think I am is… because you made me so. It was only after I made the decision to stay with you that I began growing confidence in what I did. You surpass me in every aspect that matters, I swear to it.”

You looked down, the frustration within you uncertain of whether to be aimed at him or yourself. “People follow you, because they believe that you’re what is best for them. Yet, you truly believe that you’re not truly what everyone sees? How can that be?”

“I must retain that image, if only for my followers. But before me stands the blueprint for my appearance, and regardless of what you may believe, every part of me that I have ever cherished has come from you.”

[bluerose5]

The Precipice of Change: Chapter 2

Rated: T

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 3,961

Tags: Male Mage Hawke, Hawke as Inquisitor, DAI Inner Circle, Purple/Flirty Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, past Male Hawke/Fenris, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Blood & Injury

Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.

There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.

Chapter 2:

The elven apostate could definitely give Cassandra a run for her money in terms of their supposed stoicism, so Hawke considered the slight quirk to his lips to be some kind of unspoken success. It was only a brief flash, however, there and gone before Hawke could even be certain that he saw it.

“An understandable reaction,” the stranger said, mostly referring to Varric’s response. “All things considered.”

Or perhaps he was referring to how Hawke dragged him down into the snow with him. Regardless, Hawke smirked at him through the pain, clenching and relaxing his hand in a rhythmic motion.

“Nothing like having such a handsome, mysterious stranger swoop in and bury you in cold, mushy snow to help us get acquainted, am I right?” Hawke joked, getting slowly to his feet.

When he held his hand out, Solas took it. Hawke helped him up, both of them brushing themselves off while they spoke.

“That is one way of putting it.” Solas regarded him cautiously, leaning his weight onto his staff. “Although, I would think that the end of the world would be a much more effective bonding experience, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oho!” Varric crowed, grinning widely. “Was that a joke, Chuckles? Someone alert the Chantry.”

“Or in our case, don’t,” Hawke interrupted. “Turns out, it’s not good for an apostate’s health when the Chantry gets involved.”

“Surprise of all surprises,” Solas muttered.

Continue Reading Under the Cut...

Cassandra took the opportunity to get things back on track, pointedly clearing her throat. The three men before her turned towards her with sheepish expressions, caught up in their banter as they were.

“If you three are quite done, we must return to the task at hand,” she said, narrowing her eyes at them. “It’s not as if the fate of the world depends on us or anything.”

“Heh.” Hawke chuckled. “Could you imagine? Besides, I would say it depends more on the mark than anything else.”

“And you are the one that wields the mark,” Solas stated. “Therefore, it would only be logical to conclude that the fate of the world depends on you and your actions.” He paused, once again regarding Hawke with that inscrutable gaze. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Or our destruction,” Hawke said, quick to backtrack when Cassandra glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender, and even took a step back for good measure, bumping into Varric. “I’m just saying, usually when I try to do good and act heroic, things tend to worsen and fall apart.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Varric said, earning a pout from Hawke. “What?!”

Before they could dissolve into further bickering, Cassandra started shoving them all forward, herding them along in the direction of the Breach.

On their way, Solas decided to engage Hawke in conversation once more, curious about this infamous Champion.

“Apologies. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Solas.”

Hawke nodded at him in greeting. “Garrett Hawke, but most people call me Hawke. Like a nickname, or a title, I suppose.”

Or a little bit of both.

Solas smiled, his staff tapping softly through snow and ice alike.

“You are an apostate.” A statement, not a question.

“Yep,” Hawke answered, popping the ‘p.’ “And you are as well.”

“Hmm… and how can you tell?”

“The way you cast.” The “duh” was implied there in Hawke’s tone. “I would wager that you’ve never even been in a Circle. Lifelong apostates, even those that have remained hidden for quite some time, seem to have this raw, powerful style that looks as easy as breathing. Compared to that, Circle mages, even the former ones, seem to be more stilted and awkward with their forms. At least, in my opinion.” His smirk grew bitter. “The difference between embracing your power and trying to control and leash it, I assume. Or perhaps I am reading too much into it.”

Solas looked shocked by such an analysis, if anything. Meanwhile, Varric zoned out at the first hint of any magic-y talk, and Cassandra scowled throughout the whole ordeal, her eyes darting back and forth between the mages with a furrowed brow. As if they were part of some big, bad conspiracy.

Gotta love the distrust.

“I wouldn’t say you’re reading too much into it at all. That’s actually a rather perceptive take on it.”

“More than you were expecting, you mean,” Garrett said, taking some satisfaction in watching a bit of guilt mix in with his expression.

Solas shrugged, and Hawke knew that was probably all that he was going to get in terms of an apology.

“It’s a moot point anyways. At this time, all mages are considered apostates.”

“True enough.”

Their conversation continued on, Hawke glad for any distraction that didn’t leave him ruminating over the pain in his hand for too long. They met several more groups of demons on their way, but they were noticeably quicker in dispatching them with four of them instead of two. Unfortunately, Hawke still had to stop every so often when the mark’s flaring threatened to tear him apart, eventually causing the veins in his arm to grow a menacing green. Like little spiderwebs, the light spread until it reached all the way up to his shoulder, Hawke’s eyes wide when he realized just how far the mark stretched in so little time.

When the others took notice, Solas grabbed him by his good arm, practically dragging him along.

Hawke had to admit, for both an elf and a mage, he was pretty strong.

“My magic will not be able to keep the mark under control for much longer. We must hurry,” Solas told him.

It was his frantic tone that made Varric rush to their side, eyeing the mark in concern.

“Be honest, Chuckles, worst case scenario…” Varric said, trailing off so that he could fill in the blanks.

Solas grimaced.

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

Hawke and Varric exchanged a glance.

“No,” Varric sighed. “I guess not.”

Ah, so it seemed as if Cassandra wasn’t exaggerating about Hawke’s imminent death.

Why can’t anything about Hawke’s life be normal for once?

“So…” Hawke drawled, unable to stand all of this doom and gloom. “Solas, you seem to know a lot about the mark.”

After Solas and Varric explained how the elf stopped the mark from killing him, they encountered one last rift before finally —finally— entering the forward camp. An argument could be heard from the gates, Leliana and some Chancellor engaged in a heated dispute once they arrived. To be honest, Hawke stopped listening as soon as the Chancellor threatened to throw him in chains, everyone going back and forth while he remained silently focused on the sky. It was impossible not to look at, that wide, yawning maw always in the corner of his periphery no matter where he looked. It swirled threateningly, growing larger and larger with each pulse of light.

How could anyone fix something like that?

It took Hawke a few moments to realize that everyone had grown silent, staring impatiently at him. He blinked owlishly at the sudden attention, wondering what in the world did he miss.

“What?” he asked, shuffling from foot to foot. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Ignoring Varric’s snicker behind him, Hawke dug his tongue into the crevices between his teeth, causing the Chancellor to scowl.

“You honestly think he is our savior?” Roderick snapped, addressing Cassandra instead of speaking directly to Hawke.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hawke stated, his expression serious yet innocent, despite the fact that he was anything but. “Were you saying something just now? From my experience with Chantry Brothers, I find it way easier to filter out all of their ramblings and simply nod along here and there. Nothing personal, mind you.”

Chancellor Roderick sputtered indignantly, but Cassandra stepped in before the situation could escalate.

“We were saying that we needed to decide on a way to get to the temple.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at them. “And you were waiting on me, because…?”

“You have the mark,” Solas noted.

“And you are the one we must protect,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot decide amongst ourselves…”

Oh, great. They wanted him to lead, because of course they did. Now they were starting to sound like Anders.

How many times must Hawke tell people that he was not leadership material before they would believe him?

Ugh, well, if he must.

After they recounted his options again —the whole “should we charge or use the mountain path” debate— he simply stated what he thought was the most obvious solution.

“Why not just split up and meet back up at the temple?”

They stared at him blankly, making him wonder if he really did have something in his teeth this time.

“Explain,” Cassandra ordered.

How could he even think of refusing when she asked so nicely?

“I’m just saying that a small group could go investigate what happened with the missing scouts, and the rest of us could charge on ahead. That way, we hopefully save as many people as possible, and we get me to the temple. Easy as pie,” Hawke explained.

“As idealistic as that may be,” Cassandra started, “the whole point of this plan is to get you to the temple, not to rescue everyone. We should spare no resources in getting you ther—”

Hawke interrupted then.

“You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. If you don’t like it, then please feel free to waste more time we don’t have by trying to decide amongst yourselves.”

Of course, he kind of did waste some precious time himself by not listening before, but that’s not the point.

After considering it, Cassandra and the others agreed, despite Chancellor Roderick’s vehement protests.

Hawke may or may not have stuck his tongue out at him when they passed.

Splitting into two groups, the majority of the soldiers went with Leliana and Hawke in the charge forward. While they used the more direct approach, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and a few others were going to be traveling indirectly through the mountain path. Both routes would eventually converge, and they would wait for one another at the Temple of Sacred Ashes before advancing in their final push. In a realistic world, losses were to be expected, but Garrett knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly at night if he didn’t at least try for the optimal outcome.

