#not nearly as disastrous as i thought it would be i think i doubt myself too much

[ghostflyy]

small octoling sketch 🐙

[katnissmellarkkk]

Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗

-

But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”

-

I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.

Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

-

I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”

“Who said I was?” I say.

“So, you’re not going?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”

-

Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”

“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.

“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

-

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

-

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”

-

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”

“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.

“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.

-

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”

-

No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.

“I’ll go, too,” he says.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”

-

Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.

-

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

-

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

-

I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

-

Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”

“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.

-

A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”

-

“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”

“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.

-

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”

-

Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”

I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”

“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .

-

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.

“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”

-

He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

[oingo233]

You Are Beautiful (1)

Summary: Sirius Black was entranced since the moment he saw you. He had to have you but you are convinced his feelings are fleeting, and will only hurt you. People inside and outside of your relationship meddle in the makings of something that could be beautiful... or disastrous. Will love and confidence win? Or will doubt and uncertainty tear you both down?

Young Sirius Black x Pus SizedFemReader

Warning: one inappropriate joke lol, fluff I suppose and nothing else really. All the real stuff comes later :0

Authors note: I mostly write my xreader fics as neutral but as this is a request, I wrote this as fem. But if anyone would like a male version or neutral version let me know and I will copy this but obviously change readers gender (and it's no burden to me I'd love to make more readers feel included and represented). Also reader is plus sized and she is confident and strong throughout the fic -because plus sized characters aren't represented like that in film/books alot (but if looking for amazing and empowering plus sized female characters Nina Zenik from Six of Crows owns my entire heart and changed how I saw myself personally and I would recommend that book for anyone really)- but as any human she has her insecurities because beauty standards are unattainable and have a way excluding so many people and making us feel less than beautiful. As a plus sized/overweight person myself, I understand how we have to fight to feel beautiful and fight this internalized bias we have when we look in the mirror. But WE ARE BEAUTIFUL. WE ARE WORTHY OF MAGAZINGE COVERS AND COMPLIMENTS AND ABOVE ALL SELF LOVE!! The self insert character in this has fought for her confidence, but it will shake and stumble throughout the series and Sirius and friends are there for her to help her realize for herself how beautiful she truly is, once again. So I hope I didn't stray too far from the request :) Enjoy....

Word Count: 1.8

Authors Note: About halfway through I decided to make it a series oops-

****Blabbering Idiot****

Sirius Black is a man of many, many words. In fact, I'm sure if he was writing this he could quickly turn it into one of the most entertaining novels ever written. He'd describe the laughter of his friends for a whole page. Tell a hilarious joke on the next. Then he'd describe the wind blowing through the open halls and courtyard and the spring sun. He could write about a great many things in great detail. (But he wouldn't because he doesn't quite enjoy writing as much as he does anything else, but that's above the point.)

As I said, Sirius Black is a man of many words. So it was such a curious thing when he first saw you. It was an astounding thing really, because for the first time he found something that rendered him completely speechless.

The sun was peeking through the open corridor and pooled onto you, caressing your skin and hair in an ethereal glow. Highlighting curves that brought both sinful and sweet thoughts running through him. It was as if the universe was telling him, look at what we've created, look at this beautiful creature. But he could hardly believe that this world could create something so lovely and kind. You threw your head back in laughter at something your friend said and suddenly the world is back to normal and all he can hear is your laughter and the sound of his friends curiosity at what could have possibly kept him from the conversation about muggle rock compared to Wizard bands. In fact, James was so passionate about it half the hall turned to listen to his rendition of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

But he didn't care, he took a feeble step towards you and suddenly felt so nervous his hands began to sweat. He stuttered and coughed up his words just for a simple "hello" in your direction only for the wind blowing through the halls to carry it away. And his friends laughed at him as he watched you walk too far from where he wanted you. Because, oh did he want you.

Sirus POV:

"I'm telling you, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know who she is," Sirius says for not the first time that evening. James started to laugh.

"Why? Because you'll be too busy thinking of her?" James said, laughing as he made a very suggestive hand motion. Peter cackled and Remus rolled his eyes, trying to find the cleaner side of his humor but instead he couldn't help but snort. Sirius pushed James's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure Lily would love to know how familiar with that feeling you are," Sirius says and James stopped laughing immediately, his eyes narrowed.

"Please, you wouldn't dare. And I will deny all accusations, you'll be made out to be a liar. Then the mystery girl will never love you. Is that what you want, Pads?" James joked with a single arch of his brow. Sirius just rolled his eyes. He was only half paying attention, he has been scouring the hallways since he first saw that girl. He wanted to speak to her again, or maybe just stare for a bit. If things went well, he'd be able to do both those things on a date. But he hasn't seen her since that morning and his heart felt oddly shallow. He wanted those butterflies he had when looking at her to come back and overwhelm him again.

"What'll it matter if I don't even know who she is? Or- or if I can't talk to her? No one falls in love with a blabbering idiot," Sirius says. Remus shrugs.

"Lily fell in love with James," he says, Peter laughed again.

"Yeah, regardless of what he does at night," Peter added and now both James and Sirius were rolling their eyes. James and Lily just recently stopped denying their feelings for one another and gave into the sexual tension and mutual pining. Their relationship was still fairly new but they act as if they've been together for years. Sirius supposed that in a way, they have been.

Sirius would watch them giggling, hand and hand in the hall. He'd see them cuddling in the common room, or coming back after dates with rosy cheeks and beaming smiles. Sirius would never admit it out loud, but his heart cried out when he saw them like that. He rarely ever felt lonely. He could have any girl or boy he wanted if he really tried, but for what? One fun night? Only for one more morning where he wakes up alone? He wanted more than that whenever he saw Lily and James, their happiness was palpable. Their love was suffocating.

Sirius always thought he'd find the one after Hogwarts, if at all. But when he saw her... well that changed everything. In a flash he saw himself with her, their hands intertwined and her head thrown back in laughter. Rosy cheeks and bruised lips. Warm beds and making love... being in love. He nearly felt silly after and yet, he knew that even if he did sleep tonight, it would be her he'd dream of.

"Ello' guys!" Lily said, bouncing up to James who kissed her cheek. They walked with their arms looped and Sirius glared at the easy sign of affection. He thought of his parents, how they would be stiff with one another except for in quiet moments, when he'd pass through a hall and glance into their room. He'd spot a quick kiss on the cheek, and soft squeeze of the hand. It were those odd moments for him, that struck him so strongly with a sharp bitterness. They don't deserve softness and love, he'd think, how can such cruel creatures even feel such things? But even then, he'd walk away seeing them as still awful creatures born from the depths of hell, but more human.

"That's her," Sirius whispered so quietly Remus almost didn't hear it. In fact, Sirius didn’t think Remus heard it at all, but it was rather his look of longing towards the Great Hall entrance that gave him away. Because standing right there, was you.

Your hair was a little wind blown, messy around your face, bits of iit shaped your round cheeks and soft eyes. Sirius eyed you up and down and cursed clothes and cursed shyness and cursed his own head for thinking he could even talk to you. But most of all, he cursed a group of boys who walked past you.

Sirius was a confident boy, he knew how to spot someone who held their head up just as high as he did, and you were very much one of those people. You were giggling as you stole a biscuit from a friend and popped it into your mouth, you covered your mouth as you laughed when they complained with a little smile of their own.

"It's just so yummy, and I haven't eaten since breakfast." He heard you say, your friend just shook his head and handed you a plate as you sat down next to him. But right before you could get comfortable a sneering group of boys stole a piece of food from your hand and said something rather rude.

Sirius didn't even realize he had been walking towards you, this girl he has never even spoken too, yet thought of so endearingly, until he was standing right before the boys and had the pack leaders wrist firmly in his grip.

"Drop it boy, c'mon, drop it," he teased. It was humiliating for the boy and he knew it by the laughing and sneering others directed towards the group of boys, but Sirius did not care. The boy dropped the biscuit and looked as if his tail was tucked into his legs. "Good boy," he said, ruffling his hair until it was a knotted mess, the boy winced at just how hard Sirius dug his knuckles into his scalp, Sirius relented with a satisfied smirk.

Sirius’s voice took on a much harsher tone, "Now scram." The boys were out of their seats and in new ones within seconds.

Sirius felt his mood shift completely once they left, because now all eyes were on him, yours included. He looked up at you rather shyly, his hair falling in strands over his forehead. He tucked it behind his ear and found some confidence in the way your eyes followed the movement and how you blushed. He gave you his best smile, hoping his charm wasn't as weak as his legs felt at that moment.

"Hello, I'm Sirius... Sirius Black." Then, like an idiot he put his hand out for you to shake, what charmer just shakes the ladies hand? He stopped belittling himself the moment you softly placed your hand in his.

"It's nice to meet you, Sirius, and thanks for helping me. I know how to handle those filthy 'dogs'" you said, smiling as you remembered the way he spoke to them, he chuckled. "But I suppose it's nice not always having to," you finished with a bright smile on your face. He felt his own cheeks heat up and he nodded but could not think of anything better to say.

"Name," he said, you raised your brows. He cleared his throat, "your name?"

"Oh, how rude of me," you said and then you laughed, that same laugh that caught his attention and has yet to let go. "I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Nice to meet you," he said, it was as if he couldn't feel the appalled stares of your friends because all he could see was the blush on your cheeks and your head thrown back in laughter. He swallowed thickly before making his way back to his friends. They all wore raised brows and smirks, and he knew they were about to bite into him.

"Treating them like dogs, really? A bit ironic don't you think," Lily said, James shrugged

"That's why it was so good," he said, high fiving Sirius.

"But it admittedly went downhill from there," Peter was sure to add, just like Sirius knew one of them would. Sirius just laughed, too elated to finally know who you were.

"Don't start," he said, but it was too late.

All in union they sputtered out the lame word that will plague Sirius' memory of that moment forever, "Name?"

They cackled at him and ruffled his hair all the way to their seats, but Sirius knew they were pleased for him. And Sirius didn't mind, he could feel the pretty eyes of a pretty girl following him across the room. If only someone told him how important she would become to him, maybe he would have looked back at her and never looked away.

Taglist <3

@enchantedblackrose

[pappierus]

A Big, Fat, Disastrous, Idiotic Mistake // Nozel Silva

...5.4k words :/

(i wrote this on wattpad, not copying, just moved it here bc i liked the tumblr community a lot better)

erm ye. enjoy?

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

You made a mistake.

You made a big, fat, disastrous, idiotic mistake.

You'd made this mistake nearly six months before, and it was still haunting you to this day.

You decided to be a member of the Silver Eagle Squad.

Why was this a big, fat, disastrous, idiotic mistake, you may ask?

"Wow, I didn't think a commoner would last this long in this place, congratulations!"  your superior chuckled a s you walked out of your room, your superior chuckled.

Well, because you were a commoner in a squad full of arrogant noblemen.

____

You're not sure why Captain Nozel chose you in the first place; you were the one he despised the most. Even your breathing irritated him — not that you felt any differently about him, of course.  

He was without a doubt the most evil person on the face of the earth, w ith his menacing purple eyes and demonic braided hair.

Evil.

You were strong, and you worked hard to gain even the tiniest bit of his approval, but no matter how hard you tried, he dismissed you with a sneer.

Even now, when your squad reported to him after completing a mission, retrieving a fortune, and saving hundreds of lives, the majority of which was due to your magic—which your squad leader, bless him, pointed out—he still rolled his eyes when your name was mentioned. Which you took offence to and glared at him angrily, which he matched for the remainder of the brief meeting.

When your squad leader finished the report, he hummed his approval and dismissed you all, so you ended your glaring match and walked away.

You felt sick by even being in the same room with him.

yep, a big, fat, disastrous, idiotic mistake.

____

For the third time, you loudly knocked on Captain Silva's big office door, hurting your knuckle in the process. You knew he was in there because he never leaves unless he's on a mission, being the workaholic and perfectionist he was.

