#might just fuck around and stay up out of sheer spite from my body

[sun-spice]

DP Corpse AU where Danny is like fuck it and scares the shit out of an embalmer by popping up out of nowhere in the middle of the night.

Mild body horror and slight dead body nitty-gritty, non-graphic.

"Jesus, fuck! You nearly scared me onto this table, kid. You can't be in here."

"I was wondering if you could embalm me?"

"You're welcome to put my name in your will but you really can't--"

"No I mean like right now. I'll even pay you."

And so Danny (reluctantly) explains his situation how he's Phantom and he's sort of puppeting around his corpse and his family don't even know he's dead. The embalmer gives him a hug. Huh, that's very nice he doesn't realise how touched starved he's been recently.

"Wait, you're a Fenton right, don't your parents hunt you???"

"Yeah."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah."

He wants to get embalmed because he thinks his body is decomposing because he has rigor mortis, but when he says this the other just squints at him and inhales deeply, looking contemplative.

"How long have you been dead?"

"About 6 months."

"How long has the rigor mortis been going on for?"

"Same time."

The embalmer laughs. "Yeah no, I don't think you're decomposing actually, nor that embalming is going to be a good idea."

Turns out that Danny's body is in some sort stasis where it's not decaying (ectoplasm keeps his cells from dying and killed his gut microbes and is working as the weirdest immune system ever) but it's also not working right. He can sort of willfully turn his cells off and on and make them duplicate to heal but his cells still don't work right.

The embalmer gives him a physical exam to the best of their ability and while his circulatory system is caput (how is he maintaining thermostasis?? He doesn't. How is he moving his muscles?? Ectoplasm mostly. How does he dialate his eyes? Sheer spite.) he still uses his lungs to ventilate and talk. His digestive system is an absolute mess and Danny won't lie he's kind of thought of just ripping it out entirely. He doesn't produce saliva so has to eat with a lot of water. He uses a ridiculous amount of eye drops and his pharmacist is probably extremely concerned.

Embalmer says there might be something they can do to help but they need more info (and a microscope) first. You have more than one microscope at home? Can you nick it? Epic, come back tomorrow.

Turns out Danny can't leave his body for more than a week straight or he starts to actually decompose. That's good to know.

They end up replacing his blood ("not with a formaldehyde mixture! Good luck moving with that in you.") with something that doesn't clot. "Be careful when you get cut." Then they remove most of his digestive system, close the bottom of his stomach, and then replace his organs with implant grade rough duplicates. To get rid of what he eats he has to use his intangibility and a lot of water. He's thankfully osmosed a lot of chemial engineering and can help manufacture some heavier duty lubricants in eye drops and drink form. He's then advised to steal as many topical painkillers and moisturisers as he can get his hands on. "Stick it to big pharma kid, stick it." The embalmer buys him a mortuary makeup kit that doesn't need body heat to set. apparently adding some colour to your hands, ears, neck and face can go a long way to making you appear alive.

"Come back for check ups and if you ever need a place to stay my door's open. And if you ever decide you want to a funeral or a burial you know who to ask."

If Danny could still produce tears he would cry but as it is he just nods with a shaky grateful smile and gets another hug.

And that's how Danny acquires the most unlikely general physician ever. Frostbite is just glad he's not doing his own human sutures anymore.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt 11

Alright! Let’s do this!

If you’re new around here you can find the first chapter [here] or if you just want a refresher you can find the previous chapter [here!]

Summary: Like most plans Remus and Janus’s have, this one starts off really great!

Word Count: 13351

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

“I fucking hate you,” Virgil snarls under his breath, as Remus (lightly) shoves him in the direction he needs to walk. He’d given up kicking and screaming about seven blocks and ten subway stops ago, after Remus had (not lightly) acquainted a concerned citizen who had stopped them with his fist, but Remus thinks he might have still been (very not lightly) biting out of sheer spite , if it weren’t for the cute little face mask Remus shoved on his face before manhandling the reporter out of his own apartment. 

“You and Janus can rot in fucking hell together, assholes!”

“I love when you talk dirty to me, honey,” Remus says to him, grinning with all his teeth on display, sharp and pointed and freshly brushed with Virgil’s own shitty Aquafresh toothpaste that tasted like every type of bad mint flavor put together as a brilliant new torture method. “Now keep quiet and be more scared.”

“I should have just fucking killed you, you motherfucking, insane— ”

Remus pinches him sharply in the side as a warning and his clever and completely accurate description yelps off into some even more creative swears.

Honestly, Remus would have loved to hear the rest of Virgil’s thoughts about him. It had been interesting to watch Virgil lose every ounce of his respect for Remus as Janus had started laying out the details of his plan; Interesting in the same way Remus thinks that watching someone perform an autopsy on his still-living body might be interesting, in the way that being buried alive in wet cement might be interesting, in the way that naming each piranha that takes a bite out of his limbs migh13t be interesting. 

As far as plans that Janus had, this was shaping up to be one of Remus’s favorites already. The details were tedious and extensive, much more than Janus’s plans usually were, although with the way that Janus kept glancing at Remus throughout it Remus could understand why he was going so overboard with their timeline and plannings. The usual safety net they operated with (aka Remus’s fucked up power) was showing to have some decently large holes in it and those weren’t just put there with Roman’s shitty Probability scam. 

Virgil’s face had gone from pale to deathly pale to walking corpse pale in the matter of minutes.

Apparently not only watching Remus nod along to Fun Ideas, but also listening to Remus contribute to what is Absolutely the Best Idea They Have Ever Had was where Virgil had drawn his line in the sand and refused to cross it. But that was okay.

Virgil’s role did not exactly include him needing to be cooperative with it. Which Janus had planned for. Because he was amazing and Remus was in love.

And while part of Remus (the same part that still loved Roman for no reason, the same part that urged him to call his mother no matter how much it would hurt, the same part that was very clearly sadistic and wanted him dead in the slowest most painful ways) was rejoicing at things going back to normal, the vast majority of his psyche that wasn’t already busy swooning over how normal Janus had looked waking up in the bed next to Remus, was mourning the loss of that good happy ending for him, Janus, and Virgil that had almost seemed possible for a whole, entire second.

Remus kinda hates himself for thinking it could have been a thing, for scanning through Janus’s face to wonder if he also felt like they had taken all the wrong turns and missed the exit to that future where Virgil stays with them, chooses them, believes that together they have something that’s worth all the scary parts for.

“Remus— Remus wait— please you don’t have to do this— ” Virgil starts again, barely more than a murmur over the crowd that is around the target building. He digs his heels into the ground, but Remus just drags him along, elbowing their way through the thickets of people that apparently have nowhere else better to be and nothing better to do than gawk. The cameras are flashing, reporters from all the local news stations and a few national ones talking over each other, poster wavers protesting and applauding just about everything that can be protested and applauded, and despite it all, no one stops Remus or Virgil.

No one even looks at them twice.

“Listen to me, dickhead! There’s still time to turn back and tell Janus he can— ”

Remus’s skin feels like it might be radioactive, like he’s glowing, burning, bristling and boiling all at once and there’s not a single person who knows it. The last time he was in a crowd, it nearly killed him without anyone ever knowing what sort of things he could do, what sort of liar Roman could be, what sort of tragedy had bleed from their veins onto a car hood at 3AM.

The noise vibrates through his soul, into his bones, into his blood and it prickles the back of his neck in the way that a baby bird might get right before it’s sucked into the jet engine turbine of an economy class passenger plane.

He grips Virgil’s shoulder tightly, like a tether, pushing him along so that if Remus gets swallowed, Virgil will be right there with him. For better or worse or Death. 

“Oh my god!” Someone right next to them says, her camera inches from Remus’s face, sparkly nails glittering in the rare sun, right as he gets near the front of the line— because there’s a fucking line, jeez—  elbowing at least six people who didn’t have the brains to not be outside right now. “You’re that guy! Oh my god, you’re— !”

Last time he was in a crowd, they didn’t know who Remus was. This time the crowd is going to learn how to mind their fucking manners.

“Hey Roman!” Remus yells, dragging Virgil right in front of himself. “KNOCK KNOCK, MOTHER FUCKER!”

He gets maybe a second to see Roman’s face, the way his eyes jerk up on instinct at the sound of his name, the way that his mask hides most of his expression but not enough because he sees Remus and his mouth open in a rounded ‘o’ shape and his hand shifts to his rapier handle and, and, and. 

And then Remus is shoving his boot into Virgil’s back and kicking his hostage directly in Roman, and sending them both through the propped open doors of the grand, sparkling Public Library that the FBE had commandeered.

“This party looks boring,” Remus says loud and clear and maybe a little too excited for the flashing cameras and the screaming fans and the fight as he stands at the top of the flight of  old granite stairs. “Don’t worry, I brought some toys to spice it up!”

The news reporters surge like a tidal wave, the citizens stir up in the whirlpool of noise and signs. The police were already on site, keeping the nice little barrier between the building and the crowd so that brave souls could walk up to greet their grand hero, but the police saw Remus go toe-to-toe with Roman and everyone remembers that it ended with Remus holding a gun to Roman’s begging face.

The fear that wafts off them tastes like tear gas and his own burnt flesh. 

Behind him, further in the building was already a commotion as Virgil hit the ground limbs tangled in Roman’s, scrambling away the best he can when his arms are tied behind his back with a truly insulting amount of duct tape—Janus had found it in one of the drawers in Virgil’s kitchen while Remus had held him down with a great deal more delight than he should have had. The tumble probably left him with spotted bruises, maybe a sprained wrist, but it doesn’t matter much because the farther back he tosses himself with reckless abandon leaves him crashing into Zeal as well.

Patton Hart. The name sounds made up, bizarre and foreign in the way that Remus can’t explain so matter how long he spends staring at the high school picture online. He looks like someone, and also like no one; a combination of every friend that had chosen Roman over Remus and somehow that makes Remus feel absolutely nothing at all.

Patton melds out of the bookshelves and crowd like some concerned civilian and not someone who would commit war crimes if he was told not to think too much about it. Virgil lands almost completely in Patton’s arms, throwing all his weight into him, because he figured out about twelve hours ago that Remus is far more insane than the heathen who wears socks with sandals and shoots down innocent people during a riot.

Roman barely manages to roll back to his feet before Remus is strolling towards him grinning in a way that makes the handful of privately hired guards that were “helping” provide security to such a high profile location train their guns on him. They’re stationed strategically around the building, in more places than Janus had predicted: four along the back wall flagging the large stained glass windows, three at the check-in counters with the “doctors” two on either side of the main doors and another two on the mezzanine level above. It’s enough to make people think twice about causing trouble. There were probably more in the conference rooms where the actual testing was going on but those weren’t Remus’s concern.

They would have...other problems soon if they weren’t already facing them now.

Just like Janus said, none of these hired guards would dare start the fight themselves; not without Roman acting first, not without certainty that Remus would go down without a problem. 

And considering how the last fight almost ended (back before Remus had even a theory of what Roman’s power was), if Remus had been in their boots he’d be scared too. He’d be terrified of what a monster a Sibyl could be, what types of things they could know about him, what types of futures they’d woven out of existence. The fear would clot in his arteries until he was unable to so much as twitch his finger to pull the trigger.

“HELP! SOMEONE, HELP!” Virgil screams, hints of his sonic power turning the air to static around them. “HE’S GOT A BOMB!”

Oh, yeah. And there’s that too.

((Remus is twenty one. He’s seen people shriek over thousands of dollars worth of casino coins spilling across a playing table, seen people scream over a flambeed corpse exploding out of a jewelry shop without warning, seen people screech over a body falling from a balcony onto a car windshield at 3AM, seen people panic in a riot started on a stage by a careless superhero; and still somehow the pitch of the yelling and chaos nearly catches him off guard, reaching a crescendo that even violins in a classical symphony in a stolen car in a future that Remus didn’t choose failed to top.))

Roman stutters in his steps, unsure and doubtful and Remus shimmies his hands into the air, clearly showing off the one empty hand and the other very much full hand, spreading his jacket open so that everyone can see the vest he put together late last night, between pressing kisses into Janus’s mouth just because he could.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says loudly and proudly and completely unhinged in every way that everyone who ever knew him had expected him to turn out. His hands aren’t shaking but he thinks they should be absolutely quivering with the urge to ruin the surprise before anyone’s properly had time to be scared, before Roman’s had a chance to dig his own grave, before Remus has been able regret not kissing Janus one more time. 

There’s a guard to his left, finger on the trigger, mouth in a firm line think, think, thinking. 

Remus beams. “You aren’t going to like what happens if you take that shot. Even in your best dreams, Princey boy can only maybe save a few of you and even then the building is firewood. That’s the problem with old places like this.”

He can’t see their eyes from under their visors— these faceless, emotionless people who could be anyone and anything from Remus’s own mother to Kyle from that casino who never found out that Remus’s bites when he kisses— but the stiff lines of their mouths make it clear they at least aren’t as trigger happy as the police were during the riot. The emblem on their shoulders is strange and threatening and very much not a good sign according to Janus: the white lotus flower looks very out of place on the deep navy blue padding and creates an interesting dichotomy to their violent, deadly weapons. Remus stares them down with his best smile. 

“But hey, I mean a 60:40 split ain’t bad!” he says. “There’s what, twenty people in here? That means about 12 people get out and the rest of us get to have an explosive end to all our days! A real bang! But of all the ways to go, I can tell you being blown up is pretty lame. Personal experience talking here: it’s over far too quickly for anyone to properly scream about it!”

“REMUS!” 

There was a time when Remus was six-seven-eight years old and the sound of Roman yelling his name meant that it was going to be a good day. There was a time when Remus was nine-ten-eleven and believed Roman called his name from love, that it was them against the world, that when Remus had nothing he would still have the brother he refused to let leave him behind. There was a time when Remus was seventeen years old and Remus would have given anything for Roman to say his name the way he used to and all he got was “I don’t need you!”

This is none of those times and Remus feels the ache of the years apart like a physical pressure in the air. Roman is there— Remus’s neck cracks when he turns his head to look at his twin— looking just the same as he was a few days ago: like a cartoon character pulled into the real world with only one obnoxiously white outfit that makes him memorable and wounds that don’t stick past a few audience laughs. Topped with a red mask, red boots, red sash— red like the blood in both their veins that doesn’t have a single difference because they both have superpowers and Remus never should have been treated differently and Why is it so hard to just believe me for once?

There’s no hints of the wounds that Remus left on him: no bandages on his forehead from the gash that had bled over his eyes, no bruising from Remus’s shoe going into his cheek, no scratch marks or scuffs on his clothes to suggest that they had ever been in a fight. Almost as if Roman would tell him that the fight a million cameras caught and streamed nationwide had never happened at all and Remus was just sick.

“And if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Remus calls with enough bite that the room seems to chill. “Hiya, Ro! Can I just say, congratulations on day three of trending on Twitter! The number two spot isn’t bad; although you aren’t used to being number two, are you? I know I’m not used to being number one!”

“Are you insane?!” Roman snaps out. His hair is gelled today, although his quick tumble knocked a bit of it out of place, so he looks like Baby’s First Prom Night With A Girl Who Asked Him Out As A Joke That He Still Thinks Is Genuine. The white of his outfit is offensive on all levels, the red accents just enough of a shade off from blood red that Remus wants to fix it for him by actually making him bleed! The golden tip of his rapier is out and ready for a fight but even with the long range, Remus is hilariously out of reach.

Maybe if Remus had come in with a gun, with a sword, with a knife or a smoke grenade it would have been a good fight, a good chance to bash his head in again and figure out if he would feel bad about Roman dying after all.

But that’s the beauty of how Janus’s mind works isn’t it? He almost laughs. 

“Didn’t we already cover this conversation, Roman?” He asks, grandly. “Come on, it's like you don’t know me at all!”

He sweeps his hands in the air, watching the way that Roman’s eyes track the remote in his hand with a focus and intensity that borders on panic. The ridiculous mask on his face might be enough to keep the public in the dark about his inner thoughts, but Remus could read Roman like a picture book: creased lips hiding the way he’s nearly biting his tongue to remind himself to keep a calm face, wrinkle between his eyes that point to him running through all the different way that he might be able to save the day heroically, a twitch of his hands that imply he’s still not very good at following directions.

At the very least Patton is keeping an eye on the crowd (twenty, Remus thinks, all with various powers or weapons and all nervous and unsure about how this is about to go and who are about to be tested in ways they have never been prepared for) that they have trapped in the building, keeping them calm with low toned orders of back up! and we’ll handle this! We’re professionals! Virgil seems all too happy to have someone else handle things: even with his hands still bound he has no problem melding back with the other hostages, still struggling at the duct tape, out of sight and out of mind. Roman doesn’t even flick his eyes over to check on any of them, as if he could magically make Remus forget anyone other than him exists through sheer force of a stare.

It feels ridiculously familiar, in the painful, stabbing way that everything that reminds him of their childhood feels painful. If he blinks at the wrong second, Remus will wake up and find himself on the school playground again after he told the wrong kid to stop running before he ends up slamming his head on the asphalt and that kid decided to take offense with Remus’s face for it.

Remus doesn’t remember the name of that kid anymore, or their hair color, the sound of their voice or the feel of their tiny stupid fist or what shards of his skull Remus had gotten to see. He remembers that Roman hadn’t been there when all the other kids had started backing up and watching with excitement that someone was finally, finally going to shut Remus up and none of the teachers stepped in until the fifth fist had landed. 

He wonders if somewhere out there that kid without a name is maybe realizing that Remus wasn’t lying about seeing him die. He wonders if that kid would feel sorry about punching him until the teachers had to pry him off Remus. He wonders if Roman really did feel sorry about not stopping it like how he had said he felt when he was helping Remus press ice packs to his body afterwards. 

He wonders if Roman remembers that day at all.

“Remus,” Roman says. “Give me the switch. Please.”

“So polite,” Remus croons.

“Remus, you don’t need to blow yourself up— ”

Remus laughs. “Oh this?” Remus says waving to his vest. “Nah, this was just for laughs. I had some Christmas lights around…You know! Reusing! I care a lot about the environment. My whole outfit is completely thrifted except for the parts that are not! But no, the real bombs are up there.”

It doesn’t take anyone more than a few seconds to see them once Remus has nudged their attention upwards: the handful of flashing blinking red lights littered across the grand opulent ceiling, at the junctions that would bring down the whole flaming ceiling on them all, clinically tested by Remus. Someone screams and its fucking music to Remus’s ears. The air buzzes with panic that just barely avoids setting off the charges with electrostatic-physics-pseudo-magic. Remus meets Virgil’s gaze head on, and nearly laughs at how Virgil leans back into Patton’s very capable, altar boy arms and desperately tries not to throw himself into an unfortunate panic attack that might get them all killed when his sonic waves interfere with the delicately placed devices.

“How…?” Roman says, flustered, red faced, and rightfully horrified.

“I know a guy, you might have met him, he goes by the name Basilisk. Tell me if this rings any bells but he can turn into literally any fucking animal, excuse my French. Public Library schematics are easily found online— bet you didn’t think that through when you chose this place to set up shop, right? And really who didn’t spend their formative teen years trying to build things that blow up? The only actual hard part of all this was tying the bombs to my sexy squirrel boyfriend so he could sneak in through the skylight.” Remus says, eyeing the nails on his free hand, tsk-ing at the chipped nail polish he hadn’t had time to fix while preparing everything for this moment.

Roman doesn’t really flinch, but the tip of his rapier inches upwards at the mention of Janus’s self-picked name, and his teeth grit together just barely short of a sneer that offends every part of Remus on a spiritual level. 

“I was here last night— ”

“Yeah, you were dealing with the molotov cocktail that was thrown through the window over there at…. nine thirty-seven give or take a few seconds,” Remus jerks a thumb over to the window that had been shattered and boarded up by the time that anyone had actually woken up for the day. “Really, this is a public library, Bro. What will the public think when they hear you didn’t even have the firemen come check the building out last night? And that instead of closing it down for today, like it should have been after an event like that, you went ahead and gave me twenty three shiny little hostages! And then we wouldn’t be having this conversation and I wouldn’t be trying to find a reason not to…let go of this button.”

Behind him, Patton, or Zeal, or Whoever He Was, whispers something to Virgil and steadily lets go of him, only glancing back once to make sure that Virgil won’t drop to his knees and brain himself on the polished wooden floors. It's a close call from the light buzzing in the air that makes Remus think of TV static. 

“Prince,” Zeal says warningly in a way that was probably meant to be a mumble but the staunch silence of the library crafted it into a local announcement. “There are people in the back conference rooms having their evaluations done.”

“Oh yeah!” Remus agrees, “Two individuals and a mother with her seven year old daughter. I can even speed up the process for you: Linda Maddock makes really great chocolates, her daughter is super sweet and I hope that the first person stupid enough to break her heart gets eaten by a panther considering her daughter can speak to animals. But honestly they freak me out, you know? I mean, a parent who cares about their child? I wouldn’t know what to do if that were me.” 

Something flashes through Zeal’s face, short and fast and Remus thinks it might have been something like pity. Remus’s body aches from a riot that he almost didn’t survive, his eyes burn from tear gas that had been avoidable, his tongue itches with all the things he wants to tell Patton Hart to do with his pity.

“That information is confidential,” Roman says in a hard voice. “How did you know— ?”

“I know a lot of things! In case it wasn’t clear before, I can see the fucking future,” Remus says. Roman shifts a foot forward, and Remus holds up the mechanism again in case his ridiculously short minded brain forgot what exactly Remus was holding over all their heads. Literally. “Though, you’ve got everyone so fucking sure they really are still back there. Where did you get your magical power scientists from, Roman? Where are their licenses? I’ve seen drug dealers with better certifications than these guys and that’s after I hacked the FBE records to find out who would be hosting these registration interviews.” 

Remus chances a glance toward Virgil, who seems to freeze like a twenty year old Remus in an eighteen wheeler's headlights. One of the other civilians must have crept over as a silent bequest of Zeal because they were working at trying to quietly undo the duct tape now.

“I hope you get shot,” Virgil hisses, although from the lack of reactions from everyone around him Remus guesses that it was a display of Virgil’s frankly impressive sound control. A special secret message for Remus and Remus alone. 

Remus winks at him and turns back to Roman. “How do you know they didn’t shuffle each of those people off into a big white van out back? How do you know those people who trusted you aren’t screaming your name right now? How do you know any of them are coming back through those doors, Roman?”

Someone is crying. Remus would feel bad, if only he hadn’t grown up being told his tears were pointless and changed nothing and didn’t make anyone feel better. His fingers ache, pinpricks of pain that feel exactly like needles being methodically slid into each of his digits.

For a moment, he thinks about just opening his hand, letting go of the remote, and watching Roman’s face go from defensive to horrified to scared-out-of-his-mind. Something to pay back for the years and years and years of terror he inflicted on Remus. An end, The End and Remus wouldn’t ever have to worry about figuring out his own emotions about a brainwashed, dumbass brother.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Roman says, very heroically. “Nothing like that is— is that what you think I’m doing here?! Kidnapping people?! You rigged the building with bombs because you think I’m kidnapping people?!”

He sounds like Remus suggested he play an extra in a Broadway musical instead of the lead. He sounds like he doesn’t think Remus is actually dangerous. He sounds like he did right before he told Remus that nothing bad was going to happen at that party four years ago. 

He sounds like he still thinks Remus doesn’t have a power. So sure, so certain, so indigent. 

“What is it about his face that makes you people trust that?” Remus asks. “Do you even hear him? Roman, do I need to spell it out? Big Shadow Government. Preppy Dancing Monkey. A list with the names and addresses of everyone who has an ability and what it is.”

“For getting resources to those that might need it!” Roman says. 

“Oh yeah, definitely not so certain people might go missing in the middle of the night. Do you also fall for Nigerian Prince phone call schemes, too? What’s your social security number?”

“What do you want, Remus,” Roman says, dangerously, less like a question and more like demanding permission to punch him in the face. Less like the actor Remus had spent seventeen years building up and more like the person who had thrown it all back in his face. Less like this façade he’d convinced everyone else is real, and more like who Remus knew he was underneath.