If he could even sleep at all, what with a deadly mark upon his hand that’s constantly trying to kill him.

As each group set out, Hawke forced himself to focus back on the here and now, using magic and his sword alike to lash out at the demons before them. The soldiers weren’t the most seasoned or experienced warriors out there, but they were enough to keep the corrupted spirits at bay. One wave after another, they fought, and eventually they happened upon another rift.

In the middle of this chaos, the last person that Hawke had expected to encounter was Cullen Rutherford.

Huh, turns out it really is a small world after all.

There was a tense, awkward moment that followed when their eyes met, but it wasn’t anything like what one would hear in the stories. The world didn’t fade away around them. Time didn’t stop or slow to a standstill to allow them that one instance of recognition and animosity. Instead, the battle raged on, and the demons’ shrieks still tainted the air alongside the soldiers’ frantic yelling.

Turns out, the end of the world had a way of uniting even the most unlikely of allies.

When Hawke spotted a terror demon behind him, he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t hesitate, lest he sentence the man to death right then and there. The air prickled with the smell of ozone, his hairs standing on end as goosebumps spread across his skin like a wildfire. A charged bolt of lightning shot through the demon, causing it to writhe and convulse until it burst open in a shower of blackened goo. Cullen tensed at the feeling of magic arcing past him, enough to avoid him entirely yet still too close for comfort. He refused to succumb to his discomfort, though, focusing instead on the fight at hand.

“Duck!” Cullen barked out, Hawke instantly dropping low enough for his sword to slash out at an approaching shade.

Turning on the demon, Hawke joined Cullen in his attack, running the damn thing through with his blade. Unfortunately, that only served to close the distance between Hawke and the shade, the demon lashing out with wickedly sharp claws. It managed to get in one good swipe at Hawke’s arm, bright red blood soon flowing freely.

Hawke released his grip on the sword and scurried backwards. That gave Cullen an opening to step in, decapitating it in one fell swoop.

With gritted teeth, Hawke decided that he had enough of this shit for one day, lifting up his hand to seal the rift as before. Weakened as they were by the sudden disconnect, the rest of the demons were soon defeated by the remaining soldiers. Leliana regrouped with Hawke and Cullen in the aftermath, helping to support Hawke’s weight.

Garrett managed a strained smile, holding his now-bleeding arm close to his chest.

“Anyone have a lyrium potion by chance?” When silence answered him, the former Champion gave a weary sigh. “Of course not.”

“Here, ser!” One brave soul rushed forward, digging around in their bag as they approached. The bandages they eventually pulled out weren’t the cleanest by any means, nor was the healing potion they provided the best quality; however, Hawke knew better than to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers after all, and many others out there needed the supplies just as much, if not more than him, so Hawke simply accepted the items with a mumbled “thanks.”

After he forced down the potion, he made quick work of wrapping his wounds, eyeing Cullen as he fixed himself up.

“You know, Knight-Captain—”

“Former Knight-Captain,” Cullen corrected, already exhausted by the conversation at hand.

“Right… So, former Knight-Captain, didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Nor I you, Champion.”

“Former Champion,” Hawke mocked.

“Right. Apologies.” Cullen nodded at him stiffly, turning to include Leliana, who was watching the two of them in utter amusement. “Sister Nightingale, it’s good to see you in one piece.”

“And you as well, Commander,” she stated. “There have been many losses, but there would have been undoubtedly many more without the Champion and his mark.”

Cullen glanced down at Hawke’s glowing hand, his gaze quickly darting away when Hawke caught him staring.

“I assume that this was the missing piece we needed to close the rifts then.”

“And you would be assuming correctly,” Hawke said. “You would think that, after watching lyrium bring statues to life, I would be used to all of this strange shit happening to me.”

Cullen gave a sharp laugh at that, bleak and bitter. “And yet the world keeps surprising us.” He cleared his throat then, more so to cover up his sudden outburst. “I hope they’re right about your mark, though. Everything is riding on this.” No pressure. “The path ahead should be clear when you’re ready to head out. Hopefully, Lady Cassandra and the others will be awaiting your arrival.”

“We’ll depart now then,” Leliana told him, assisting Hawke in the direction of the Breach. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you,” Cullen muttered, and it took Hawke a full minute to realize that he was talking to him. “For all our sakes.”

Before Hawke could retort, they separated, Cullen and the soldiers heading out to set up a defensible position while Leliana shuffled them forward.

Once they made it to the temple, Hawke’s heart immediately sank into his stomach. Even Leliana could not hold back her reaction as they surveyed the damage, her voice a soft, broken whisper that was easily overtaken by the winds.

“Oh—Oh no…” she gasped, her eyes glazed over as she regarded one of the statue-like corpses nearby.

It was as if they were frozen in time, some of the bodies still burning as they tried to escape the blast.

And beyond that, the rest of the dead were unrecognizable, stripped of their flesh until nothing more than their bones laid covered in dust and ash.

Even Hawke didn’t have something witty to say at such a moment, all life drained from the surrounding area.

It was right then that they heard shuffling nearby, Hawke and Leliana rounding on the spot, poised to attack. They both breathed a collective sigh of relief when they spotted the others, Cassandra leading the remaining scouts to safety. When they regrouped, she recounted what had occurred on their journey there. Apparently, they had encountered a rift on their path as well. Some scouts had already perished by the time they arrived, but the rest had managed to hold out for just long enough. With their combined forces, they had slain enough demons to buy them some time between waves to beat a hasty retreat. A couple of the others succumbed to their injuries on the way to the temple, but the losses were still less than originally anticipated.

If anything, Garrett considered that a success, no matter how small.

After this whole shitshow, he had to claim his victories when he could.

Now that everyone was together again, they traveled forward in a solemn silence, the crackle of flames and the roar of the Breach the only sounds to accompany them.

While Leliana and Cassandra were busy giving orders to their people, Hawke surveyed the area around them. Varric made the occasional comment or two about the Breach, and Solas eventually interrupted all of them to explain how they could possibly close it. Something about closing the first rift that it created, or that was the theory, anyways. It was at least better than anything else they could think of, though, so it was worth a try. Best case scenario, the Breach would be sealed.

Then again, the worst case scenario was that Hawke would end up making an already catastrophic problem even worse, and then the whole fabric of the Veil would split open, causing the end of all life as they know it.

Oh, and he dies! That would be bad, too.

Why did he volunteer for this again?

Either way, he knew now as Cassandra escorted him through the ruins that he had missed his opportunity for escape. Any chance he had was long gone by now, so he might as well ride this out to the end.

“Now is the hour of our victory.”

Hawke stumbled in shock, Cassandra lunging forward to keep him from falling.

No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Hawke was surely going insane, that’s all.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

It had to be an illusion of the Fade. It had to be.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“At a guess, the one who created the Breach,” Solas replied.

Okay, but if it was that Maker-forsaken magister, then surely Varric would recognize—

However, when Hawke glanced over at Varric for backup, the dwarf was preoccupied with another matter entirely, eyes wide and jaw slack. Hawke followed his gaze, only to shudder in revulsion. Without thinking, he shuffled closer into Cassandra’s side, trying to get as far away from the foul stuff as possible.

Red lyrium.

For fuck’s sake, this day was apparently the gift that kept on giving!

That voice forgotten for the moment, Varric followed Hawke’s lead and shifted away from the lyrium as much as he could, their teeth rattling at the discordant song that flowed through the air.

“You know that stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

She pursed her lips, but refused to be distracted from the task at hand.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temp—”

Hawke didn’t even listen to the rest of Solas’s explanation, distracted by another voice entirely.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

It was like it all came crashing down on him at once, a dam bursting open after years upon years of cracks splintering its foundations. Adrenaline surged through Hawke’s veins, giving him the strength and energy needed to slip free of Cassandra’s grasp. He took off into a run, not even stopping when the others called out. All he could focus on was that voice and that voice alone —that stupid, blight-infested voice. It made his skin crawl even now, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It shouldn’t be possible, but there was no mistaking it. He should be dead. Hawke had killed him, yet there he was.

That voice was one of many that haunted his dreams. Hawke would know it anywhere.

“I thank you for my freedom.”

Larius. Larius wasn’t the same. He changed. He said it was because he was free of Corypheus’s influence, but no. Something never sat right with Hawke about that. He was too clear-headed for a man beyond his Calling. Too composed for someone that had been long overtaken by the Blight’s corruption.

Garrett didn’t get a chance to think any deeper about it. The second he dropped down towards the rift, they were all engulfed in a vision of the past. The Divine had called out to him, and when Garrett had burst into the room to save the day, Corypheus had ordered someone to “slay the Hawke.” No other information was given, and Hawke’s memories of the encounter still refused to return.