You didn't come here voluntarily, oh no, you would never.

You had to request a day or two off from your captain since your sister was getting married, she wanted you to be the best maid, and you were not going to miss your baby sister's wedding for the world.

Due to said circumstances, you were forced to endure the agony of seeing his face once more, or at least the part of his face that wasn't obscured by that unusual braid.

You were beginning to wonder who told him it was a good idea to style his hair like that, the devil? Because it was not, in fact, a good idea, but it was the braid that saved you the trouble of looking at his entire face. you began to wonder; did he braid it himself?

You laughed to yourself at the thought of your enraged captain braiding his hair like a little girl in front of a mirror, but your thoughts was cut off by the devil himself.

"How long do you intend to laughing to yourself like a lunatic?" When the door opened, you looked up to see your captain staring down at you with his trademark sneer on his lips. And with that, you smile vanished.

"sorry, I was just having a funny thought." you said, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. He gave you a blank stare.

Great, you reasoned, he thinks I'm crazy, just another excuse to despise me.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Or do you enjoy wasting my time?" he snarled.

rude, you thought.

rude, you thought.

"Hey! I had to knock on the door three times before you heard me. My hand hurts." you said, it wasn't uncommon of you to talk back to the captain, you had a short temper and he had a large ego.

you said, it wasn't uncommon of you to talk back to the captain, you had a short temper and he had a large ego.

"You did?" he asks, and you gape at him, because he heard you laughing softly to yourself ( quietly, may I add) but not you pounding on the door? "Shut your mouth, it's incredibly rude."

''you're one to talk'' you mumbled under your breath.

"Mumbling is rude" he sneered, disapprovingly looking at you, "I don't like repeating myself, what do you want?"

You were so irritated that you almost forgot why you came here. You took a deep breath in and out to relax, then resumed speaking.

"Captain, I have a question for you." You said something, he rolled his eyes and went into his office; you followed behind him, not having time to properly look around but judging by his desk, he was certainly busy, almost making you feel bad for bothering him.

"You see, my sister's wedding is coming up in a few days, and I was invited to attend—" you sensed his glare but continued to talk, "-but I need to take a day off to do so." You finished quickly and waited for a response.

"Your vacation days aren't for another two weeks." "You're asking me if you should leave your duties to attend a party?" he said after a brief pause.

He said it as if it were the most ridiculous suggestion ever made.

"It's not just a party! It's a wedding reception! They're very serious."

"I'm sure anything like this will be thrilling to a commoner—"

"excuse me?  It has nothing to do with mme being a commoner; if you got married, wouldn't you want your siblings to attend?" you questioned, hands clenched.

"Well, I'm sure my wedding will actually be important—" he dismissively said.

"And this isn't important?" you cut him off. "Oh right, I forgot, I wouldn't understand because I'm a commoner,"   You said it jokingly, but you were truly offended. Nozel's eyes softened slightly as if noticing, but you were too upset to notice.

Nozel composed himself, "precisely, I'm so glad you understand-"

"I doubt you could ever get married anyway." you mumbled, you expected him to say something typical like 'mumbling is rude', but he heard you clearly.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he seethed, stepping closer in an attempt to intimidate you.

"I mean, I doubt any woman would willingly get married to you!" you yelled, your words seemed to anger him more.

"Oh please, no sane man would ever stay in a relationship with you," he spat back, rolling his eyes, and pinching his temples, "i shouldn't be wasting my breath on such a worthless commoner"

Worthless commoner...

why every argument you had ended with him calling you a worthless commoner?

yep... a big, fat, disastrous, idiotic mistake.

Both of you were angry, you hadn't intended for the conversation to yet again be another petty argument, but you should've known it wouldn't be easy convincing your captain to do anything.

You were both mad; you hadn't intended for the discussion to devolve into yet another petty argument, but you should've known it would be difficult to persuade your captain to do anything.

"Please, it's important to me..."  lowering your voice in the hopes that just being nice would sway him, but he simply glared at you. you sighed and your shoulders slumped, admitting defeat.

You turned away to leave when you heard your captain sigh behind you, "I'll give you the day off," you snapped back up and turned to face your captain, who avoided your gaze, "...but I'm taking away your next holiday."

You sighed once more, knowing that there would be a catch, but you were grateful nevertheless.

"Thank you!" you yelled, Nozel flinched from the volume, you were so happy you could almost hug him.

For once, you saw the captain in a less evil light.

"Are you trying to make my ears bleed" he yelled "Why are you still in my office, get out!"

...never mind.

______

"Did I allow you to speak with me, (Y/N)?" You were unfazed by your captain's snide remarks because you had grown accustomed to them.

"It was just a question. You're so sensitive, yikes",  I mumbled.  His head snapped towards me  

"I'm not sensitive, and you should know, mumbling is rude, " he glared at you.

you stared at him intently, at first, he tried to ignore your gaze but it soon became too obvious. he sighed, rubbing his temples,"What do you want?"

"For you to answer my question," you said bluntly, your eyes narrowing as you awaited his response.

"No, it was an idiotic question." he said, rolling his eyes, "now, go away." he ordered.

You didn't, instead continuing to look at him; he tried to ignore you again, but your stare became too distracting for him; why? He didn't have a clue. Normally, he'd threaten an annoying member of his team.

He glared at you and asked, "Is there something on my face?"

you tilted your head with a grin, unfazed by his glare, "yep."

his eyes widened in horror, had he gotten food around his mouth? or maybe dirt? the idea of dirt on his face irritated him, but there was not mirror for him to check. it was vital that he was always presented as a noble at all times.

You chuckled at his panic; it was unusual for him to lose his composure, and it made you laugh that something on his face had caused him to panic, of all things. It was good to see him not be so serious, you had to admit.

You may be wondering why you and your captain were alone together, not fighting or even attempting to kill each other. You were selected to go on a mission with your squad of three, but due to the gravity of the situation, your captain and another squad were forced to intervene.

The majority of the task had been accomplished, but you and your team had underestimated the complexity of the building from which you were retrieving stolen goods, and as a result, a few of you got lost.

To make matters worse, some of the building had begun to crumble, obstructing the exit from which you and your captain had entered.

You considered using your magic to blow one of the walls open, but it would just cause more parts of the building collapsing, and the majority of your squad was also trapped inside.

So, you and Nozel had been locked in the same room for an hour and had grown tired of arguing, so you decided to break the silence by asking him about the large braid that covered his ears.

"Well?" he started,  "Are you going to tell me what's on my face?" Nozel asked impatiently, you chuckled and decided to mess with him because you and Nozel had made a sort of truce.  

"Let me help," you said, walking over to the much taller man and reaching your hands up to help.

you lifted the braid from his face, so it was no longer covering it, and smirked "there, much better."

you looked at him, you had never realized how attractive your captain truly was since you have never really seen his face, but he was indeed very attractive, you wondered why he covered his face all the time if he looked like that.

"What makes you think you have the right to touch me, " he spat, letting go of your wrist, "A commoner getting comfortable with a noble, ridiculous" he seethed.

"Here we go again," you muttered, feeling dejected. He had to spoil your fun with the noble chat, of course.

You gave up, frowning and walking away from him. Of course, this wasn't the first time he'd done anything like this, but it always bothered you that it didn't matter what you di,d because you were a commoner.

Isn't it possible that you should just be friends? Could he ask you simple questions like, "How was your day?" or "How are you doing this fine morning?"

'How did the wedding go?' When Nozel asked you a question, your head shot up and you turned to look at him sceptically. Maybe he was making fun of you, or maybe he had read your mind.

"Sorry?'' you asked in case you misheard him, he didn't look at you, but you knew that look of annoyance was directed at you as he rolled his eyes.

He grunted and turned away from you, adding, "I don't like repeating myself." But after a while, he repeated himself anyway, "How was the wedding?"

Although it was a simple question, it still shocked you, but you answered anyway ''Uh, I-It was good, and fun... thanks for asking'' you added at the end, his shoulders stiffened.

it was silent for a while, neither of you spoke. there was a sudden, awkward change of atmosphere, not used to the casual confrontation you had.

After a while, you asked, "Nozel, can I ask you a question?"

"Not another one-''

"It's not about your hair, I promise!" you told him, a little smile on your face, amused at how such a small matter could annoy him so much.

"Ask quickly," he ordered, making you anxious because you weren't sure you wanted the answer.

he noticed your hesitation ''Well...?''

''why did you raise your hand?'' you forced the question out, anticipating his snarky remark, "to be a part of the squad, i mean"

"I know what you mean," he snapped, but the expression on his face was unreadable, he looked at you for a long while, ''why would you ask such a stupid question. You were strong.''

Your gaze grew serious and you pursed your lips before saying, ''but you hate me.'' he matched your hard gaze, ''you've always hated me since i was a commoner. so why would you pick a commoner for your squad''

Your staring match turned into a glaring match, ''I already answered your question, because you were strong''

''liar,'' you scoffed, ''there were other strong commoners, some stronger than me, and you didn't pick them-''

''-Because they weren't like you,'' he sighed angrily.

"How?" you pestered.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because it does. how? you continued to ask, it got on his nerves.

"I saw something in you that I hadn't seen before." I had a gut feeling when I saw you that I wanted you on my squad by my s-"

He abruptly cut himself off, his eyes widening slightly as though he had noticed something. You, too, fell quiet. You hadn't expected his outburst, and you had to confess that for the first time since joining the team, a feeling of acceptance filled your chest.

it was you first time seeing Nozel so flustered, but he quickly straightened his back, ''I needed you in my squad under my leadership. what sort of captain would i be if i ignored your power for such a petty reason.'' he shook him head ''But it it may have been a mistake.''

His last remark felt like a pang to your chest, hurting you much more than you thought it should've, ''w-what?''

He immediately recognized the hurt look on your face, his words had never done that to you before, and he felt a cloud of guilt descend upon him, but before he could respond, you heard the distant shouts of your squad mates, who had found you.

if only you could take back that big, fat, disastrous, idiotic mistake.

________

You had kept your distance from the captain, choosing not to bother him any further. So, instead of your usual glaring match, you kept your head down while reporting a task to him. You didn't object when he made you work extra hours or took away your free time for no apparent reason. When he insulted you, you didn't even react.

You were unwelcome on this team, you hoped that by joining it, your reputation would improve. Although it did, the other members of your squad rarely picked fights with you, and the mean looks were not quite as bad as they had been when you first joined, your reputation with your captain remained the same, no matter how much you contributed.

he didn't know how to react, the person you were now was completely different to the (Y/N) he knew, and he was the reason behind it.

So, when you gave him the letter, he should've anticipated it. "What is this?" he asked, furiously reading it over and over, as if that would change what was written.

well maybe if you stopped talking and actually read it- you though, keeping your calm, cringing as he crumpled the letter you put extra effort in to make your handwriting all nice-

"It says-"

"-I know what it says, I can read," he said angrily, rising from his desk and staring at you incredulously. "You can't be serious, a squad change?" he asked fiercely.

"That's what i wrote" you said bluntly.

"-I know what you wrote!", he yelled, you flinched, not expecting him to get worked up over something like this.

''why are you so angry? Captain Roselei said i could join her squad by the end of the month if I still wanted to, i just need your approval-" you tried to explain.

"I know what she said, i read the letter-" he cut you off again' "and I don't care", he took a deep breath in and sat down again, pinching his temples. "I cant accept" he said.

You instantly grew annoyed, "What, why? You can't do that! -"

"Actually, i can. I can't have you leave my squad, what will happen if the other captains found out one my own members hated it so much, she had to leave. I'll look like a joke!" he yelled back.

"What? You'll have one less commoner on your squad, that good, right? It's not like you appreciate anything i do here anyway-"

"I already said-"

"Is it really so difficult for me to earn a little bit of approval from you, even if it's just a 'well done'? I just wanted to impress my Captain, but it's obvious that he doesn't want me here! You really didn't think this would happen, come on?" You said back your voice raising slightly.