“Prince,” Zeal, Patton, whoever, says softly, warningly, nervously. It almost sounds like “please don’t do something stupid” and “when do I start getting paid for being your babysitter Roman?” and “why do you always get to be the center of attention when I’m just as morally unethical?”

“Stay back,” Roman tells him, with all the authority of a man who doesn’t believe a black hole would be able to kill him and Remus definitely wants to see what he would do.

“What I want,” Remus bites out, “is for you to be dead in a ditch, so disfigured that no one recognizes you and no one will remember you. But seeing as you’ve been on international TV parading around bullshit and dumbassery, I’m settling for you being dead and everyone hating you as much as I do.”

As if waiting for the right moment, the civilian helping Virgil finally manages to break through the duct tape and free him. Remus tenses his shoulders, bending his knees just so that if Virgil takes a flying lunge at him Remus can maybe dodge before his head is slammed through the polished wooden floor for all this.

But in the end Virgil just glowers at him like they hadn’t just spent three days together, practically roommates except that Remus has never paid rent before in his life and is not about to start. He looks pale and sweaty but otherwise content to slip further and further away from Remus, from the stage he’d built, from the spotlight that Remus is certain will burn them all one day (maybe even today). It really was a shame finding out that he had opinions on Self Preservation and feared Death like it was something he could avoid forever if he never did anything slightly upsetting; Remus would have loved to see what other things that voice of his could do.

But then the civilian who was helping Virgil stands up again and Remus thinks that maybe it would have been better if Virgil had knocked him into his next life.

"Oh," Remus says, because he can’t forget a death even if he tries; it doesn’t matter who it is, when it is, where it is, Remus remembers, remembers, remembers when no one else will. 

Sharp angels, pale skin, jet black hair tousled by the short sudden panic of the crowd when Remus had made his entrance but Remus only remembers all of that highlighted by humid rain and street lights of a road that he had never walked before. The man’s eyes are bright and blue and narrowed in suspicion through thick lenses with a finger print on them and Remus memorized the sound of construction workers, the feel of a weightless free fall, and the taste of a name he's never spoken. 

Maybe it’s destiny, if Remus believed in something as benevolent as that. He squeezes the deadman's switch so hard he almost thinks he crushes it. 

"Ain’t this interesting!” He says. “A dead man walking! Future corpse! How’s your life going, Logan?”

The other people shy away from Remus's sudden target, but Logan merely tips his head to the side without an ounce of fear towards the situation he’s currently in. There's less than ten feet between them, the ceiling rigged with all sorts of flashing lights that he and Janus spent a decent amount of time orchestrating; there's no reason he shouldn't be afraid, there’s no reason that he should know that he dies somewhere else some time else, there’s no reason that Remus should like that. 

Unafraid people do unexpected things. Unafraid people think they know everything. Unafraid people tell Remus he can’t see the future and then ruin his life a million times over because they don’t know what it’s like to feel blood between their fingers and realize that every death is preventable if Remus kills himself enough for it and somehow that makes his life worth less than theirs.

"Is there something you need from me?" Logan asks neutrally. "Or rather any of us here. I believe that if you have drama to work out with... whatever The Prince is to you, then you have no need to keep any of the rest of us from our daily lives. This whole thing is already ridiculous without you wasting our time." 

And Remus does believe it’s ridiculous and that he’s wasting their time. That’s the whole point of this; dragging each second out as far as he can take it and milking their attention for as much exposure time as he can. He wants this attention, he wants to be seen, he wants Roman to see him and there’s something about Logan’s gaze that doesn’t sit right with Remus so he--

--blinks. 

"In fact," Logan continues, quite confident for someone who might not survive to see the sun again. "This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once." 

Remus, who had talked before, who had screamed, who had begged and cried and argued before, sings, "Oh, I sincerely doubt that."

Logan's eyes dart to the side glancing at the other hostages just for a second and the boy he's with, the young man with a Starbucks cup who's name Remus never learned shakes his head subtly. Logan clicks his tongue in something akin to disappointment or distaste, and sets his gaze back on Remus. 

"I will try again then," Logan says, standing straighter, shoulders squared and spine far stronger than Roman’s had ever been. "Based on your previous actions and reactions, you don't have any actual motivation or urge to hurt anyone other than The Prince, and perhaps Zeal, although I doubt that as well. So you will step away from us and you will avoid hurting civilians in your endeavors to continue... this charade you have set up here. In fact, you will cease your performance because you do not believe it has any purpose in helping your ultimate cause of The Prince’s death."

Remus blinks, almost about to laugh, almost about to ask what Logan thinks this is going to accomplish, almost about to go back to Roman and Zeal and The Plan when his grip loosens and the remote falls into the empty air so much like a body tumbling down a manhole that Remus can do nothing but stare at it and wonder what the fuck just happened. 

Logan smiles at him, smugly, condescendingly, pompously, and that’s the last thing Remus sees before Roman is hurtling into him like a freight train.-- 

--blinks.

 “In fact—” 

“Stop,” Remus, who had talked before, who had screamed, who had begged and cried and argued before, blurts out like his ribs didn’t nearly snap from the force of a blow that never happened. “What the fuck was that?”

Logan's eyes dart to the side glancing at the other hostages just for a second and the boy he's with, the young man with a Starbucks cup who's name Remus never learned looks just as bewildered as everyone else. 

“I see,” Logan says slowly, a smile creeping across his face like a scythe glinting in the moonlight. “So it did work. Fascinating. This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once.” 

“No,” Remus says.

Logan’s eyes narrow. He takes a step forward like he doesn’t even notice Patton or Roman telling him to stop. His back straightens, and he towers and the people behind him inhale sharply and stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You’re angry. You’re angry and you don’t think anything will change no matter what you do. It won’t, not like this. Not even you believe this will actually change anything about how The Prince sees you. So you will step away from us and you will avoid hurting civilians in your endeavors to continue.”

“Logan,” the kid warns.

“In fact, you will cease your performance because you do not believe it has any purpose in helping your ultimate cause of The Prince’s death," Logan continues so certain, so convinced, so unchangeable.

Remus’s grip loosens and the remote falls into the empty air so much like a body tumbling down a manhole that Remus can do nothing but lunge for it again and brace for Roman diving into him like a wrecking ball.--

--shifts his weight to the side, favoring the ribs that aren’t broken, the leg that isn’t sprained, the arm that doesn’t feel dislocated. “You changed the script that time,” Remus says more to himself than to Logan. “Why did you change the script?”

“In fact— Pardon?” Logan says cut off from what he was saying. 

“Your power,” Remus says, ignoring Roman’s claims for his attention. “Phrase activated? You changed the script but not all of it. Why didn’t you change all of it?”

Logan seems to realize something, his chin shifting slightly, and his voice raising. He straightens his back and steps forward and the people behind him shift behind him like Logan’s flimsy little body will protect them from a bomb. “You don’t think you can win this without your power. No one in this room thinks you can win this without your power. Zeal and The Prince will attack right now because they are heroes and they can beat you.”

Remus’s mouth opens, but before he can make a sound, Roman is slamming into him, toppling them both to the ground and the remote skids out from Remus’s hand. --

--jerks reflectively from the impact that doesn’t happen. 

”In fact— ” 

“What’s your power?” Remus interrupts. “Voice activated? No, bitch, eyes on me. What is your stupid ass power?”

There are a billion seconds between them, a gazillion decisions to be made and Remus’s throat feels as dry as a polar desert. Each breath pricks at his skin, yanking at the invisible seams holding him together in a future that Remus isn’t going to live through and Logan steps forward like he feels it too.

Logan’s too sharp, too keen, too knowing eyes dart back to Remus quick and lethal and evaluating. “...I don’t think I should tell you that.”

“Remus!” Roman says from miles and eons and dimensions away. “Your issue is with me!”

“Not anymore,” Remus says and nearly laughs because he knew there were going to be problems in this plan, he knew there were going to be mistakes and consequences and Remus wasn’t going to be able to rely on anyone to help but staring at Logan feels like staring at an exploding sun that’s collateral damage is so vast there’s no one left to acknowledge it.

Remus swore he wouldn’t die, Remus swore he wouldn’t use this power stupidly but Logan’s eyes are narrowing. When Logan’s mouth opens it feels like he’s talking to every version of Remus that has ever died, every version of Remus that wanted to live, every version of Remus that stood in a gas station bathroom clutching the grimy sink and staring at himself in a mirror with a giddy grin left over from being run over that first time.

 “How many times are you going to go through this, Remus?”--

--grins with all his teeth.

”In fact— ” Logan continues and then he doesn’t because Remus is lunging the distance between them without warning. He slams his fist into Logan’s face, knuckles scraping against Logan’s perfect teeth, shoving all those perfect words back into his mouth. He hears the wind go out of the room, the sudden stillness of shock, and the buzz of panic and click of seventeen triggers being pulled.

“Did I say you could talk?” Remus snarls, and that’s the last thing he says before his inner organs all explode at the same time from a dozen dimestore guard’s guns.

He does not hear Roman scream his name. But then again… he’s not hearing anything anymore.--

--immediately knows that Logan has fucked up Janus’s plan to high hell.

"I'm wasting your time? What do you have to do so urgently, Logan?” Remus asks like his ribs didn’t nearly snap from the force of a blow that never happened, his lungs aren’t punctured with bullet wounds that tore through his body like paper, like his nose isn’t suddenly stuffed up with more blood than the rest of his corpse. “Die?”

“Remus!” Roman snarls. “Your issue is with me! Leave everyone else out of it!”

Logan frowns, eyes narrowed and lips pinched into a mostly straight line that reminds Remus of the polished lid of a coffin right before it’s lowered into the ground. The bees in his guts swarm up to his ribs, flitting between his lungs until he has to focus to breathe regularly and not scream.

“Do you know you die from falling down an open manhole?” Remus asks, ignoring Roman entirely. “Completely avoidable! If only you or your brother were paying slightly more attention!”

Said brother (younger, stupider, better) freezes at the comment, eyes hidden behind those aviator glasses that reflect Remus’s own silhouette right back at him. His iced coffee is clutched in his hand, still half full, with ice cubes clinking together silently compared to the rumbling tension in the room.

Roman’s signature is not on it. Remus isn’t sure why that makes him want to fucking laugh.

“You die, nerd,” he says. “No do overs. No take backs. No— ”

“I didn’t,” Logan cuts in.

“You will.”

“You are misunderstanding,” Logan says loudly, taking a step forward in the way that makes several other people whimper and scoot back behind him like a shield they could trust to protect them and Remus clenches the deadman’s switch in his hand tighter.

“Logan,” his brother hisses. “You can’t talk away a bomb!”

But Logan doesn’t even look back. He’s nearly Remus’s height, with the edges of his black trench coat sweeping around his calves when his slightly scuffed formal shoes, and Remus doesn’t exactly feel like a frog on a dissection table but it’s a near and very interesting thing and he thinks that Janus would either fall hopelessly in love with Logan or put his claws through Logan’s lungs with no in-between.

“I did not die,” Logan says, slowly and pointedly like the teachers who thought that because Remus claimed to see the future that meant he was stupid because he didn’t see their pop quizzes coming enough to study for them. “Although I’m unsure how your power works, when we ran into each other previously you granted me the vision of my death. Yesterday, the event played nearly the same as what I had seen: I had taken off my glasses to clean them from the rain and the second before I had fallen, I caught myself. I was able to circumnavigate the manhole.”

There’s a beat where Remus is certain that the entire world freezes: the space of air that rings between the tick and the tock, the breath before a scream, the white nothingness that comes after Zeal hits him with his power.

There’s part of a scoff deep in his chest that trembles like an earthquake that only Remus can feel. 

“It was like Deja Vu,” Logan says, simply, clinically.

--”I didn’t say anything about rain. I didn’t say anything about you taking off your glasses. I didn’t say anything— ”--

--”Did you feel your death? Did your brother? Did he cry? What’s his name?”--

--”How did you see that? What did you do that hundreds of other people have never been able to do? Why did you get to live?!”--

--”What the hell makes you so FUCKING special?”--

--”THIS IS MY POWER! WHY DON’T I GET TO CONTROL WHO SEES THE FUTURE?!”--

There’s pressure in the back of Remus’s throat and it tastes like rainwater when he swallows. He instinctively drags his free hand under his nose, barely acknowledging the lack of real blood before he acknowledges the fury bubbling in his soul. 

Logan stands in front of him, unbothered by his own death, untouched by the fear that people liked to look at Remus with, unchanged by the fact that he knows Remus has a power and what kind of bullshit is that?! Why of all the people, of all the times, of all the futures, why is it Logan who believes him? Why is it Logan who could see it?

((Remus is twenty one, but for a blink he feels like he’s thirteen again cornered in the boys locker room after gym with the other boys pressing him to tell them if one of the girls will say yes if they ask her out, and how does he know, is he sure, where’s your proof, Remus? Come on there’s gotta be something, I think you’re holding out on us, maybe this is jog your memory— ))

Remus’s laughter sounds like getting hit by a bullet train. “Deja Vu! Ha! Good one! Okay, nerd! You seem decently smart. Riddle me this: why did you choose to spend the rest of your life? At the FBE? You dragged your brother all the way out here, too?”

Logan’s expression flickers further towards annoyance. “All persons with extraordinary abilities are required by law— ”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Remus says. “If all the other kids were jumping off the bridge would you jump too? Here’s a hint: water from a 25 foot drop can still feel like concrete if you do it right enough.”

“Don’t you mean ‘wrong enough’?” Zeal asks, looking queasy.

“Do I look like the type of person who means ‘wrong enough’, bitch?” Remus says. “Oh come on, Pattie! You saw me in that crowd! I was less than a foot from you and I died three times in ways that were directly your fucking fault.”

“Remus!” Roman cries again, stepping forward even as his precious sidekick pales further. 

“I believe we have entertained this far long enough,” Logan cuts in. He takes another step forward, gently pressing his glasses back up his nose, and Remus wants to know if he smells like rainwater and concrete. His voice is an orchestra that catches everyone’s attention, including Roman’s, and for someone who is not a hero parading around on TV and taking autographs, Logan looks perfectly in his element. “This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once.” 

“You’re right!” Remus says, twitching his nose as he feels the pressure of a nosebleed already starting to form. The right side of his body aches from the collision course Roman seems to be itching to throw them into, but he forces his muscles to tense and not give it away to anyone. “I am wasting your time. I’m wasting everyone’s time, aren’t I, Logan? Let’s stop with the pleasantries! You want me to talk so much, then I’ll talk! Congratulations, everyone! Welcome to the trial!” Remus announces, as loudly as he can. His voice dances off the aching antique building making him impossible to mishear, much less ignore. 

“You’ve been selected for jury duty and you don’t get to opt out. And Logan, you just got promoted to the fucking chairman! So take a step back and shut the fuck up.”

Zeal takes an audible breath, drawing Remus’s attention like a snap. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here! Remus, if you have a power, we can get it documented right here! It will be official for everyone to see. All you have to do is hand over the remote and let us deactivate the bombs and get these people out of here. I promise.”

He offers out a hand gently to Remus as if he were a wild animal that just needed the healing power of God to fix whatever was wrong with him. Remus thinks about biting into his hand, chomping down until Zeal is screaming, until the bones shatter, until Remus is tasting blood that isn’t his own.

“Hard pass,” Remus says. “I can print out a certificate of Fucked Up-ness at Staples.”

“Where is, uhm, Basilisk?” Zeal says, undeterred, and Remus remembers that expression from when a taser latched into his spine and killed him, from when he was looking at a wind maker and stole their power, from when he looked at Janus and raised his hand and Janus dropped like a brick. “He— or they— seemed to be more… uhm…”

Remus’s jaw pinches. “I don’t have him GPS tagged. Why? Do you think he’s a better conversationalist than me? I think I’m offended, Altar Boy. Almost enough to just....”

He twitches his wrist and both Roman and Zeal jerk forward with twin looks of panic on their faces. That’s only aborted when Remus yanks the remote back and raises an eyebrow at both of them.

Logan purses his lips and checks his watch as if he has an appointment he’s going to be late for.

“Just kidding,” Remus says, cheerily. “If we did that, then no one would have time to hate you as much as I do!”

Roman’s eyes flicker green, little lights that remind Remus of all the Christmases where Roman got everything on his wishlist and Remus got a new pair of shoes. The sight of it makes Remus’s teeth hurt, makes his stomach roll, makes the acrimony in his chest grow like a tumor that hasn’t figured out if it's going to kill Remus yet. 

Roman puffs his chest. “If this is about me then let everyone else leave!”

“But it’s not!” Remus smiles. “It’s not about you, Roman. Despite how every other thing in our lives has turned out, not everything is about you, specifically!”

Roman grits his teeth, "Really?" He waves his arms around. "Because it feels a lot like it’s all about me right now! It’s time to end this Remus! Give me the remote, and we can get you help. See a specialist— "

"Been there! Done that!" Remus says. "Or did you forget how many meds my specialists would put me on no matter how many times I told them it wasn’t like that? Did you forget how Mom would grab my hair, yank my head back, and force pill after pill after pill into my mouth before school? How she'd stick her fingers in my mouth to make sure I didn't hide them under my tongue, because she didn’t trust me? How she called the school to assign a teacher to watch me when we got to the building to make sure I didn't head straight to the restrooms to throw it all back up? Because surely that was the only reason I wasn’t getting better." 

There’s a silence in the room that Remus wasn’t expecting. A stiffness that swallows the entire Library that makes the books and the shelves and the aching, ancient walls seem like they’re suddenly listening to Remus too.

"What?" Zeal  whispers. 

"Is he telling the truth?" Logan asks Roman, and probably for the first time looks like he isn’t trying to storm back out the doors. 

"That’s like...that's gotta be illegal," Virgil adds. "So illegal. Oh my god, I'm gonna throw up." 

((“Do you really think that you can keep your brother talking about himself for that long? Surely even he runs out of things he likes about himself,” Janus had asked a million years ago and a few hours ago and five seconds ago, while holding the fourth rough draft of their plan in his hands. And Remus had nearly snorted that last of Virgil’s tin roof sundae ice cream out his nose.

“I’m not going to be talking about him,” Remus, who was confident, who was in love, who knew Roman more than he knew himself, who was twenty one and stupid and so tired of hurting, says. “I’m going to be talking about me.”))

“Where were you, Roman?” Remus asks just to push, push, pushhhhh. “How could my life have been a living nightmare for every single day and you didn't notice at all? I was begging for someone to save me!”

The crowd shifts and mumbles and Remus can feel their apprehension rising like a hot air balloon in the middle of the library. Roman can probably feel it too.

“You didn’t— I wasn’t— ” Roman stutters like he’s looking for someone to break into the conversation and call out the line he forgot was in the script.

Remus just stares at him, a smile plastered to his face like a mask when everything underneath it felt he was being boiled alive. Brainwashed or not, someone else holding the strings or not, eleven minutes between them or not, this tastes like relief.

"Oh yeah?" Roman snarls, and just like that the hero persona finally evaporates, folding and twisting and warping Roman into someone completely different and very familiar and I’m sorry they like me more than you! Maybe if you weren’t such a freak you would have been invited too!

"Where were you, Remus? You want to pretend to be the victim here? Want to act like you've never done anything wrong? Where were you when I was drowning under Mom’s expectations of a perfect son? Where were you when every single mistake I made was turned into a world ending event by her? Where were you when my power lashed out and got Dad killed?!" 

"Getting run over on I-90 probably," Remus says. "Guess it depends on when he died. I could have been dropping toasters in the bathtub in a hotel in South Dakota or screwing up parkour in Chicago, too." 

"Is everything a joke to you?" 

"Do I look like I’m laughing?" Remus laughs. "Why should I be sad about the death of the man who couldn't look me in the eyes for our ninth birthday?" 

Because Remus had been nine years old and only eleven minutes younger and Roman had gotten to choose the cake flavor for them because Remus had seen Dad trip off the ladder when pulling their presents out from the hiding place in the attic and hadn't been able to stop crying all day. Because Remus had been nine years old and only eleven minutes younger and he’d heard Dad read Roman a bedtime story in his bedroom and then listened to the steps pass right by Remus’s room. Because he’d been nine years old and after that first diagnosis from his psychiatrist, after the first round of pills that hadn’t worked, after that first time that they hadn’t listened to him, their dad had disappeared out of Remus’s life. 

As quiet as a ghost.

((Remus didn’t know he was dead, dead, dead and in the ground. Gone and never coming back. Burned to ashes and scattered into the wind. Six feet under in a cemetery that Remus will never visit. Some part of him (the part that remembers bedtime stories read in silly voices, forehead kisses and hair ruffles, and hugs so big that Remus could disappear into them and forget about seeing blood on bumpers of silver sedans) howls.))

“Really, Roman,” Remus says, when Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information anymore than Remus knows what to do with it. His voice doesn’t shake, his throat doesn’t burn, and his hand doesn’t let go of the remote just to reach forward and strangle Roman to death, but Virgil is staring at him and Remus knows he’s not completely fooling everyone. “If you want to throw the victim card back and forth we can, but you aren’t going to win. You don’t get it. Whatever happened, whatever bad thing occurred you always fucking had someone who cared about you. You had Mom. You had teachers. Doctors. Friends. Other students. Do you know what I had?”

((A snowglobe. An eighteen wheeler. A toaster. A noose, scissors, keys, a freefall—))

“An incorrect diagnosis,” Remus says. “That wrecked my entire life.”

“It’s not incorrect!” Roman snaps. “You—!"

“Even if it wasn’t! Even if I couldn’t see the future, do you still think any of the way you treated me for my entire fucking life was fair? That it was fine? That it was good and role model worthy and you deserve to be looked up to?!” Remus yells, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall, maybe shaking, maybe cracking. “Do you?!”

Roman takes a step back and Remus takes a step forward.

"I was eight years old, Roman!" Remus yells, "I saw my brother die! I was scared and I was asking for help in the only way I knew how to!" 

"You were making it up for attention! Just like you’ve always done! Just like you're doing here! Now!" Roman says hotly, eyes burning, burning, burning. "You haven’t changed a bit, Remus!" 

“He’s going to get everyone blown up,” Virgil strangles out.

Patton seems to be of the same opinion from how he calls out Romans name, barely more than a begging whimper of a catholic school child desperately trying to convince someone to avoid hell by just… not being gay.

Roman doesn’t spare him a look, and Remus soaks up the attention like a sponge. If Remus was capable of being embarrassed he thinks he might be embarrassed at how delightfully his lungs fill up when Roman is glaring at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

But hey, if Roman wants to dig a grave, who is Remus to stop him this time? Or all the times before this? All the times that never happened?

Who is Remus to shy away from all the things that Roman had grown into long before seventeen year old Remus had left him behind?

“Did it ever occur to you that I hadn’t been?” Remus asks, because if he has enough air to breathe he has enough air to twist his own words into a noose to hang himself. “Did you ever wonder if maybe you weren’t so special, Roman? Did you ever think I was worth the air I breathe?”

Roman doesn’t answer. Roman doesn’t answer and it feels like an answer all by itself. Remus’s freefall is ending in a collision, his thundering heart is exploding in his chest, his soul is finally finding that rest in the suddenly overwhelming static silence around them.

“I thought the world of you,” Remus says and he means it. “Some hero you turned out to be.”

He twists his wrist, shaking the remote between them.

“Okay, this is ridiculous!” Logan finally snaps out and Remus knows enough about wearing out people’s patience to know he reached the end of Logan’s. “Why are we even entertaining any of this?!”

Logan shoves a pointed finger at Roman and Remus. “You! And you! Both need therapy! Not to be jumping around like… like sophomoric imbeciles content to utterly disrupt the rest of our lives because of your puerile communication skills! Remus, I am sorry that your childhood was terrible, but it is not my job to facilitate or placate your uncouth attempts to find closure for the undoubtedly distressing attacks made against you by ignoramuses in your life. This entire farce is the exact reason why he is so confident in his ridiculously shallow minded insistence that you have no empathy, and you are smart enough to know that, which leads me to the conclusion that you are just wasting my personal time while you stall for Basilisk to finish whatever activity he’s been executing in the back area of this Library! And one! More! Thing!”