By the time the vision faded, Hawke’s head was spinning, and his stomach was churning. Cassandra demanded answers of him, but he couldn’t give them at the moment, those black and white dots returning to cloud his vision with a vengeance. Dazed and disoriented, Hawke had to force himself to piece together each word when Solas spoke up, addressing the need to open the rift in order to seal it properly. Hawke remembered nodding distantly, but the elven mage had to step in as he did before, his hand warm against Hawke’s as he guided the mark’s magic through the motions.

Of course, opening the rift just had to summon a pride demon, of all things. It couldn’t be something nice and small and easy to contend with, like a wraith.

Or a nug.

Oh, no, that would be too easy to defeat! The universe liked a challenge!

Well, screw the universe. How about that?

If Hawke were a religious man, he would have thought it to be divine punishment, since —at that exact moment— a damn shade spawned behind him and raked its claws down his back. One blast of fire to its face was enough to melt its ugly mug, but the damage had been done.

Red ribbons of blood trailed over his skin, hot and wet. They didn’t drip down into tiny, delicate droplets either. Rather, they stained the ground red in free flowing streams.

Pain radiated all around Hawke until he didn’t know which way was up or down, left or right…

All he could see was green.

But he couldn’t stop. It couldn’t end there.

With his hand outstretched towards the brightest patch of green, he managed to disrupt the rift in time, stunning the demons long enough for the killing blows to be made.

He heard her voice through the fog clouding his mind, unable to recall her name at the moment.

“Now!” the warrior yelled. “Seal the rift!”

The last thing Hawke remembered before he lost consciousness was an unbearable pain shooting up his arm, and then everything went dark.

[blackbatsnwitchshats]

New Opportunities Ch. 6

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: Ichidai's first day back to school, and the following weeks after.

______________________

"We found your runner."

"And?"

"He's dead."

"Well then, we'll proceed as planned. Operation 'Infiltrate U.A.' is officially a go"

______________________

All For One stood still as Kurogiri tightened the tie around his neck, fighting the urge to rip the abhorrent thing off and hurl it out the window of his new apartment.

While the petulant action might have matched his appearance, it still would have been a highly childish thing to do and he didn't want such things to become a habit. Tomura might have been prone to such fits, but he wasn't Tomura. He had more patience than that.

Most days anyway.

Today would be his first day at Aldera Junior High though, and he wasn't one to forgo first impressions. He wanted to get there on time, preferably earlier, and scope out the place he'd be haunting for the next two years. Yes, haunting, because he fully intended to make his teachers' and peers' lives as much of a living hell as he possibly could throughout the duration of his education there.

All For One nearly snorted out loud at that thought. Aldera was the bottom of the barrel in terms of schooling. Its reputation -if anyone could say it had any at all- was so deep in a trench it wouldn't ever be climbing out. There wasn't anything they could teach him that he didn't already know. The only thing they could provide him with was a proper alibi for his new role.

He might have never finished his schooling as a child the first time around, but All For One was fairly certain he was in for doing a whole lot of nothing for the next two years. Outside of building up some muscle to properly wield his quirk, which he could do just fine on his own, there wasn't a whole lot he needed to do. His body would be ready when it was ready and forcing it would only cause issues in the long run.

The best thing for him to do right now was lay low and attract as little attention to himself as possible.

He'd more or less managed that for well over a century. It'd be a piece of cake.

"You have your new phone?" Kurogiri asked, "Both my number as well as Tomura's are in there should you need us."

All For One nodded. "Yes, I double checked last night."

"Good. Let's head out. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have to deal with the morning rush."

"Ditto."

As they passed Tomura on their way to the door, he waved without looking up from his game and said, "Have a good day in Hell, S- Ichidai."

All For One quirked an eyebrow at him as he pulled his shoes on. "Kurogiri homeschooled you. How do you know whether it'll be Hell or not?"

Tomura shrugged. "I don't, but everyone in my game servers says it is or was for them."

"Well, ...I suppose you're not wrong. I'll see you when I get back."

"See you then."

______________________

Unfortunately, because something had gone wrong in the administrative process while filing his papers, All For One didn't get to do any sort of roaming before classes. That alone annoyed him. What really got under his skin, though, was the fact he'd had to fill out important paperwork he'd already completed again.

Now, standing at the front of a room filled with snot-nosed brats, he was just barely resisting the urge to strangle someone.

"Morning, class. Today we have a new student. Introduce yourself, kid."

Internally scathing the teacher's lackadaisical attitude, All For One plastered a polite smile on his face despite the scorn writhing in his chest. "Hello! I'm Suzuran Ichidai!"

Short and simple. To the point. Done.

Apparently not.

"And?"

All For One, or rather Ichidai, directed a raised eyebrow to the sad excuse of a teacher. "'And,' what?"

"Your quirk. What is it and what does it do? Why don't you show off a bit, get it out of your system before we start class."

Ha! Yeah, no. That'd be a very bad idea.

"Ichidai" leveled the man with an unimpressed stare. "Do you want to be the one to explain to the principal and police why there's a ginormous hole in the side of the building? Because I just got here and I'd rather not get expelled on my first day."

The color in the teacher's face vanished like water down a drain. "Ah, ...In that case, feel free to take a seat. There should be an empty one at the back, next to the window."

"Thank you."

The words themselves were polite, but -had they been a tangible thing- the sheer amount of sarcasm laced within them could have killed the entire class.

Various students eyed him warily as he made his way down the isle leading to his seat and he rolled his own eyes. Clearly he'd made quite an impression. Good. Intimidated was better than curious. The fewer people he had around him, the better.

He didn't need anyone getting nosy and snooping around all up in his business.

As class finally started, he took his sweet time carefully assessing the quirks he could see around him. He knew what they were, of course; gaining access to Aldera's student records had been laughably easy. However, reading about something on a computer was very different from seeing said thing in person. More often than not, people tended to embellish or downplay things whenever they thought they could get away with it. Regardless of whether that was the case or the kids simply not knowing what their quirks were truly capable of, taking things at face value would have been incredibly foolish.

Out of twenty-nine quirks, twenty-two of them were heteromorphic and unusable to him anyway. Frog-throat, luminescent skin, and stretchy eyes? Unique, but certainly not useful.

Only seven quirks barely caught his interest. Pyrokinesis, wind manipulation, bodily evaporation, rapid muscle growth, explosions, telekinesis and molecular solidification; all of them had potential given the right conditions. Taking them now would only cause suspicion though.

Perhaps another time...

For now, he tuned out the miserable teacher's useless droning and gazed out the window. He was in for a boring year...

______________________

Or not.

The kid with the explosion quirk was loud, and not just because of his quirk either. His entire personality shouted, "Hey! Look at me!" in an arrogant, infuriating way. Sneering at people, taunting and degrading them, even going so far as to physically assault them; he was a class A example of a bully who thought he was God's gift to Man.

All of it -combined with the fact he never shut up about becoming the next Number 1 Hero- almost made All For One want to steal his quirk out of spite.

Though the kid certainly wasn't there yet, heroes just like Bakugo Katsuki were exactly the reason why he hated the current social climate. People glorified anyone with a conventionally strong quirk; they put them on a pedestal, dubbed them a "hero," and believed they could do no wrong when it couldn't be further than the truth. Sure, there may be a few genuinely good ones, but -at the core- Hero Society was as currupt as could be. Even now, after centuries, people still considered those with heteromorphic or so-called villainous quirks to be less than human.

Goodness forbid someone end up quirkless in this time period, because it might as well be death sentence.

Case and point being Midoriya Izuku's existence.

For the first few weeks, "Ichidai" bore witness to the systematic debasement and abuse his lone quirkless classmate went through. Day after day, people left ill-willed flowers on the timid boy's desk, destroyed his personal belongings, and shoved him around like an unwanted plaything. All while the teachers turned a blind eye to everything.

It stirred a fury in his gut he hadn't felt in a long time.

Wasn't this what he'd fought against, once upon a time? Perhaps not for the sole purpose of the vulnerable and less fortunate, but it'd been a rather large part of it... No one deserved to be harrassed over something they had no say in.

Everyone deserved to exist without feeling like they had no right to.

All For One's tolerance eventually ran out, and he snapped, "Good grief! Do you ever shut up?"

"Ha?"

Bakugou, as well as several startled others, turned to him upon realizing he was the one who'd spoken. Their reaction wasn't surprising, considering he'd barely said a lick of anything to anyone in the entire three weeks he'd shared classes with them so far.

"You wanna say that again, newbie?" Bakugo suggested threateningly, ditching Midoriya to sneer in Ichidai's face instead.

Ichidai wasn't impressed, sneering right back at the blond without issue. "No, I don't think I will. You heard me just fine, didn't you?"

He gasped and held a hand up to his chest dramatically as he widened his eyes in false surprise. "That is... unless you're deaf."

After all, an immunity or tolerance to one's own quirk was never a guarentee. Given what Bakugou's quirk was, it very well may have been the case for why he was so loud. If it was, ...well, All For One had never had any issues taking potshots at people, especially people he didn't particularly care for.