"You can't be treated like a child here, i won't treat you like one-"

"I thought you would be happy" you muttered, "You said it, yourself, you made a mistake."

Something flashed across his eyes, but it was unclear what it was. His face softened, and he began, "(Y/N)...", but his words trailed off.

"It's all right, we both did." "I shouldn't have joined this team," you said, he scrunched his brows at your confession. "I regret it too.". After all this time of keeping it in, it felt nice to finally say it, but you quickly regretted it when you saw his expression.

You had never seen him upset, but it looked like you had hurt him. a part of you thought he deserved it, but another part of you ached to see him like that.

His sad expression faded quickly, and he was replaced by a stern one. He took another glance at the letter before crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it behind him carelessly, "Hey!" you were about to yell, your sympathy quickly replaced with anger.

He replied softly, "I'm sorry," but it wasn't about throwing the letter away, and it had you silent. "I made a mistake; I shouldn't have treated you that way." "I'm sorry for everything," he apologised once more. "I'd take it back if I could."

"Take what back, picking me?" you asked sadly, "I know-"

"No, not that," he said, his voice becoming softer. "I'm sorry for allowing myself to-" he stopped himself before looking at you, shaking his head and saying "forget it, you wouldn't understand... you can leave the squad if you want."

"No, not that. " he said, quieter. "I regret allowing myself to-" he stopped himself before looking at you, shaking his head and saying "forget it, you wouldn't understand... you can leave the squad if you want."

he waved his hand dismissively, but you weren't leaving, "help me understand. I'm not staying in this squad unless you give me a reason to stay." you stated firmly, and he looked at you with yet another blank expression.

"You wouldn't understand." he repeated and you were growing annoyed.

"Then I'll leave" you stated, waiting for some sort of reaction, but there was none. you stayed in the same spot, just waiting for him to try convince you not to go,.

but he didn't, you weren't sure what you expected, but with a defeated sigh, you turned to leave. there was no place for you here anyway.

as you reached the door you heard him ask quietly, "do you truly have no reason to stay?" you looked back at him, and despite his strong, cold facade, he seemed so vulnerable.

"What?" you asked.

"I don't like repeating myself," he said before repeating himself, "Is there no excuse for you to stay?" he asked. "Nothing?...No one?" he enquired hesitantly.

At that exact moment, the evil Captain you've been so desperate to escape from made your heart swell. There was someone, you think. But you shook your head, slapping yourself internally from the thought.

"What do you mean earlier, at or mission, that you didn't regret picking me?" you asked, dodging his question with one of your own, remembering what he said earlier.

"You're avoiding my question."

"Your avoiding mine" you said stubbornly, and he rolled his eyes, something that made you smile, and with a reluctant sigh he answered.

"I never regretted picking you. Not once." He snapped quickly, trying to get the topic over with.

"But you said-"

"I know what i said," he cut you off, again. he avoided your gaze, as if regretting bringing up this topic in the first place.

"I never regretted picking you for my squad, in fact I think it was one of the best decisions of my life." your heart stopped and you stared at him, it must've been hard for him to admit, as he looked down at the papers on his desk, about you didn't see the pink tint on his cheeks.

but rather than teasing him, you asked "Is that the truth?" and he continued to look away.

"Take it or leave it, it doesn't matter, i don't care." he said half-heartedly.

"should i stay?" You continued to press; a familiar mischievous spark rose from withing you.

"W-What? I don't care what you-"

" You didnt think i should leave earlier" you asked, pointing to the scrunched-up letter he threw away.

As much as Nozel tried to hide his embarrassment from his tantrum earlier, he couldn't hide the now obvious fact that he wanted- no, needed you here. he slowly looked up at you, wanting to glare but as soon as he spotted the blush on your cheeks, he couldn't retaliate.

after a minute of silence, he answered "It's the truth, what i said about you being on my squad" he admitted, and you felt your heart beat faster as you saw your captain in a strange new light.

"i told you already its your choice if you want to stay."

you rephrased the question, "do you want me to stay?"

When he saw you were being totally serious, his head shot up at you, his brows furrowed. His eyes opened, and he flushed red from ear to ear. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to come up with a response that would not further embarrass him.

"Just say yes or no, Nozel" you told him, noticing his flustered state, normally he would at once correct you to call him captain, but at this moment in time, neither of you cared.

You were not sure where your sudden change of heart started, but all you wanted to hear was on word, one simple word and you would be happy, and upon hearing his name roll of your tongue so causally, he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Yes."

his reply made the room fall to silence yet again.

he wanted you to stay?

"Please stay." he asked, as if answering your question and you weren't sure who the man in front of you was.

All you could do was stare at him, and he stared at you. his eyes were beautiful, you realized.

But eventually, the silence became too much to bear, and not knowing how to reply, you left his office holding your breath. He did not stop you, and watched you as you left.

Was talking to him a mistake?

_________

You foolishly assumed that talking to him would clear things up and convince you that you needed to leave, but you left with far more questions than before.

Everything you could think about was how much he wanted you to stay.

But why now, exactly? Why would he reveal anything right now?

You couldn't get the thoughts out of your head, so you buried yourself in work. You had until the end of the week to determine whether or not you wanted to stay.

"well done, all of you," Captain Nozel said to your team, and you met his gaze, but he averted his gaze first.

Despite the fact that he pretended the discussion never existed, he treated you differently, as though you were now on an equal level with him. you continued to stare at him with confusion, which would normally turn into a glaring battle between the two of you, but he avoided you gaze. The air felt heavy.

You shuffled nervously on your feet before being dismissed, and as the rest of the squad left, he called out your name, and you turned to look at him, heart racing, but he shut his mouth, as though at a loss for words.

"Yes?" You asked expectedly, he shook his head.

"I-... decent job today," he said, which admittedly surprised you and almost made you feel good.

"Thank you, Captain," you replied cortly.

What was the first thing he was going to say? You know you should probably leave, but your feet were firmly planted in place, and you wanted to ask if he had something else to say, maybe an explanation.

When he noticed your hesitation, he asked, "Is there anything you need?"

"Uhm... no, not necessarily," you said, forcing yourself to leave because you didn't want to be a burden any longer.

"Have you decided?" he asked abruptly as you reached the door. "I mean, if you want to stay."

You turned around again, but this time you chose not to look him in the eyes. "I think so, Captain.''

There was a silence, he obviously expected you to tell him your decision, but you couldn't, there was a lump in your throat that wouldn't let you speak.

Judging by the silence, the way you avoided his gaze and the fidgeting of you fingers, he knew what your choice was.

"I see..." he started, his voice laced with... sadness?

"I wish you the best, (Y/N)." he said shortly, there was more he wanted to say, much more, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

you still didn't leave, and asked "Will you tell me the truth?", the question caught him off guard, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"The truth?" he asked, you met his gaze finally. it became harder nd harder to look into his lavender eyes.

"What is it that you regret? if it wasn't picking me?" you asked, recalling his outburst during your mission, but the continued to brush it off as something not important, but by the stiffening if his shoulders, you knew that was a lie. "If I'm leaving, can't you answer that one question?"

"...You're too stubborn for your own good." he dodged the question, but he held your gaze. He was right, you were stubborn, and by the look in your eye, he knew you weren't leaving without an answer.

"I suppose an explanation for my behavior is needed," and he turned away from you, not willing for you to see the blush on his face, and you smiled at his compliance.

"I didn't, as I've explained, regret picking you. I, I saw you and i knew i wanted you in my squad, but looking back on it, i regret being so selfish" he started.

selfish?

"... I knew as a captain i shouldn't have let my emotions influence my decisions, it was too irrational, to hasty. But i had what you call a gut feeling, that i would never regret picking you, having you by me, by my...by my side-" he paused, not sure if he should continue.

oh.

Your heart stopped beating, and as you tried to over analyze the meaning of his words, you knew that what he had confessed to you was that he-

by his side? you repeated in your head, you didn't dare to say anything out loud.

"I regret treating you the way i did, truly i do. i do not apologize often, (Y/N), but you deserve one. I am sorry for being so selfish. I just couldn't forgive myself for falling for my squad members, a commoner nonetheless." He admitted, and that is when you felt yourself hold your breath.

Captain Nozel, your captain... is he falling for you?

Is it possible that I'm falling in love with you?

You weren't expecting an apology, but this was unexpected. You hadn't asked for this when you asked for the truth. But it didn't bother you in the least. Was it as if this was what you... desired?

The devilish, arrogant, crude man you hated with all your heart had been in love with you, it was hard to wrap your head around, really, but what confused the most was why-

why did you feel happy?

" I thought it was horrible, really, a Captain, a noble, and a commoner. Perhaps that's why i treated you the way i did. I was ashamed." he said, and you felt yourself grow disappointed, your heart dropped slightly.

"Y-you were ashamed of me?" you said quietly, not anticipating you pathetic you sounded.

i knew it, you thought.

at the sound of your voice, he finally turned to look at you, "Of myself... I didn't care, but it didn't matter. if only i had known how pointless it was to- but i was too caught up with what i had been taught, i only now realize that it doesn't matter."

you didn't know whether to be happy or upset, angry or elated. Half of you felt giddy, the confession made your face grow hot and your heart beat faster, but the other half of you felt mad, mad at him for treating you that way when things could have been so different.

"Commoner or not, the feelings never went away. But I suppose it doesn't matter after all, you will be leaving soon." he said, his voice growing sad, and his lips turning into a soft smile.

You don't think he's ever smiled around you like that.

"Do you still regret falling in love with me?" you asked quickly, not knowing why you couldn't just leave.

He looked at you for a long time, before replying "...No, I don't. And i never will." he said.

"And what if i stayed?" you asked, "What would you do?"

would it be possible? How would your teammates react, his family, the nobles, if he dared pursue a relationship with a commoner.

"It doesn't matter." he brushed off, as if the conversation was now too much for him, "You're leaving"

"But what if i stayed?" you asked again, he stared at you for a long time.

you knew he was thinking carefully about what he should say, his eyebrows furrowed, he clenched and unclenched his fists multiple times, seemingly nervous. his cheeks were dusted with a light pink, and this time, you saw it.

Nozel was nervous, it was a sight you never though you would see, and it made you nervous too.

"then... woud..you" he mumbled and you couldnt hear what he had said, you were shocked by this more timid version of nozel.

"Mumbling is rude" you said in a cheeky voice, the atmosphere felt less tense as a smile found its way to both of your lips as you turned his own words on him. he met youreyes and saw the blush that also covered your cheeks.

"i said, then i would love you" he repeated with a newfound confidence, before walking towards you and closing the distance between the both of you.

_______

[magioftheseas]

Rose Stem Asphyxiation

Summary: In one life, Hilise and Gabrielle try to be sisters.

Rating: T+

Warnings: References to violence, murder mostly fraticide, suicide, child abuse... Canon-typical stuff, tbh, even if this is canon divergence.

Notes: I just don’t get enough opportunities to write fucked up sisterly relationships and if Untouchable Lady is going to give me a dynamic that I think has potential, then I’m gonna go for it. Sorry that there’s no Axion. There’s no male characters at all beyond a couple of cursory mentions. Sorry~

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Hiliseeee!”

Gabrielle tackles her arm with innocent glee, but there’s a maid nearby who flinches. Unperturbed, Gabrielle beams up at her. The perfect image of the adorable little sister.

It should be satisfying if not endearing. No matter what Hilise does, it’ll always be Gabrielle who is the darling of the Inoaden household.

And yet, Hilise remembers the first time she saw Gabrielle embrace their father.

The way Gabrielle embraces her right now.

And the bitter resentment that stains her soul burns like a fresh wound.

“Are you going out, sis?” Gabrielle asks, and her bright inquiry snaps her from her dark mood. “I can come, right?”

No, it’s different.