Remus’s mouth opens, a hundred billion futures rolling off his tongue, tripping on his molars, jumbling around in his throat all in the blink of an eye, in the pause of a breath, in the space between heart beats and still Remus isn’t fast enough to stop Logan from talking.

“—the bombs aren’t even real!” Logan yells furiously. “They are just flickering Christmas lights wrapped around probably empty boxes held together with duct tape!”

The entire globe seems to stop, and Remus can feel the jolt under his feet. Every noise seems to funnel directly out of existence before it can manifest. Remus’s lips ache from his grin, but there’s not a single part of him that is smiling.

“Why would you do that, Logan,” Remus says. “You ruined the surprise.”

“What?” Roman echoes. “They’re fake?”

“I never said they were real,” Remus says, with a shrug, shifting his weight back. “I never even said I had a bomb! Everyone really is just willing to believe the worst things about me. Honestly I think I’m offended! Seriously! What have I ever done to make all these very wonderful hostages believe I’m capable of building a bomb, much less a dozen of them? And then get them into this building without anyone noticing at all? Shame on you! And Jannie, I’m running out of topics to go through so if at any moment you'd like to finish up before Igetmybrainssplattered—"

Remus lunges to the side, just in time to avoid Roman’s lunge with his rapier, and then the deafening boom of gunfire hits the air he would have been if he were slightly slower. The glass doors crack and shatter and the screams start up again bouncing off the walls like thousands of firecracker filled pinballs.

“Hey PitPat!” Remus says, “Catch!” 

Patton’s eyes widen and he panics for a whole second, with the wispy white light flicking out like the world’s most disappointing trick candles. Remus doesn’t give him time to figure out the rest, flicking the remote in his hand into the air, to give sweet, sweet relief to his cramped wrist.

Patton lunges forward rolling on the ground and Remus doesn’t wait to see if he actually caught it in his illogical distress. He grabs Roman’s rapier wrist and twists around him before the next round of bullets can find a target, shoving Roman’s hand in between his shoulder blades, in a way that he knows hurts.

“You’re brainwashed,” Remus snarls right into Roman ear. 

“And you’re fucking insane!” Roman yells right back. The world floods green and R--

--oman’s center of gravity drops as he curls forward, throwing Remus back into the line of fire, head over heels and several thousand curses on his tongue. The edge of the rapier scrapes the side of his neck, hot and blood and someone is screaming his name, harsh and violent and gratingly hopelessly worried. The vest takes two shots like fucking swords slamming into his already struggling lungs and Remus looks up just in time to see the next one inches from his fa--

--oman’s center of gravity drops as he curls forward, throwing Remus’s body over him like he weighs absolutely nothing and means even less to him. He twists his neck to side, barely avoiding the blade edge and someone screams his name like a prayer, like a call to a god that is not listening, like a beg to Roman to think for once in his fucking life. Remus’s lungs take two punches to them, and leaves him g-g-gasping for air where there is none. He spits out a curse right before that last bullet drives right through his jaw and everything around him explodes--

--emus lets go of Roman before he can leverage Remus into the air. His body rolls to the side, avoiding the bullets that send the crowds both outside and inside into a panicking screeching riot. 

“REMY!” Logan screams and now he doesn’t sound anything like the bold character who talked his way into getting Remus murdered.

Remus’s ankle catches on the floor tripping him into the polished hard wood so hard his teeth crack and his mouth blooms with blood, blood, blood. Bullets slam into his back, his shoulder blade, his spine tearing through the padding, and Remus catches sight of black combat boots in a forgotten iced coffee mixed with something far too scarlet to be anything but blood--

--emus lets go of Roman before he can leverage Remus into the air, and then he shoves him forward with all the strength that he can manage. The bullets freeze, terrified of hitting their own superhero, and Remus watches as Roman stumbles directly into Virgil’s arms, watches the way that Roman gathers his balance, his mouth curls into a grim thank you, as he shifts to turn back to Remus because like usual he’s not looking at the right mouth because Remus hates Roman but there’s someone who hates him more right there--

--emus throws himself away from Roman with enough force that Roman goes stumbling directly into the line of fire that had previously been marked as Remus’s. The bullets freeze in the air, too worried, terrified, petrified at the idea of tearing through Roman’s precious paper skin. Remus chokes on his blood, spitting it out of his mouth before it causes him to vomit, his head riiiiiinging with the sounds of gunshots and screams from futures that aren’t going to happen and ones that are. 

Roman stumbles into Virgil, his rapier nearly tumbling to the ground from his twisted wrist. Virgil’s eyes widen, the whites gleaming in the artificial light. Remus feels the seconds grind to halt; everything happening so fast that his brain-mind-thoughts are moving hundreds of times faster than the events around them, than how rapidly his own body can move, than how quickly anyone else can seem to comprehend what is going to happen.

“It’s time to pick a side!” Remus yells, taking steps back. “Aren’t you tired of hiding? Of being alone?”

“It’s over Remus!” Roman shouts, eyes glowing green, green, green.

There’s an inhale.

Virgil has startling brown eyes, with speckles of purple in them. 

Exhale.

“Aren’t you tired of being scared of Death?” Remus asks. 

“You’re the worst,” Virgil says clear as day, voice vibrating through the air like a sword slashing away all the other sound, his body moving as fluidly as air.

Roman has half a second, a fourth of a second, an eighth of a second to turn back at the sudden noise distortion— it’s not even enough to recognize how Virgil’s fingers hooked his mask and dragged it down and how his tongue rolls wetly over his thin lips before they open and—

Remus only has half of a second, a fourth of a second, and eighth of a second, to dive the fuck out of the way before the static air slams Roman at him like a brick wall. A catapult of Red and White and Regis flings over his shoulder and Remus can’t stop himself from gawking at Roman slams into a shelf of books and topples it. 

“Great!” Virgil yells, “They’re going to revoke my library card now!”

But all Remus can do is laugh.

The nearest hired guard turns their gun towards Virgil and Virgil swears on Remus’s mother, as he throws up his arms like that would defend against a bullet to his face.

But before they can pull the trigger, another man appears from the back halls where the conference rooms were, wearing a doctor’s lab coat and glasses with graying out hair and charges recklessly right in between the guard and Virgil. The man is screaming something that Remus can’t quite make out with all the static noise in the air but from the way that man points behind him and Remus can’t help the grin on his face.

The guard hesitates for a moment looking where the doctor points and well…that’s all the time that Dr. Janus Witchall needs before he’s driving his knee into the man’s gut, just under his chest protector. The gun falls from the man’s hands and Janus spins and kicks him in the head like some type of martial artist master in a lab coat and Remus is swooning.

 “Apologies, darling,” Janus says, scales dancing along his cheeks, as he pulls off the wire rimmed glasses and tosses them carelessly over his shoulder. His hair swoops back to the blond he prefers, and it’s like looking at a sophisticated version of Janus that had been forced to go to Med School instead of being forced to kill his only friend. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“Basilisk!” Zeal yells, sounding wounded, sounding hurt, sounding betrayed. “What did you— ”

Janus smiles sweetly. “Relax, Patton. I left your doctors with some very lovely headaches. Please don’t blame Mrs. Maddock too much; her daughter thought it was really funny when I told her I wanted to play a prank on her mom. Poor woman fainted the moment I grew a tail.”

Remus actually had the strong suspicion that it was less of the woman fainting and more of her sitting quietly as Janus knocked out the doctor and stole his clothes, considering she hated the whole FBE registration requirement with all of her heart and when Janus had visited her with about $30,000 in cash asking to dress up as her daughter, the woman had pushed the backpack away and said he could do it for free if he made sure to punch Roman in the face. Remus would even bet real money that the woman had calmly discussed tea flavors with Janus as he tied her up to make it look like she’d been caught by surprise.

Remus didn’t respect a lot of people, but Linda Maddock was probably one of his new favorite people.

Remus laughs bubbling like blood flavored champagne in his chest. “I was worried you were going to miss the party!”

Janus cartwheels over himself, driving his heel into the face of a hired gunman so hard the visor shatters and the man screams despite the No Talking sign right next to them. Even in the form of a forty seven year old, he moves with all the grace and fluidity of his regular self. “Why do all your parties involve you covered in blood?”

“I think it’s really sexy of me to still be breathing right now!”

“Can the two of you flirt some other time?!” Virgil snarls ducking under a table and clamping his headphones to his head as Zeal’s power misses him by inches. “Son of a bitch!” 

The remaining glass windows shatter at his exclamation, knocking several more gunmen to the ground away from him but Virgil very much looks like he didn’t even notice them approaching. He squeezes his eyes close, gritting his teeth, and curls up like he jumped on a live grenade.

“Just fucking get out of here already!” 

Janus meets Remus’s eyes, gaze calculating with a question that Remus has already answered again and again and again. 

“Come now, Dearest,” Janus says without needing to look at Virgil. “You chose us, didn’t you? Why would we leave without you?”

“Fuck you!”

“Asshole!” Roman explodes out of the pile of books that Virgil acquainted his stupid perfect face with. Remus laughs, dodging forward out of the way of Roman’s recovery rapier slash by inches, centimeters, breaths.

Roman presses forward, blocking Remus out of his escape with that stupid sword of his, nearly nicking Remus’s fishnets, and Remus grabs a book from a shelf and throws it at his face before sliding around the aisle. Several of the civilians had launched this way when the gunfire had started and Remus didn’t, doesn’t, won't have a plan but he reaches out and is grabbing the first person he sees and yanking them in front of him as a barrier between him and Roman.

“You wouldn’t hurt a civilian!” Remus says facing Roman, gripping the kid— ah fuck it was the kid form Logan’s futures, the one with the glasses and the ice coffee, the one that wanted Roman’s signature in a future that Remus hadn’t realized didn’t happen until it was too late. 

The kid— Remy? Remy— was just tall enough to be annoying, with Remus’s hold on his throat from behind causing the kid’s spine to bend awkwardly at an angle that did not do either of them any favors. But even with him struggling like a fish on a hook, and Remus’s heart pounding like a drum at how Roman blocked him off from joining up with Janus and Virgil to get the fuck out of here.

Roman pants, snarling but doesn’t attack. “You dishonorable— ”

“Sorry, I wasn’t afforded a childhood that allowed me to have honor,” Remus says dragging Remy and himself back another several steps, and ignoring the sound of something crunching under his boot.

Remy, Logan’s brother, swears and claws at Remus’s arm.

“Shut up and work with me if you don’t want to die,” Remus growls under his breath.

“Bitch!” The boy spat out. “Those were my favorite glasses!” 

To their left, a guard flings through the air and crashes through the elegant stained glass windows and into the crowd outside. Roman throws his arms up to protect himself from the onslaught of sound vibrations and books tumbling off the shelves.

Remus spits blood out of his mouth and grabs the collar of Remy’s jacket and hoists him through the nearest door away from Roman. He shoves the kid forward and yanks the door closed behind them, swirling around to find something to block it with. Except that, Remus’s lungs scream when he recognizes the bland concrete stairwell that must lead up to the mezzanine level, and that his hostage had already scrambled up the first half flight while Remus was wasting his time. 

Remus takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way that the fight rings and echoes in the confines around him. He scoops up Remy again, catching him before the fist can land in his face and tripping the kid before he can get any good contact with Remus’s shins.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to actually fight?” Remus asks.

“Girl, I’m too cute to be involved in fights!” the kid says. “Let go, man! Logan will— ” 

Remus kicks open the door to the mezzanine floor, ducking out of the way of several stray bullets before he drags Remy out with him. He feels like the air is shattering, like gravity is working from every direction to tear his limbs apart, like every single one of the bullets that whizzed by had actually exploded through his rib cage. 

Remus had only glanced at the mezzanine floor when he had been looking at the floor plans, plotting where he and Janus could place the fake bombs while everyone was concerned about the little fire up front. When he had come inside the library there had been two guards up on the level watching with a critical eye but the cavernous layout of the main entrance made the “bombs” still too far away to make out. 

Virgil’s sound vibrations had knocked one of them to the floor so hard he’d been knocked out, and Remus didn’t see the other one, though he kept Remy pinned in front of him as he checked the shelves with a quick look and then analyzed the fight down below.

The drop is close to twenty feet, and Remus has jumped, skipped, fallen, danced off higher, but his stomach churns at the sight. 

Remus swears under his breath, “This is not where I want to be.”

The blood in the back of his throat tastes like death, like his esophagus had suddenly decided to go through emergency surgery, like his stomach acids had suddenly gotten formed a union and were rebelling against working conditions. He could jump, leave Remy right up here for Roman to console, he could jump and roll and only shatter his leg into a billion ways. He could fall and break his neck, he could spring and belly flop and hope that Janus could move fast enough to catch him. 

Janus flips, swinging a tail around behind him to knock two different attackers in their throats. He might be able to grow wings if Remus tested his adrenaline enough, but Janus moving so fast would…. well…Virgil is back-to-back with him, hands raised and every projectile shot towards him slams to a stop and drops to the ground as if there was an invisible wall in front of him. If Janus chose to save Remus, Virgil’s back wouldn’t be protected.

“LOGAN!” Remy screams from Remus’s arms and from the awkward angle behind the receptionist desk Logan’s face pops up in distress.

Janus yells something to Zeal, but it's Logan’s cadence that answers back. 

“Yo, Banshee!” Remus yells ducking as the bookshelf holding Eastern European history books explodes under gunfire. “Flood the building with white noise!”

“What?!” Virgil screams. “Do I look like a white noise machine to you?!”

“Logan’s power is voice-fucking-activated!” Remus yells back, hauling Remy up when he trips on the threadbare carpet. “Shut him up before he says something worthwhile!”

Virgil doesn’t respond but it doesn’t matter much because Remus’s ears are ringing and he can hear the door behind them slam open with Roman’s signature heroic entrance and Remus is out of time. 

“There’s nowhere to go, Remus!” Roman yells.

Remus shouldn’t look. Remus shouldn’t look. Remus shouldn’t look anywhere but at Janus who is so far down below yelling out something about a plan, but at Virgil who is nodding to him, but at his own future because he promised himself he’d stop dying when he didn’t need to and if he dies than everything about this was just wasted time.

But then in front of him, miles away and only twenty feet at the same time, Roman is screaming his name from across the ocean of wood floors, furious and angry and green eyes alight and--

--And Roman is standing there in the kitchen, winded, out of breath, his lips on the cusp of a smile that Remus hasn’t seen ever directed at him since they were eight years old and didn’t know about five words or silver sedans or how alone sharing a room could feel. He looks happy, lovely, free; like who he would have been, if Remus hadn’t loved him with all that he was. The sunlight pouring in from between the curtain windows paints him like a golden angel, like a god blessed hero, like something more than Roman Regis. 

It matches the blood stain on this chest.-- 

-- and that green light washes over the mezzanine level diving right into the ancient, antique wood boards with all the grace of a pretty ineffective light show, and Remus has his mouth open to stall for more time, any more time, any time he can get before he has to admit he failed.

The entire building shakes from the sound vibrations Virgil is sending off, and Remus is holding a child hostage in front of him and there are no kitchens here and Roman probably deserves it if he was going to be shot dead suddenly and Remus’s skin is breaking out in goosebumps and his throat is sore and he thinks that all the screaming in the world will probably never reach Roman if nothing else today had. 

“D-don’t come closer, Roman!”

But Roman is looking at the ground with a wide eyed, panicked expression. “Wait, Remus— !”

Remus’s foot slides back the last step.The railing is digging into his back, the kid is clawing at his already injured arm and Remus feels the cracking before he hears it. 

There’s a rumble under Remus’s shoes that he almost believes is his brain misunderstanding gravity for a moment, that the combined weight of him and the are muddling with his ability to stand on his own two legs, that maybe he’s more injured than he really knew, bleeding from a place he hadn’t realized because he’s so used to the unwavering high of losing all the blood inside of him. But then the vibrations race through Remus’s entire body enough to make him stumble and almost lose his grip on the boy’s jacket. And the poppoppoping and tingtingting of the gunfire around them is drowned out completely by the aching, brittle snap, snap, snapping. 

“Oh fuck,” Remus grounds out just as the railing and the ancient wooden floors splinter under his and the kid’s combined weight and Remus plunges into a freefall that tastes like a thunderstorm at 3AM.

[Next Chapter]

[hullaballoooo]

I really like the headcannon that Zuko is REALLY good with animals. just- *chef kiss*

I've never posted a sketch on here, so I’ll see how this goes ha ha

[katsukikiss]

YOU’RE MINE, NOT HIS

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP// BAKUGO X F!READER

Warning: NSFW 18+, cheating (not really), fingering, unprotected sex

You and Izuku have gotten very close recently while studying together, and a certain someone isnt very happy about it.

AN: Poor Izuku 🥺 I felt so bad writing this, but so good at the same time lol I must write something soon to pay him back//also send me requests for oneshots! im down to try anything you guys might want!

WC: 2k

Masterlist

You and Izuku had a ‘study date’ last night at his house. You were hardly struggling in organic chem, just needed an excuse to come over at this point. You two had been meeting for tutoring sessions for the last two months or so. Your grades had thoroughly improved since then, so most people believed thats all you two were doing; studying. And you were, of course, but as of recently it was a lot more than that. It started with innocent glances at your chest while you took notes, brushing his fingers along your leg when you couldn’t figure out the answer to a question, and you weren’t oblivious. You began to reciprocate the feeling, wearing shorter skirts to bend over and pick up your pencil, laying your hands on his chest when you begged him to give you the answers. He adored the way you looked up at him so innocently, with pleading eyes, desperately needing his help. He loved helping you improve, after all, he wanted you to become a great hero by his side one day.

However, not everyone was oblivious to you and Izuku’s little sessions. Bakugo knew something was going on between you two. He had never seen Izuku so protective over someone the way he was with you. He hated the way the green-haired boy would stare at you with dark eyes when you spoke to another male student. He noticed how he’d always want to be around you, his demeanor changing when you would leave for a different class or when training sessions were split up. Bakugo was utterly disgusted by it, but it gave him an evil idea. ‘She doesn’t belong to him, she never will, I’ll be sure of it’ he thought to himself.

After last nights study session, you failed to realize that you had left your textbook on his bed. He noticed soon after you left and texted you, telling you not to worry and that he’d bring it for you tomorrow morning. You had missed him in the morning though, running late from going to get an iced coffee, so you decided you would get it from his bag in the locker room before your chem class. You both had training but you had to go to a different site with the rest of the girls, while the boys stayed in a closer facility.

Your water quirk meant that you spent a lot of time getting wet, so naturally, your hero suit looked like an elegant yet sexy two piece swim suit. The top was white, long sleeved with a cut out above your breasts and the bottoms were a standard bikini bottom, with sheer white tights that were waterproof. You always felt so weird wearing it during co-ed training sessions, but Momo urged you to feel confident in it, telling you that you looked sooo hot in it. You got to the girls locker room early to slip into your hero suit. You made your way over to the boys locker room and took a peek inside. They all seemed to be out and training already so you snuck inside. You looked around before you spotted his bag, his All Might backpack. You chuckled a bit before bending over to unzip the bag. You grabbed your textbook from it and zipped the bag back up. You stood up to leave but when you turned to face the door, a large figure stood in your way.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing in here?” the intimidating blonde scoffed at you. You shuffled backwards, clutching your book in your arms. You were sure that everyone had left already, was he here the whole time? He began to step forward before he was standing an inch from you. You looked up to meet his eyes that were piercing down at you.

“And you’ve got your sexy little hero suit on, its almost like you wanted to get caught in here” he laughed with a devilish grin.

“I-I have training to go to. I was getting my textbook from Izuku’s bag” you managed to say. His eyes filled with rage upon hearing his name. He thought of the late nights you two spent together, he imagined Izuku talking down to you, treating you like some helpless puppy, acting like he was some sort of hero, taking advantage of you. You were taken back by the face he made at you. You knew Bakugo hated Izuku, but what did your relationship with him have to do with that? Was he jealous? Or spiteful?

“I dont know what you see in Deku, but I can promise you, you’ll forget all about him after this” Bakugo said in a husky voice. ‘After what?’ you thought. Before you had time to think, his hand was wrapped around your neck as he pulled his lips to yours, crashing the two together. You and Izuku weren’t dating, but something about this felt wrong. You pulled yourself away from him and stepped back.

“Bakugo, w-we shouldn’t, this isn’t right”

“I don’t think you belong to him do you? Come on, I see the way you look at me”

He was right, you do look at him with flirtatious eyes, or at least, you used to. Before you and Izuku started meeting to study, you would fawn over Bakugo. He never seemed to return the feelings however, always picking on you or making fun of you. You deemed that as him being uninterested, so you moved on from your infatuation, but you were very wrong. He never stopped watching over you, showing his affection in his own odd way. But his heart dropped when he realized you didn’t look at him the same anymore, but looked at Izuku that way instead. He couldn’t stand to see you with that nerd when he deserved to have you. You were lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize he had stepped closer to you. You were up against the lockers now, your exposed back grazing the cold metal.

He bent down and whispered seductively in your ear, “Let me make you feel good baby, we don’t have much time in here and I think you should see what a real man feels like”. He pressed his lips to yours, more feverishly this time, as if he was about to lose you. His tongue invaded your mouth and tangled with yours. You didn’t pull away this time so he slipped his hand under your suit and began to grab at your breast. He brought his coarse fingers to your nipples and began gently rolling it around between them. You let out a breathy moan into his mouth. He shuddered at the sound of your voice, he loved hearing you enjoy his touch.

He traced his free hand down your stomach until he got to the waist band of your tight bottoms. You squeeze his shoulder with one hand and run your fingers through his hair with the other. He slipped his hand underneath and started by running his fingers along your folds. He dipped two fingers into your cunt and began to gently pump them in and out of you. He removed his lips from yours, moving down to your neck, sucking and biting at your tender flesh. You let out soft cries as his fingers pick up the pace.

“Tell me what you want” he demanded, looking back up into your eyes. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest as you remembered why you were in the locker room in the first place. Anguish and regret was painted on your face and Bakugo noticed.

“Don’t feel bad baby, what he doesn’t know cant hurt him, now be a good girl and tell me exactly what you want” he said as he plunged another finger inside you. Your legs shook and all your thoughts of Izuku vanished under his touch. He was only trying to comfort you in the moment, but he wanted Izuku to know what you two were doing.

“P-please I want you, I want you i-inside please” you begged. You needed to feel him, you needed him to fuck you.

“I knew it, Deku’s just not doing it for ya is he?” he said with a cocky grin. Truth be told, you and Izuku had never gotten that far before because he was taking things too slow. You desperately needed a good fuck, it had been months since you’ve last felt this good. You knew Izuku would be a gentle sweetheart in the sheets but you needed someone who could do both; fuck you senseless but also make love, and Bakugo could hit both those marks.

He removed his fingers from you as you clenched around the emptiness he left. He pulled your bottoms down and quickly turned you around, pushing your face into the lockers. You hear him fumble to unzip his pants before he prodded his member at your entrance. You couldn’t look back to see exactly how big he was but when he began to drag his cock along your folds, your legs started to tremble. He gathered your slick and pushed into you. You let out a loud cry as your walls grasped onto his girthy cock. He grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind your back, holding them with one hand. He started to violently pound into you, his balls slapping against your swollen lips, echoing in the empty locker room. He used his free hand to reach around and started to swirl his fingers around your sensitive nub. His pace never let up, he started to thrust harder and deeper with every second. Tears started to form as you felt your orgasm coming up.