Unfortunately for Bakugou, he fell into that category.

Grinning smugly, Ichidai watched the blond briefly freeze before he was roughly grabbed by the collar and jerked out of his seat.

"You wanna die?" Bakugo snarled, "'Cause that's what's gonna happen if you go around spouting shit like that!"

"What are you; a rabid dog?" Ichidai asked condescendingly, grin transforming into something more akin to a baring of teeth. "Oh, wait- I take that back. You're more of an attention hound, aren't you? You're so used to having others cater to you and what you want that anything less than complete submissal rubs you the wrong way."

The sound of Bakugo's teeth creaking as they ground together was music to Ichidai's ears as he smiled wider. "Anything to say? Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

"Yeah! You are! Big time!"

"Really? Because I don't think I am."

Popping and crackling sparks burst from Bakugou's clenched fist and Ichidai laughed, "Oh no! I'm so scared! What're you going to do? Use your quirk on me?"

Bakugou went to swing his fist at Ichidai's face, only to be caught by the teacher's extended hand.

"Alright kids, that's enough," the poor excuse of an educator chastised them, "Back to your seats. Class is starting."

Ignoring the teacher, Bakugou sneered and ripped his arm out of the teacher's grip. He shot Ichidai a glare and Ichidai smiled innocently right back, like their entire spat hadn't just happened.

The sheer incandescent rage that encompassed Bakugou's face was almost enough to make Ichidai giggle.

However, the realization that the teacher had once again stopped a fight between two kids seemingly on the same playing field yet had let Bakugou rip into Midoriya like a primary schooler would a Christmas present soured Ichidai's mood.

Come lunchtime, Ichidai didn't bother leaving his seat. So busy brainstorming little ways he could inconvenience the people who'd annoyed him, he didn't even hear the bell. It was the feeling of being stared at and the sound of someone clearing their throat that caught his attention.

Ichidai looked away from the window and found Midoriya standing at his own desk a few feet away.

Midoriya fidgeted and stuttered, "I -uh, thanks for stepping in earlier. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Ichidai shrugged. "Happy to do it. His voice was getting annoying, and the teacher didn't seem in all that much of a hurry to put an end to it."

"Do you...uh, want to get lunch together?"

Ichidai thought about it. While he didn't intend to make friends with anyone, it would seem strange if there wasn't at least one person he talked to on a regular basis. He guessed Midoriya would be as fine as any -if not better- company than the rest of the loud-mouthed children in their class.

At least he knew how to be quiet.

"You know what? Sure. I brought my own lunch, but I can meet you wherever you want once you get yours."

Midoriya deflated, likely mishearing him before he jerked back up. "Wait, ...yes? You said yes?"

"I did, yes," Ichidai assured him firmly.

Midoriya smiled at him so genuinely it almost took his breath away. Truly, his grin was so bright Ichidai had no doubt he'd have been blinded again had the other boy been capable of producing light with it.

"Great!" Midoriya swung his backpack over his shoulder and raced to the door, looking back to wave at him before he left the room. "I'll meet you by the koi pond in the front courtyard!"

Ichidai waved back as the door closed, slightly bewildered by his sheer enthusiasm.

"Yeah... I'll see you there."

[sinsbymanka]

Fic prompt 74 because I have got to see what you do with it.

I decided this would be my inauguration into @dadrunkwriting so I hope y'all enjoy! (@thatdreadbitch asked for this one too!)

Prompt was: "it's only just a little bit illegal."

Pairing: Cadash/Varric, but mostly centered on platonic friendship Cadash/Cassandra.

Modern AU set in same universe as GwtAT.

Enjoy!

"I'm sorry." Hawke's sharp elbow slammed onto the table and she cupped her pointed chin in her hand, staring incredulously at the Seeker. "You've never committed a crime?" 

From the corner of her eye, Maria examined Cassandra's color rising with a surge of fond amusement. The woman accidentally tipped her abysmal hand in Maria's direction as she answered. "I have not." 

Cassandra discarded one card and retrieved another rather stiffly, but Hawke’s attention had been caught. Maria watched the woman narrow in on the chink in the Seeker’s armor with brutal efficiency. 

"Speeding? Illegally downloading music?" Hawke supplied, her meager attention span finally falling away from the game completely. "Andraste's chafed nipples, Seeker. Everyone has committed a crime." 

"I have never illegally downloaded music and I have always used appropriate signaling devices in an emergency requiring high vehicle speed." Cassandra sat, ramrod straight, and Hawke swung her bewildered gaze to Varric beside her. She moved so quickly, long human arms flailing in shock, she very nearly toppled both their beers. Varric caught them with barely enough time to spare, piercing the human with a chagrined expression Hawke ignored. 

Maria deftly used the distraction to slip the card under Cassandra's discarded one up her sleeve while drawing her own. Four knights it was, she thought smugly. 

"Varric!" Hawke mock whispered, blissfully unaware of Maria’s cheating and scheming. "You found me a unicorn." 

Dorian barely hid his smirk behind his own cards. Bull actually laughed out loud.

"Many people do not commit crimes." Cassandra answered in a mechanical, clipped tone, still blushing under Hawke's wide-eyed scrutiny. 

"Not in this room." Varric muttered under his breath. Since the two of them still weren't exchanging much beyond death glares, Cassandra ignored him. 

"Gotta point, yeah?" Sera mused, tapping her cards impatiently on the table. "How much time in the block you think we all could get between us?" 

The amount of lyrium Maria smuggled all over Thedas alone had to be worth at least twenty five years. To say nothing of her sundry other crimes. Hawke warmed to this new subject immediately, casting her bright blue eyes around the table. "Right! So, we've got three witches who've never seen the inside of a circle, that's a crime. Plus one unregistered spirit… familiar… whatever.” Hawke waved away Cole airily. “Varric here has bribed everyone and their mother in addition to..." 

"Try not to throw me under the bus, Hawke." Varric asked genially. Hawke sighed with an air of weary martyrdom and skipped the rest of Varric’s criminal resume to eye the skinny elf instead. 

"Vandalism, theft, and some assault charges for Sera. Me too, if I'm being honest. Madame de Fer over there has probably had at least three people assasinated…"

"If I did, they'd never prove it darling." Vivienne gingerly folded her cards and shook her head. "I fold." 

"Bull, I'm willing to bet you’ve broken some asshole’s bones. At the very least, you haven't paid for music in twenty years." Hawke guessed. 

“I refuse to answer any potentially incriminating statements.” Bull folded ages ago and seemed content to simply watch their group chatter. He, at least, knew better than to gamble with Maria. Nobody else seemed to have learned, yet.

“Every Grey Warden I know seems to have a penchant for criminal activity of some sort, so we’ll assume Blackwall’s guilty. He’s got the long, sad face for it anyway.” Hawke’s smile, brilliant as always, seemed just a bit more sharp when she pointed it in Blackwall’s direction. Although for the life of her, Maria couldn’t understand what the issue was. 

“I fail to see…” Blackwall grumbled. 

“And you…” Hawke gestured in Maria’s direction with a card and a rather softer smile. Maria raised an eyebrow silently, inviting the critique with no hidden amount of amusement. “Lyrium smuggling. Assault. Illegal weapons. Possession of drugs with intent to distribute… That’s just what’s on your rap sheet, but I bet…” 

“Is this really necessary?” Cassandra prickled defensively, shifting so that her body was angled just a bit towards Maria’s, giving her another sneak peak at the Seeker’s cards. 

“You have at least one library book you never returned.” Hawke finished with a mischievous grin, tossing the card in Maria’s direction. “And I think it was one of Varric’s.” 

It was too outrageous not to laugh at, so Maria allowed Hawke’s irresistible charm and charisma to wash her away as everyone else erupted into laughter as well. Tears of mirth sprung to her eyes and she wiped them quickly, watching Varric’s hands vanish underneath the table in the ensuing chaos. 

She banged her knuckles on the gleaming surface, grinning at Varric’s disgruntled look in her direction. “Varric Tethras put that card back in your pocket or so help me.” 

Varric sighed, exasperated. Hawke frowned and rolled her shoulders apologetically in his direction. “Sorry Varric, I tried.” 

She knew they were trying to gang up on her. With a mumbled curse, Varric threw a card on the discard pile and scowled at the one he picked up. Maria turned her attention to Cassandra.

“Fold.” She ordered, plucking Cass’s cards from her hand. “Before you end up losing your shirt.” 

“But I…” Cassandra protested. 

“No you weren’t.” Maria stated firmly. “Trust me. Chances of you drawing that card are slim to none.” 

Maria would know, after all. She had it in her other sleeve.

“The only way to get better at cards is to commit more crimes.” Hawke pointed out. “Solid fact. You’ve clearly never lived, Seeker.” 