The way Gabrielle squeezes her arm is with a hint of desperation. Unease. Gabrielle’s usually effortless smile twitches at its edges.

“Of course you can come,” Hilise says, watching Gabrielle relax.

Gabrielle who nuzzles against her, giggling all the while.

Gabrielle who has never had to fear their father, but her fear here is quite justified.

Hilise could kill her, after all. Has killed her before, in fact, albeit in a past life.

And she could never quite forget that look of sheer terror.

How Gabrielle cowered, scrambling back pathetically and looking up with those usually bright eyes torn up with hideous tears.

Hilise had let her scream her throat out raw. Begging for someone—anyone—

That...had perhaps been too cruel of her.

Next time, she’ll just snap Gabrielle’s neck first. What good came from saving her for last? If it was meant to be mercy, it was a poor execution.

The two sisters go shopping and it’s overall an uneventful trip.

--

She already knows there’s no usurping Gabrielle’s status as a darling, but at the very least, she can play the role of a loved older sister. Rather, she can pretend.

Unlike her father and her brother who will never truly love her—will never even pretend to love her, Gabrielle is different.

Gabrielle will give her easy smiles and shower her with easy affection. Gabrielle will offer her jewelry and adornment and this time, it wouldn’t be a mere childish prank. Even now, Gabrielle enjoys treats with her, humming with pleasure.

Hilise smiles at her mildly, but it feels miserable. Doesn’t fit quite right on her face, either. Well. It’s not too bad. Better than her disastrous relationship with Christian. At least Gabrielle lacks the depth to hate this arrangement.

Gabrielle is happy as long as she is doted on and spoiled.

It’s as enviable as it is contemptible.

“So, for the next ball,” Gabrielle is saying. “There’s this dress I really want to wear. You should see it! It’s going to be the start of a new fashion trend!”

She is well aware.

“I’m sure,” she replies simply, meaning it. “However, you are looking to impress Christian Parvenon as well, right?”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gabrielle asks, eyes alit with anticipation. She’s so radiant it makes her stupid. “I don’t want him able to keep his eyes away! Oh, but, you should get dressed up too all nice and pretty too, sis.” A touch of discomfort at Gabrielle’s smile. “As long as you don’t distract Christian, then it’s fine...”

Even now, Gabrielle can’t help but be a little entitled. It’s fine. Hilise doesn’t have any interest in him.

“I...” She doesn’t... “I don’t really care about getting a husband.”

“You don’t?!” Gabrielle gasps, aghast at the idea. She’s just too naïve to not be sincerely surprised. “Do you not like anyone?!”

“No.” There is no use in hesitating or drawing it out. “I’m not.”

“You should let me introduce you,” her sister says, already excited. “There are plenty of handsome bachelors from good families! I hear aaaaaaall about them!” She brags, proud of the social life she has that Hilise was never allowed. “I know all the gossip, too! I’ll make sure not a single scandalous guy enters the equation! You can count on me, dear sister!”

...the thing is that Hilise doesn’t doubt it.

That’s the thing, isn’t it, that Hilise never doubts a word Gabrielle says.

Gabrielle can play pranks, but like this, Gabrielle would never lie. In fact, she offers up answers without even needing to be prodded. Hilise nearly needs to sip her tea like so, and Gabrielle is already chatting up a storm about the aforementioned gossip. Quite spiritedly, at that.

She’s so eager.

So desperate.

As if this is life or death, when it’s just another vapid method of filling space and passing time. Something to do as Hilise waits for the end of this loop.

How shall I attempt dying this time?

She considers, for a second, pushing Gabrielle into it. But with how Gabrielle is still yapping away, Hilise thinks it would be too tedious an avenue to pursue.

It’d be a change of pace, but she’s not like my father nor my brother. She doesn’t have the bloodlust nor the blood running through her veins.

(Or so she thought.)

“Sis!” Gabrielle exclaims, realizing that she is not being listened to. The indignance has her cheeks puffing out. “Are you paying any attention?!”

“I am,” Hilise says simply, thinking of puncturing those perfectly round cheeks with thorns. “It’s just—that I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“Why not?!” Gabrielle demands, more out of confusion than frustration. “Don’t you want to...?”

“No.” Hilise doesn’t care to hear the rest. “I don’t want to court, much less marry.”

There’s no point. I won’t be loved either way.

“Y-You can’t just stay alone forever,” Gabrielle points out shakily. “I mean, that’s just...that’s really... Hilise...”

Oh?

Is that pity?

Is that sympathy?

Is Gabrielle sad for her?

Hilise straightens up. She sets down her cup. She folds her hands into her lap. She stares, bores holes into Gabrielle’s twisted-up face from her trembling downturned lips to her downcast eyes.

Gabrielle is at a loss for words for once.

It’s quite the sight.

“Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle perks up immediately. Attentive. Outwardly anxious. Adorable. Precious.

“If I have you,” Hilise says smiling. “I won’t ever be alone, right?”

Gabrielle doesn’t smile back.

Not at first.

When she does, it’s clear she has to make an effort.

“O... Of course...!” She trips over her words. “You’ll always have me...!”

I think...

“I’m glad,” Hilise replies, still smiling. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gabrielle insists. “We’re sisters, aren’t we? Obviously, I’ll always...”

When I get bored of this...

“...be with you...”

I’m going to throw myself off the roof without a bed of roses to embrace my fall.

--

She had dreamed of having a normal family once, but it was always a distant, childish dream. Even when given other chances, she had known on some level that it was impossible for her. That she wasn’t meant to be loved by her father and brother—it just couldn’t be helped.

As for Gabrielle, well—Gabrielle filled the void of beloved little sister and daughter. Even if it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault, that was the simple fact of the matter. At least she was still innocent, Hilise thought.

And  Gabrielle could be swayed and won over with such ease. What was the harm, then, in indulging a little? What was wrong with wanting some familial love? Even if it was shallow, it was Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was innocent and lovely, right? Everyone loved her for a reason. Even if Hilise couldn’t be her, she could be with her and pretend, if only for a moment, that Gabrielle loved her.

Gabrielle was bright. Gabrielle was lovely. Gabrielle—was never going to understand.

“You’ll die for Gabrielle’s sake, won’t you?”

Whatever sisterhood she may have wanted, had wanted dearly at that, was just another pipe dream.

There wasn’t much point in wanting it. Not when she was never going to get it no matter what she did. Illusions were always meant to fade and the loop was always going to restart.

“It’s fine, you can come back, so it’s fine. Just bear with dying one more time.”

Her father was always going to hate her. Ricardo was never going to love her. And Gabrielle, well—she was too innocent of the world. Even when she snapped, she was going to be sheltered and protected. Gabrielle could be persuaded to love her, but they weren’t ever going to inhabit the same world. Not when one of them only knew love and the other...knew nothing of the sort, even as she longed so much for it.

Whatever.

Just.

Whatever.

I think I’m done with everything, with both love and family, Hilise thought tiredly. I don’t even care anymore.

--

The truth is that I could have been fine never being loved. I just wanted someone to worry about me. Did I ever have that, even for a moment? Or was that just a delusion?

It didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t.

She couldn’t do this anymore. Because regardless of the end, they’re never going to care about her.

Trash till the end, Hilise thought, exhausted. Still...do you want to know something? It wasn’t too bad to pretend for a bit. Thanks for that, Gabrielle.

But I’m still going to throw you away with everything else.

[imaginewarehouse]

Yandere!Marcus White x Reader || Drabble

Plot: I’ve been watching Gotham, so, some delicious villainous yandere stuff for fun. 

Warnings: Abduction, toxic/abusive relationship, basic yandere character (He’s kinda chill though, so it isn't really mega level dark? I guess?) 

🔆  🔆  🔆

The bag is ripped off my head, along with a few strands of my hair, and I gulp down my first non-canvasy breathes in hours, looking around the room I’m in. As soon as I recognise the childish basketball themed bed sheets that I’m plopped onto and the blue walls that could only belong to a man-child that hasn't left his mother since the womb though, a deep, annoyed groan escapes my throat and my head falls back against the wall I’m leaning on. The frustration of another failed escape attempt honestly killing me. “Fuckkkkk. Marcus!” 

Why did I even look around? As if the surroundings after being kidnapped would be any different. It never is. Its always this stupid room. God, I hate it. 

“Hold on a moment- finishing this game.” He unsurprisingly responds, from the floor at the foot of the bed where a TV is set up on the floor- not at all fazed at the fact that his abduction victim is awake. 

I wriggle my wrists, trying to free them from the tent rope tying them together. “Whatever. Just hurry up and untie me. I’m getting rope burn.” 

“Mmm,” Marcus makes an unsure sound back, and I can imagine his face right now even though I cant see it, all twisted up at the nose and the mouth. A harbinger of dread, honestly. My heart feels like it plummets in my chest, right down to my feet. Don’t tell me- “Yeahh, I don’t think so. Not this time, babe. One too many escapes. I told you, you try to leave me one more time and you’ll lose Mr Nice Guy.” He makes a clicking sound with his tongue, as I screw my own face up in confusion. ‘Mr Nice Guy’, did he just say? Oh, please- “Well. You lost him.” 

That... doesn't sound good. I mean, no part of this situation with him is good, but this definitely feels like a tipping point. I feel nauseous suddenly. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh!” Suddenly the TV makes an especially loud noise and the sound of the controller clicking gets more vigorous, as apparently Marcus gets to a particularly difficult part of the game- then celebratory music plays and Marcus gets up, and flops on the bed next to you. “Whoo! I won. Beat the game.” He beams at me, like I actually give a flying fuck that he came first in Mario cart at 100cc, like the loser that he is, and I just look back totally deadpanned. 

I blink, trying to totally show him with my expression and my tone how little this matters right now. Or ever. “Like I care?” 

“Don’t be a bitch.” It should say something about me, and about him, that I used to flinch every time this boy called me that, but now I don't even blink. We’ve been doing this thing for over a decade, since high school when Marcus wasn't a total psycho, so nothing about him surprises me much anymore. 

Not that he isn't, unfortunately, full of surprises even so. 

“Don’t be a psycho kidnapper.” I beam back patronisingly. 

“Ahh, stalemate.” He grins, dropping his hand on my thigh... which... twistedly... still has an effect on me. Not that I ever let him know that, but, it definitely does. Sometimes I wonder, honestly, if that’s why I never successfully escape. Not because he or his butt ugly prison friends are master criminals or anything, but because I’m still holding on to an insane secret hope that somewhere in Marcus is the boy who took me to prom and spiked the punch, and turned up to drive me 3 hours home - to this bedroom, actually, - from a disastrous family holiday that made me cry to him for 2 more hours on the phone, and was happy to do so. Because sometimes he still is that guy.

... Because on a subconscious level I let him find me and drag me back here... even though consciously, I know this is 

-wrong. 

   And abusive... 

                and toxic. 

But on the other hand maybe not. Whatever. Moving on. Taking a deep breath to regather myself and glance up at him, eyes flashing angrily. Through my teeth, I hiss. “Let go.” 

Deeply, entirely hard-done-by, Marcus sighs and rolls his eyes, removing his hand. “Whatever.” I sigh, and lean my head back on the wall- tired. Tired of him, tired of this whole awful game. 

But we go on. We live on; We keep playing. Everyone does. That’s life. 

What else can you do? 

Finally, a couple of minutes later, I turn my head to look at him again and wait for him to catch my gaze and turn his own head to face me back. I talk quietly, calmly, tiredly. “... what did you mean by no more Mr Nice Guy?” 

“Just that.” He exclaims and shrugs, like it explains everything. Which it absolutely does not, but instead of snapping at him I just raise my eyebrows and wait for more of an explanation. “That... you’ll stay tied up. Most of the time, anyway. I mean, you can take showers and stuff without the rope, and on your birthday.” 

“Oh, well aren't you just a regular Prince Charming.” I sigh, rolling my eyes and gazing up at the ceiling now. Great. 