“Who do you belong to?” he grunted into your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

“You Katsuki, I be-belong to you”

“Thats right babygirl, only me, now cum all over my cock”

Your legs began to quiver and your entire body convulsed. You let out a long cry as your walls clenched and released your juices all over him. He couldn’t take much more after that and removed his hand from your nub before he grabbed at your ass, gripping onto it for dear life. His pace quickened before he quickly pulled out, his cock twitching, warm shots of cum spurting all over your back and ass. He leaned to kiss you on the cheek then walked over to his bag, pulling out a small white towel. You stayed motionless, still with your face pressed against the lockers waiting for him to return. He cleaned you up and turned you around to face him. Realizing how long you two were in there, you quickly pulled your bottoms and tights up, fearful that the other boys would be returning any moment. Bakugo looked disappointed in how rushed you were to leave him. You tried to step forward but he planted a hand next to your head against the lockers. With his other hand he tilted your chin up and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“You know I can tutor you right?” he said with a small smirk. You blushed at the suggestion. You didn’t really need tutoring anymore, but you would love to see him again. Before you could answer you heard a door open. Bakugo removed his arm from the locker and turned to look at who interrupted you two.

“Y/n! Are you okay? Did you find my bag?” he asked sympathetically. You swallowed hard and just nodded, bending to pick up the textbook you had dropped. You quickly scurried to the door before looking back at Bakugo quickly with a stern eye, as if signaling for him to ‘keep his mouth shut’. He looked back at you with a devious smile and a wink before you shut the door.

“What are you doing in here with y/n? What did you do?”

“I just taught her a lesson, I don’t think she’ll be needing your help anymore” Bakugo said with a smug grin before leaving Izuku alone in the locker room.

[thewheezingwyvern]

Heres a challenge. Pixie/fairy Dabi, or even angel dabi! Something uncharacteristic for his personality xD

Oooh Nons lemme tell you I had a blast with this one. Tickled my brain just write that I was able to just bang this out in a few hours. Gotta give a shout out to @trafalgar-temptress for  helping me brainstorm on this. Really helped me get my creative juices flowing juuuuuuuuust right.

ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕪

Yandere!Angel!Dabi x F!Reader

Kinks/Warnings: Noncon (implied and groping), imprisonment, kidnapping, nudity

As you can see by the warnings this is dark adult content. Minors DNI.

The first time you had ever seen him, it was next to Shouto and the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Brilliant hued sapphires that were more vivid than the sky. Ethereal almost. But every time thereafter they seemed to glow a little brighter. A little darker. A little less holy in their shine. They were almost too much to look at, blinding as they were bathed in sacred light. Shouto especially. Even his feathers shone almost like mirrors catching and magnifying the moon’s rays until they were searing.

But Touya, his light was more muted. Still bright but easier for your eyes to handle. That should have been a sign to you, for the easier an angel is to look at, the farther from grace he has become. And Shouto’s older brother became easier and easier to watch with every passing meeting. By the time you learned the truth about him it was already far too late.

The first time he saw you, it was hatred that pulsed through him. Always the favored one, you were just one more pretty thing that his brother got to have. Another way that Shouto was “better” than him. Thoughts of murder curled in the front of his mind, watching your broken mortal body fracture beneath his rage until you were nothing but a splintered wreck for Shouto to see. Until he noticed that you looked at him far more than his perfect sibling. That was the single drop of poison that bloomed in the wine, steeping him in more greed, lust and envy than he had ever tasted before.

In a way, you were the final shove to Touya’s fall.

The crashing sound of tumultuous waves against a rocky face was the first thing to greet you when you woke. Brine and breeze drifted in and wrapped around your prone form huddled under a thin blanket. The air was filled with a moan, a mournful howl that seemed to be crying for you as you stirred. You were no longer at home in the safety of your own bed, that was apparent when you drew more into consciousness and found yourself curled on a pile of thick pillows. But the detail that struck to your heart that you weren’t home was what you saw first.

Golden bars inlaid with pearl. 

They wove intricately into a gorgeous dome, twisting into a cage to keep you confined as the ocean crashed in the background. Beyond the confines of your prison you could see the open mouth of a cave that you had been tucked away into, one that opened out to face the wide open sea. Even from your spot tucked back in the corner you could tell that it was far too high for you to risk jumping even if you did manage to escape your cage. Your prison should have been a dank, dark and wet place but there were braziers placed in various nooks, burning with holy fire to help sheath the cave in a warmth that kept it cozy.

Lanterns were strung into the roof, also flickering with sacred fire to help ward off the damp. There was even some chairs, a plush rug and an exquisite tapestry strung up on the far rocky wall. Had you not been locked up, silver shackles also twisted around your ankles to further trap you, you might have enjoyed this space as a little hide away from the world. There wasn’t much to do since you were alone and the cage was far too strong for you to force open on your own. So all you could do was wait.

When the sun was sinking beyond the line of the horizon, Touya finally appeared. A dark glee curled in his chest when he saw the sheer look of relief that washed over your face when you caught sight of him. Already he could taste the hope bursting from you, a sweet little treat for him to savor before he got to rip it from your grasping hands. You collapsed against the cage, fingers wrapping against the bars as you peered out at him with teary eyes.

“Touya, I’m so happy it’s you! I don’t know how I got here but I’m glad you found me! You have to get me out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll let you out.”

Hope was also the thing that blinded you from the wicked glow in his eyes, the slow lap of his tongue across his lips at the thought of you realizing far too late that you were trapped by him when he held you against him. Relief was the next thing that blinded you when he unlocked the cage, completely glossing over the detail that he had the key in his pocket. Touya folded you up into his arms when you collapsed against his chest, sobs wracking your body, feathered wings arching to cover you. 

“Shouto must be worried sick!” you muttered into his chest, “How long have I been gone?”

“Two days. He’s losing his mind right now.”

Your face was buried into his chest so you couldn’t see the razor grin that had split across his gorgeous face. For good measure, he cupped a hand to the back of your head, murmuring soft comforting words to you as you quaked in his arms. It was important he savored this. It was going to be the last time for a long while before you would willingly touch him again. 

“Please take me home…”

Touya chuckled darkly, “Awww you don’t like it here?”

He watched you lift your tear stained face up, staring up at him with bewildered eyes. A thumb swiped gently at the stroke of your cheekbones before hooking down to trail along your jaw. Confusion mottled your expression before the first prick of fear flickered in your eyes. The way your mouth hung open made him want to kiss you breathless, crush you to him until you were pounding at his chest to let you go and even then go further.

“No! Why would I want to stay here in a cage?!”

“But you look so pretty in there, Dollface.”

The dark angel captured your wrists in his hands as you started to back away from him, hauling you closer. Fear burst even brighter in your eyes, your whole form quaking in his grasp. The sight made his cock twitch, breath panting ragged from his lips as you squirmed.

“T-Touya? This isn’t funny! Take me home.”

“Sorry babes. This is your home now.” the way all the hope withered in your eyes when you realized he was your captor had his blood running hot, “Poor little Shouto is just going to have to do without.”

Touya dipped his dark head down before he started leaving scorching hot kisses to your exposed neck. You trembled and thrashed but you just did not have the strength to break free of him. Just how he liked it. Roughly he whipped you around and pulled you back to chest against him, hooking his left arm around your arms to imprison them behind your back. A whimper escaped you as his free hand closed over your neck in a warning grip before sliding slowly down towards your collarbones.

“St-stop it! Touya, please!”

“God’s not here, sweetheart. So you don’t have to pretend to be so pure and innocent now. I saw the way you kept your eyes on me more than Shouto. He was too bright. Too pure for you to handle. Fact is, you craved a bit of darkness didn’t you?” he whispered wickedly into your ear, a hand groping at your right breast through the silky shift you were clad in, “My brother doesn’t deserve you and I’ve decided that I’m going to keep you. You’re mine now.”

A finger and thumb pinched your nipple through the silken fabric, pulling a choked cry from your throat. A rock hard cock rutted against the curve of your backside, summoning up his own groan of pleasure. At first he had wanted to steal you away from perfect little Shouto, the shining son, out of spite. To take away one of the things he wanted the most and wreck you. But the more time went on, the more Touya wanted you for himself. Why break such a delicious creature when he could just take you and keep you? It would stroke the wicked green eyed devil that had started to grow within his chest and also lash out the prodigal son.

“Touya please don’t do this!” you begged, a loud moan escaping you when his hand shot down to rub against your clit, “Ah-! Please! I-I won’t tell anyone if you let me go-”

The sounds of your begging unleashed a clash of emotions in him. On the one hand, hearing your voice break and plead him made his dick twitch against the curve of your ass. It was a delicious little sound and he wanted to hear more from you. But it also sparked a deep rage in him. Touya went through all of this trouble, stealing some of Heaven’s prized metal work to fashion a cage for you here. Spent months scoping out the perfect place to keep you so you couldn’t escape and no one could find you. He had even taken the extra steps to try and make it comfortable. 

“Ingrateful whore.” he snarled, tearing open your shift to bare your form to the seaside air. Any trace of gentleness he had shown before evaporated when he shoved you face first against the side of the gilded cage, “Take a good long look at this cage. Because this and me is the closest you’ll ever get to those pearly fucking gates again.”

You wondered where it had all gone wrong. Wondered how he could do something so awful to you and his brother. He was an angel, one of the holy ones, it wasn’t supposed to be this way at all. Shouto made it easy for you to forget that they could fall just like anyone else. That they could be fallible and prone to corruption.

Afterall, every demon is an angel that’s fallen from grace.

((Want to participate in Arcane April? Check out my post here about the event and send in your requests! One day left!))

[lovehotelreservation]

(Re)spite

Summary: Hathe and Emet-Selch needed a break.

For Hathe, it was to preserve her energy and ease her nerves before ascending The Ladder for the daunting task of putting an end of Vauthry.

As for Emet-Selch?

He just needed for the glint of that painfully familiar shard to stop tormenting him so.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: WoL!OC/Emet-Selch

Continuation to “Mea Culpa”

BEEP BEEP SAD GRANDPA SEXINGZ ON THE WAY !!!

THANKS SO MUCH TO MY LOVELY COMMISSIONER FOR THIS BLESSEDLY ANGSTY OPPORTUNITY!!!

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

It just wasn’t the same.

There was a time when Emet-Selch set his eyes upon the Warrior of Light as something more than just a pawn in his plan, more than a fascinating subject in his observation of the mortals within the First.

An era long lost, but one he yearned so dearly to return to--it was during those blessed bygone days when he mockingly called out to the savior of the realm as not “hero”, but Azem.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he preferred truth over delusion.

The shard of his beloved Azem was here, lingering within the possession of the Warrior of Light.

Hathe.

But now, as he found himself lingering around the proximity of The Ladder in the mortals’ ongoing efforts to thwart Vauthry’s plans while the Kholusian sun mercilessly bore down upon him, his eyes were not softened with affection as he gazed towards her, but fixed in a scrutinizing stare.

It just wasn’t the same.

Hathe’s aether.

Corrupted cracks had since formed during her adventures in the First, all because of her misplaced faith in the Crystal Exarch.

Honestly, for all the glares and huffs that he received from her, it truly was baffling that she did not do the same to The Crystarium’s leader.

His lips were beginning to form a pout from this biased treatment.

“How are you not boiling in that thing?”

But then his lips curled into a grin as his gaze shifted to the eyes of the inquiring voice.

Lounging beneath the shade of one of the old workshops was Hathe, who retreated to this distant corner of The Ladder to preserve her energy before the ascent up to Mt. Gulg while the other Scions and the Eulmorans worked together to get the Talos running once again.

Clicking his tongue in a tsk, Emet-Selch threw his arms open wide in overexaggerated faux shock as he remarked, “My, my, hero--how brazen of you.” 

He approached where she sat in a saunter, crossing between the distinct line on the pavement to where the blazing sunlight treaded no further into the cool shade as he continued, his voice donning a playful innocence, “Did you wish for me to strip for you so badly?” Tilting his head, he pressed a thoughtful finger against his cheek with a smirk as he purred, “Have you missed my warmth in your bed that much?”

A roll of her eye and a sigh out of her painted lips.

“I should have just stayed quiet and enjoyed the peace.” Shaking her head, her arms folded over her chest as she reclined further back against the wall. Her eyes shut, hoping he would take this as cue to leave her alone.

But the sudden presence that appeared right by her side entailed otherwise.

As did him crouching down, a silent affirmation of his intentions to stay.

Not even the sensation of gloved fingertips cradling her chin had her look towards him, let alone fluttering her eyelid open to perceive his existence.

“Oh come now, you act like my presence hasn’t enriched your life for the better--”

He drew closer to her.

“--truly, wouldn’t you prefer I over the Exarch?”

The heat of his breath fanning over her ear never failed to make her shudder, a sensation that she was ever reluctant to enjoy.

She had a feeling as to where this was going. Though her better judgment would have her shoo him away before matters progressed further--especially given their relatively close proximity to the rest of the Scions and the others--it was either indulging in pleasure or quietly stew in thought over both the task of sending Vauthry crashing down while dealing with the Light that was poisoning her aether.

But that didn’t mean she was going to be that compliant with the man who was meant to be her nemesis.

And thus her eye opened, the sight of which made him wish she didn’t have to keep that eyepatch of hers on.

Azem’s eyes were among the features he cherished most about her after all.

But as ever the contrast between his lost love to the fragmented soul who stood before him, she huffed in defiance, “I’d prefer you let me relax before I pick up the pieces of your meddling.”

Her tone was soft, but the irritation laced around each word was as prickly as could be.

Emet-Selch only smirked in response.

“Meddling I object to, but letting you relax--” His thumb traced over her lips, caring little for the smudge of rouge that stained the whites of his glove--if anything, he relished it.

Continuing on, he kept her right in his sights as he tsked haughtily, “--honestly, by now you should know to be more direct with me on with your desires, hero.” 

The distance separating them closed further as he drew his thumb away, eliminating the space between his face and hers until their lips were barely an ilm apart as he mused, “Has anything else even come close to having that beautifully battleworn body of yours be at ease like my touch?”

She expected a kiss next.

But ever full of surprises, Emet-Selch only smirked as he teased, “Save for those ruffians who have felt the might of a keg of ale smashed upon their heads during those bratty youthful days of yours, of course.”

Hathe’s eye narrowed with sheer annoyance. “Gods, you really need to shut up.”

And it was with those huffed words that her hands cupped his face as she brought his lips to hers in a kiss.

A kiss for distraction.

Hathe and the tumultuous road that she was due to tread any moment now.

Emet-Selch and a yearning that he never could bring himself to ever relinquish in the days that have passed.

As delightful as it was to indulge in the gorgeously toned physique of the renowned hero during their many trysts in the nights since passed in her personal suite, it was still an utterly peculiar experience for his fingers to roam over physical familiarity with a soul that thought him to be a stranger, an enemy.

Ever more the thorns that had long formed around his heart embedded further and further.

In the end, she was just to be a vessel to enact his life’s work, his purpose to continue and carry on the will of his people.

And yet, he still found himself being so attentive, doting even, to Hathe’s pleasure as he shifted her clothes around--being mindful to not rip, else risk being punched back to The Source as she warned--, his lips kissing over her breasts, his tongue skillfully lapping over her nipples while his gloved fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, seeking to press and caress over her panties.

A warrior like her could handle some roughhousing, as he would often tease while fucking her into the mattress during his numerous late night visits to The Pendants.

But here, in this moment, hidden away in the shade, while she was more eager to peel off his robe, he was more in mind to take his time with her.

Bodies intertwined, an affair meant to exist only in the shadows.

She lied beneath him upon the ground while he eased his cock in and out of her core. Far from pounding but nowhere near delicate, he pumped himself at a lively pace. More kisses than bites were pressed onto her neck, one hand clasped around her waist while the fingers of the other slipped between their bodies to rub slow--and dare he say sweet?--circles against her clit.

It just wasn’t the same.

“What’s with the tenderness?” Hathe murmured breathlessly, her back arching as she continued to find her senses stimulated all the more. Though there was a teasing inflection to her voice, he could hear a layer of pure curiosity at its foundation.

The question genuinely caused Emet-Selch to halt in place.

Even if just for a few seconds.

Only before he snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. “You will never see Ascians as capable of love, do you, hero? Since you insist--”

His hands reinforced their grip on her waist, squeezing tight as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

She was right, however.

Tenderness, affection, love--those were reserved for Azem.

A shallow copy of the woman he loved most was in no need of such pure and precious joys, especially when she was fated to become a vessel for his plans.

The leading role of his grand theatrical production was to take her place in the showstopping climax of the show, and he was ever so delighted to have front row seats.

And yet, his mouth still sought out to kiss hers nonetheless.

A kiss longing for someone he couldn’t have anymore.

A kiss affectionate for someone he needed for greater purposes.

But as they rode out their orgasms, soon falling into one another in a pleasured heap, he still embraced her close to his chest with a grip that did not want to let go in the slightest, his face hiding into her neck.

So familiar and so far at the same time.

It just wasn’t the same and never would things return to how they would and should have been in a kinder life.

[aimeelouart]

Repurposing a bit of server freewriting for part 2 of purring!Cloud (Saving Subject C AU). Lil’ bit of whump, lil’ bit of hurt/comfort, and lovely fluffy cuddles

Also doubles as a preview if we end up going in a certain direction, but tbh I doubt it. Either way, spoiler free.

--

Cloud held pressure across his stomach, grimacing as the pain came and went in throbbing waves. He’d already pulled the shrapnel out so his body wouldn’t seal around it. Now it was just a matter of staying still and keeping pressure on until it closed enough for him to safely move.

His chest was doing the fucking thing (he refused to put a name to it) but he couldn’t make it stop, which didn’t make any sense. Didn’t cats only...do the thing when they were happy? Why was it happening to him now? 

Fuck, at least the SOLDIERs weren’t around to hear it.

“Cloud!”

The call was still fairly distant. Cloud loosed an involuntary, irritated grunt at the sound. Shit, they were persistent. Maybe that wasn’t surprising. He had run off and destroyed Shinra property at the first available opportunity. With any luck, his hiding space would work until the hole in his side closed and he could make a proper escape. It didn’t have to be long. Just...long enough.

Gaia, he was starting to feel lightheaded. He cracked an eye open and checked the size of the blood puddle spreading from his side. It was much wider than he’d hoped. He might be in more trouble than he thought.

“There you are.”

Cloud breathed out a heartfelt “fuck” as Sephiroth’s voice reached him. Grimacing, he tilted his head enough to see the silver-haired demon kneeling and peering into the dark space beneath the broken lift Cloud was using for cover. He snarled at the man, but it was half-hearted at best. Even if he somehow found the strength to take up his commandeered knives again, he was too weak to run, never mind fight.

He’d miscalculated, and how he was going to pay for it.

But…

But.

Sephiroth didn’t sound angry when he dropped down onto his stomach and slid as far into the narrow space as he could. “Cloud, where are you hurt?” He sounded…concerned, alarmed, maybe even a little bit…afraid? “Cloud?”

“Fuck off,” Cloud slurred, confused. His sight was starting to gray a little bit around the edges. A real pang of concern shot through him. Had he missed an exit wound?

Sephiroth snorted a little, disbelieving. “Even when you are bleeding out, you still…” He reached, but even his long arm wasn’t quite enough to snag Cloud’s shirt. “Cloud, can you move toward me? Just a little bit.”

He hunkered down into himself, trying to apply more pressure. The pain was fading, and he still couldn’t make the stupid rumbling stop. “No.”

“I can’t help you unless you move a little bit, Cloud.”

“Fuck off,” he repeated, eyes starting to slide shut.

Another voice. “Seph?”

“He’s here. I can’t reach him.”

Cloud’s eyes shut all the way.

“Let me try. Here, Angeal, take my coat for a second.”

The voices were starting to sound like they were coming from underwater. Cloud felt, distantly, that this was definitely the point at which he should have been outright alarmed. He’d missed something. Probably an exit wound on his back, based on the blood loss. He’d be fine, even if they left him where he was, but they weren’t going to do that. He wished he had the strength to grab one of his knives.

“Cloud, sweetheart, can you say something?”

He found the will to say “fuck off” a third time. It sounded like “f’k ov.”

Genesis—that was Genesis—snorted. “Okay. Okay, I’ve…” Fingers snagged the edge of his sleeve. “…got you! I’ve got you, come on.” He pulled, sliding Cloud across the blood-slicked ground until he could grab an arm, and then Cloud was dragged from the safety of his hiding space and out into the light. Alarms were still going off in the distance. He smirked weakly.

“Shit, kiddo,” someone breathed as he was rolled onto his back. He couldn’t quite find the strength to keep his hand over the wound and it fell limply to the ground. “Did you⁠—is this a shrapnel wound? Cloud, did you pull it out?”

Duh, he thought, unable to articulate his disdain.

“Later, Genesis,” someone else said. Large, strong hands provided the compression Cloud wasn’t able to any more.

“I need to see his back. Get the shirt off.”

His shirt was cut off as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was shifted, then propped up across someone as two more hands pressed down on either side of his torso. Magic flooded his body, sealing the path carved through his flesh. The gray retreated a little as another flood of magical energy compensated for his blood loss until his body could make up the difference. 

And, finally, the stupid purring stopped. He really, really hated that it seemed to be involuntary.

Cloud was shifted again, wrapped up in something primarily leather and then picked up like a swaddled infant. Fucking rude, he thought, struggling to drag his leaden eyelids up. A vaguely silver blur hovered above his face. He tried to object, but what came out of his mouth was closer to a grumpy kitten growl than articulated displeasure.

“Hush,” someone said. It might have been the silver blur. A water bottle was pressed against his lips and since he wasn’t completely self destructive, he drank.

“Little idiot. What was your plan, hmm? To bleed out under there?”

That was probably Genesis. Out of pure spite, Cloud managed to spit out a “yeah” in response.

A frustrated noise. A tired sigh. A rumbling, half-stifled laugh against his ear.

“Stop antagonizing him,” someone said. A hand passed over his face, brushing his staggering eyelids down. Tired, he let them stay closed. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about appropriate responses to severe bodily harm later.”

And Cloud was...increasingly confused. It was hard to think, drained and cold and barely hanging on to consciousness, but none of this was what should have been happening. They were threatening...scoldings? No one was angry. He’d destroyed a massive amount of Shinra property, practically spat in their faces, and somehow no one was angry.

He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chill.

--

Cloud’s little stunt had scared the hell out of them. It wasn’t that they didn’t care that he’d demolished Shinra property and made their job fending off the Turks much, much more difficult—they did—but when they’d started searching, they really had thought it would be a tiny, lifeless body they found. Any anger and frustration they might have felt paled in comparison to the sheer relief of finding him alive.

Sephiroth was the one watching him (hiding him, more or less), while Genesis and Angeal dealt with getting all of them back to the Tower in one piece. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Cloud was so little and this event just reinforced the fact that only SOLDIERs had any hope of containing him. Hopefully that would bolster their argument rather than encourage Science to get involved, because...well, forget what he and Genesis and Angeal would do to save the kid, Cloud himself would rip the whole department to shreds using only his teeth if they even tried to take him.

On some distant level, Sephiroth wondered how Cloud had managed to ensnare the three of them (and more SOLDIERs besides) so quickly. Or at all. Sephiroth wasn’t supposed to have a heart. He was supposed to be the pure paragon of SOLDIER, a soulless weapon forged only to mete out death. But here he was, holding a child safe in his arms and feeling his breath stutter every time he wondered what it would have been like to find a cold, unmoving body beneath that broken equipment.

Cloud was asleep, face milk-pale where it rested against the dark leather of his coat. He had proper blankets now, and Sephiroth’s own body heat besides. Angeal had been very clear about that—Cloud was not to be without a heat source until he was no longer anemic.

Not that Sephiroth would have willingly put him down. He found himself oddly agitated at the thought of not being able to feel the boy’s heartbeat beneath his palm. And, more than that...he felt unwilling to give up the strange, powerful contentment he felt just having Cloud safe in his arms.

“Seph?”

He startled a little, moving his eyes from Cloud’s face to find Genesis standing with one hand on the door frame, watching them with an unreadable expression. “...yes?” Sephiroth responded when Genesis didn’t continue. He realized that he had been shifting back and forth from foot to foot without noticing. When had that started?

“...you’re purring.”

What? He stopped—he stopped breathing entirely, actually. They’d told him about Cloud’s near-violent reaction to his own purring weeks before, but only now did he really understand. Because humans weren’t meant to be able to do that.

“Hey,” Genesis said quickly, crossing over to touch his arm, “stop. I know what you’re thinking.” His eyes were unusually gentle, maybe because he was riding the same relieved high Sephiroth was. “But...aren’t you glad Cloud isn’t alone?”