Cassandra’s color rose even higher and Maria wondered if, perhaps, the teasing had gone on long enough. After all, Maria suspected that there was a healthy dose of romanticization in Cassandra’s view of the Champion of Kirkwall. That would, of course, be Varric’s fault. And she didn’t think Hawke truly meant to be a little cruel, but nobody was immune to the tension between their favorite author and Cassandra. Hawke couldn’t be expected to not pick a side. 

“Alright then.” Maria laid her own cards, face down, and stood from her chair. “I’ve got an idea.” 

A brilliant, reckless, and unbearably pleasant one that would derail this entire conversation and make Hawke lay off Cassandra. 

“What kind of idea?” Cassandra asked suspiciously. 

“Crime.” Maria supplied helpfully. “C’mon, up you go.” 

“I cannot…” 

“Does this mean you’re forfeiting, Princess?” Varric asked smoothly with a smug grin. 

Maria could have let him win. A tiny part of her, in fact, kinda wanted to. The rest of her, unfortunately, was far too competitive to listen. Besides, Varric could have tried to reign Hawke in too. He didn’t, and therefore, she showed no mercy. 

She leaned over the table, completely aware of the way her shirt dipped and exposed her cleavage. She pulled the next card from the deck, secretly gloating that she’d indeed counted them right when she shuffled and it was the Angel of Death she revealed. Varric groaned when he saw it and rubbed his chin with his hand gruffly. Maria maintained her steady eye contact and flipped her own cards over in triumph. 

Four knights, which certainly beat the two songs and a serpent she thought Varric had. 

“Damnit Cadash.” Varric swore. “Where are you hiding all these cards?” 

Hawke broke into guffaws and nearly toppled off her chair. Maria spun elegantly and just about hauled Cassandra out of her chair. “Let’s go.” 

“Can I come?” Sera asked pertly, scrambling her own long limbs out of her chair. “Love crime! It’s so good, yeah?” 

“Inquisitor…” Cass pleaded. 

“Course you can.” Maria declared. “Everyone can. Any property damage can go on Varric’s tab, it’ll be a small dent in the money he owes me.” 

She dragged Cassandra down the hotel hallway, cheerfully disregarding the boisterous noise that echoed from their party. The good thing about mass civil disruption and zombies crawling from a lake somewhere had to be the good prices they got on mostly empty hotels. In fact, Maria was fairly certain nobody else but them and the lone staff person, hopefully sleeping somewhere at this time of night, inhabited this hotel halfway to Crestwood. 

She pressed the elevator button and waited, arm linked in Cassandra’s to keep her from fleeing. The Seeker’s expression in the steel doors looked rather grim. “I am only going along with this to keep you out of trouble.” 

“Sure you are.” Maria agreed breezily. 

“The history books will paint me as a zealot led astray by a dwarven madwoman.” Cassandra continued to mumble.

“Could be worse.” Maria pointed out with a sly smile aimed up at Cassandra’s stony features. “You could be the Dwarven madwoman in the tale.” 

Despite herself, Cassandra’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “The Inquisitor was hilarious. That will be what they remember, mark my words.” 

“Ancestors, I hope so.” The doors opened and Maria tugged Cassandra in, the rest of their group piling after until she began to worry they’d far exceeded the maximum weight capacity. She ended up pressed rather tightly between Blackwall and the Seeker in the corner. 

“What floor is this mayhem taking place on?” Hawke asked brightly. 

“First floor, please.” Maria shouted back. The door shut and the elevator lurched threateningly. 

“I do hope nobody has discovered a sudden fear of tiny, enclosed spaces.” Dorian decreed waspishly. “Fasta vass, Bull, can you please remove your armpit from my face?” 

“Only if Sera gets her bony ass out of the way.” 

Solas sighed, wearily, from the opposite corner, although she certainly couldn’t see him. Maria craned forward, brushing Blackwall’s side as she craned to watch the numbers dip. 

They spilled out of the too small box immediately and Maria shoved past everyone with Cassandra still held tight in her grip. She marched forward toward the scent of chlorine, the strong chemical odor pervading this floor. 

She didn’t stop until she got to the glass doors, fogged on the inside, with the neat little plaque spelling out the hotel pool’s hours of operation, which ended promptly at ten pm. Maria reached for the door handle with her other hand and tugged, found it locked just as she thought it would be.

“Well, Cass.” Maria bent double to examine the lock closely. A simple, cheap little mechanism she could have undone in two seconds flat. “Are you ready to do a b and e?” 

“A b and e?” Cass echoed. 

“Breaking and entering.” Maria reached for the lockpicks in her coat, wrapped in the pretty little leather case with the Inquisition’s symbol on it. She could have laughed when she saw them. Only Josephine would think to order such classy accessories for their not-quite-reputable Inquisitor. 

She loved them to death, the same way she loved the chattering laughter around her, the way she loved Cass’s semi-skeptical glare. It felt… it felt like being alive again. For the first time in ages. “You were serious.” Cass stated. “About the criminal portion of the evening.” 

“It’s only just a little bit illegal.” Maria soothed. Really, more of a trespassing than a breaking and entering. She slipped her picks into the locks and rotated them deftly. She grinned up as she felt the tumblers release, swinging the door open and waving Cassandra through it. “Congratulations. You’ve now committed a crime. Or at the very least, you’re an accessory to one.” 

“Has the void frozen over?” Hawke asked from somewhere behind them. “Has anyone checked?” 

“Pft. Can’t check the void, but Solas can tell you how wibbly the veil is.” 

Resigned, Cassandra stepped into the hot, humid air. With a cheer, the rest of the group surged forward. Sera whirled around, taking in the sheer, glimmering liquid glowing in the dim lights above. “Now we get naked, right?” 

Maria wasn’t going to let that challenge go unheeded. She dropped her hands to the bottom of her t-shirt and tugged it up, over her head with one sensuous motion. Sera whooped with joy and began tearing off layers, shoes and her leather jacket flying in all directions. Maria tossed her own shirt onto an abandoned pool chair and looked over her shoulder at the gawking members of her team. 

Her team. Dorian was trying not to laugh, Vivienne simply sighed and meandered to a pool chair of her own, and Solas was hiding his amusement behind his palm. Hawke rushed forward as quickly as Sera did, whipping her own shirt off and tossing it with the same joyful exuberance. Bull nonchalantly began undoing his pants at the same time Maria dropped her fingers to her jeans and met the eyes of the two men staring at her with unreserved heat. 

“Can’t go swimming like that.” She huffed, turning her back on them. She could still feel the smooth, fiery gazes tracing her form. Blackwall and Varric acted like they’d never seen a half naked dwarf before. That could, she supposed, be true for Blackwall but it certainly wasn’t for Varric. 

“Pale. Pretty. Light that dances through the air. Sun rising in the east. Trace her ribs with my knuckles, shoulder with lips, make her…” 

“Maker’s balls.” Blackwall swore. “Cole!” 

Varric simply chuckled, low and breathless as Maria slipped out of her jeans. 

“This is more inappropriate than criminal.” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest, but her disapproving glare was leveled at the men behind her instead of Maria herself. 

“C’mon Cass. All work and no play makes us all one hundred percent more likely to give up and let the world go to shit.” Maria cajoled. “Tell them to turn around if you don’t want them staring.” 

“You heard her.” Cass snapped waspishly, although that certainly wasn’t what Maria meant at all. They could stare if they wanted, Maria had nothing to hide. Still, Cassandra nodded and ripped her own tank top over her slender, muscled form. Just in time for it to avoid getting wet as both Hawke and Sera raced past, jumping into the pool together and sending splashes of water everywhere. Cassandra sighed as she slunk out of her own trousers and tossed them with Maria’s. 

“Madwoman.” Cassandra repeated gruffly. 

“Zealot.” Maria challenged. Cass laughed, a small huff as they approached the edge of the pool. “On three?” 

“One.” Cassandra started with the same fatalistic determination she brought to slaying demons. 

“Two.” Maria counted, reaching to grasp Cass’s hand in her marked one and looking up with a smile she hoped was encouraging. 

Cassandra’s returning smile was almost fond. “Three.” They said together, leaping from the edge, the water embracing them. Maria surfaced almost immediately, feet scrabbling on the slick bottom. She could just barely keep most of her head out if she stood on her tiptoes. Cass surfaced nearby, sleek as a seal. 

“It’s very warm.” Maria called out, pulling herself to the edge on her folded arms, impishly grinning at the remaining party staring at them. “Come on in.” 

“Well.” Varric smirked, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt while Maria tried not to observe with rapt fascination. “Don’t mind if we do.” 

Cassandra kicked away with a disgusted noise and Maria couldn’t quite hide her grin. Andraste, the two of them would drive her nuts if they kept this up. They were both so damn stubborn, so convinced Maria needed protection from the nefarious designs of the other one. As if they both didn’t have gooey soft hearts underneath it all. 

As if she wasn’t beginning to trust them both more than she trusted almost anyone else. 