He either didn’t get a feel for the sarcasm or doesn't care. “Well I think so! So does mom.” 

“Oh god.” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. He’s such a loser. “Norman Bates, much?” 

At the reference that he definitely gets, because we binged the first season of Bates Motel together, like nearly everything else that we do apart from my escaping hobby, Marcus shifts closer to me and bangs the back of his head on the wall. “Oh, Y/N, that’s gross.” Oh so he claims, I think sarcastically, rolling my eyes yet again. Whatever. “I love you.” 

“Yeah, right.” I respond, dully, not even looking at him. At my obvious doubt, he begins to laugh. First chuckles, then full out, raucous laughter. Like its the most hilarious thing that he might not be in love with me. Like- why would he do all this to me? Kidnap me, keep me prisoner, force me to stay with him, tie me up- If he didn’t fucking love me?

I mean I have some ideas, but lets go with his story.

“I do!” He shakes his head, eyebrows knit together in confusion and hurt at my ridiculous accusation that he doesn't love me. “I do, baby.” He shifts so he can look me in the eyes and force a serious look... a goofy grin still stuck on his face that is not encouraging or confidence building at all. “I do. I fucking love you!” 

When he gets like this, its best to pretend like I believe him. Take a deep breath, adjust my thoughts - like you’re going to school and you have to remember that the place is educating you, and that’s good... not thats it's a torture institution for youth. For example, Marcus isn't a psychopathic dick-face. He’s... sometimes, sweet,- , and force a gentle smile. Hold my breath and cup his face the best I can with my wrists tied up, with one hand and lace my fingers through his hair with the other- and try not to like it so much. 

Or like it on a purely physical level and try to ignore the way, deep down, I love him. 

“... You’re right. Sorry. I know you do, baby, thank you. I... I love you too.” 

Easily his expression and his body relax, and he grins that goofy grin again that unfortunately still releases the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. “I know. Sorry, I freak out a little when you say stuff like that.” Oh, I know. “I just wouldn't want you to think that I do anything to hurt you. I just want you close.” 

“I know.” 

He smiles brighter, happy for the positive appraisal and apparent trust from me- especially in the particularly sensitive mood he’s in with me touching him. 

Then he leans across the way and kisses me. 

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Thirteen: The Ballad of Claudia Walker

AN: This is a continuation of the last chapter, so it’s still gonna be dark, but if I remember correctly this should be last chapter that’s like this.

Word Count: 5.1k

Trigger Warnings: physical/mental abuse, torture

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Fourteen: A Never-Ending Nightmare

"I can't do this," I breathed, before turning to Charles, shaking my head. "I can't do this," I repeated, putting my hand to my mouth as I backed away from the two men next to me. "I-I n-need to get out of here!" I exclaimed, clenching my eyes shut in an attempt to remove myself to escape the memories I've buried for so long.

I began to feel hot and dizzy. I felt like there were walls closing in on me and I had no escape.

"Calm your mind, Claudia," Charles advised gently, but I only felt the hammering of my heart in my chest intensify. "Claudia, look at me, you need to calm down. Claudia!" Charles grabbed my arms, yanking me from my own head and my eyes snapped opened. I began to hyperventilate, eyes focusing on everything and nothing as the telepath took my face in his hands and forced me to concentrate on him. "Claudia, you need to calm down or you're going to split your mind in two," he explained, his face twisting in pain. "Your mind is screaming so loud you're hurting me," Charles said through gritted teeth.

"Make it stop," I begged, searching his eyes. "Please, make it stop," I whispered, grabbing his hands and placing them at my temples.

Charles looked at me, his eyes wide and sympathetic, "Love, I've tried and nothing has worked. I push any harder and the results might be disastrous for the both of us," he explained, his hands drawing back to his own temples. "It's almost like your mind wants you to work through these unpleasant memories, because it's something that needs to be done," Charles' soft voice whispered in my ear.

"I don't want to remember," I gritted out, trying to stop the panic from rising in my chest even further. "Just make it stop," I whispered.

"It's okay," Charles coaxed. "You're going to be okay," he assured, gently grabbing both of my hands. "You just need to calm down,"

I ripped my hand out of his, focusing on something calm. What was calm?

"You don't know. You don't know what he made me do! You don't know what a sick bastard he was. I do," I breathed, my chest heaving.

Erik and Charles stared at me sympathetically and as a drop of water fell from my chin I realized why. I'd been crying. Angrily wiping my face with my hand, a frown formed on my face as the three of us were thrown into another memory. We were in a foyer of a house. I found myself turning my head from left to right multiple times, my breathing heavy and labored. Most people would love to have a house as big as this one, with the supposed openness and modern facilities that are pleasing to the eye. Yes, I can see that, but with the merciless and cruel encounters I have had here, I don't share the same opinions as the majority.

Truly, it was a nice space...one of which many would be proud of claiming ownership of, at least that of which I have actually seen. The floors were made of beautiful, stained wood and the walls painted a lovely crimson give an aristocratic aura to the house. At least, apart from the basement corridors that I know by heart. Those claustrophobic walls were a miserable gray and were accompanied by the dulled and creaky russet floor.

Two sets of footsteps echoed in the hallway moving away from us, unconsciously I began to follow behind them until I was standing on the backyard stoop. The light from the sun was shining brightly and it was almost an enchanting light. There wasn't a cloud in the sky that could block it's majestic rays. And there stood Professor Lewis and myself in the middle of his backyard.

"Claudia, I want you to use your telekinesis to lift each of the objects on the ground," Professor Lewis pointed to a tennis ball, baseball, basket ball, brick, and cinder block. The object grew larger and heavier. "Once you lift them, I want you to psychically push them into those baskets ten feet away. This will help you learn how to levitate and also toss objects of varying weight. It will also help you regulate how much power you need to lift certain weights,"

"I understand," she answered calmly, nodding her head as a smile appeared on her lips.

But she was anything but calm and enthusiastic. She was going into this kicking and screaming. She was nervous. Jumpy. Stressed. Frustrated. Lost. Found. Happy. Sad. She wanted to vomit. Her mutation was unpredictable and uncontrollable. That wasn't until a pair of hands placed themselves on her waist from behind her, almost grounding her in a way. Professor Lewis leaned down to her ear and whispered something that made the two of them laugh, and just before he released her waist Professor Lewis pressed his lips to her cheek.

"You'll do fine," he murmured.

I could feel the burning stares of Charles and Erik on the back of my head.

"He really played me like a fool," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief at my younger self's stupidity and naivety.

"You two were together," Charles stated gently. "You were a couple," he added, his voice never taking an accusatory tone.

A humorless chuckled escaped from me, "And I have wanted to throw myself in front of a bus because of it," I confirmed, looking down at the ground biting my lip

Feelings of sickness, disgust, and shame spread throughout body as I remembered how readily I ate up his little praises. He gave me all the validation that I so desperately wanted as a child from my own parents. It wasn't long before his seemingly innocent compliments turned into something more; the lingering stares and touches to the kisses on my hand or forehead. And I foolishly allowed his affectionate gestures to escalate, thinking that I was in love with this man. So, when Professor Lewis declaration of love for me came out during a candlelit dinner I was so overcome with emotion from his "tenderness" that on the same night, I gave myself to him, willingly.

And that's when he had me ensnared, ensnared into his web of lies.

I was young and dumb and couldn't see the clear manipulation and grooming that was going on. No, I was too busy being a lovesick fool. He promised me that he would never, ever let harm come to me while I was with him, and I believed him. But everything he promised me was a dirty, filthy lie. I remembered.

I remembered every fucking thing he did to me.

"Did you love him?" Erik asked.

"Yes," I answered softly, turning around to face Charles and Erik. "But I had learnt very quickly that his love for me was all a facade," I recalled.

Just remembering that I had consensually slept with Professor Lewis made want to puke. I watched as Professor Lewis' backyard and everything around it seemingly disintegrated before us only for our surroundings to change into a small library. We were still on Professor Lewis' property, but it was a different time, a different date. If my memory serves me correctly then this is when I began to realize Professor Lewis was not the sweet, loving man I thought he was.

"You would be...in my mind?" Professor Lewis could see that she was wrestling with her own doubt and he was worried that her fear would get in the way of their training. At last, he saw Claudia nod in agreement, but her features were tightened in anxiety.

"Relax,"

Her expression was anything but calm, and he decided that it couldn't be helped. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he pressed two fingers to his temple and pushed forward into her mind. Claudia knew the second Professor Lewis' mind merged with her own. The moment it happened, she was overwhelmed with such a sense of fear that it was difficult for her to think about anything else. She could feel him in her thoughts, and the foreign presence had such a sense of wrong to it that she gagged in disgust. It wasn't right. Her mind was her own.

"No!"

Claudia abruptly and backed away from her mentor, nearly tripping over the foot rest that sat behind her. Claudia wasn't sure whether her words were spoken aloud or inside her head, but the minute they were said she felt Professor Lewis withdraw.

"I can't do this," she couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't bear to look and see what surely would have been disappointment.

Perhaps he was angry with her for not following through. Before he had a chance to say anything to her, Claudia turned and fled from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. But Claudia could still feel the lightest touch of Professor Lewis' emotions. And a sudden wave of anger bombarded her mind from the other side of the wall, making her gasp as one thought crossed her mind.

"There would be hell to pay for that," I stated, repeating the thought I had.

"Stand up!"

The sharp words made us all turn around, only for us to witness another memory of mine. We were standing in a small study, I watched as my twenty year-old self tried to force her body to cooperate.

She could feel the security guard's irritation before his hand came down across her cheek. She stumbled and nearly fell again, when hands caught her.

"Now, now, be nice. She's just a girl," the words were kind, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It was Professor Lewis. He always had kind words for her, but his emotions didn't match up. She swallowed hard and moved away from him. The guard left them alone, like they normally did. "Now, Claudia, are you feeling better than yesterday? Will you use your powers again?" It was the question he asked every day.

She stared at him, tears swimming in her eyes, "Please, please let me go. I've done all your tests, you can keep the money. Please, just let me go!" she pleaded, tensing herself as his disappointment that barely covered rage washed over her. "Ah, Claudia, you disappoint me. What would your parents think of you, a college dropout?" he just sighed and rang his bell.

She closed her eyes as sobs wracked her body. Two security guards grabbed her roughly from the room, ignoring her squeak of pain as they gripped places where the shackles had dug into her skin and made marks.

"Take her to the lab,"Professor Lewis ordered, as she was dragged away.

I unconsciously rubbed my wrist and traced my the scars on my wrist, I turned away and stared at Erik and saw his jaw clench as Professor Lewis walked out his office, I looked over and watch Charles' horrified expression. Time seemed to speed up as if someone hit the fast-forward button. Now we were in the lab.

As my younger self came to consciousness, she barely had time to regain her senses before all she could think about was the intense, sweltering heat that slowly seemed to be eating her alive like some ravenous animal that had no control over it's appetite. Her blood boiled beneath her skin, bringing silent screams up her throat though she couldn't set them free due to the fact that her body refused to allow her control because of the drugs swimming around in her system.

Throat running dry from constricted sobs and body aching from the endless thrashing against her restraints, she laid on a metal laboratory table. Feeling the ever rising panic claw at the edge of her psyche, she made another attempt to get of the table and get out, as far away as she could, but the minuscule motion caused fire to spread in her muscles, and breathing came even harder.

Broken ribs.

Forcing herself to move, she brought a hand gently to her face, feeling dried blood there, from a gash near her hairline. Her shirt was also stiff with dried blood, caused by the blood that trickled out her nose. Moving to her abdomen, she felt the tender bruise that had been caused the last time she fought, and staring at her hands, she saw black and blue bruises mixed with dry blood.