Aren’t you glad you’re not alone?

And he...was. He really was, once the thought was put to words. Cloud had been frightened by his own body and abilities, but he didn’t need to be anymore. Not when Sephiroth was with him. Neither of them were alone.

The rumbling started back up. He thoughtlessly leaned his head down and pressed his cheek to Cloud’s damp, unruly hair. The boy smelled like mako and blood and explosives. Sephiroth didn’t mind at all.

Genesis huffed a laugh, but it choked a little, and Sephiroth cracked an eye open inquisitively. “You’ve...you’ve never been injured enough or happy enough to do this before, have you?” he asked.

Oh. Was that it? He thought it might have been in response to Cloud, somehow, but...he really hadn’t ever felt such powerful relief and contentment until today, had he? Objectively, that was probably sad—that’s what Genesis’s expression was telling him. He didn’t much care though. There were more important things to think about.

So he just hummed noncommittally and gathered Cloud a little closer, shutting his eyes again. When Genesis huffed a second laugh, it was much lighter.

“So,” Genesis said, nudging him, “when is it my turn to play space heater?”

Sephiroth growled.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“I immediately regret this decision.” + ThanZag

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 if you liked this!

----------

Thanatos had been anticipating slightly better weather. Looking back, in all honesty, that made him the fool in this situation. He’d lived here long enough to know that the weather here moved only between shades of slate grey and varying amounts of freezing rain. It had always been a running joke when they would come here for summer vacations as children, that their mother had chosen this particular stretch of coast because she despised the sun. That while geese might fly south for the winter, Mother Nyx fled north for the summer and took her babies with her.

So really, Thanatos had no one to blame but himself for the fact that he was standing on the pebbly shoreline, fighting to keep his towel wrapped around him in spite of the wind and shivering in nothing but a pair of shorts.

Well, he could blame Zagreus of course. But he should have known better than to fall for those pleading eyes.

Those eyes were currently shamelessly dialled up as his mermaid lover lounged in the shallows, beckoning to Thanatos, “It’s really not that bad!”

Than frowned at him, “So I’ll maybe only lose my extremities to frostbite rather than a whole limb?”

Zagreus laughed, not even flinching as incoming waves broke over the back of his neck, speckling his hair with drops of diamond. His tail swept lazily through the water, stirring up foam, glowing with its faint red-gold light that seemed inherent to the scales themselves.

“You’re so dramatic,” Zag chuckled, “You used to come swimming with me all the time, in worse weather than this.”

“Yes,” Than took a hesitant step closer to where the waves lost steam and fell apart against the smooth stones, “I was sixteen and an idiot.”

“And now we’re twenty six,” Zag flashed him a smile that showed his sharp canines, “So come on in.”

Thanatos had to admit, the way the setting sun flashed on the water’s surface invitingly, lighting up stripes of it in flaming orange, was making him forget how cold it would be. Zag’s tail looked like one of those stripes came to life. Fluid, effortless life that burned with its own soft ember light and trailing fins like lingering flames. He remembered how it felt wrapped around his waist all those nights when they were younger, it’s supple warmth.

Zag’s smile had grown, curled at one end into something hungry, like he could read Than’s thoughts. They’d known each other long enough that he could probably read them on his face.

He pushed off the bank along the shore with his muscular arms, slipping into the deeper darker waters. With one hand, skin bright white against the almost black sea, he beckoned.

Than exhaled and let his towel fall to the ground, kicking it back. Eyes fixed on Zagreus, he took one step into the surf.

“I immediately regret this decision,” he said after a moment’s pause, “No sex is worth this.”

“Aw come on!” Zag yelped half with incredulity and half with laughter, “You promised!”

Than grimaced. His toes had lost all feeling and it only really burned right where the water met his ankles. Zagreus had been right, it wasn’t too bad. When he’d been a younger man, he’d thrown himself off the end of the little jetty into much colder water with reckless abandon. With this being where they spent their summers, he and his brothers had quite the warped concept of acceptable swimming temperatures. Freezing became cold and cold became mild. Actual mild didn’t exist this far up the northern coast.

He had learned it was easier when there was a very willing lover in the water beckoning him in.

With a deep lungful of air, Than increased his pace, letting the water slip up his legs and foam around him until he felt the rough pebbled surface under his feet fall away. Then he just let himself pitch forward into it, bringing his arms up to make it a passable dive. As the ocean closed over his head, the world fell into total silence. There was a perfect beat, a single moment of complete noiselessness, where everything seemed to freeze in place.

Before his nerves could light up with the pain of the cold, Zag’s arms closed around him and pulled him up. Than gasped in air, hair plastered to his head and dripping salt water into his eyes. The first thing he heard was Zag’s laughter, the first thing he saw was his smile, beaming proudly.

“See?” he grinned, wrapping his tail around Than’s legs to let the inherent heat of it warm him, “I told you. Not that bad.”

“No,” Than’s teeth still chattered and his breath still came in gasps but his lover ran hot, he just pressed closer to him, “Not bad at all.”

Zag grinned, drifting them back a little until the water gentled and came up to his and Than’s shoulders. Than knew he didn’t need to do anything, just cling to Zagreus, and he would stay afloat.

“Isn’t it nice to meet in the middle, like the old days?” he hummed, gills flaring as he spun them in slow, lazy circles, “Back when we had to sneak around?”

Technically they still had to sneak around. There was a reason they only met at night, there was a reason the only human Zag had felt brave enough to approach was one who lived in an isolated seaside cottage over the summer. One who was his own age, a child and still desperate to believe fantasy stories might be real.

But Than appreciated what Zag meant, he meant the only person in the cottage now was himself, that Zag could shift his form and share Than’s bed as many nights as he was able to sneak away from his father’s castle. Than didn’t have to sneak out of the smaller room he shared with his brothers, tiptoe down the stairs avoiding every one that creaked to undress at the edge of the jetty and fall into Zag’s arms. Now they could share breakfast together, make love in every room of the lopsided little cottage, walk the shore together and kiss.

But yes, it was still very fun to meet in the middle.

Zag was kissing him now, interrupting his thoughts, open mouthed and inviting. He was so warm inside, warm enough to compensate for the cold of the ocean he swam in, warm enough to make some of Than’s biological impulses possible when the freezing water should have meant otherwise. His lungs remembered how to take deep breaths, exhaling into Zag’s mouth, hands breaching the surface to cradle his lover in return. For a long time, all they did was taste salt on each other’s lips, the only sound was the gentle rolling of the waves and their shuddering breaths.

“I supposed I’m the one getting fucked?” Zag eventually gasped out, ever the impatient one.

“Well I don’t have any lube in my pockets,” Than murmured, teasingly licking along his jawline, “And no pockets. So yes.”

Zag had no complaints, purring loudly as he shifted, exposing the part of his long body just under where his pale skin turned into blazing coppery scales. Getting to grips with Zag’s genitalia had needed a long few days of exciting and giggly exploration when they were teenagers but the last few months since they’d reunited, it had all come back to Than promptly.

Now he knew just where to stroke to tease Zag’s slit open, exposing the blushed, slick pink inside of him. He felt his lover’s tail tighten around him and heard him whimper and moan as he gave him perhaps a little more preparation than was necessary.

“Than…” Zag keened, after a particularly teasing thrust of one finger into him, “C’mon…”

“What? My fingers are cold,” Than grinned devilishly, finding his feet on the sand below them, planting himself enough that he could pull Zag towards him, starting to press into that slit.

Zag gripped his shoulders tight, his claws would leave little puncture indentations when they were done, his tail holding him close, “Please, Than. Oh gods…”

Than rocked his hips, managing to find a rhythm even while he felt like he was floating, Zag helping with his slightly scary, moreso thrilling strength, fucking himself on Than’s cock as much as Than was fucking him. Moaning rapturously, he rested his forehead on Than’s, jaw slack, wickedly sharp teeth catching on the sunset.

“That’s it,” he groaned, someone finding words when Than could only grunt and gasp, “There you are, that's where you belong, my mate, mine…”

Than groaned through tight clenched jaws, those words enough that he was suddenly, dangerously close. He tried to warn his lover, struggling to gasp it out but Zag just nodded hungrily, thrusting hard as he toppled over the edge.

Thanatos’ head fell back as his orgasm gripped him, turning his muscles to iron as it crashed over him. He would have slipped under the surface if Zag didn’t recover from his own climax quick enough to tighten his grip on him.

“I’ve got you,” Zag panted, grinning crookedly, “I’ve got you…”

“I know,” Than clung to him, his desperation for closeness having nothing to do with the temperature of the water, “My mate.”

Zag’s smile brightened with sheer delight at hearing Than use his own words, nuzzling him close as they lazily drifted back towards the shore. Though they wouldn’t emerge for some time, hesitant to leave each others arms, the place where the differences between them didn’t feel so stark, where one of them didn’t have to change to suit the other.

It really was nice to meet in the middle.

[scrawnytreedemon]

Shit I’ve Been Winding Up For A Long Time Now But Am Very Aware Will Probably Hold No Relevance Should I Actually Go Into This More--

This is about Bhunivelze.

I.

You know, when I was chilling out, on my bed, that evening on that half term in early June, deciding to check up on ClementJ64′s FF retrospective because-- Hey! It’s been awhile, I wonder if he’s got around to doing the final bit of the FFXIII saga --You know, I was there, chilling, just for a laff. Just a laff.

The rest of that week was spent spiralling into a hyperfixation I absolutely did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form, because the way they introduced that character was “wwhdhfjjhHJDFJKHKJHW H A T??”

That retrospective and a good amount of wiki-scrounging is all I have as a basis for this. This is not a coherent character analysis-- Though I might tag it as that for ease of access. This is not, by any means, the thoughts of someone deeply familiar with FFXIII on the whole beyond plot synopses and overarching themes.

I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.

Reading the vast yet surface-deep lore on those wiki pages on my birthday while in a delirious state of mind was enough to make me somewhat nauseous.

Do you think I’m going to go through all of that in real time?

(Someday, someday.)

Ugh, I don’t know how to begin, but let us, I guess. I’d recommend you read this church-mime-demiurge’s FF Wiki page if you want the same level of base-knowledge I had, and maybe the aformentioned retrospective if you want the experience, because I don’t think I have the wherewithal to get into all of that from the bottom-up.

I am also, so, so fucking sorry for any remaining FFXIII fans in advance. There is like, a good chance I may be butchering the characterisation completely, so bear with me here.

With that... we begin?

Where do we even start with this guy?

How on earth to you begin to explain the absolute monolith you’ve constructed from crumbs of a Guy, some material no doubt spliced in from the Pale King, Sephiroth, y o u r  o w n  G o d  O C and other characters, and the mountains of religious trauma you carry around at all times that is probably the only reason you’ve been able to latch on as hard as you did?

I’m going to try.

What gets me, in summary, about Bhunivelze is how he’s a prime example of how love and concern can become deadly forces if in the wrong hands. His first acquainting with human emotion was by deceiving and possessing Hope, reverting his body to a teenage state, and planning to live among humanity through him. He sees human sorrow and suffering, and decides that, to End This(because it must be ended, you see) he’s going to destroy all the souls of the deceased that make up the Chaos that’s been eating this world for the past five-hundred years so they all forget and Are Happy. :).

Capital G God here hasn’t been present for the vast part of human history because he’s hidden himself away from Everything due to paranoia from killing his own mother and throwing her body into the Cosmic Basement, THEN creating the beings that would come to create humanity and OTHER beings because he didn’t have the keys to the cosmic basement. And also he believes death is a thing because she’d’ve somehow cursed all things to pass(including him) out of Spite.

Which explains why he’s so fucking averse to it and anything to do with it.

Bhunivelze, to put it lightly, is Shit at stepping into others’ shoes and Getting their experiences-- All the FalCie in FFXIII are, but him especially. It’s clear(again, in the f u c k i n g JP--) that he makes attempts to sympathise with them and does what he can to help, but it’s with such a loftiness and a complete inability to Understand why anyone would want grief, The Worst Fucking Experience In Existence, and even less why they’d be willing to Go Up Against Him And HisThe New Perfect World just for it-- And what would it matter, anyway, forgetting their loved ones. It’s not like you can grieve lost memories, right?

Right.

It reminds me of when at the end of the story of Job in the Bible, where, after putting this man through hell on earth, God rewards Job by giving him ten new children to make up for the ones that he lost. I. And that’s fucked! Nothing can replace the sheer uniqueness of each individual person you loved so dearly! But if you were a nigh-omnipotent deity high and mighty, with a cursory, almost mechanical knowledge on the functionings of the human psyche, that would seem adequete; enough.

Bhunivelze is doing that on a cosmic level.

I now want to get onto the romance: that being, his affections for Lightning. I don’t know how much I’m going to say, but it’ll probably be alot. It’s something that hits very close to home.

There is this... thing, within certain branches of Christianity, perhaps even in those of various Abrahamic faiths, where God’s love is posited to be the love-- The ultimate, most-fulfilling, all-encompassing love you could ever imagine --Because, well, he is love, so the story goes, and so often the best way to convey that is through the imagery of...

Marriage.

Giving up yourself so completely, to serve, to be the Bride; to be bound by him for all eternity; and for there to be no higher bliss than this.

This angle is pushed on young girls and women the most; from the mere parallels to the woman’s role in marriage, all the way down to downright-horrifying ultra-Evangelical purity pacts. With men, God is your dad, your best bud and confidant, your boss, your king, your this, your that, and the ‘marriage‘ as it were is relegated to a sort of half-thought; a metaphor.

For me, God was an attempt at all that, and my arranged groom.

(It was almost incestuous; was incestuous, that my own Divine Father would reach for my hand in marriage.)

Bhunivelze experiences Emotions™ for the first time through Hope, experiences Hope’s sheer overwhelming admiration for Lighting(whether there were any baby-crush feelings mixed in, I can’t say), and promptly falls into a nigh-romantic obsession with Lightning, deciding that she will be Etro(his all-but daughter)’s replacement, will be his Goddess of Death to-be-- He even calls her as such, before the final boss-battle--

...In the JP.

What happened in localisation, probably due to a number of factors, all the way back in early 2014, was that everything emotionally challenging about Bhunivelze was scraped off, like it was extra fat, and tossed aside, leaving us with the bland, clichéd shell of a foe-god we’ve seen time and time again. And I mean everything. I mean his very love for humanity; the fact his ploy was, in his eyes, to save them. Because if they’d left that all on, then it would raise the question of even if there was such a seemingly pure, all-knowing, loving being hell-bent on setting things “straight,“ would they truly be unquestionable? Would we have the right to fight for our humanity in the face of the Creator of the Universe?

To reject a love so personal?

That’s what gets me about FFXIII’s tackling of God, no matter how hackneyed and poorly-executed. It’s personal.

It’s from a feminine experience.

I know that terming is... vague, and problematic, but the way Christianity and much of the video game industry handle femininity itself is weird and problematic, so as it stands, I’ll have to simplify it. Apologies.

What sets FFXIII’s Let’s Kill God™ plot aside from most JRPG Let’s Kill God™ plots is that with our protagonist being a woman, and one who is very in touch with her femininity alongside her sheer strength; often, in these stories, God is reduced to Yet Another Foe, expected or unexpected, and you are tasked with taking him down unquestioningly for the Good of Mankind-- You will fight God, because you are right to, and you will go man-to-man-to-however-many-men you decide to bring along for the bloodbath.

And that just, doesn’t speak to me.

Even as an Extian.

Especially as an Extian. And an AFAB one with a deeply complicated experience with my gender, at that.

Leaving Christianity was painful. Questioning God was painful. Coming to terms with the fact that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually traumatised under the guise of All-Encompassing Love was so, so fucking painful. I had been taught since I was five years old to devote myself to him, spent my life desperate to feel something, anything, to stay connected because I just, I never could Feel It on a deeper level, never could Give Up Myself, all I was, couldn’t Die A Spiritual Death And Be Reborn As His Eager Vessel, thus deeming myself to be worthless and a broken vessel for years and years on end... And for all that to have been... Nothing.

Lightning is hollowed out, the shards of her dead sister ripped from her in-stasis, leaving her emotionally numb for the majority of the game, Bhunivelze sweeps it under the rug, pretends he’ll perform a miracle and return Serah to life in exchange for her compliance, then sends her on her way to do his work, all the while knowing he’s going to pull said-rug from under her and elevate her such dizzying heights in the aftermath--

That he’ll deny her humanity.

Sand down all the rough edges that make her her, and polish her up afterwards, gild her as he is gilded, make her a Goddess.

And he’ll do it all because he loves her.

You can’t fight God like you can everything else. To fight It is the fight Existence Itself; FFXIII even conveys that by making Bhunivelze’s model part of the arena; it’s baked into the fabric of the game, no matter how minute.

While Lightning Returns is far from perfect in its execution of this concept, and that in itself makes me wince, not even taking into account the horribly botched excuse for a localisation Bhunivelze endured, it speaks to me more than anything else I’ve seen so far.

And it’s helped uncover some things within me. Helped me untangle them, just a little more.

So, yeah. I have alot of Thoughts on Bhunivelze, I want to share them, and I’m kinda really sad I have no one but my currently-absent friend Vee to share them with. I could get into alot more, like his very Fucked relationship with familial bonds, and how Lightning’s role as saviour so deeply parallels the overwhelming panic and never-ending guilt of Evangelical proselytisation, but I think I’ll leave those for another time.

In short, Bhunivelze is the epitome of Divine Love gone deeply wrong; on all fronts.

And if all of that isn’t enough to intrigue you, then, in Vee’s words, Lightning and Velze are literally canon endgame Sefikura lmaOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--

[writteninsunshine]

Heaven’s A Lie - Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters - NSFW

Title: Heaven’s A lie

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Baker Family Estate

Pairing: Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters

Characters: Lucas Baker, Ethan Winters, Mia Winters, Zoe Baker, Jack Baker

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1376

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Fic Bingo fill #1

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Non-Con Kissing, Gore, Blood, Vomit, Sick Fic, Comfort From Whumper, Whump Fic Bingo, Trauma, Traumatic Experiences, Canon-Typical Violence, Mostly Canon Compliant

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: The last thing that Ethan needed was Lucas’s comfort, but that didn’t mean he was going to deny him. He didn’t have it in him to fight right now.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

So, I was looking for a good whump fic bingo I could use for Ethan, since that man can take a beating like no one else. I didn’t find one I liked, so I made one myself. Requests are open for it, and only three slots are taken out of twenty-five, so please give it a look? People on FFN can PM me for the link or search HimboHungry on Twitter. It’s under my pinned! Warning, it’s a NSFW twitter.

Here we go: https://twitter.com/HimboHungry/status/1391276875415269379

With that, here goes nothing!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

Heaven’s A Lie

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was no fighting it, now. Fatigue crept into every fiber of his being, and his eyes could barely stay focused and open. Pain wracked his body, and there was a distinct collection of saliva in his mouth, leaving him nearly drooling as he gasped for air like a man drowning, lost at sea.

0Heaving shoulders and a lurch in his stomach had Ethan crumpling to the grass, hands and knees bracing him against the dewy turf. The humidity of the swamp around them didn’t help the sweat dripping from his face, broken pants bursting from his nose. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe out of that. With a painful heave, he gagged, coughed impossibly hard, and spilled the contents of his stomach all over the ground in front of him. It splashed against his arms, staining the sleeves of his shirt and hitting his face; he would have grimaced if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Nothing but acid left him, as he hadn’t eaten in God knew how long. Dehydration was going to set in soon and only make the pounding in his head that much worse. Blood pumped loud and harsh in his ears, his vision swam and he felt another dry heave coming on. 

For a moment, he begged any God listening to end this torture, but his ardent pleading fell on deaf ears. Nothing reached out to save him, and death was still lightyears away. How could he still be kicking after all of this? Every injury, every removal of his limbs. Jack had seen to it that he wouldn’t die, he thought, and that was the most shocking education he’d ever had.

Eyes watery and nose dripping over his lips after six more emissions, he staggered back to his feet. Swaying for a few seconds, he scrubbed at his face, smearing the tears and mucus up his cheeks, trying to regain control over himself. He had to get to the barn that Lucas was hiding away in, he had to save Mia, himself, and Zoe. That was his main focus, the only driving force to keep him going right now. A one-track mind helped in this situation, and he stumbled forward, the light peeking out from under the door a beacon showing him where to go next. Would this kill him? Maybe. The heaviness in his arms wasn’t helped by the gun in his hand, his arms nearly limp as he fought against the weakness in his knees.

Not paying attention to where he was going, lumbering ever forward, a sudden shout left him and he plummeted to the ground hard. No time to catch himself, the biting pain in his leg too much for him to handle on such short notice, his face hit the mud hard enough to bruise his cheek. With the wind knocked from his lungs, he lay there in agony for a long moment, eyes screwed shut as he tried to catch his breath.

Once he could wrap his mind around filling his lungs again, his eyelids lifted and fell sluggishly as he pushed himself up off the ground halfway, hips still glued down. Turning to look at his right leg, Ethan winced at the sight of barbed wire looped around his ankle, a thin, short leash of it tied to a stake in the ground. It looked like the kind screwed down, meant to keep a dog in the yard. That was him, now, wasn’t it? A dog trapped in a yard that wasn’t his, kept by someone intent on keeping him. Tears leaked down his face again, his nose a snot faucet, the fire in his face unable to compare to the tight grip ripping into his flesh.

Footsteps alerted him to a presence, and he grabbed the shotgun not far from his hands. They quivered as he looked up, expecting a molded to be coming for him in his hour of darkness. Forcing himself to sit up on his hip, he leveled the gun on Lucas, surprised to see the other man out of his control room.

“Aw, look at you, Ethan…” Lucas chuckled, his grin splitting his face nearly in half, “Caught like a coyote in a trap.” 

Ethan was hyper-aware of Lucas’ southern drawl, ‘cai-yote’ leaving his lips, and he clicked another bullet into the gun in his hands.

“Now, now, no need for that,” Sauntering over, Lucas pried the shotgun from Ethan’s hands with more ease than the injured man wanted to admit to, and he watched as Lucas set it aside. Apparently, he had more sense than to simply throw it, and Ethan recognized that all too well. Self-preservation, at best, but at least Ethan wasn’t going to get shot.

“Fuck off.” Ethan managed, his voice wavering, cracking as Lucas kneeled down to take Ethan’s chin in his filthy hands.

“You ain’t in any position to tell me what to do, now, are ya, Ethan?” Lucas shook his head with a happy chortle, leaning in quickly enough that Ethan was stunned, stuck in place.

Dry, cracked lips met his in a violent kiss, and he tasted blood, snot, salt, and bile as Lucas’ tongue strong-armed its way into his mouth. A disgusted grunt left him as Lucas plundered his mouth, taking from him what he wanted and leaving no room to struggle against his advances. Ethan was exhausted, in too much pain to fight him as Lucas tugged him forward by his armpits, straining the limited reach of the barbed wire lacerating his skin. Another cry of pain left him when Lucas bit into his lip hard enough to split his plump, chapped flesh, leaving a trail of blood down his chin.

“There you go, Ethan… Look so good like this.” Lucas was nearly purring in excitement, blood thrumming through his system, “Want to make you mine.” His whispers against Ethan’s lips almost left him bereft, but he was sure he was past that point, now.

“Wh-wh-what do you want, Lucas?” His tone wasn’t as rough, wasn’t as spiteful as he’d wanted, but Ethan had to take whatever he could get at this point. Spitting at him, Ethan glared as hard as he could with= his wet eyes and watery, almost stern frown. 

“Don’t go playing hard to get, now, Ethan. It’s unbecomin’. You’re dependent on me to get you outta this, ain’tcha? You oughta be nicer to me.” Lucas’s smarmy smile almost made Ethan sick again, he felt his stomach railing against his insides, bile rising in his throat.

Another rough kiss met his mouth, his blood mingling with Lucas’s saliva, staining both of their teeth pink. Suddenly, Ethan shoved at him, unsure when he cared not to give him his ire. God knew Lucas deserved it. Turning just enough to feel safe in this moment of weakness, a few dry heaves soon produced more stomach acid to slap on the ground, splattering more against his chest and arms.