Maria played at examining her fingernails with an air of casual disinterest as Varric slipped his own pants off and swaggered to the edge of the pool. He didn’t jump in, like the rest, but leisurely lowered himself down, giving her plenty of time to ogle his rippling muscles, the sturdy broadness of him, the dense hair covering his chest, his arms, his legs. 

Off limits, she reminded herself. He was a friend because that’s what they both needed, what they both wanted. A simple, uncomplicated friendship. Anything else would be a crime, a sin. 

But there wasn’t anything wrong with looking.

Nor, she thought bitterly, was there anything wrong with a bit of crime. 

[just-jordie-things]

We Make a Pretty Pair - Nicholas Scratch

word count: 3529 warnings: none I think summary: the only thing that scares (y/n) is her unknown feelings for Nick, and his well known feelings for her

(y/n) finished drawing the circle on the floorboards in her room with chalk, sealing the symbol and smiling proudly at the perfect shape she’d made.  Normally, she wouldn’t be summoning demons and trapping them there in her room, but there was a bit of a situation that she needed to take care of tonight.

Sabrina Spellman, with her newly white hair and a nervous look on her face, was sitting on her bed, wringing her hands together as she watched her friend finish the emblem.

“You think it’ll work?” She hummed, feeling too awkward to raise her voice to anything above a whisper.

“You can talk normally,” She responded, a slight smirk on her face as she held her hand out to the witch.  “I’m gonna need your help reciting this”

She nodded, taking your hand as (y/n) pulled out the book of conjuring and banishing.  It was a notebook she’d written in herself, everything she’d learned and wanted to learn, written neatly on the pages.

“Wow,” Sabrina said under her breath, and (y/n) smiled a bit sheepishly.  “Did you learn all these yourself?”

“Some of them,” (y/n) answered a small smile on her lips.  “Some that I haven’t tried yet, some that Nick gave me” Sabrina gave (y/n) a look, a slight smile on her lips.

It was quiet between them as she found the right page, and pointed to Sabrina the words they needed to recite in order to conjure who Sabrina was looking for.

“Ready?” (y/n) asked, her own voice now as quiet as Sabrina’s, and her eyes looked into hers with absolute seriousness, relieved to find that Sabrina seemed absolutely certain.

Sabrina gave a curt nod, squeezing her hand, before they both began to recite the conjuring spell.

In a flash, three disgusting figures made an appearance in the figure on the floor, snarling and glaring at the witches in front of them.

Sabrina and (y/n’s) hands remained bonded.

“Asmodeus, Purson, and Beezlebub, demons of flies, vermin, and shadow,” (y/n) called, her voice loud and clear as she looked them each in the eye.  Sabrina couldn’t help but think that she was fearless in this moment.  “We’ve called on you to ask who summoned you, and gave you the orders to hunt Sabrina Spellman”

“We will not answer to the likes of witches” Purson snarled.

“Half witch” Beezlebub growled.

“Quia clauditis,” (y/n) snapped out a latin phrase, one Sabrina hadn’t heard before, but assumed it was shut up, seeing as the Lord of Vermin shut his trap.  “Now, we want our answer”

“I am under no obligation to tell you,” Asmodeus spoke now.  “And even if we wanted to… we’re under strict orders not to”

“Strict orders?” Sabrina spoke.  “You were spelled not to say anything?”

The demon with flies buzzing around him nodded, and Sabrina swore to herself.  (y/n) squeezed her and assuring her that they would still get to the bottom of this.

“We shall not let the half-witch ascend” Beezlebub grunted.

“Her blood is dirty” Spoke Purson.

“Her existence is wrong” Asmodeus finished.

“That’s enough” (y/n) asserted, finally releasing her hand from Sabrina’s.  With a look to her, she silently asked if she was ready to send them back to the Pit.  Sabrina nodded, her eyes sad, and a scowl on her lips.

She put her fist to the palm of her other hand, staring down the first demon.  “Asmodeus, I banish you”

WIth a flash, he disappeared, leaving his two brothers.

“Purson,” (y/n) moved her hands again, “I banish you”

Beezlebub, the last remaining demon, stared at her threateningly, a growl coming from his rancid self before she banished him as well.

The witches stood there for a moment in silence, staring at the place the Kings of Hell had just been, before looking to each other.

“I’m sorry Brina, I really thought it would-”

The white haired girl cut her off, stepping forward and hugging her tightly.

“Thank you, (y/n)” She told her before stepping back again.  “It means so much to me that you would do this”

(y/n) nodded, looking at her sincerely.  “Of course,” She said.  “Nothing like a little law breaking to kick off the morning”

Sabrina giggled softly, collecting her bag and slipping on her shoes.

“Really though, let me know if you need help with anything else, I’d be glad too.  More than glad, even” She wandered to her closet to grab her own shoes, muttering a spell that brushed her hair clean of tangles.  “I have to get going, I’m supposed to meet Nick for breakfast”

Sabrina nodded with a grin spreading across her red painted lips.  “Like a date?”

“Oh, no, Nick and I are just friends,” (y/n) explained like it was obvious.  She gathered her spellbooks in her bag.  “We have been since I started coming here” She added, a lively smile on her lips as Sabrina stalled by the door to listen some more.

“He’s the one that taught you how to deal with demons like that, isn’t he?” She asked, and (y/n) nodded her head from side to side.

“More or less,” She answered.  “He definitely has rubbed off on me though”

“Can I ask you something? Kinda… personal?” Sabrina asked, and (y/n) nodded, brows knitting together.

“Yeah, sure, what is it?”

“Do you… trust him? You know after all that stuff with the Weird Sisters he just seems… I can’t find the right words I’m sorry-”

“No, I know what you mean,” (y/n) said carefully.  “I do, trust him,” She told her.  “It took a while, if I’m being honest,”

The girls walked out of the room together, (y/n) locking up as they wandered through the halls of the Academy of the Unseen Arts.

“But he proved himself, time and time again, and we’ve been so close for so long now I… I couldn’t imagine not having him in my life.  He’s my best friend, and most trusted confidant”

“That’s sweet.  I’m surprised you two haven’t ended up together”

“I hear that a lot,” (y/n) chuckled.  “One time an underclassman witch came up to me to tell me how lucky I am that I have Nicholas Scratch on my arm” Sabrina giggled.

“They must all be incredibly jealous of you, (y/n)” Sabrina mused.  (y/n) looked over at her with a slight smirk on her lips as she casually shrugged a shoulder.

“It is amusing, but it gets tiring after a while.  You’d be surprised how many witches have weakly threatened me”

They came up on the grand dining room, where Nick was sat at his and (y/n’s) usual table, reading something.  But he still caught sight of her walking in, and she waved towards him before turning to bid farewell to Sabrina.

“Remember to come to me if you need to,” She said, taking her hands.  “My door is always open for you”

“And mine to you,” Sabrina agreed with a bright smile.  “Or just if you want to cause some heavenly chaos, or for coffee”

“You’re wicked, Sabrina Spellman” (y/n) winked, before saying goodbye and heading over to Nick while Sabrina went back to her own room.

The warlock looked at her questioningly, closing his book and setting it aside to give her all of his attention.

“What was that all about?” He asked her.

“Sabrina and I had some demons to summon and banish” She answered more nonchalantly than the average person would have.  Not that see was average, not even for a witch.

“Conjuring? At nine in the morning?” He asked with hilarity in his tone.  “Well aren’t you a busy witch?”

“I keep myself occupied,” She replied.  “Did you order-?”

“Already have, your favorite, by the way” He said smugly.

“Oh? And that would be…?”

He gave his answer, that proud smirk still stuck on his face.  (y/n) quirked an eyebrow, almost testing him, but smiled as she shook her head and decided against it.

“Lucky guess” She thought aloud.

“Perhaps, or perhaps I just know you that well,” He said, and his smirk only seemed to widen.  “Anyways, how did the banishing go, were you direct like I said?”

“Absolutely.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been so assertive in my life” She answered with a slight laugh.

“I’m certain it was a sight to see,” Nick said.  “Had I been invited, I’m certain I would have been proud.  But, I wasn’t invited”

“Are you jealous of me conjuring without you?” (y/n) teased, a large grin on her face.  Nick rolled his eyes, and was lucky that there food appeared in front of them from the magic waitstaff.

“Ah, perfect timing,” He said with a sly grin, making (y/n) shake her head before beginning to eat.  “I heard a rumor that the Weird Sisters are seeing someone new”

(y/n) hummed, pretending to be too focused on cutting a piece of her breakfast to show any more interest.

“Well I thought you’d find that more interesting, striking, seeing as the last time they were all involved with someone-”

“-it was you?” (y/n) finished for him, holding up her fork as she spoke, a piece of chocolate.  “Yes, fascinating, truly” She added dryly.

Nick rose his brows, abandoning his food as he folded his hands on top of the table, leaning forward as he watched her, rather aggressively, eat.

“Is everything alright, (y/n)?”