"Well, well, look who decided to join us," an oily voice announced. "Hey Robert, the girl's awake,"

Turning her head, she saw the raven haired man known as David. Glancing at her with piercing grey eyes, he leered at her in a manner that made her feel dirty, effectively putting her on her guard, her focus sharp, despite the headache that was making her dizzy.

"Leave her alone, David," the other man named Robert commented. "Professor Lewis will kill you if you hurt her," he added, not looking up from his clipboard.

"I'm not going to hurt her," David sneered, inching closer, reaching out and touching her face. She flinched. "I just want to have some fun with her, that's all,"

"Your idea of fun won't be hers, David," the other man spat. "Go. Tell Professor Lewis she's awake," he ordered.

With a growl at being ordered around, the other male left angrily.

Our surroundings shifted again.

"So, you would abandon me, your fellow mutant, for a race that will try to destroy you?" Professor Lewis said menacingly, looking down at the girl before him. "You disappointed me again Claudia. I thought you were better, wiser. To think that I've given you everything since we met. A second home, education, training, and this is how you thank me. By disobeying me. Your parents would have been ashamed of you"

"B-Bringing up my parents doesn't work anymore, Professor Lewis," she stammered, mentally kicking herself for not being able to sound confident and strong. Every time she and Professor Lewis had an argument her voice would turn shaky, making him assume she was afraid of him.

And she was but her anger had the upper hand.

"That sounded very convincing," Professor Lewis snickered. "Claudia you care so much about humans, but have you forgotten that you have made humans beg for their death countless times?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Claudia glared at Professor Lewis, he wore a mocking smile on his face, "You made me do that Professor. I would never have used my power in that manner if it weren't for your teaching methods," she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"You wouldn't have any power if it weren't for my teaching methods, Claudia,"

"Well maybe I would have preferred it that way, Professor," she retorted.

Professor Lewis' eyes narrowed, "I think we're done for now, we'll talk again tomorrow," He turned around and walked towards a liquor cupboard to get himself some nice scotch. "I'll tell that nice gentlemen, David, to escort you to your room," the amusement was clearly audible in his voice.

He knew Claudia hated David with every fiber of her being.

I watched as the memory faded to black, just like a movie I would see at the theater. This is what all this felt like, one long movie about my life. Then everything around us turned bright as a golden dust rippled in front of us horizontally in a tidal wave fashion until they both clashed at one another, meeting at the center.

Professor Lewis and Claudia were on the rooftop of one the many university buildings, leaning against the ledge as they overlooked the rather empty campus. Night had fallen and the moon had risen above the quiet campus grounds.

Oh God, not this night. This was the night that I knew there was a darkness within me, maybe it was always there, but lying dormant, or maybe Professor Lewis planted the seeds for it to grow within me. It was one year since I'd met him and with his training I had quickly learned to control my empathy and telekinesis, and found it necessary to teach myself how to build mental shields to block out Professor Lewis if I wanted to stay sane.

"You know what today marks Claudia?" Professor Lewis asked, looking over at her.

"I do not," Claudia answered, shaking her head. "Please enlighten me," she said, as the warm night air ruffled her hair.

Professor Lewis lifted his hand and brushed stands of hair from her face, "Today, is the one year anniversary of me being the luckiest man by meeting the most lovely and powerful creature on this planet," he proclaimed, running his thumb down her cheek.

A gloom yellow light glinted over the two, so Professor Lewis could maintain eye contact with the woman in front of him. A delicate smile splayed on her lips, as her brown eyes hold onto his.

"You sure know how to make a woman feel special," she snorted, turning her body to face him.

He turned his body as well, "My methods have made you stronger have they not?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Yes," Claudia answered stiffly.

Professor Lewis grinned at her, "Then that's all that matters," he agreed, as he placed his hands on Claudia's hips pulling her closer. "As a matter of fact, why don't you show me how far you've come since being under my tutelage," he suggested, still smiling at her.

"Fine," Claudia agreed mirroring his smile. "But, only because you're cute," she added, a wicked smirk now forming on her lips.

"Atta girl," he cheered, placing a quick kiss to her lips.

Claudia smiled, and while still looking right at him, she moved her fingers. Wisps of purple aura slowly slithered upwards Professor Lewis' body and his eyes widened as he watched the energy spread all around him. Professor Lewis couldn't move. He had forced her to use this side of her mutation over and over again to make it stronger and now it was used against him.

"Claudia, what are you doing?" Professor Lewis asked, and for the first time she seen an emotion that he never expressed.

Fear.

"I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago," she answered, lifting her hand up and drifting Professor Lewis from the safety of the rooftop to dangling him over the ledge of the building.

"Please dear, let's be reasonable," Professor Lewis pleaded, sounding slightly shaky.

"No," Claudia answered simply, her smirk only widened as she read his emotions like an open book, confusion, fear, desperation. "You never offered me the same courtesy," she reminded, a humorless chuckle escaping her body.

"You kill me then what Claudia? You were nothing without me! You were nothing but a scared girl!" he snarled.

"I think I will manage without you just fine," She assured, flashing him a faux smile. "It's like said you earlier, under your tutelage I have grown stronger," she repeated mockingly, before releasing her hold on him.

I watched as Professor Lewis dropped from our sights. There was an abrupt scream of terror from Professor Lewis before it was cut off as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. My younger self causally strolled to the ledge and peered and we followed behind her. The sight was a grim a one.

Professor Lewis was surrounded in a puddle of his own blood, his limbs bent in unnatural ways.

"My God," Charles commented, his face ashen.

Laughter bubbled out of my younger self, and we turned to look at her, her shoulders shook with laughter.

"Goodbye Harry," Claudia said coldly and she walked away.

Turning her back against her teacher and her fellow mutant.

An earsplitting scream of horror reverberated the air, but not once did that seem to bother her, she continued walking and with a flip of her hair she slipped back into the building.

"I've never felt so exposed except with my time with Professor Lewis. What will they think of me now? Will they think I'm a monster? Will they-" I thought, and my breath quickened.