“Can’t handle yourself no more?” Lucas asked, absently rubbing Ethan’s back as he spilled his stomach contents again, eyes red and puffy from tears and throat hoarse. Quivering, he leaned into Lucas’s touch, hating himself for wanting the comfort he provided. Elbows buckling, he did his best to fall to the side that his vomit wasn’t on, shocked to find Lucas scooting forward and sitting down cross legged.

Yanking Ethan into his lap, he held him close, wiping at his face and sweaty forehead.

“Pushin’ you too far, baby boy?” Lucas asked softly, his voice almost tender and eyes soft as he took in the sheer amount of pain in his face. Ethan nodded vaguely, eyelashes fluttering against his bruised cheekbones. Lucas was right. If he’d stayed away, he wouldn’t be suffering like this. On the other hand, Mia would have been, and he couldn’t find it in himself to give up on her. Eyes sunken in, he looked like he might pass out, and Lucas took pity on him. Reaching for the shotgun, he held it up above Ethan’s oblivious head, his eyes closed to the world, before slamming it down against his temple as hard as he could.

The world swam for a moment, Ethan’s vision hot and white for just a second before everything went dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Welp, I feel like this vaguely covers another part of the whump bingo, but I’m not going to count it because the theme is still being caught in a snare. At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed the ouchies. I had fun writing this! It’s partially a vent piece, as a lot has been happening lately and it’s driving me crazy not getting it out.

Prompt: Caught In A Snare

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Storm 4

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, voyeurism, spanking

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: Things are getting intense and I hope you all enjoy it (except @lokislastlove​ who no longer wants to be included)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Back at the palace, Thor’s silence permeated your existence. He didn’t remain in his chambers long and left you to ponder how long you would remain in his employ. It would be all the better if he let you go before things got much more muddled. But what would that mean for life in the palace. Surely, he wouldn’t let you remain there and your return to the dock was almost as much dreaded as the king himself.

You spent your day again in his chambers, picking at little chores to keep yourself busy, leaving only to eat some stale bread and thin soup with the rest of the staff. Your meals had been almost forgotten entirely for your stress in the last days. You didn’t realise until you emptied your bowl how hungry you really were. And how tired you were.

You ran into Melora on your way back up, you only saw her before your slept or as you woke. She asked after your new position and your work with the king. She prodded at you for any snippet of gossip and you could see the little gleam of envy in her eye. If only she knew.

The pit in your stomach deepened as the sky outside the window darkened and you realised the king was later than usual. Surely it couldn’t be a good sign. If he did not return at all, should you leave or doze on the sofa until he did? Perhaps it was better not to worry about sleep at such a time, but you were exhausted.

When at last the door did open, you looked up to a laughing oval face as a woman shimmied in ahead of Thor. His hand was on her ass as he closed the door. His blue eyes twinkled as they met yours momentarily and you glanced away immediately. He purred and drew himself closer to her. The blur of their figures along the border of your vision meshed together and he gave a naughty growl as she purred.

“Maid,” He snapped his fingers and you tore your eyes from the ceiling. “Fetch us some wine. Be quick about it.”

You went rigid and recited a ‘yes, my king’ before flitting away through the still open door, sure to close it behind you. You barreled down the hallway, panted wildly as you clamoured down the stairs, and down to the cellars. You hid for a moment behind the shelves of casks and bottles. Your heart hammered and you felt as if you would bawl. You had a bad feeling.

Your hand shook as you took a broad bottle of red and left the dark and cool cellar. You didn’t run back but kept your steps deliberate as you struggled to gather what was left of your wits. When you returned to the pair of doors engraved with the royal lineage, you took a breath and knocked. You heard nothing from within and didn’t bother a second time.

You entered and heard the king and his latest fancy in the bed chamber. You set the bottle on the table and went to the glass cabinet which held the dozen or so golden goblets with the royal sigil emblazoned upon them. You took two and turned back. You realised the voices had hushed and found Thor in the doorway, watching you, bare of his tunic.

“In here,” He waved his hand and disappeared into the bedchamber once more.

You frowned and took a breath. You grabbed the bottle and dragged yourself across the room and to the doorway. Inside, you were met with the sight of the king and the noblewoman at the edge of the bed. His arm was around her as he nuzzled her cheek, his other hand did not shy away from her chest and her drooping dress.

You set the cups on the small table in the corner and uncorked the bottle. You poured and retired the bottle. You braced yourself and rested your hands on the edge of the table.

“Bring them to us,” Thor demanded, barely pulling away from his lover. “She is new.”

You brought the cups to them and offered them up as you kept your eyes averted. Thor took his and the woman hesitated. You could feel her looking you up and down. Disapproval, amusement, spite, whatever it was, it made you want hide away.

“You haven’t any white?” She asked.

“Wine is wine,” Thor handed you his empty cup. “Do not drink it if it is not to your liking.”

“No, no, thank you,” She accepted the goblet and took a sip before handing it back. She turned to Thor and touched his cheek as she kissed him. “I don’t need much,” She slithered as she slung her leg over his. “Send the maid away and you will see.”

“She will stay,” He shrugged and peeked over at you, “It is her job to see to my needs. You will hardly notice her.” He nodded to the wall before returning his attention to the woman.

“Surely, you cannot--”

“Or you may go.” He pulled her hand from his cheek. “She is but a servant. Do you not have a servant to dress you? To bathe you? They are… nothing.”

You backed away and went to the wall. Despite your acceptance that you were at the bottom of the Asgardian ladder, his words hurt. You set down the cups and stood far from the bed. You kept your head down as a lull took over the chamber. A tension hung in the air between all of you; confusion, resent, anger.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” The noblewoman said softly but you could hear the reluctance in her tone. “Not much.”

“Mmm, see,” Thor hummed and you heard their bodies fall back against the mattress. 

You wouldn’t, couldn’t, look anywhere but at the stone floor. You heard their mouths as they kissed, the rustle of their clothes as they shed them. The shadows of their movement edged just along your vision and you squeezed your hands together as you tried not to think of what was happening just across from you. Your eyes burned and the moans made you uneasy.

Soon the sounds of kissing were replaced by worse noises. Flesh on flesh, the steady clap of fucking, the animalistic growls of the king and the weakening groans of his lover. You bit into your lip as you thought you might vomit. You looked only once from the floor, a peek towards the door as you longed to run.

You were by no means innocent. Peasants hadn’t the same standards as the rich. Sure, commoners didn’t fuck in the streets as the nobles would like to think, but they also didn’t shy away from the topic; especially the fishermen. It was why you always kept you head down near the docks otherwise you’d hear the naughty words the sailors called to anything with a skirt.

Thor’s voice deepened in a sudden peak and the woman gave a gentle gasp as the bed stilled. You were holding your breath as you heard the subtle shift and then the planting of a foot on the floor. You cowered as the figure neared you and closed your eyes as Thor stopped before you. He poured himself a cup of wine and swigged it sloppily before slamming it back down.

You felt him looming over you and he grabbed your chin. He wrenched your head up and you smelled his wine-laced breath as he leaned down. His grip was frighteningly strong.

“Open your eyes,” He sneered. Your eyes snapped open fearfully. His blue eyes were stormy as he glared down at you. “Good. I expect you to be aware and ready to tend to my every need so you will watch me. Otherwise, your neglect shall be met with a fitting punishment. Understood?”

“Thor?” The woman called from the bed softly.

“Quiet,” He barked over his shoulder and kept his eyes on you. “Do not look away. Do you understand me…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “...sweet maid?”

“I do, my king,” You quavered as a shiver rolled up your spine.

“Good,” He released you roughly and turned away from you. His broad shoulders were tense as he climbed back on the bed and caught the woman by her neck as she sat up. “You.” He snarled at her, “Bend over.”

His hand slipped around to the back of her neck and he turned her away from him. She fell forward as he shoved her and barely caught herself on her elbows. She cried out and tried to wriggle away from him. 

“Thor!” She exclaimed and he slapped her ass as he grabbed her hip.

“I am your king,” He hissed. “You will address me properly.”

He spanked her again and she whimpered. The pain contorted her elegant features as her hands balled up the blanket beneath her. He hit her again and it reverberated around the room.

“Your majesty,” She forced out through gritted teeth. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“You said you wanted me,” He dragged his hand along her ass and grabbed the base of his cock. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yes, your majesty, but--” She choked on her words as he lined himself up and impaled her in a single motion. Her body threatened to collapse at his sheer strength.

Your eyes rounded as your lips parted in shock. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You wanted desperately to look away but you feared what should happen if you did; to yourself, to her. You were sick to think he was hurting her; to think that you might be the reason for it.

He pulled back and thrust into her even harder. His eyes met yours and clung to them as he rutted into her. You blinked and for a moment, then you were looking at her. She was ashamed but fought against it. Her face was taut as she tried to hold back her pained groans.

Thor grabbed the back of her head and forced it down against the mattress. You raised your eyes again and he stared at you as his hips bucked faster and faster. He bared his teeth as his grunts grew louder with each rock. Your gaze only seemed to encourage him as his own never wavered.

You were dizzy; confused. You felt breathless, as if you would pass out. Your own humiliation was undercut by another heat; this one baser, this one worse. You should feel this way at all. Your core should not have burned so hotly and yet you could not deny that you felt more than fear, more than shame.

His hands brushed down her back to her shoulders. He pinned her down and her legs fell straight as he straddled her. The bed rocked with him as he pounded into her, his unrestrained strength rang through the chamber with each thrust. Soon the woman’s groans were sobs, hardly muffled by the blanket as she sank deeper and deeper beneath the king.

His heady breaths made your skin tingle and his eyes seemed to spark as he jerked into her sharply. He let out a roar as he came and spread his hand between her shoulders as he held her down. She beat on the mattress until he was finished. He leaned back on his heels and sighed. He tossed his hair back over his shoulders as he wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs.

He climbed off of her and fell back on his ass with a satisfied hum. She was quick to recoil and draw herself up as she looked between her legs and wiped away his seed. She glared at him and huffed.

“You came in me?” She said. 

“Go,” He snarled. “Now. And don’t ever speak to me that way again.”

“Your majesty, you--”

“Go before I toss you out in the corridor, naked,” He threatened. “I should let the kingdom see your guilt; see my seed leaking from your whore cunt.”

She reeled back and stared at him. He fell back and bent his arms behind his head, his cock still erect. For a moment, your eyes wandered along his figure. The fear curdled in your stomach as the thick muscles that corded almost every inch of his shone with sweat. You could see his power so clearly and it was terrifying.

“I won’t tell you again,” He said.

The woman hid her face as she climbed off the bed and bent to gather her gown. She pulled it on haphazardly, the left strap drooping over her shoulders as she grabbed her slippers. You could tell she made a point not to acknowledge you as she did. She gave one last mortified glance at Thor before she fled.

You trembled, barely able to keep yourself from slumping against the wall. Your legs were jelly and you struggled not to follow the noblewoman. What would he do now that you were alone?

“Wine,” Thor demanded.

You flinched but filled his goblet. You brought it to him and he reached for it from you without rising. He only lifted his head to sip before leaning its base against his chest.

“I am a mess. Clean me.” He said evenly.

“My king,” Your voice betrayed you and crackled in the air.

You went to the bath chamber and took a basin and a cloth. You filled the stone bowl with water and carried it back through to the bedchamber. Thor still had not moved. As you approached, he held out his empty cup. You cradled the basin in one arm and took it. You set it aside with the bowl and dipped the cloth in the water.

You wrung out the excess and hesitated before you stepped closer to the bed. You would not be able to reach him. You lifted a leg onto the mattress and then the other. You moved closer and your hand shook with the cloth. You hovered above his softening member and his hand pushed yours down until only the wet fabric separated your flesh.

“It is late. Don’t tarry.” He growled.

You gulped and began to wipe away the slick remnants of his perversion. His seed had his flesh shiny and sticky. You cleaned him carefully, afraid to touch him too firmly. As you did, he began to harden. Once more erect, you drew away and rinsed out the cloth, trying to ignore his arousal.

“You are not done,” He said. 

You nodded and turned back to him and dabbed again at his flesh. He let out low breath as you did and his cock twitched every time you touched it. You made sure you had gotten every bit of sweat and bodily excess and dropped the cloth in the basin. He grabbed you wrist and drew you back to him before you could get off the bed.

You fought, only a little, and he gripped the back of your neck until you were forced to face. He pulled you close so that you bent over him, his nose only inches from yours as he peered up into your eyes. He smirked and you shuddered.

“Did you like it?” He asked.

Your lips quivered but you could not speak. He chuckled and pulled you even closer. His breath was warm along your lips.

“Tell me you liked it.” He said.

You could not pull away, he was too strong, you could only sputter cluelessly back at him. You reached back and touched his hand, terrified. His hand slipped around to your throat and he squeezed, his lips almost touching yours. He laughed again and shoved you away gruffly.

“You said it yourself,” He scowled. “You’re just a servant and I am a king.”

You nodded and quickly pushed yourself off the bed. You grabbed the basin and scurried away from the bed. Your feet were heavy as you crossed the chamber and you paused at the door of the bath chamber as you heard a grown. 

You turned and looked back at Thor. His hand was on his cock as he stroked himself, his eyes were squeezed shut, and his legs bent as he stirred his pleasure at his fingertips. You gaped at him as he brazenly played with himself and his head fell to the side. He opened his eyes and saw you. He winked and bit his tongue as he began to pant.

You spun back to the doorway but were stopped once more.

“Not so fast,” He slithered. “You will-- have another-- mess to clean-- soon enough.”

[diyeoracha]

fanfic recommendations

for @kittensocute bc i heard “atsukita” and “iwaoi” in reference to fanfiction and i am There

i took your “i love slow burn or slow build fics... so i like relatively shorter burn fics (20-30k). If its a 10k oneshot slow burn hELL SIGN ME UP” and absolutely ran with it.

i listed my fav iwaoi fics (17) with a longer word count (longest is 80k) that are all mostly either canon compliant or divergent with only two straight up AUs. none of them feature heavy nsfw content and most if not all are tagged as friends to lovers lmao. feel free to read the my thoughts or just go into them blind!! and they’re all in order of how much I absolutely adore them :^)

now atsukita is not a big ship *sobs* but here are some of my favorite fics (7) of them! a lot of them are shorter bc i guess that’s just. what happens when it’s a small ship LOL. 

the formatting in this is fucked if you open it from ur dash but if it’s on my actual blog it should be fine!

Iwaoi

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

thoughts: my absolute absolute absolute favorite iwaoi fic. the characterization, the fact that oikawa’s a bastard but because he and iwaizumi are older (late 20s i believe), it feels more realistic and sad rather than oikawa being a bitch for the sake of it. spoiler alert it’s slow burn and pining and mostly oikawa not realizing his feelings. this world building is pretty cool bc iwaizumi is the professional player while oikawa is an entomology professor! also i love non-linear narratives bc of This fic. there’s mutual pining in this fic but it’s really really really subtle to the point where you dont even know if oikawa likes iwa. this made me cry like twice.

sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

thoughts: the tone in this is So similar to the courtship ritual that I liken this as an alternate story even though it’s still oikawa’s pov. professional player oikawa and regular guy iwaizumi and oikawa is just. bumming around at iwaizumi’s place and naturally he messes up but things happen.

told before and told again

word count: 4k

thoughts: i looked through literally all the tags i could’ve thought of for this and nearly cried when i found it agian. outsider POV!!

In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

thoughts: oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and they blur the line between roommates/best friends and being fwb. this is an iwaizumi pov and the pining is obvious on his end. as a iwa stan the tone made me feel weird bc it makes it seem like iwa cares more abt oikawa than he cares abt himself but. its a good fic

i grew up, you grew down

word count: 19k

thoughts: this is also SO funny bc basically oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and becomes his stay at home wife and a bunch of shit happens like people think that oikawa is dating ushijima and oikawa basically loses it every time. here’s one of my favorite quotes:

“Oikawa also bought a new ultra-strength vacuum cleaner he’d decided to name Ushiwaka out of sheer spite, because it sucked all the air right out of the room. Iwa-chan didn’t think the joke was that funny when Tooru told him, which was frankly very hurtful and insensitive.”

Mint

Word count: 19k

thoughts: iwaizumi is moving and oikawa planned a perfect last hangout and it goes to shit featuring matsuhana. oikawa pov where he pines more than iwa which is something i can get behind!! and this was written in 2015 and iwa’s moving bc of a sports medicine program so iwaizumi stans know and love him sm ;;

Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

thoughts: same premise as mint LOL except they’re on a trip together and there’s more non-linear narrative!! this one is a little more mature in tone than mint i would say (funny how people just like splitting them up and throwing them in different countries huh)

with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates and they’re both obviously and really pine-y for each other and everyone sees it but them. srsly. they’re sleeping in the same bed. like my god

Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women’s volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

thoughts: so funny. so sososoosso genuinely funny. the tone is so snappy and iwaizumi honestly just sounds like a confused teenager (which he is in this) and it gets extra points for including a lot of american culture that a lot of the other iwaoi college au ones don’t include for like. obvious reasons lol.

Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates thats abo but it’s like. mentioned twice. whiny and possessive oikawa makes an appearance in this but it’s done really well

things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he’s in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only for a little while.)

thoughts: high school getting together!! my second iwaoi fic ever and this one is just. so sweet. just an unsure oikawa realizing iwaizumi might be more than someone he wants as a best friend. this fic is honestly really really lovely.

galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

thoughts: ok this fic was so funny. theyre uni roommates and matsuhana just come fuck shit up and they all act like idiots together even though they go to different schools. and this really throws me back to university days.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count: 19k

thoughts: pro! oikawa and iwaizumi haven’t been close for a while until oikawa invites iwaizumi to go to the games with him. there’s a lot of frustration and pining and actually talking about feelings (aka iwaizumi losing his mind and getting advice from people like akaashi)

when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

thoughts: this was actually my first iwaoi fic which is funny bc the author doesn’t even like oikawa much and i didnt even ship anything in haikyuu before i read this fic and now im in iwaoi hell. oikawa is really frustrating in this in that it’s basically a really good character analysis on how oikawa comes off as a Mean person all the time bc he’s manipulative and there’s some explicit content

shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates with oikawa admitting his feelings first back when they were in middle school and iwaizumi putting that thought on the backburner until. obviously. things happen.

Desperado

word count: 80k

thoughts: one of my favorite aus. it’s all from kyoutani’s perspective and it’s almost so au that they’re original characters (if that makes sense). basically iwaoi matsuhana are ex-grifters except iwaoi are estranged and daishou somehow brings everyone back together. excellent world building and reading the pov from someone not involved with the iwaoi drama was refreshing

sing with me a song of conquest and fate

word count: 26k

thoughts: a mythical kings au that’s just. so pretty. iwaizumi ends up becoming oikawa’s servant for some reason and the world building is a+ because you can feel the trust and frustration from both of them build

Atsukita

dreams of me and you

word count: 10k (incomplete)

my second atsukita fic that rly sent me down atskt hell ;; what is essentially post-break up when atsumu gets signed to msby and he’s just Pining and sad for the most part. but the established relationship pre-break up was written really nicely because it just fits my hc of them just being domestic and atsumu being blatantly head over heels

take me home

word count: 4k

i read this this morning and it wrecked me. domestic relationship atsukita?? sign me up

No time like the rest of my life

word count: 19k

mythology au with kita as a regular person and rest of inarizaki as fox spirits! it’s cute and the world building is absolutely lovely but it is an au so they might seem ooc but their core character values are still there

wild blue yonder

word count: 6k

literally full of similes and metaphors and it’s more of an abstract read i guess? but it’s so beautiful and soft and this is exactly how i imagine their relationship

reap and sow

word count: 8k

atsumu confesses and kita ignores him and it’s a couple years after the fact and it’s mostly just weirdly domestic almost roommate like except for the fact that atsumu makes it clear he likes kita LOL. they’re really in character for this!

weightless souls

word count: 2k

pillow talk before atsumu’s first game! the atsumu pov and voice is amazing

if we were both alone

word count: 7k

now this was actually my first atskt fic that sent me down this rare pair hell. it’s an explicit chat fic (both tropes i usually try to avoid) but atsumu types like me (except for the nsfw parts alksfjd) so i guess i like. feel appreciation LMAO.

if you do read like any of these fics pls let me know so we can discuss

♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[riversofmars]

So for today's update, seeing as I'm trying to give all my WIPs equal love: back to the headmistress and her sheep farmer! Here is part two! <3 Weather continues to be shite in West Yorkshire, hope it's better where you are!

Rating M (language and sexual themes)

TW: reference past abuse (but not a lot)

Read below or on AO3

Home Is Not A Place - Part 2: The Storm

“F-Bloody cold, bastard weather,“ Gillian groaned as she slammed the door shut. It had been storming all day, and she was soaked to the bone from being out on the farm.

“Gillian?“ Caroline appeared in the hallway, mug in hand and wrapped in a large woolly poncho. It was Saturday and she was counting her blessings that she had no reason to leave the house. Flora was staying with Greg in Manchester this weekend, and Raff and Ellie were spending the weekend with Ellie’s mother who was helping them house-shop. With Gillian out on the yard, Caroline had been left to enjoy the peace and quiet and taken the opportunity to catch up on her reading in front of the fire. At least that’s what she had been doing until she had been interrupted by the sheep farmer’s return and her colourful curses.

“Don’t even f-bloody say anything!“ Gillian snapped, peeling off her coat which had done sweet fuck all to protect her from the rain.

“For God’s sake, Gillian,“ Caroline chose to comment - regardless of her warning - upon realising the state she was in. Gillian’s hair stuck to her cheeks that were red from the cold, and her clothes were dripping. “What have you been doing?“ Caroline demanded to know and picked up the coat that Gillian had abandoned on the floor in her stroppy mood. She followed the sheep farmer into the living room and put the coat over a chair by the fire.

“Bloody foxes bothering sheep again,“ Gillian huffed, and the frequency of her curses told Caroline everything she needed to know about her mood.

“And that couldn’t have waited till the storm had passed?“ Caroline crossed her arms in front of her chest, like she might with an unruly student she expected an explanation from.

“Can’t do with losing any more to ‘em,“ Gillian mumbled, dropping her scarf onto the chair with the coat, but avoided meeting the headteacher’s eyes. She knew she was right. She should have come back inside upon finishing all the strictly necessary tasks and not faffed about going after a fox that she still hadn’t managed to shoot.

“You’re gonna catch your death, if you’re not careful,“ Caroline scolded, willing her voice to remain steady and not get distracted when Gillian pulled her shirt off revealing a tank top that clung to her body. Her shoulders were strong, despite her small frame, from years of working on the farm. Caroline wondered what it would be like to hold on to them if Gillian decided to put her strong hands to good use.

“What? And leave you in charge of farm, don’t think so. Gonna take a bit more than a storm to knock me out, you should know that by now.“

“I do know that, yes,“ Caroline had to agree. Her period of peace and quiet was over. Gillian was like a whirlwind of chaos and emotion but Caroline couldn’t pretend to be annoyed by that anymore. “Get yourself changed and sit by the fire, I’ll put the kettle on,“ she announced after brief consideration. “I’m not nursing you when you can’t get out of bed.“

“Oh that’s a shame, when nothing would make me happier than you waiting on me hand and foot,“ Gillian smirked and Caroline rolled her eyes.

“I bet,“ she huffed and made her way to the kitchen, allowing herself a moment to contemplate how nice it might be to dap a cold flannel to Gillian’s brow and smooth her hair behind her ears… She indulged the fantasy for the time it took her to fill the kettle with water and set it to boil. Then she glanced over into the living area and her heart nearly stopped. She gave a completely undignified squeak that drew Gillian’s attention, so she quickly followed it up with: “Jesus, Gillian, talk about boundaries!“ She couldn’t very well just remain standing there, watching Gillian strip down to her underwear, without shooting a suitably shocked comment her way.