“Oh, absolutely, this is delicious” She answered, avoiding what he’d truly meant.

“Right,” He said unsurely, watching her carefully as she avoided his eyes.  “Are you sure, though? You seem… off” He asked again, much slower this time.  (y/n’s) eyes snapped up to his, stalling in her movements in cutting up more of her food.

“Absolutely” She repeated, a grand, fake smile on her lips.  “Would I lie to you, Nicholas?”

“Yes, on numerous occasions, (y/l/n).  You told me you didn’t spike my drink-”

“Well, you needed to lighten up, I did you a favor”

“Just a month ago you told me you wouldn’t get involved with the Greendale Thirteen and then you show up at that mortal boy’s home-”

“-to protect you, and Greendale,” (y/n) corrected.  “I’ve only ever lied to you for your own good, truly” She told him with a shrug of her shoulder.

“And so are you lying now?”

Her eyes narrowed a bit at him, before she set her fork down calmly and grabbed her purse.

“I almost forgot, I have a study session” She told him, and Nick’s head shook, confused.  She’d told him just last night she was free all morning to have breakfast with him.

“(y/n), what the Heaven is going-”

“Lanuae magicae” She muttered, her hands crossing over themselves, ring fingers curled and in an instant, she’d teleported away.

Nick cursed, slamming his own fork down, before taking his book and storming away from the commissary.

“Satan below!” (y/n) cursed when she couldn’t scrub away some of the white chalk that covered her floorboards.  If any higher witch or warlock were to see this, she’d likely be suspended for conjuring without warrant.

It took three different incantation attempts to get it to go away.  And when it finally did, she wanted to collapse of absolute fatigue.  It was the middle of the afternoon, and yet, she was convinced she could go to bed right at this moment.

She settled for resting and reading in a new book, that she’d found, coincidentally, in a mortal bookshop, in the town of Greendale.  It was a history, of sorts.  Witch history.

She was just starting to get into the Salem Witch Trials, eager and awake again with excitement for the story, but there was a knock on the door.

“(y/n)?”

Nicholas.

She rolled her eyes, leaving her book open on her bed to go open the door.

He looked nice, wearing a black button down and slacks, his hair all curly and pretty looking, and-

“Hey,” He greeted as mellow as he could, but of course she saw right through it.  She knew him better than anybody.  “Are you busy?”

(y/n) looked back at her book, then back to him.  “Yeah” She answered bluntly.

“Too busy to… go into Greendale with me?” He asked.  He looked nervous, but there was still a smile on his face.  “Maybe to that weird diner?”

“Nick I’m kind of in the middle of-”

“(y/n),” He stepped forward, taking her hands in his, making her look down at them, then back to him in surprise.  “I want to take you… on a date…” He trailed off, hoping she would say something.  But she blinked, staring at him owlishly, and silently.  “(y/n)?”

“Nicholas… I-I… I don’t know what to say,” She stammered, still staring at him.  Her hands, which were still in his, absolutely stiff.  “I don’t, um, I don’t… feel that way… for you” She mumbled.

Nick’s brows drew together as his lips pulled into a foolish smile.  He didn’t believe her.

“(y/n), we both know-”

“Don’t, Nick” She said seriously, she blinked a few times, willing away the tears that were pricking her eyes.  He let go of her hands, just to cup them around her face, smiling down at her.

“We both know,” He repeated.  “You and I? We’re something… and I want to know what”

“No, Nick, I can’t” Her voice was failing her.

“I’m in love with you”

She sniffled slightly, shutting her eyes so that she didn’t have to look at him.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t feel the same way”

Her inhale of breath was shaky, desperate not to begin to cry.

“I-I can’t Nick, okay? I can’t, and that’s it”

His features fell, once hopeful, now at a loss for words.  For a moment there, he’d thought he’d had her, thought he’d convinced her.  She finally opened her eyes, tearful and disappointed.

“You should go,” (y/n) mumbled, taking his wrists, and pulling his hands off her face.  “I… I have reading to do…” She stepped back into her room, while Nick still stood in the hall, looking hopeless, and confused.

“You’re lying to yourself, and I know that” He told her, and she could hear the heartbreak in his voice.

“Bye, Nick” She whispered, before shutting the door.

Once she knew he was gone, and couldn’t hear her, she began to weep quietly.  Curling back up in bed and forgetting about the Salem Witch Trials.

“Would you mind if I sit with you?”

Sabrina looked up from her notebook, the quick writing she was doing stalling when she saw (y/n) standing there, lunch in hand.  Something was wrong.

“Of course,” The white haired witch answered.  “You’d be the first to ask in a long time”

(y/n) chuckled faintly, but it was forced, and painful.  She sat down, barely making eye contact, and barely picking at her food.

“Is something going on with Nicholas?” Sabrina asked.

“You can tell?”

The white haired witch winced and nodded.  “You look pretty shaken up, and you always sit with him… and… there’s a mascara stain under your eye there”

(y/n) quickly took the sleeve of her black dress and wiped it away, before laughing bitterly.

“Yeah… I guess it’s obvious” She muttered, staring down at the lunch she knew that she wouldn’t even touch.

“What happened? Just yesterday you guys were… having breakfast”

“He… he loves me,” She whispered, and Sabrina looked shocked, but there was a smile on her face.  “He said he was in love with me”

“(y/n/n), that’s wonderful,” She spoke dreamily.  “What the Heaven happened?”

“I-” (y/n) couldn’t get herself to form the right words, and she began to feel her throat burn and tighten.  “I was scared”

The word came out in a whimper, and (y/n) held a hand over her mouth.  Sabrina reached over the table and took her other hand.

“Scared? Of what?” Sabrina asked.  “Of Nick?”

“Of not being enough,” (y/n) explained.  “After his involvement with the Sisters I just… I don’t know how I could ever… I just don’t think I could…” As she trailed off, she stared downwards at the table.  “I don’t think I could be enough for him”

“Oh, (y/n),” Sabrina sighed, taking both her hands and holding them tightly.  “I’m absolutely, positively sure that that is simply not true,” She argued.  “If he loves you, truly, completely, then you will be more than enough, and no one else would even come close, even make him question how much you mean to him”

It was a lot to take in, but (y/n) nodded, albeit unsurely.

“Look, (y/n), even if you don’t believe that, I’ve seen you two together.  There’s no denying that there’s something between you, it’s almost palpable, the bond you share”

(y/n) was quiet, but nodded again.

“I think you should talk to him” She suggested softly.

“I don’t think I could.  I made a fool of myself, Sabrina, and forced him away,” She admitted weakly.  “I would surely just upset him, if not myself-”

“Try,” Sabrina pressed on.  “Just try, what’ve you to lose?”

“Well, nothing, now” She muttered back.

“Then you must try, he’s hurting too”

(y/n) quickly composed herself, wiping at her eyes and steadying her breathing until her throat no longer burned.  Sabrina was right, she did need to try.  Nick was important to her, and enough so that she needed to fight for.

“Nicholas!” She was pounding on his door, even though he was probably asleep, and she was probably waking up each dorm in the hall, but she didn’t really care.  “Nicholas Scratch if you don’t open the door I’ll just teleport inside!”

The door finally opened, and boy, did he look more of a mess than she’d ever seen.  His hair was a mess, his eyes were red like he’d been crying, and there were wrinkles in his usually nice and pressed black shirt.

“To be truthful, which I wasn’t before,” (y/n) began to speak before she could get swallowed up by nerves.  “I was scared.  You-you terrified me, and I’ve never felt that way before, about anything, much less anyone”

Nick just looked dazed as he spoke, “You’re scared of me?”

“No,” (y/n) answered in a breath, a smile pulling on her lips.  “I was scared of not being enough, Nick, I was scared of you realizing that at some point, I just won’t suit you anymore, and you’ll want to move on to someone better, prettier, more powerful.  I was scared you would wind up leaving me for the Weird Sisters, or someone else, I don’t know,”

She was rambling now, desperate to tell him everything, all at once, even if it was jumbled and didn’t make sense.

“My point is, I lied, and I was pretending not to feel anything.  The truth is I do have feelings for you, Heaven, I love you too, Nick, and I was afraid I’d lose you if I acted on it-”

“(y/l/n), you’re a fool,” He told her, tugging her inside and shutting the door, practically cornering her against it.  “You’re an absolute fool, you think I could ever leave you? Even if I did go looking for someone better, I’d die a lost and idiotic man, because it doesn’t exist”

A breath of a laugh passed her lips as she smiled up at him, glorious tears in her eyes as he took her face in his hands, just like he had a few days ago when he’d begged her to admit the truth.  She knew now that she really was  fool to let him walk away.

“If I’m a fool you’re a hopeless romantic, Nicholas Scratch” She murmured as she looked up at him.  He grinned down at her, thumbs stroking along her cheekbone as his eyes searched hers, only to find joy and love.