The world around us becomes clear once more and we're back in the library I collapsed, hyperventilating, gasping for air. I turned to my friends and I can't tell if their faces are those of pity or disgust. I pulled myself up, stumbling everywhere, and run as fast as I can away from them.

~~~x~~~

I could sense from Charles' emotions that he had approached my closed door, and waited outside for several minutes, until he tapped softly on the door, calling out gently.

"Claudia, are you in there? It's Charles,"

When he was met with no response, I could hear Charles tightened his grip on the doorknob.

"Claudia, I'm going to come in now. If you wish to be alone, please indicate so and I will leave immediately," Charles' statement was met with nothing but silence once again, so he turned the handle of the door, opening it slowly.

When the door had been opened, my back was facing him as I stared out the window blankly, tears flowing freely down my face. Charles stood in the entryway, before closing the door behind him. Stepping forward uncertainly and receiving no reaction at all from me, Charles walked across the room towards window I was facing, covering the area in several long strides. He knelt on his knees next to the bed so that he was looking directly at me.

I could tell Charles was unsure of what to say, so I broke the silence first, "You know I got away with the murders?" I asked raspily, finally looking at Charles.

Charles' furrowed his brow, "What?" he asked bewildered.

"Confusion is a funny thing, especially if you have the power to manipulate it. John was so very confused, he didn't know I was a mutant. So I exploited his confusion and I convinced John that it was a murder-suicide, James was friends with those boys at one point, but stopped hanging out with them once he met me. I told John that's the reason they killed him, and then I lied about one of the boys being the ‘freak’ and that he killed the trio out of bloodlust after killing James, shortly killing himself out of guilt," I explained, scooting over and patting the bed so Charles could sit on my bed.

Charles stood up and gently sat on my bed and reached out, softly wiping the tear streaks from my face with the pad of his thumb.

"Claudia, love, I'm so sorry-I-" Charles started.

"You didn't know?" I finished, raising my eyebrow expectantly. "Well, now you why I don't like people in my head," I stated, letting out a sigh. "I can't begin to describe to you the horror that comes with knowing that your mind isn't as safe as you think it is," I commented, briefly closing my eyes.

"I just never would have guessed these things happened to you, when we first met, you were so carefree," Charles explained, his hand now moving to my hair and stroking it.

"What did you want Charles? A big flashing sign, saying 'I've had a traumatizing life'," I retorted, tilting my head slightly. "Charles, there aren't many people who care about the plight of a colored woman in America, what makes you think they would sympathize with a black woman who's also a mutant?" I questioned, dropping my gaze to my hand. "I swallowed a bitter pill by coming to the realization that no one will truly care about me," I finished, looking back up at Charles.

"You're wrong," he corrected, he spoke gently, never breaking his gaze away from mine. "I care about you, and so does everyone in the mansion," Charles insisted.

He started rubbing soothing patterns on the back my hand with his thumb, Charles lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles just as someone knocked twice before entering. The now familiar undercurrent of anger told me it was Erik. But I didn't want to move my hand from Charles', the warmth, the comfort, and affection wrapping themselves around me were too blissful to bring to an end. I turned my head to look at Erik, slipping my hand from Charles', I shifted from me laying on my side to pushing myself up to leaning the headboard.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked gently.

"I've been better," I answered, as Erik took a seat at the foot of my bed. It was silence between the three of us and I stared down at my hands, suppressing the urge to raise a hand to my lips and bite my thumb. "It's like you said Charles..." I stated, trailing off and the two of them looked at each other confusion.

"What?" Charles asked confused.

"The night you two recruited me," I began, looking between the two men. "You said, 'There is danger within me,'" I recited, looking at Charles and his eyes widened.

"Claudia I-" he started.

"I'm not mad Charles," I interrupted, shaking my head. "You're right. I've hurt people," I admitted, my mouth forming a thin line.

"We understand," Charles assured me, his kind eyes staring into mine.

My lips quirked into a small smile before I cleared my throat, "There is something that I should tell you two," I stated.

"And what would that be?" Erik asked curiously.

"When I killed those boys when I was younger, I should've been upset, but it was cathartic. I enjoyed it," I answered truthfully, my eyes shifting between them to gauge their reactions.

"They had just murdered your boyfriend in front of you, it's understandable Claudia," Erik justified.

"No, Erik, a normal person would swear to never use their powers in such a way again. But not me, I rather liked the idea of being able to control people. And when Professor Lewis-" I started.

"When he abducted you?" Erik asked motionlessly, cutting me off. "He used you, tortured you?"

"No Erik, I agreed to go with him. And that's a mistake I will always regret. He was one of us," I explained softly. "I thought I could trust him," I added, shaking my head.

"He was a telepath, like me," Charles stated looking over at me.

My voice and body and emotions becoming detached as I nodded, "He took it slow, got me to trust him, to love him. That's when he started the tests on my abilities. His favorite way was through illusions. In one instance, I was trapped in one of his illusions, thinking I was having the best night of my life with some handsome stranger after escaping from him, when I was really kissing one his lab assistants. The only reason the illusion, broke was because of the lab assistant lied, and I know when someone is lying to me. He strengthened my powers," I paused, taking a deep breath to compose myself. "It was brilliant, really," I finished, shaking my head side to side.

"It was a vile, manipulative, twisted, sick endeavor!" Erik spat. "He turned on his own kind!"

"His own kind," I repeated bitterly. "No. He wasn't one of us. A mutant, yes. But not one of us," I forced a smile, nudging him with my foot. "We're the good guys, Erik. Like Captain America, but cooler," I quipped.

Erik rolled his eyes, looking at me with a sort of spark I had never seen before.

"I have to ask," Charles started, breaking my concentration from Erik. "Was there ever an investigation?" Charles asked.

"Yes, it was a brief one, but it was ruled a suicide," I explained, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "I hope you two don't think I'm a monster now," I sighed.

"Of course not," Charles stated sincerely, grabbing my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

There was a knock at my door before it opened revealing Raven's petite figure. She looked at the two men who were sitting on my bed, and I felt a wave jealousy wash over me, which confused me.

"If you're not occupied, Charles, can we talk in private?" Raven asked, I didn't miss the emphasis on the word occupied.

"I wonder what's gotten into her now?" I thought.

Charles slowly let go of my hand, "Of course, Raven. We were just finishing our conversation," he answered, as he stood up and walked across the room to reach Raven. "Good night Claudia," Charles said, a smile on his lips.

"Night Charles," I responded, and Raven and Charles left my room.

It was just Erik and I now, "Now you know where the crack is in my perfect exterior, Erik," I stated,

Erik climbed further onto my bed till he was sitting next to me and gazed at me, "That's one enormous crack," Erik replied, repeating the same words I said to him. "But it only made you stronger," he continued, lifting his finger and gently trailing it down my cheek, the gesture sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps raised on my arms.

My eyes went straight for his inner forearm and the figures that had been inked into his skin, 214782. Numbers that had reduced an entire people into nothing but cattle. But markings. It was disturbing, and my hand reached out to touch his flesh in an attempt to stop my mind from racing. My fingers brushed his skin and he immediately grabbed my hand, his long, elegant fingers enclosing mine.

"Does it ever go away?" I asked somewhat rhetorically, motioning to his reaction.

Erik didn't answer.

"The pain, the distrust, the memories- I guess it never does, does it? Maybe it gets easier," I continued, pondering morosely. "Maybe it's the prospect of revenge that makes it so," I turned to him, motioning my head to the numbers engraved upon his skin. "Does it still hurt?" I asked softly, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Every fucking day," Erik uttered, looking at the numbers and then shifting his gaze on me.

"Our resilience through all the pain we've been through, it's amazing we survived..." I trailed off, rubbing my thumb softly across his knuckles and then looked up at Erik. "Most people wouldn't have been able to,"

Erik smiled at me brilliantly, "Well, we aren't most people are we?" Erik questioned. "We're the future of the human race, Claudia," Erik finished, lifted our entwined hands and placed his lips on my knuckles leaving a lingering kiss.

I lifted my head from his shoulder and gently placed a kiss on Erik's stubble covered cheek, "Thank you, Erik, for being here tonight,"

Chapter Fifteen: A Love Supreme

[hasereshdoneanythingwrong]

Beach Time Fun

Another day, another strange occurrence. It seemed all too often these days that Faye and Eresh ended up in some sort of parallel universe shenanigans. This time it was visiting the shores of the Atlantic Ocean with Rex and his wife, Quetzalcoatl. The two masters were surprisingly easygoing with the whole scenario, both having been through similar situations in the past and deciding that rolling with it was just better in the long run. Singularities one these are more than capable of being micro-vacations on their own and neither Master was going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or, well, sharp pointy teeth, as it were.

The foursome were sitting under umbrellas on the shore, a beautiful, vast blue in front of them as the hot sand warmed their feet. Not a cloud in the sky as the group enjoyed their vacation, even turning the whole thing into a double-date. Rex sat in a modest set of swim shorts and sandals next to Quetz, her vibrant bikini completely befitting her nature, with little feather motifs throughout its pattern. Faye and Eresh sat under the other umbrella, Faye’s swimsuit being a standard Mystic Code variety, albeit without and spells this time, and Eresh donning her modest one piece suit. Coincidentally, this was the first time either Master had seen their partner in these suits, needless to say when they both turned to behold the sights before them, they locked eyes, nodded, and sent prayers of thanks to their respective deities.

Quetz sighed from her seat next to Rex, her gemstones shining brilliantly in the summer sun.

Quetz: Mi amor, we should do something fun, what do people do normally on the beach?

Eresh piped up from the opposite side of Faye.

Eresh: Well, the ocean should be warm enough, we can at least play in there for a while.

Rex: I know, what about sandcastles?

Rex turned to Faye.

Rex: I bet I can make a better temple for Mi corazón than you can for Ereshkigal.

Faye’s eyes turned deathly serious.

Faye: You’re on, though there’s no way you can make a better temple than I can!

A basic plan decided, the two groups set out, the goddesses enjoying some hard earned time in the ocean, though Eresh didn’t go nearly as far as Quetz. She didn’t seem to like the ocean enough to want to tread much deeper. Faye and Rex, on the other hand, went at their task with vigor. Each Master poured every bit of knowledge and experience into making a temple fit for their goddesses.

Unfortunately, that skill was almost for naught as they’d both forgotten to account for the increasing tide levels, their creations soon in peril as the water crept ever closer.

Faye & Rex: NO NO NO!!

The two scrambled to build a wall together as a wave rushed in. Both structures suffered a bit of damage, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed, though the two were understandably distraught.

As Quetz and Eresh came back in, they witnessed the work of their partners. An elaborate Mayan temple made of sand was constructed by Rex, who even went so far as to make a tiny female figure to put as the top. A mini-Quetz by the looks of it!

Faye, with no firsthand basis to replicate, instead chose to try and make a ziggurat for Eresh, complete with some smaller entrances and a deep hole in the center.

Eresh: Faye, it’s wonderful, but why is there a gaping hole in the middle?

Faye: Why to make an entrance to Kur of course! So you can come and go as you please!

Quetz on the other hand, rushed to embrace her husband.

Quetz: Mi amor!!! It’s beautiful, you even made a little me figurine at the top!

Rex, enjoying being squeezed: Of course, I went all out for you, mi corazón!

Rex looked over at Faye and gave a smug grin. He won, no doubt. Faye sighed, taking her goddesses outstretched hand as she stood from her previously kneeling position over the tiny structure.

The four continued their fun on the beach, various activities areas such as beach volleyball and a spot of ocean well suited for surfing were found. Unsurprisingly, Quetz dominated the more athletic activities, her skill and finesse dwarfing the others. Even servants can grow fatigued though, as it soon became time for an evening meal.

Master and servant sat around a bonfire dug into the sand, Faye tending the flames occasionally throwing in a new log to keep the fire going. It was cold, but a small fire makes for crappy S’mores. Faye and Eresh sat on one side, holding Eresh’s hand as they enjoyed a nice; refreshing non-alcoholic beverage. Rex and Quetz in a similar spot across from them. It was quiet and peaceful, a small breeze passing by as they sat in silence. The crackling flames the only noise on top of the waves.

Quetz: So Faye, when are you and Erehkigal getting married?

Faye and Eresh simultaneously spit out their drinks, faces beer red in the glow of the fire

Eresh & Faye: Marriage? Well, I- uh..

Rex squeezed Quetz’s hand.

Rex: Mi corazón you can’t just ask that! It’s a sensitive topic for some people?

Quetz: But it’s obvious that they live each other? Isn’t that something humans do when they love someone?

Rex: Yes of course, but it’s more complicated than that!

Quetz: It didn’t seem very complicated when you proposed to me.

Rex, scratching his head: There was...a lot of behind the scenes work involved in my proposal.

By this time, Faye and her goddess has recovered, the whiplash of the question posed to them seemingly swept aside as the two were afraid to make eye contact.

Quetz: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable! I simply couldn’t help myself!

Rex kisses Quetz quickly and then turned.

Rex: So, uh, are you two planning on that at all? I don’t mean to pry, but I feel like that lines was already crossed and scratched away.

Faye coughed, squeezing Eresh’s hand.

Faye: I-We, I think we’re going to keep going like this. At least for now. Neither of us want to really rush things.

Eresh squeezed back.

Eresh: Yes, rushing something like that would be disastrous. It takes a long time to settle into that, and as a goddess, I would never allow something bad to happen because of it. Especially if my other half got involved....

Quetz: Other half?

Faye: Long story. Tried summoning another Eresh, made a mistake.

Rex, holding up his few hand: Trust me. I understand completely. We have how many versions of you running around?

He turned to Quetz as she counted them off.

Quetz: Well there’s me, Kuku, Ququ, that other me, the Slayer me. It’s a lot.

Rex: And while I love them all, I love you the most!

Quetz: Aww, mi amor, you’re so sweet!

The two shared a deep kiss as Eresh and Faye looked on awkwardly. The night wound to a close, the fire eventually going cold as both couples said their goodbyes to one another. Quetz gave both Faye and Eresh a big bear hug as Rex waved on from right behind her. Well wishes were exchanged and, as quickly as it started, another one of the space-time shenanigans wound itself down.

A/N: I thought that a beach date would be good. I know Rex and Quetz had already gone on their own beach day, but I wanted them to brainstorm activities as though it was a first time. This one, when I reread it at least, felt a little forced but hey, if you guys like it, then I’ll know it was just in my head.

Mentions:

The lively @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong for letting me borrow Quetz and Rex.

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong

[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

=

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs. 

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?] 

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin. 

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels. 

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