“Shit, Caroline, I thought you’re making tea,“ the sheep farmer exclaimed, which was rich considering the fact that the living and cooking area were connected. She reached for a t-shirt to cover herself up but Caroline couldn’t pull her eyes off her the whole time.

“It’s open-plan!“ Caroline exclaimed, mortified, and Gillian huffed as she turned around, fishing for dry trousers in a pile of clean washing that had been dumped onto one of the sofas and was to be ironed at a later date. This, of course, required her to bend over, and Caroline watched with fascination and dread as she did so. Inwardly, the headteacher reprimanded herself, sternly, for the thoughts that crossed her mind. She was determined that she would not, under any circumstances, share them with anyone or ever act upon them. She wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse.

“I couldn’t be arsed to go upstairs when there’s a pile of ironing right here,“ Gillian was quick to justify herself as she pulled on a pair of jeans and struggled to do so as her skin was still damp.

“You never lock the door either, anyone could have walked in.“ Caroline gestured towards the front of the house, trying to distract herself from her intrusive thoughts.

“Everyone is out, and our parents would have rung first if they wanted to pop round,“ Gillian shot back quickly and turned to face her again once halfway decent.

“Right,“ Caroline huffed, fully aware she had lost the argument and turned back to the kitchen to carry on making the tea and distract herself of the image of Gillian’s lean frame, water glistening on her toned stomach and soft curve of her breasts and… Well, Caroline wasn’t exactly distracting herself from it, she committed it to memory, allowing herself a moment to appreciate it in the privacy of her own mind.

“Sorry I’m… guess, I’m still not quite used to you being here all’t time,“ Gillian’s voice drew her back to the present. Caroline looked back around to find Gillian glancing across the room to her, her brow knitted into a frown of concern. It was that frown that she made whenever she wondered if she had done something wrong. Perhaps she wondered if she had made Caroline uncomfortable, rather than aroused.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not… trying to make you uncomfortable in your own home,“ Caroline was quick to respond. If anything, she should be the one apologising to her for ogling her the way she had.

“Our home. Halfsies, remember?“ Gillian gave her a hopeful smile that made Caroline’s heartbeat a little fast.

“Right…“ She responded with a smile of her own and finished preparing the mugs. “Here… I put some brandy in it,“ she explained as she returned to the living area and handed over the hot drink.

“Now, this is why I like having you 'round,“ Gillian grinned as they both dropped onto the sofa in front of the fire.

“Because I drive you to drink?“ Caroline chuckled and Gillian laughed:

“Because you drive me to drink with someone, not by meself.“ She took a sip of the tea that warmed her insides quickly, and silence fell between them as they watched the fire. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, far from it. They each turned to their thoughts, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the drink as well as - certainly in Caroline’s case, she couldn’t speak for Gillian - each other’s company.

“Does it surprise you?“ Caroline asked after a while, her eyes resting on the sheep farmer’s strong hands wrapped around her mug.

“What?“ Gillian asked, taking a sip, glancing at her expectantly.

“How well this is working?“ Caroline clarified, and Gillian chuckled:

“Should it?“

“No! No…no I mean… it was a bit of a rash decision, fuelled in no small measure to spite my mother…and yes, there are advantages to it, yes, sure, but… I expected it to be… harder,“ Caroline admitted thoughtfully. This, of course, made things difficult for her to keep straight in her head. Her attraction towards Gillian wasn’t new, it had developed over time and intensified in the last few years since she had moved out into the countryside herself. She had never paid much heed to it. There was just something about the sheep farmer, there always had been. It was evident by the sheer number of suitors she acquired. Given Caroline’s interest in women, she had merely assumed that she wasn’t immune to whatever it was. Her feelings towards Gillian hadn’t factored into her decision to move in together. It genuinely had seemed like the right decision for both of them and it was proving to be just that. Whatever concern Caroline may have had given that attraction, she had assumed that it would fade given time. Surely, living with Gillian - her mess, her moods, her… well, everything - was bound to put her off and end that idealised fantasy she had dreamed up in her head. Sadly, the opposite had occurred. While there were times where they still wound each other up, all things considered, being close to Gillian had made her realise how much she adored everything about her. Even the things she had expected she would hate. Now, all she could do was ignore her feelings and hope they would pass eventually. She would have to apply one of her mother’s approaches to problems: if you don’t talk about them, they don’t exist.

“Are you saying you expected me difficult to be round?“ Gillian smirked, never missing an opportunity to tease her.

“No! No! Well, yes, but not like…“ Caroline started and stopped herself when she realised what she was saying. She had been too preoccupied contemplating her crush on her, to mind her words.

“Keep digging,“ Gillian grinned, while clearly not taking offence, not really, anyway.

“No, I’m just… it’s nice,“ Caroline exclaimed, hoping to put the matter to bed. Not unlike she would have hoped to bed the sheep farmer but that was a different, none-existent matter that she wouldn’t talk about. “And I would have hoped it would be but… it’s nice to have it confirmed.“

“I like having you around,“ Gillian was more to the point than Caroline’s babbling mess of a statement.

“Even if I’m a snotty bitch?“ Caroline felt they were entering safer waters again.

“Particularly 'cause you’re a snotty bitch, you give the place a certain measure of class,“ Gillian laughed.

“A sheep farm with class?“

“A sheep farm with class,“ Gillian repeated with a nod. “It’s certainly stopped Cheryl trying to pick on us… and that new guy from ‘cross the moor stopped dropping by unannounced, he were a right pain.“ She grimaced at the memory of it.

“Think he had a bit of a thing for you,“ Caroline chuckled, contemplating the matter. Of course he did, show me one person attracted to women who doesn’t have a thing for Gillian bloody Greenwood, Caroline thought miserably.

“Well, he can fuck off with his fancy arse yellow tractor,“ Gillian huffed.

“Bit of a statement that, isn’t it.“

“You think?“

“Yes, like a peacock, flashing his feathers,“ Caroline mused, remembering him popping by the farm in it at one point. At the very least it had been great entertainment for Flora and Calamity but only until the point where they had started making fun of it, embarrassing them in front of what could have been a perfectly nice new neighbour.

“He were well confused when you opened door to him in your nighty that one time,“ Gillian grinned and Caroline feigned outrage.

“Well, he shouldn’t have called at bloody 10 o’clock at night, should he?“

“Probably hoping I’d invite him in, weren’t he.“ Gillian rolled her eyes.

“He must have heard of your stellar reputation,“ Caroline hummed into her tea, contemplating the matter that she was probably the envy of most of the male population of West Yorkshire when it came to “staying over at Gillian’s“. Shame it didn’t entail the same benefits for her that it had for many men in the past.

“Old Gillian would’ve,“ the sheep farmer mused, driving the point home painfully.

“He wasn’t even a looker,“ Caroline exclaimed, trying her best to keep her jealousy in check.

“Don’t have to look at his face if he has other qualities,“ Gillian shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Ew.“ Caroline contemplated adding some more brandy to her tea if the conversation was going to carry on the way it was. She glanced at the window. The rain hadn’t stopped, if anything, the storm was only getting worse, and there was absolutely no reason to be leaving the house. So what if it was only 11am? The brandy was tempting.

“You used to shag John, you can’t be that repulsed by it.“ Gillian demanded her attention with a knowing smirk.

“I liked John… for a time, loved him even, so I got over it but now… don’t think I could go back, honestly, I just… like women too much, should have stuck with them after uni,“ Caroline stated.

“That would have spared us the indignity of me shagging your ex-husband,“ Gillian had to admit.

“Ah, but then, we would have missed out on so much fun,“ Caroline elbowed her.

“Sorry… again… about all that,“ Gillian responded with a moment of sincerity while nursing her tea.

“It’s forgotten. If John could see us now, living together, his head would explode,“ the headteacher chuckled. “God knows what he’d presume was going on…“

“Hm… what indeed,“ Gillian hummed and Caroline struggled to interpret her response to an off-hand comment she already regretted making. Before she could attribute more meaning to it, Gillian concluded: “Men are idiots, aren’t they?“

“I have been saying this for some time.“ Caroline nodded with a smirk.

“Is it easier?“ Gillian asked, after finishing her drink in one final gulp.

“What?“ Caroline frowned, needing her to be more specific, and the sheep farmer took a moment to provide context, seemingly a little insecure.

“Dating… you know… women?“

“Oh. Uh- well, depends on the woman. Whether you have the same interests, want the same things out of life…“ Caroline suddenly found the inside of her mug very interesting indeed. “You for instance are…“ She broke off when she realised what she was saying but she seemed to have peaked Gillian’s interest:

“What?“ She asked curiously.

“Well, we… work well together, don’t we, we’re very different and yet…“ Caroline shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of a spring or something digging into her back. Anything to distract her from the sheep farmer.

“Are you coming on to me, Caz?“ Gillian smirked and Caroline’s face fell.

“No! No, no, don’t be ridiculous.“ Her voice was higher than usual and she shook her head vehemently.

“Hey, I’m not that bad, am I?“ The sheep farmer carried on, seemingly intent on exploiting a moment of weakness.

“Can’t win with you, can I,“ Caroline cleared her throat and focused her thoughts, she finished her tea, to give herself something to do.

“Relax, I’m only winding you up,“ Gillian elbowed her and Caroline became aware of how closely they were sitting together.

“Right.“

“Been with a girl once.“ Gillian added in an off-hand sort of way and got to her feet. She grabbed Caroline’s mug out of her hand who just stared at her in shock.

“What?“ Her mind was reeling from the statement and she couldn’t be sure if Gillian was trying to wind her up more or if she was serious, sharing one of her many sex-capades of the past for a laugh. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The sheep farmer didn’t answer immediately. She made her way into the kitchen and poured brandy into their mugs, forgoing the tea altogether. Caroline was watching her every move, tense for an answer, as Gillian took her time returning to the sofa. She handed her one of the mugs and took a sip of her own before sitting back down. There was a moment of quiet anticipation as Gillian appeared to be contemplating how to best tell the story.

“You know when… things were right bad with Eddie,“ she started at last and Caroline felt a lump forming in her throat. Eddie. How she longed never to hear that name again and for Gillian to forget all about him, but he would, forever, be a part of her, of them. Caroline hated hearing about that part of Gillian’s life because of how helpless it made her feel and how much she wished it had never happened. But there was also a part of her that was keen to listen, not out of morbid curiosity, but because it meant a lot to her that Gillian felt she could talk to her about him. She was, after all, the first person she had ever told of the real circumstances of her husband’s untimely death. Caroline felt honoured that Gillian confided in her, so she listened, for her, as much as it might hurt. She hadn’t anticipated this sharp change of pace and topic but perhaps it was something Gillian needed to get off her chest.

“He was controlling too, wan’t he, and wouldn’t really let me see other men, so…“ Gillian took a deep breath and a sip of the brandy to steady her nerves. “Guess he wasn’t that threatened by women so there was this lass, up in, uh... Huddersfield, actually, funnily enough.“ Gillian chuckled but there was no joy to it. “There was this one time where Eddie, he got really p-pissed on a night out there and got in a fight. Coppers had to break it up and he got arrested… I was g-gonna pick him up but when I were stood outside police station, I couldn’t make myself go in.“ She took another sip of her drink and Caroline reached out for her free hand. Gillian’s voice was more shaky now, there was the stammer too, that she got whenever negative emotions threatened to swallow her up. “C-Cause I knew if I did and bailed him out that night, he’d be…in a t-terrible state and he’d be right f-fucking pissed for having been arrested and…“ She broke off, curling her fingers tightly around Caroline’s. “Well anyway, I turned round, went to pub instead. Didn’t know it were a… gay bar or whatever, did I… but I really needed a drink and there was this girl…and she were nice and apparently liked the look of me and, by that point, I was just relieved to be away from Eddie for night and I… t-took opportunity, didn’t I. Stayed over. Picked up Eddie in’t morning. Told him coppers wouldn’t let me pick him up that night so I h-had to wait.“

“And he believed that?“ Caroline asked gently, running her thumb over the back of her hand.

“N-No. But he didn’t guess what I’d been up t-to that night, else he would have done more than give me a black eye, wouldn’t he…“ Gillian took a deep breath, eager to wrap up the story. “Saw her a couple times after that too, but couldn’t keep finding reasons to go to bloody Huddersfield, could I, so it fizzled out eventually.“

“I’m sorry, Gillian, I…“ Caroline didn’t know what to say. She wanted nothing more than to pull her into her arms, hold her close and tell her that everything would be alright but that would betray a depth of emotion that would probably overwhelm her. These were the times when Caroline was reminded of how fragile the other woman really was. She was staring into her mug, seemingly attempting to divine meaning from the amber liquid but coming up short. Caroline was struck - and not for the first time - by how small Gillian looked when she retreated into herself. Yes, physically, she was obviously far smaller than Caroline but her loud personality and presence usually more than made up for it. When the pretence of confidence fell away, what remained was the broken woman Eddie had left behind. Caroline couldn’t blame her for having killed him, not for a moment.

“’S fine,“ Gillian mumbled.

“It’s not fine,“ Caroline insisted, anger boiling up inside her.

“No, but it’s in the past,“ Gillian countered with surprising calmness as she finished off her drink. She glanced at Caroline and there was an odd sense of acceptance in her eyes, of hopefulness, of determination not to be defined by the past and to move forward. She gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze. “The girl was the point of the story, not Eddie,“ she said and managed a little smile, encouraging the conversation along to more pleasant matters. “Bloody hell, Caroline, I was hoping you’d at least be a little bit shocked or something.“ She managed a chuckle.

“So… what’d she look like?“ Caroline asked after another moment of silence, as she contemplated how to steer clear of the gloominess of the past.

“Who?“ Gillian frowned.

“The girl!“ Caroline exclaimed and let go of her hand. She watched Gillian with delight at the blush that suddenly crept onto the sheep farmer’s cheeks.

“Oh! Uhh- dunno.“ Gillian looked into her mug, which was now empty and provided no distraction.

“Yes you do,“ Caroline teased.

“Blonde. Tall,“ Gillian sighed, exasperated.

“Ohh, do you have a type,“ Caroline joked, trying to brush over a wave of jealousy.

“She was no uptight bitch if that’s what you’re bothered about,“ Gillian’s snark returned in full force.

“That's a no-go, is it?"

“It was good though…“ Gillian went on, completely ignoring Caroline's question.

“What?“ The headteacher frowned confused.

“The sex,“ Gillian smirked, causing Caroline to nearly spit out her drink.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 11)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, trauma and panic attacks

----------

A few days went by that were pretty uneventful. Daphne had given her intel to Brett and she would wait to hear what he wanted her to do next. In the meantime she just took it easy. Foggy hadn't been by with the food, he'd texted her to say he and Matt had been swamped with cases but that he'd check in when he can. She idly wondered if Matt was just refusing to cook for her after their last run in out of spite but she wasn't going to cry about it. She did miss her regular talks with Foggy though but maybe it was for the best. Being attached to people only led to disappointment in one way or another down the line anyway.

But despite her respite from the masked fiend, today she needed to find him. She really hoped that with Keiran now in hospital and then on his way to jail, that her nightmares would subside and her anxiety that always seemed to be simmering would evaporate. She didn't have much luck though and she hated how this whole thing was still bothering her. She wanted to just be over it and get back to herself 100%. It was the lack of control she felt over the situation that gnawed at her. How easy he'd hurt her, how easy he'd taken her down and cut off her air supply. She'd been seconds away from death. So as much as she didn't like Matt, he was the only person she could think of that might be able to help her. She'd done her own backseat casual investigation of Matt when Foggy had come over during their friendly talks. She'd drop in a question about Matt every now and again. Foggy would answer and then steer clear of the Matt topic. But she got enough information to know what days he frequented Fogwell's gym. The same gym his father used to box in. 

She had on some leggings, her black and white vans and paired them with a long sleeve black tee and a zip up hoodie. Her hair was up in a messy bun and she left her backpack and camera, not needing it for what she was hoping to do. She really had no idea how this would go. He could say no and tell her to fuck off, which honestly she was expecting. His hot and cold moods gave her whiplash but she was hoping he'd take pity on her if she was honest with him about why she needed his help. She didn't like him much and loathed sharing a vulnerable part of herself. But if anyone understood the brutality of what she went through and the guilt that plagued her, she figured it would be Matt. She had a lot of pride but she also knew when she should swallow it. In this case, she'd rather bruise her pride a little now with Matt than have it ripped to shreds if she got attacked again. 

The air was chilly outside and she tugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked briskly to the gym. She'd never been to that gym before, or any really. She wasn't trained in fighting or super into fitness. She just kept herself okay enough to get by with her job. She didn't technically know how to fight but she could throw a punch when needed. It was her sheer stubbornness and self preservation that drove her in those moments when it came to it. Just like her attack at Mr Lee's House. But that almost went very very badly for her and she wanted to be more prepared. She really hoped it never came to it but she was taking precautions either way. She was hoping by taking back some level of control over what happened then maybe she'd be able to start sleeping again. She'd grown tired of Foggy and Brett making remarks about the circles around her eyes. 

Once she got to the gym, she stood outside for a moment. She felt a flutter of nerves, knowing that she would need to be honest and open with someone she didn't like all that much. For all she knew he wasn't even here. He should be if he followed his routine but the one thing that prickled at her with Matt was his unpredictability. She pushed open the door quietly and tiptoed inside. It was empty except for the man she was looking for. He was in a vest and baggy shorts, nothing covering his eyes. She was expecting him to turn to her, his senses alerting him she was there. But he didn't. The boxing bag was a victim of the onslaught of punches Matt threw its way, grunting and panting as he did. She couldn't help but stand and watch for a moment. He was so aggressive, graceful yet savage. She found herself admiring it for a moment. 

Slapping herself out of a moment of stupidity, she cleared her throat loudly. He stopped punching, his head whipping in her direction and confirming that he had been too absorbed in what he was doing to notice her. 

"Daphne?" He asked breathlessly. He sounded genuinely confused but he didn't have the same bite he did the other night so she was hopeful this wouldn't be too painful for her.

"Hey," she murmured awkwardly, moving closer inside. Matt walked over to his water bottle on the bench, gulping it greedily. She watched him for a moment as she gathered the nerve to ask him what she came for. He was all sweaty and his hair was stuck up everywhere. It was slightly endearing. He looked more like a person than the Devil of Hell's Kitchen right then.

"What are you doing here?" He asked as his chest started to calm down with the heaving. Once again he didn't sound mad. 

"I uh… I was kind of hoping for a favour," she grimaced. He blinked in her direction, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"It couldn't wait?" He snorted. 

"Not really. I was kind of hoping you'd train me," she blurted. There. She ripped off the bandaid, now she just had to wait for which Matt she would get and figure out how to proceed. He was silent for a moment, lifting his vest up and wiping his face with it. She wouldn't deny she took a peek at his abs. She didn't like him but she never denied he was attractive. She’d told him that the first time they'd met.

"Any reason why?" His voice was devoid of any telltale sign of how he felt so she really had no idea which version of himself he was. That made her nervous. She felt her heart flutter as she folded her arms around herself like a protective cocoon. He seemed to notice as his face softened a little. 

"Your attack right?" He asked knowingly. She was grateful one of them had the balls to say it but hated that it hadn't been her. But he seemed to be amicable which was something so she decided to just press on.

"I have nightmares every night. Flashes of… Mr Lee's body and… Keiran's hands around my throat. I thought it would get better once he was caught but...its not," she muttered as her throat tightened. Matt stayed silent as he watched her but she wasn't looking at him. She was frowning at the floor.

"I felt so fucking helpless, Matt. I can throw a punch and I can take a punch. But that… I wasn't prepared. And that lack of control is fucking with me. I hope to fuck I never go through something like that again but if I do, I want to be prepared. That was the second time someone used a knife on me. I don't need to do fancy blackflips and shit, but just basic self defense. Disarming people and getting out of holds," she continued. Her voice was tense and she felt a dull ache in her chest. But she'd gotten it out now, even if he said no at least she tried. When she chanced a glance at him, he was biting his lower lip as he glared at the floor. His whole body looked tense and she started to panic he'd say no.

"Please," she insisted. She hated herself for begging him for anything but she needed this. She needed some semblance of control back in her life so she could go on as normal.

"Alright," he relented. She blinked for a moment before relief swept through her. Maybe it would be awkward but she didn't care in that moment. She smiled gratefully with a nod.

"I'll train you on one condition," he said firmly. She groaned and rolled her eyes, of course there was a condition.

"What is it?" She sighed.

"If I train you, you stop calling me Devilboy," he said seriously. An inelegant snort left her lips, she hadn't expected that to be his request. 

"But it suits you," she whined playfully. His lips quirked up as he shook his head.

"That's the deal, take it or leave it," he smirked at her, outstretching one of his wrapped hands. She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly as she walked over, shaking his hand firmly. 

"What about Satan spawn?" She asked cheekily and he shot her a dirty look with his unfocused eyes. 

"Nope," he replied firmly. 

An hour later and she was ready to tear her own hair out, or his, either really. He'd had her warming up on the punching bag to see how she fared. He'd been impressed by how hard she could hit but took great pleasure in criticising her form and how she'd cause more harm to herself with the way she did it. She got better after his advice although she still wasn’t perfect but his nitpicking was starting to chip at her sanity. She knew he was helping but he seemed to enjoy being a little asshole too much.

"Alright, let's go," he said. She furrowed her brow not sure what he was talking about but he tossed her some boxing gloves and put some on himself before he hopped up, climbing through the ropes in the ring. A sly grin crept onto her face. Sparring him would be much more fun, even if she knew she had no chance of winning. Even if he took it easy on her which she knew he would. She climbed into the ring and stretched her neck a little. 

"What are we doing?" She asked. He started circling her like a shark with its prey and she found herself following suit as the adrenaline started sparking inside of her.

"Just a free for all. You need to practice on a moving target and learn to dodge," he replied carefully. 

They circled each other for a moment more before she threw the first punch, she wasn't surprised when he dodged it way too easy. 

"Did you forget everything I just taught you? Fix your form," he demanded. His attitude was fuelling her annoyance and she swung at him again. 

"Better. Try again," he muttered. She went to punch him but instead of dodging, he blocked and then pushed her back. Not too hard but she still grunted and almost lost her balance. 

"This isn't fair. You're not exactly a normal opponent," she huffed, readying herself again.

"You gonna keep trying or cry about it?" He smirked. Her jaw dropped a little and she swung out again but once again he deflected.

"I thought you said you could throw a punch," he taunted, causing her to purse her lips. 

"Against a normal person. Not Daredevil," she scolded with a glare.

"I'm hearing a lot of excuses," he snorted. Her anger was starting to simmer away on the back burner. She swung at him hard but he grabbed her wrist, twisting her and spinning her away from him.

"Do better!" He barked. She threw another punch but she missed as he ducked out of the way, kicking his leg out and sweeping her own out. She landed on her back with an oof. Her chest was heaving and she didn't know if she was more annoyed with him or herself. 

She jumped back up onto her feet and rolled her shoulders. 

"Maybe you could take it easier on me," she bit out.

"Right. Because if you get attacked I'm sure they'll take it easy on you. No wonder Keiran took you down so easy," he sneered. A white hot rage ran through her at the words.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was deadly calm as her hands started shaking with anger. He just smirked cruelly and gave her a lazy shrug.

"Did you even try to fight back or did you just lay down and take it?" His words made her snap and she lunged at him. She threw out her right hand but as he dodged it she hit out with her left, clocking him right in the jaw. She felt exhilarated she got a hit in. She didn't have time to celebrate as he shoved her instead of hitting her back. He swung his legs out but she moved out the way just in time and she sent a kick to his torso that landed. It barely moved him but it connected. 

He laughed, actually laughed and not in a mocking way. It occured to her then he'd purposely pissed her off so much to help her. She should have seen it sooner since pushing people's buttons to elicit a response was her thing. She leaned left to throw him off before quickly weaving right and landing another punch to the jaw. She groaned when his gloved fist landed on her side. It was by no means a full punch but it shocked her since he'd done nothing but deflect and dodge so far.

"You hit me," she muttered with wide eyes. He snorted and tilted his head, unfocused eyes in her direction.