Without further hesitation, he leaned down and collided their lips in a fiery kiss of sheer passion and lust.  (y/n’s) arms wound around his neck to keep her grounded as she kissed him back, before Nick lifted her up by her hips, making her wrap her legs around his hips as he pressed her against the door to keep their faces level.  She smiled at him for only a short moment as they caught their breath, and the next kiss he gave her was soft, and sweet.

“I’m not leaving you, (y/l/n),” He murmured against her lips as he carried her away from the door.  “You’re not losing me”

She felt him lay her down onto the bed gently, before roaming over her, hands on either side of her head, one leg between hers and the other on the other side.  She smiled up at him, nervously, lovingly.

“I would hope not” She whispered, before taking his chin in her hand and pulling his lips down to meet hers once more.

taglist: @reblogserpent @strawberryfields-forever

xoxo ~ jordie

[onwardintolight]

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

~~~

Puffy clouds of rose gold melted into orange, and violet striations marked the sky as if placed there by brushstroke. It was dawn, and the city in the clouds shone with reflected colors as the Falcon finally made its approach.

Leia’s breath would have caught at Bespin’s extraordinary beauty if it hadn’t already been shallow with worry.

Two small ships with twin pods, presumably from the Cloud City security force, flanked their side threateningly. A curt voice came over the comm.

“No, I don’t have a landing permit,” Han repeated. Annoyance filled his voice as he slowed down his enunciation in an effort to get the message across. “I’m trying to reach Lando Calrissian!”

Without warning, the Falcon jolted as the cloud cars fired on them. Leia sucked in a breath, alarmed at the unexpected escalation. Great, she thought.

“Wait a minute!” yelled Han into the comm. “Let me explain!”

“You will not deviate from your present course,” said the voice.

“Rather touchy, aren’t they?” remarked Threepio as he stood behind Chewie.

Leia glanced at Han. “I thought you knew this person.”

«You think he’s still angry at us for leaving him during that job on Socorro?» Chewie asked.

“Well, that was a long time ago; I’m sure he’s forgotten about that,” Han muttered.

Leia was not comforted. She glared at Han, biting her tongue to avoid saying something she would regret.

“Permission granted to land on Platform Three-Two-Seven,” one of their escorts said.

“Thank you!” Han growled. He paused, sensing Leia’s spiraling unease. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he insisted. “We go way back, Lando and me.”

“Who’s worried?” Leia replied dryly.

Following the cloud cars, they wove through the orange twilight into the still-shadowed city. Lights gleamed out of a hundred towers. Cloud City’s people were awakening and beginning their day; she could see their silhouettes in the windows as they passed, moving here and there. Homing in on the landing platform they were being directed towards, Han and Chewie began the landing cycle, and soon, for the first time in three weeks, they were on the ground. The sigh of the ship as it came to rest had a certain air of finality to it.

Wordlessly, the four of them rose and headed towards the boarding ramp, strapping on their weapons as they went. Han stopped her on the way, taking hold of her shoulders. “It’ll be all right,” he murmured. “I promise.” He gave her a quick kiss; she suspected it was as much to reassure himself as it was her.  She wanted to believe his words, but every sense was on edge, the warning klaxons in her head growing steadily louder. This was not helped by the fact that when they descended the boarding ramp, they found only shut doors and an eerie silence.

“Oh! No one to meet us,” Threepio exclaimed.

Leia shook her head, stopping at the bottom of the ramp. “I don’t like this.”

“Well, what would you like?” Han turned around to face her, exasperation finally getting the better of him.

“They did let us land,” the droid commented.

“Look, don’t worry,” Han said, reaching out a hand to pacify her. “Everything’s going to be fine; trust me.”

Leia set her lips in a straight line. Before she could reply, however, they heard the unmistakable sound of a door sliding open. Turning to look down the length of the platform, they saw two people—one of whom wore a cape—consulting with each other in the doorway before walking out onto the platform, followed by a cadre of guards.

“See? My friend,” Han said. Taking two steps forward, he paused by Chewie. “Keep your eyes open, huh?” he muttered to the Wookiee before striding out to meet the approaching party. “Hey!” he called, spreading out his arms in welcome.

The caped man, leading the group, did not do the same. “Why, you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler!” he said coldly. “You’ve got a lot of guts coming here, after what you pulled.”

«Uh-oh,» growled Chewie.

The man approached Han. Without warning, he lunged—except it turned into a hug instead. He started laughing. “How’re you doing, you old pirate? So good to see you!” His tone had completely changed. “I never thought I’d get to see you again! Where’ve you been?” At a signal from his aide, who appeared to be a cyborg, the guards left.

«Just like old times!» Chewie remarked cheerfully.

“He seems very friendly!” said Threepio.

“Yes,” grumbled Leia. “Very friendly.” She followed the other two as they went to to join Han in the middle of the platform.

“What are you doing here?” Lando was still quizzing Han.

“Repairs. I thought you could help me out.”

Lando frowned. “What have you done to my ship?”



“Your ship? Hey, remember you lost her to me fair and square.”

“And how are you doing, Chewbacca?” Lando turned to greet the Wookiee. “You still hangin’ around with this loser?”

«Better than hanging around with you!» Chewie teased, though Leia didn’t think Lando could understand him.

All of a sudden, Lando’s attention was entirely on her. “Hello, what have we here?” he crooned.

Leia bit back her anger at being called a “what.” Just… give him a chance, she told herself. Maybe he’s not so different from Han.

“Welcome! I’m Lando Calrissian, the administrator of this facility. And who might you be?”

“Leia.” She forced a smile, and the once-scoundrel bent down to kiss her hand. Her eyes met Han’s; she saw a flash of jealousy there, which made her feel rather gratified.

“All right, all right,” Han said good-naturedly, grabbing Leia’s hand as he moved between them and escorted her towards the door. “You old smoothie!” She smiled, the tension that had been building for days finally beginning to melt into the background. Whatever lay ahead, they would at least have a day or two together in this beautiful city. She intended to enjoy it to the fullest of her ability.

____

Lando led them through the elegant, curved white halls of Cloud City. There were picturesque plazas and beautiful works of art seemingly around every bend, and with a pang, Leia realized it reminded her of home.

There were no dark, foggy rooms in sight.

“How’s the gas mine?” Han was asking Lando. “Is it paying off for you?”

“Oh, not as well as I’d like,” he answered. “We’re a small outpost and not very self-sufficient. And I’ve had supply problems of every kind. I’ve had labor difficulties—what’s so funny?”

Han was laughing. “You! Listen to you. You sound like a businessman, a responsible leader. Who would have thought that, huh?”

Lando seemed pleased at the backhanded compliment. He stopped, turning to face his old friend. “You know, seeing you sure brings back a few things.”

“Yeah.” Han put a hand on his shoulder.

They shared a meaningful look, then Lando led them on. “Yeah, I’m responsible these days.”

Han glanced back, catching Leia’s eyes. She smiled at him and nodded her approval. There was something about Lando’s charm that made her uncomfortable, but setting that aside, he really did seem decent and respectable. See? she told herself. Han’s right. You need to stop worrying.

“…it’s the price you pay for being successful,” Lando continued, and he and Han shared a laugh.

Lando pointed out potential places of interest as they passed: restaurants, shops, entertainment. Han and Leia’s eyes slid towards each other again. Her mind wandered, imagining her hand in his as they enjoyed a dinner under the light of candledroids or attended a play in the Nabooian theater.

Their guest suite was at the top of a central tower, not far from the landing platform. It consisted of a circular lounging chamber from which other rooms branched off. On one side of the chamber was a great, long window with a spectacular view over the city; on the other side were several doors leading to a breakfast room, a refresher, a smaller second lounge, and a bedroom with its own private refresher.

Lando had taken his leave after showing them to their suite, but not before offering to provide them with anything that would make their stay more comfortable. Leia requested some fresh clothes, and soon several elegant and perfectly fitted gowns were brought up along with a hammock for Chewie, which he hung up in the second lounge.

After hanging up her clothes, Leia took a closer look at the bedroom. In the middle of the chamber was a very large bed with impossibly soft-looking pillows and silky sheets. When was the last time she had slept in a proper bed? She imagined curling up next to Han on it, drifting off to sleep.

Of course, there were… other possibilities such a bed could offer. Possibilities that were highly tempting. She swallowed hard. Suddenly, she felt much more uncertain about her decisions.

Hearing a sound behind her, she turned to find Han, staring at the bed with a similar expression. His eyes flickered up and found hers. For one long moment they gazed at each other in silence.

Leia bit her lip. “Han….” she trailed off.

He swallowed. Then blinking, he squared his shoulders. “Uh, Chewie ’n me are gonna go back and get our travel bags from the Falcon.”



Leia nodded, shaking off her thoughts. She followed him back out into the main lounge and quickly began making a checklist of things for them to bring back from the ship.

After a moment, she stopped short, frowning. Something didn’t feel right. Her eyes darted around the room, a sinking feeling in her heart. “Where’s Threepio?”