"That's generally how this goes," he smirked. She shook her head with a grin of her own before throwing another punch at him. They spent some more time and he didn't hit her as many times as he could have and she didn't land as many as she wished she had, but she was getting better. 

Her chest was heaving after a moment and he leaned against the ropes as he caught his own breath.

"You did good. With practice you'll get even better," he smiled. She stood up straighter and wiped her brow with her arm.

"Was that a compliment?" She snorted, cracking her neck as she walked over and took the gloves off after he did the same.

"I wouldn't go that far," he retorted with a smirk. 

"What next?" She asked. She tightened her hair tie and tried to ignore the strays that had flown out during the sparring.

"I'll teach you how to get out of some holds," he stepped closer to her before walking behind her. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

"Alright, if someone comes and grabs you from behind like this..." he put his arm loosely around her neck and she straightened up a little.

"As soon as you feel the arm, you need to push your chin down," he instructed. She did as he said as he brought his other hand up and gripped the other. 

"Now grab my arms with both hands and step to the side," one again she did as she was told, soaking up everything he was telling her. He tapped her left arm briefly before putting his hand back in his other.

"With this arm, you'll hit back. Aim for the groin," she raised a brow at his words but she couldn't turn her head to look at him.

"You want me to hit you in the dick now or just pretend?" She snorted. She couldn't see him but she felt a light laugh dance across her neck.

"Just pretend or get my leg right now. But if this was anyone else, the groin," he replied. She hit back, stopping before she made contact.

"So usually, when you do this, the asshole will move like this to grab your arm," he said as he bent slightly and grabbed her wrist.

"But before he grabs you, you wanna elbow up right in the face," she almost asked if she could really elbow him in the face but decided against it. He released her completely and she glanced back to him.

"Ready?" He asked as he looked in her direction. She faced away again and blew out a breath.

"Ready," she confirmed. 

He quickly wrapped an arm around her but she pressed her chin down as he'd told her to. Then gripping his large forearm with both hands, she stepped to the right and swung her fist back, not making contact. He went to quickly snatch her wrist but she flung her elbow up, almost connecting. She beamed a smile as he let her go and she turned around.

"That was good. You're a quick learner," he smiled. This wasn't turning out to be as bad as she thought it would. 

"Thanks. I'd say you're a good teacher but I'm scared your ego would get bigger than it already is," she smirked and he chuckled at her. 

"We'll do one more for today, lay down," he gestured to the floor and she quirked a brow before getting to the floor and laying on her back.

"This one is harder to get out of, there's a lot more steps. But if you practice it then you should be fine," he said as he got on the floor on his knees. He grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs so her knees were bent and he moved so he was pressed against her. She just lay there curiously for a moment. 

"You ready?" He asked carefully. She hadn't really thought too much about just what they were about to do but she nodded anyway. Then his hands were wrapped around her throat. It wasn't tight at all but as he loomed over her, even the featherlight touch around her neck sent her fight or flight into overdrive. His face suddenly morphed into Keiran's and despite no pressure being applied, she felt like she couldn't breathe. 

"Daphne?" Matt faltered, his voice unsure. Something snapped in her and she shoved him off easily since he didn't try to resist her

 She sat up, gasping for air as she scooted back until her back pressed against the rope. She had no idea what was wrong with her but her ears started ringing. Matt was talking but he sounded like he was underwater and she couldn't make out his words. Large hands cupped either side of her face and his fuzzy face came into focus. Matt, not Keiran.

"Breathe, okay? You're fine. Just breathe nice and slow for me," he soothed. She closed her eyes, her whole body shaking as she did as he said. She was safe. She knew that so why did she freak out? She felt her face flush in embarrassment and anger at herself for reacting that way as her breathing started to steady. Her body still trembled even when she could now breathe.

"I… uh…" she wanted to say something. Tell him she acted stupid. That she knew she wasn't really in danger and was being dramatic. But no words came out that didn't make her sound as pathetic as she felt.

"It's fine. You weren't ready. We can try again another time," he murmured. His hands left her face and he stood, holding a hand out to her. She took it and let him help her stand. The silence was tense as she wallowed in her embarrassment. She had to freak out over nothing, in front of Matt no less. 

"Daphne, if you need to talk-" 

"I'm fine," she bit out harshly. She hadn't meant to but she was angry and of course she'd lash out. He bit his lip with a tense nod as she climbed out from the ring. She stalked over to the water fountain and took a long gulp to try and calm herself down. Things were going fine until they weren't. She heaved a sigh. 

"Thanks for training me," despite her words and how much she meant them, her tone was still guarded and a little brisk. 

"No problem, feel free to come back when you're ready," he replied. She couldn't really read his voice. He didn't sound angry at her. He didn't sound anything. But she knew she'd been a bitch when all he'd done is help yet she couldn't find it in her to say sorry. 

She swung her bag over her shoulder before leaving without a goodbye. Maybe it had been a mistake to go to him for help. He had helped though but she loathed feeling so vulnerable in front of anyone. Especially him. She knew her anger was at herself though. She felt so weak and helpless. She knew Matt wouldn't hurt her and she'd freaked out for nothing. The attack seemed to infect every part of her life and all she wanted was to close that chapter in her life and be done with it. 

[redqueen-hypothesis]

thaw ➳ helios (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x helios (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 2188

➳ GENRE: injured! helios, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: helios breaks into and enters your house. you break into his heart in much the same fashion.

➳ REMARKS: i clearly cannot write for helios, spoilers for chapter 17+

A crash from your living room startles you awake.

Still half asleep, brain not quite running at a functional speed yet, you lie stock still in bed with the covers drawn up to your neck, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if you’d simply imagined the noise. A few seconds later, however, there’s a sound of something heavy hitting the floor outside your bedroom, a little muffled but still too loud to be anything imaginary, and goosebumps prickle down the back of your neck as you let out a little ‘eep’ of fear.

What’s happening? Had the wind from the window blown something over? Or had a burglar somehow gotten into your house? You swallow, trembling slightly at the thought as your mind runs wild with scenarios from previous crime programmes that you’ve filmed and all the cold murder cases Gavin has told you about. What if you end up a victim just like one of them?

Heart thudding wildly in your chest, part of you wants to just stay buried under the covers like this, the thick blankets at least providing you with some false sense of security, but the sheer need to know just what is happening in your house refuses to leave your mind like some sort of relentless itch. You slip out from under the covers carefully, reaching under your bed to grab the first heavy object your fingers wrap around before inching towards the bedroom door with caution in every step.

Pausing for a moment, you press your ear against the door. Completely silent.

For some reason, that just makes the trepidation all the more potent for you. Unable to take a second longer of this, your fingers wrap around the doorknob and pull delicately.

The door creaks open, alarmingly loud in the dead silence of the night. Concluding that any advantage of surprise you might have had is now flushed down the drain, you decide to throw all caution to the wind and leap out into the darkness of the living room, raising your item above your head menacingly.

“Hands up, intruder!” You yell, with as much aggression as you can muster.

No one responds.

Confused, you glance about the living room. There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside the apartment with you, and what seems to have made the earlier noise is-

“Oh no!” You yelp, dismayed. The gardenia plant Lucien had given you a few weeks ago is lying on the floor, its flowerpot cracked down the middle. The wind must have blown it over somehow, you reason with yourself as you step towards it. The weather forecast last night had predicted a possible storm with strong winds, so it’s no wonder that-

You pause midstep, a frown forming on your face.

You had closed the windows before going to bed last night precisely because you’d read the weather forecast. So if the windows were closed, how did-

You whirl around in horror, raising the object in your hands once more as realisation hits you, but it’s already too late. An arm snakes around your middle and tugs you hard against a solid chest, while a hand clamps hard around your mouth the second you try to scream for help. Flailing, you drop whatever you’d been carrying and struggle in your assailant’s grasp, and the person behind you lets out a sharp hiss of pain when your elbow strikes their side.

“Stop moving, idiot.”

Your gasp of surprise is muffled against the palm of his hand, you know this voice.

“Don’t scream,” the intruder warns lowly as he releases his grip on you. You spin around to get a look at him the second you can move, and the pale moonlight that lends an almost ethereal gleam to his silver hair confirms his identity for you in an instant.

“Helios!” His name leaves your lips in shock. You have to rub your eyes twice to make sure you’re not really dreaming, and even after you do so, you just can’t seem to find the words to ask him what he’s doing here. “You... What are you... Wha-”

“What were you even planning to do with this...” He grunts, glacial blue eyes glancing down disdainfully at the object of your choice for defense - a heavy binder of past proposals that had been rejected by Victor. In spite of the situation, you find your cheeks flushing.

“I was panicking, okay?”

Before you can find the opportunity to explain yourself, however, Helios lets out a sharp groan and sags to his knees before your eyes; you barely manage to catch him before he hits the ground hard. He’s too heavy for you to hold up in spite of your best efforts, so all you manage to do is slow his collapse to the floor. “Helios? Helios!”

“Shut up... you’re loud...” He waves off your frantic concern with one hand, but even in the dim light of the moon you can make out the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck, his jaw taut and a pained glare on his face. “Just let me lie low here for a couple of hours and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Completely ignoring him, you tug at the white winter parka he usually wears to reveal the tattoo inked onto his right arm, yanking it down so that you can inspect him for injuries. Sure enough, the second you do, you catch sight of crimson staining the inside of his parka, the bloody gashes across his biceps. “You’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a scratch, nothing life threatening-” He tries to brush it off, but you’re already up and running into your kitchen to fetch a first aid kit. Helios groans in resignation as he settles against the wall, shaking his head and holding one hand to the wound at his side. “Shouldn’t have come here.”

“You shouldn’t even have gotten hurt in the first place!” You rush back to his side with a white box clasped firmly in your hands, kneeling next to him and inspecting his wound carefully, hands gentle as they probe at his side. “I can’t clean your wound properly like this... take your shirt off.”

“What.”

Too impatient to wait for him, you grab the hem of his skintight shirt and lift a pair of scissors to the material, snipping away before he can stop you. “Why is it that every time you visit, you’re hurt like this? I thought you were supposed to be some highly skilled assassin...” You mutter under your breath. Helios rolls his eyes at your words, but you can see the pain he’s trying to play off behind that indifferent facade.

“You weren’t meant to know that I was here.” He grunts, but otherwise staying still as you cut his shirt in half. This brings up conflicting emotions in you, on one hand, you’re glad that he at least trusts you enough to take care of his injuries, but you’re also upset that he’s hurt like this. “I was just going to steal your first aid supplies and patch myself up, but that stupid plant on the windowsill got in the way.”

“Don’t talk about Garda like that. Now I’m going to have to repot her... if she isn’t dead.” You scold, pulling the fabric away from his skin. Now that his shirt is off, you try the best you can to ignore the lean, defined muscles of his chest and inspect the injury where most of the blood has come from. A clean cut through skin and flesh at his side, dark red oozing slowly from it. “Oh my god, what happened?”

“None of your business-” He begins, but you uncap your bottle of hydrogen peroxide and pour it liberally on his side before he can stop you. The second the strong disinfectant hits his wound, he lets out a shout of pain, almost curling up on himself. “Ow! Fucking hell, that stings like a bitch, you-”

Your glare is about as terrifying as his. “I said, what happened.”

“... got knifed,” is all he mutters very unwillingly, but you consider that a victory, because he’s speaking to you at the very least. Resolving to be more gentle this time, you soak a cotton pad with disinfectant and proceed to dab carefully at the edges of the wound to clean off the blood and grime, brows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you got knifed in the first place?”

“No.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head at his stony reply as you reach for the box of butterfly bandages in your first aid kit. Luckily for him, the wound doesn’t seem to be too deep after all that cleaning, and you’re not sure if you’ll do him more damage if you attempt sutures on him. “You break into my house in the middle of the night, scare me out of my wits, break my flowerpot, make me treat you... the least you could do is tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t make you treat me.” His blue eyes bore sharply into yours, a slight scowl tugging at his mouth. “Don’t expect any thanks from me, busybody. Keep your nose out of my problems next time before you get dragged into them as well. I’m not going to save you when that happens.”

“You’re as naggy as an old granny.” You hum, completely ignoring him and leaving a pat on top of his silver hair. Now that the most serious wound at his side is done, you move to cleaning the gashes on his arms, which are similarly bloody but not worryingly deep. “If you want to break into my house again, at least bring some nice food with you. I get hungry when I get woken up in the middle night.”

He glares at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

“And that’s the best I can do!” You say loudly over his words, dusting off your hands as you do a once over of his body. With no more visible wounds in sight, you gently put your hands under his arms to help haul him to his feet, even as he protests with all manner of curses and some very unsavoury remarks, before steering him to lie on the couch. “Now, Helios, we need to set some ground rules. As much as this little relationship we have is very fun and interesting-”

“We are not in any relationship!”

“–it is also very illegal! Breaking and entering is a big no-no, and it’s against the law. So, I have come up with a solution!” You turn around and rummage in a nearby cabinet for a moment, before you pull something out from the drawer and hold it up to light.

Helios squints at it, not quite understanding whatever antic you’re pulling this time. Exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids, his will to leave seeping away along with his wakefulness. Must be the blood loss. Or the comfort of your too small couch. Or maybe... just maybe, the familiar ramble of your voice. Either way, it’s not a good thing, he’d meant to make it back to headquarters before the night was over. “That’s... a key. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly!” You beam brightly, opening up his hand and pressing the key into the middle of his palm. The grooves press into his skin, as if he’s holding the key to unlocking himself instead. It feels uncomfortable in his hand, but his fingers close around it on instinct. “It’s the key to my apartment. Next time, you can enter through the door, and not by less law-abiding means.”

He doesn’t tell you that he could unlock your door in a matter of seconds with the right tools. Instead, he only holds the key up, studying it wordlessly until your smile turns a little awkward. “Well, I mean, you don’t have to.” You tack on hurriedly, reaching to pluck the key from his grasp. To your surprise, however, he pulls the key out of your reach before you can so much as touch it, tucking it in the pocket of his pants.

“Your security is shitty anyway.” He says, before turning over so that you can’t see his face. Pouting a little, you stick out your tongue at him behind his back before you rise to your feet, intending to get him a blanket so that he can spend the night. Just as you’re about to step into your bedroom, however, his words stop you in your tracks.

“What do you want?”

You tilt your head back to look at him in confusion. “What do I want...?”

He glances up at you slightly, silver hair falling into icy blue eyes that seem to have just thawed ever so slightly. “For supper, you dolt.”

“Oh.” You say, and then suddenly you’re smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. “Fried chicken.”

“So basic.” He mutters under his breath, but you only smile and throw a blanket over him.

“Goodnight, Helios.”

When you wake up the next morning, he’s already gone.

[makeste]

I’ve just realised it’s been over a year since you last listed your top 10 characters! Has anything changed since then?

a lot has changed! actually, every single ranking has changed from last time except for one (which you can probably guess, lol).

1. Bakugou (previous rank: 1)

yes, believe it or not, Bakugou is still my favorite. I’ll understand if you all need a moment to recuperate from the shock of this.

2. Deku (previous rank: 4)

hi, so. I really love Deku a lot. I think he is a great character and there’s a lot of subtlety and complexity to him that he doesn’t always get credit for. he is loving and kind, but he’s not a pushover. he has moments of deer-in-headlights anxiety when he’s in the spotlight or talking to celebrities (or girls), but then he’ll go and launch into a five-hour speech if someone mentions a topic he’s interested in. he’s very much aware of the huge burden that’s been placed on his shoulders, and is struggling to figure out how to become his own person (which is fucking hard, you guys; how many sixteen-year-olds do you know who have a solid, firm idea of who they are as a person and what it is about themselves that makes them unique individuals?) while still living up to All Might’s legacy. he’s smart and determined and capable of extraordinary things, but second-guesses himself and has a tendency to overthink everything he does. he is interesting!! and he doesn’t always get credit for being interesting! but he is! anyways Deku ilu.

3. Aizawa (previous rank: 2)

still the best. still so tired. the manga is tripling down lately on highlighting how awesome he is. childhood angst and guilt and trauma?? yes. kicking lots of ass?? hell yes. being outrageously sexy with his floating wavy hair and glowy red eyes and spending almost this entire arc in Eraser Mode while Horikoshi hopes to god no one remembers how he made it a Whole Thing after USJ that Aizawa supposedly couldn’t hold his quirk for long periods like that anymore?? oh, you bet. who is even gonna complain about it. you?? I sure am not. and last but not least, being the greatest dad in the world who’s willing to stab god in the face in order to stay alive to protect his children and continue to watch them grow?? fam. you goddamn know that is a YES WITH CAPITAL LETTERS. how can one character honestly be so great. how can he even contain it. he’s so powerful.

4. Todoroki (previous rank: 5/6)

Ochako slid all the way off my top ten list and I feel so bad about it. but she hasn’t had the spotlight for a long time, and meanwhile Shouto has had what feels like ARC AFTER ARC of being awesome and doing awesome things like becoming Bakugou’s Undisputed Best Friend, having the longest and purest canon romantic relationship in the series (I am of course talking about him/soba), and playing a key role in one of the most beautifully executed family arcs I have ever seen, with his conflicted feelings about his father that are so layered that THEIR LAYERS HAVE LAYERS. and meanwhile his quirk kicks as much ass as ever. remember that one time Shouto almost burned Tetsutetsu alive. remember that other time he fucking annihilated Ending (“GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER”)?! and meanwhile he remains the goodest and purest child in the entire series, making sure Mt. Lady’s heart is okay, and offering his two friends internships without a second’s hesitation because THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS DO. it’s just what they do you guys.

5. Hawks (previous rank: n/a! welcome to the top ten kiddo.)

OH NO I LOVE A MURDERER WHAT A STUNNING INDICTMENT OF ME. send me off to jail. anyway so I have always liked Hawks, but the latest arc has sent him skyrocketing up through the ranks of my heart. not because of the murder thing, but... okay well but actually, it is because of the murder thing though. NOT BECAUSE I’M HAPPY HE KILLED A GUY WE ALL LOVED, jesus, but because of how well Horikoshi portrayed his struggle over it. he didn’t want to do it!! but he ended up having to in the end, and he paid one hell of a heavy price for it. and listen, but if you give me a character who is smart, who is compassionate, and who is one of the most mentally and physically capable characters we’ve seen in the series and yet simultaneously does not have even the slightest ounce of regard or self-preservation for his own mental health? a character who is tired, who is willing to make sacrifices up to and including the ultimate sacrifice for what he believes is the greater good? a character who is achingly alone and isolated in so much of what he has to go through, who doesn’t dare drop his guard ever, who’s not able or willing to share his burdens with anyone else? if you give me a character like that, and then ask me not to love him, it’s like. I am very sorry but I truly have no say in it at this point. he’s adopted. I’m sorry it’s the law.

6. Tomura (previous rank: n/a)

OH NO I LOVE TWO MURDERERS WHAT EVEN IS WRONG WITH ME. hahaha. so in between the time of now and when I last did a character ranking, Tomura had a flashback! and it was very traumatic! he was little and sweet and his dad was a dick and there was a lot of blood and gore and a dog died!! and then AFO was all “HELLO IT’S ME COME TO SWOOP IN AND ADOPT YOU AND ENCOURAGE YOU TO KILL STUFF AND ALSO HERE ARE YOUR DEAD FAMILY’S SEVERED BODY PARTS TO ADORN YOURSELF WITH SO YOU NEVER STOP FEELING MISERABLE.” and everyone sitting there reading was all, “well I’ll just come out and say it, I can sort of understand why he became a murderer now,” and we all agreed that yes, it did indeed make a great deal of sense, when you put it that way. anyway, so obviously you can’t not feel empathy toward the kid after all that, even if he is going around killing A WHOLE LOT MORE people now, and has basically gone batshit insane actually. I remain steadfast in my conviction that Tomura is not the actual final villain -- AFO is. and call me crazy, but in spite of everything, I still think this kid has a shot at redemption. it won’t be pretty, and it’ll be a long, long path, and he might not ever fully make it all the way, but he’s someone who’s been manipulated and used as a puppet his entire life, and I want him to have the chance to finally break free from that. hopefully he’ll get it.

7. Mirko (previous rank: n/a)

so previously this section just said “MIRKO!!!!!”, which I honestly think sums it up pretty well. I honestly can’t think of any other character who has come along and just slapped me straight across the face with their sheer awesomeness as much as her, though. every time she’s onscreen/on the page my face is just a huge grin the entire time. she is fearless. like, she’s the type of person who actually does laugh in the face of danger -- like that’s not just an expression, she will LITERALLY LAUGH. she is Peter Pan with a dagger to his throat, smiling and saying “to die would be an awfully big adventure.” she is someone who’s found her purpose in life and is thriving. Mirko has no time for your existential angst; she’s too busy kicking ass every minute of every hour of every day. I love her so, so much. thank you so much Horikoshi for being obsessed with her and making her the biggest badass in the whole series.

8. All Might (previous rank: 3)

I still adore him! he just has had next to nothing to do for what seems like forever, so the other characters who are still getting steady development are kind of just sneaking past him one by one. but he is still the absolute best. he cares so much. so, so, so, so much. he’s not always the most natural when it comes to being a teacher or a mentor, and he stumbles and makes mistakes, but he loves his kids. he cares about them so fiercely. and that’s far and away the most important thing, and it’s not even close. and he’s also just so endlessly self-sacrificing and constantly putting everyone else before himself, and it’s insane. he’s someone who is just constantly thinking, “how can I do more, how can I help more, what else can I do to try and make the world better” even as he stumbles along with half a lung, and struggles with his feelings of inadequacy and helplessness and feeling like it’s just still not enough. I want to give All Might the biggest hug in the world and tell him that it’s all right, that he did good, that the kids are going to be all right. when Aizawa told him “you being alive is enough” I almost had a breakdown tbh. anyway if I keep going I’m gonna talk myself into moving him back up the list and then I’ll have to rearrange this whole thing lol so suffice it to say, fuck yeah All Might.

9. Momo (previous rank: 7)

when is Momo gonna do more stuff, Horikoshi?? huh??! he does realize that whenever she does stuff it’s always amazing?? so why is she not just constantly doing amazing, awesome stuff all the time?? I don’t know, and frankly I’ve had just about enough of this. let Momo do stuff 2020. but I won’t talk about this anymore for now because I haven’t ready any chapter 278 spoilers and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

(ETA: I HAVE READ CHAPTER 278 NOW AND ALL I CAN SAY IS YESSSSS!!! MOMO!!!! also I swear to god I genuinely had not seen any spoilers when I was writing this post lol, it was a total coincidence. I’m glad the “let Momo do stuff 2020″ campaign was so immediately successful though.)

10. Kaminari (previous rank: 8)

last but not least, my five-and-a-half-year-old traitor son, Kaminari Denki. he is just such a shining beam of light and life and goodness and chaos. there is this amazingly buoyant energy whenever he’s on the page that just fills me with love for him. I constantly just want to ruffle his hair, just, all the damn time. he is everybody’s friend, he loves them all so much, and he fearlessly calls Bakugou “Kacchan” heedless of the repercussions (OF WHICH THERE WERE NONE!!), and he sincerely tells Jirou that he’s in awe of her musical talents, and he wrecked his fingers learning to play guitar for her but he was happy to do it, and he was afraid to fight in the big ALL THE VILLAINS VS ALL THE HEROES battle because DUH!?! but he still did it anyway because he had to protect his friends. and his quirk and its side effects are constantly used for comic relief and not taken seriously at all (even though it’s actually insanely powerful holy shit), but he doesn’t care because he’s happy to make his friends happy. he’ll willingly be the butt of the joke if it means he gets to see them laugh. he just has such a big heart, and in all seriousness, if you think he’s the traitor I just don’t even know what to say to you.

so that’s it! Tokoyami, Ochako, Shinsou, Iida, and Sero would probably be the next five, with Endeavor, Toga, Mina, Jirou, and Mirio rounding out the top twenty. maybe not in that exact order but it’s close enough. really there are only like three characters in the series I actually truly dislike, so I’m honestly glad “top ten” is the general standard otherwise I’d be here all night running through them all lol.