[abduct-me-helen]

Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 4.

“So, are we going to talk about it? Or….” Martin asked, looking at Jon with an expression he found he couldn’t decipher. The chatter of class 108 filled the comfortable silence that would usually occupy them on their journey.

“About what?” Jon avoided the question, turning his head back to check on the rest of the class. They’d originally formed two lines, headed by Jon at the front of both and Martin at the back. That had quickly fallen apart, and now they were more of a…blob, if anything.

Martin gave him a look. “I still don’t know how you’re smiting things here! I was about to ask you before we came across the school, but I decided it was best to wait until we calmed down a bit.”

“I-I killed it. I have the power, so I…so I killed it.” Jon turned his head away, facing decidedly frontwards.

“Yeah, but like, how? I’m-I’m sorry, I just don’t understand what actually happened.” Martin gestured, confused and frustrated.

“I-It’s hard to explain. We’re coming upon a domain of the,” he grimaced, memories of dirt and choking and pressure momentarily overtaking him, “buried. I would really rather-”

The sound of knocking cut him off, and the squeak of hinges made everyone silent. Static crackled, and Katie, ever alert, got out her knife just before Rosie silently directed everyone to draw their “weapons.”

Jon didn’t know what a pencil sharpener would do to the distortion, but he didn’t want to find out.

Martin turned, confused at why the quiet had set in. “What-”

“Look down, Martin.”

“Oh.” He paused, startled. “Wait, what?”

“No one get to close!” He called, running his hands through his hair and sighing. “Hello, Helen.”

“Oh, Hello! In a better mood now, are we? Feeling safer now that you know how to kill? And you’ve got a whole gang with you! How exiting.” Her eyes seemed to light up, literally.

“YEET.” Tabitha threw a pencil sharpener at Helen, but her body seemed to twist and absorb it in impossible ways, making Tabitha’s head hurt. She shook it off. “Stay away from us! Begone thot!”

The rest of the class began to recite various vines in agreement.

“GET REKT!” “YOUR MOM’S A HOE!” “WALK AWAYAHAYAHAYHAY”

Martin facepalmed. Jon exhaled, forcing down the urge to scream.

Helen blinked, then her mouth pulled into an impossible grin. “You’ve got quite a crowd here, don’t you Archivist?”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Touch them, and I will end you.”

Helen laughed and echoing laugh that hurt his ears. “Oh, Archivist. You really have grown! But no, I’m here for a chat. We are friends, aren’t we archivist? Allies?”

He gritted his teeth. “Sure.”

Martin butted in. “Will you tell me how he did it?”

“Martin-” Jon protested.

“He just keeps on being all vague about it.” Martin complained. Helen seemed to light up.

“Oh goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, Jon? He’s coming to me for answers.” She cackled, and Jon glowered.

“Shut up.” He said.

She giggled. “It is very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing the vague information? You can see why Elias got a kick out of it.”

“Elias?” Rosie questioned. “Isn’t that your boss?”

“That’s Eyeball Daddy’s sugar baby.” Tabitha told her. Rosie made an ‘ah’ noise of recognition.

Helen cackled in delight. “That’s what you’re calling him? Oh, I like you.” She grinned, and Tabitha made an awkward face. What was she supposed to do, when she’d somehow won the favor of an eldritch door person?

Take it like a champ, I guess, she thought.

“Don’t.” Martin said protectively.

“Don’t what, love?” Helen asked, batting her eyelashes. (Literally, bats flew out of them).

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, stay away from them.” Helen pouted as Martin finished.

“But you aren’t any fun.” She said, her mouth curled downward in mock sadness.

“Look-just, just explain. Please.” Martin changed the subject, imploring her to alleviate his confusion. Jon glowered, but stayed decidedly still.

“Well,” she began, sporting a sharp grin, “We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger, the Buried, the Desolation, all of us. But the Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: The Watcher, and the Watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And John, well-he is part of the Eye. A very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say, shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well: to be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.”

A silence fell over everyone, before Cypress broke it.

“So, what you’re saying is, the clap of his ass cheeks alerted the Eye?” He questioned, ginger curls bobbing as he tilted his head.

“Eyeball Daddy.” Raphi muttered.

Helen sported a look of delight, before cackling once again. She wiped a tear from her eye, and Rosie noted that it was the color of a highlighter. As it fell to the ground, the grass it came in contact with seemed to glow.

“You really are fun!” She declared gleefully. “Archivist, for someone so dour you certainly have lively company. Who are all of you then?” Her head twisted unnaturally in interest.

Elliot instinctively looked to Rosie, and shrugged when he met her eyes. Her own were narrowed in thought, before she shook her head. Helen grinned.

“Oh! A smart one. But no, I’m not a fae and you are, regrettably, protected by our Archivist.” She sighed dramatically.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. “She’s right.” Helen lit up. Really. She glowed.

Tabitha, ever curious, tilted her head. “I’m Tabitha. Are you with the smexy weed?”

“The smexy weed?” Helen asked, unapologetically amused, “whatever do you mean?”

Cal let out a short laugh and Katie rolled her eyes.

“The one that makes you high.” Elliot intoned (un)helpfully.

Martin groaned. “Wh-you know what. I’m just going to leave it.”

Helen was grinning now. “Yes! I’m with the Spiral, or the smexy weed, if you prefer!”

“Dope.” Elliot said, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a second,” Martin spoke, putting his hands up and turning to Jon, “why were you being so cryptid about it anyway? It doesn’t seem very complicated so I don’t know why you were being so coy about-”

“Because I’m ashamed, Martin.” Jon cut him off, sighing and clenching his jaw.

“Ashamed?!”

“Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just-destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that-I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a…fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I…enjoyed it, and…the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on!”

A pall of silence fell over them.

“Mr. Sims?” Cypress spoke.

Jon sighed. “Yes?”

“You said the fuck word.” Cypress informed him solemnly. The rest of the class nodded.

“That’s what you take from that?!” Jon said exasperatedly.

“Well, I mean, about what you said, I actually think you’re good on that front.” Cypress said hesitantly.

“What?”

“Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on!” Cal exclaimed. They’d been silent nearly the entire time, naturally a shy person and even quieter when scared. Rosie raised an eyebrow, and Tabitha cheered, slinging an arm over their shoulders.

“Yes Cal! You go!” Tabitha high fived them.

“I agree with that.” Martin spoke, surprising Jon.

“How-what?” Jon said incredulously.

“Yes Martin!” Helen cheered, delighted by this new development.

“Th-this isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, John; these things are-th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone!  If you want to stop them and have the power to, then-then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!”

“I-I haven’t seen it.” Jon breathed in surprised.

“Oh, Martin, I am so proud of you. Can I come too?” Helen asked ecstatically.

“No.” All of class 108 intoned.

Helen pouted. “So mean! I take it back, you’re no fun at all.”

“Coming from you, I would think that a good thing.” Rosie pointed out as Sydney nodded her agreement.

Helen sighed dramatically. “Fair, fair. I think I’ll take my leave, now. Don’t be a stranger!”

The creaking of the impossible, yellow door signals her exit, and Tabitha’s eyes widen.

“Guys!” she exclaims, face bright with a new, disastrous idea. Katie groans preemptively. “We should do a Tiktok with her!”

-

Regrettably, Tabitha’s idea was immediately shut down, and they soon continued on their path until Jon came to a stop, gritting his teeth.

“We’re here.”

He’d explained that they’d have to cross through multiple nightmares in order to reach the Panopticon, along with the statements he’d have to give. Though Sydney had wondered, she hadn’t asked if he knew the whereabouts of any of her classmates.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

No, that was a lie. Above anything else, Tabitha needed knowledge like water. She felt incomplete without it, whatever the cost of that knowledge would be. She would rather mourn a death then be ignorant and happy.

“Are you going to…?” Martin prompted, and Jon nodded, sighing.

“You should all leave while I-”

“No.” Rosie and Tabitha intoned at once, looking at each other surprised.

“Why not?” Martin questioned, wondering why anyone would want to have to listen to that.

“I…,” Rosie breathed, “you said this was about the Buried, right?”

“Y-yes.” Jon stammered, taken aback.

She sighed, tightening her side ponytail as a distraction. She often found playing with her hair gave her comfort.

“I-I can’t explain it. It’s not like I’ll sleep any easier without,” she gestured, “this.” She finished lamely.

Jon and Martin had a silent conversation, and though Jon was apprehensive, he sighed and gestured for her to sit down. He then turned to Tabitha, raising his eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“I need to know.” She said. “I-I can’t be in the dark in a world like this. I just-I need to know.”

Martin nodded, still doubtful. He gestured for the rest of the class, who were staring at the two girls like they were insane, to follow him over to (what appeared to be) a tree.

-

“-Better to keep him buried, neatly away.” Jon finished, and Rosie breathed out shakily. Jon looked at her, really looked, and was confused to find that she looked almost sated.

He turned to Tabitha, and she seemed the same, though in a far more familiar way. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was…off.

“Are you both okay?” They nodded at his question, and Rosie helped Tabitha up.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I just…” Tabitha hesitated, “I feel…weird.”

“Weird?” He intoned, raising an eyebrow in concern. “Not scared?”

“No-I mean, yeah, I’m scared, but…” she shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important. Hey, why is Katie stabbing a tree?”

-

As it turned out, the tree wasn’t as inanimate as they’d thought, and after being chased around for a bit, Martin got separated from the rest of the class. Not too far; he could still see them in the distance, and they appeared to have killed(?) the tree.

Where did Katie get an axe?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, when a phone rang out of nowhere. He jumped, surprised.

It was coming from the ground.

He scowled, running his hand through his hair in annoyance, before a clanking noise got his attention from the right. A metal spade just seemed to…appear. Out of nowhere.

“A spade? Really? I mean, isn’t that a little insensitive?” He questioned irritably, sighing to himself.

“Right, so we’re doing this then.”

He began to dig until he reached the phone, yanking it up. He wasn’t surprised to find that there was no landline attaching it to the other caller.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Hello. Is that Martin?”

He cursed inwardly.

“Don’t do that.” He warned.

“Not in the mood for games?” Her voice was decidedly amused.

“You know I’m not.” He told her.

“No fun.”

“Yes, well-look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right?” He said, already knowing the answer to that question.

“You never gave me yours, why should I give you mine?” Martin wondered if she was being this difficult on purpose. Knowing the Web, she probably was.

“Just-what do you want?” He asked tiredly, sighing.

“To help, of course!”

“No. Thank you.” He declined sharply.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this. Marcy Schroeder isn’t dead.”

“W-what?!” He exclaimed.

He didn’t know much about the girl, hadn’t even known her last name before he’d heard Annabelle say it, but he knew enough about what had happened when one of class 108’s first expeditions had wandered into the Web.

“That’s what I said! She’s been kept alive for a reason, though I don’t know what. I suspect it has something to do with the end.”

“Where is she?”

“Now, now, that’s information you’ll have to pay for.”

“With what?”

“Good question. I’ll need to let the situation play out a bit first, and then I’ll know what you can pay me. I’ll keep in touch!”

The line went dead.

“Well, shit.”

-

Rosie was quiet, Tabitha noticed, as she played with her hair languidly, posture tired and face blank with a subtle confusion and scowl. She walked over casually, trying to surprising her from behind, then frowned when Rosie didn’t react.

Tabitha tilted her head, then sat on the log beside her.

“You okay?” She asked, concern blindingly evident in her voice. Rosie didn’t respond.

They sat in a comfortable silence, looking out at the green tinted world in front of them. The watchful eye of the Panopticon looked back, and Tabitha gave it a challenging glare.

“Did I ever tell you about the sinkhole?” Rosie broke the quiet, not even glancing beside her.

“No, I don’t think you did.” Tabitha replied, and was silently disgusted with her own burning hunger for the information Rosie must have been referencing.

Rosie finally turned to Tabitha, chocolatey eyes dull. “When I was in middle school-it must have been fifth or sixth grade-I was caught in a sinkhole. I was buried for two days, under the earth. The Doctor’s didn’t know how I survived, but I did.”

Tabitha’s eyes were wide as Rosie continued her tale.

“The earth…moved. And not in the normal ways. It was unnatural. It tried to choke me, but I didn’t fight back. I just, let it. And I wasn’t afraid. I was,” she spoke sourly, “comforted, by the pressure. It felt like a hug, except, an important one. The earth was hugging me, Tabitha.”

Rosie’s gaze sharpened, and Tabitha’s hunger seemed to increase.

“And I let it. My parents are-were,” she grits, remembering the loss and silently wondering which nightmare they were trapped in, “amazing to me. But they weren’t tactile people by any stretch. And the earth…it was everywhere. And I think I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. A ‘medical marvel,’ that’s what the doctors said at least.

“I’ve never told anyone before, but you of all people I feel like I can tell things. You just,” she gestured absently, “have that feel about you.”

“Are you vibe checking me?” Tabitha joked, trying to ease the tension. Rosie smiled gratefully.

“I suppose I am.” Rosie responded, before growing solemn again. “I think…well, you can figure that out.” She looked to Tabitha, willing her to fill in the blanks.

“You think it was the Buried.” Tabitha reasoned, thinking to herself.

Rosie didn’t need to say anything; they both knew that what happened wasn’t possible by any other explanation.

“…we need to come up with a name for it.” Tabitha spoke to herself, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“I may not have been scared of being buried alive, but hearing those words terrifies me.” Rosie deadpanned.

“Aw, Ro, I’m flattered. You say the nicest things.” Tabitha cooed, and they both laughed quietly.

-

“…I have an idea.”

“Oh no.”

“The Great Bondage, the Choking Kink-”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

“Hey! Don’t leave me here! What about the buddy system-”

-

[docholligay]

DEFINITELY AU TO MY UNIVERSE

This is based on the idea @rhiorhino came up with in her ask of having Pharah and Tracer live together after something happens to Emily and Mercy. I worked on this A LOT A LOT, so I hope you enjoy! its not at all perfect but I think it’s good! 3,300 words. 

Tracer and Pharah had been opposites from the first day they had met, and while they had grown warm to each other, they certainly had not grown any more like each other. Tracer was impulsive and quick, going in with her whole self, a tiny firework of a human being, exploding and lighting the entire sky in one moment. Pharah was thoughtful and measured, tracing out the steps in her mind, a clear line from one to the other, carefully lighting each corner like a candle. 

So it made a certain amount of sense that when Emily MacNair, who would have been Oxton, was murdered, Tracer immediately and quickly lost her mind. Emily had not even been laid to rest when Tracer skipped the country in pursuit of her murderer, and anyone who got in the way discovered that Tracer was sunshine, and the sun is more than capable of killing without mercy. They said she beat Widowmaker to death with the butt of her rifle. Tracer would only say that probably did happen, but truthfully she didn’t remember a thing. It was hard to argue against that point, when she returned to London and descended into what a physician had called “brief reactive psychosis.” It was difficult to charge her for the death of someone wanted dead or alive by several countries, in any case. Born under a lucky star. 

It was four months after that, with Tracer finally more or less in touch with reality and functional, that Overwatch continued its disastrous year. 

Perhaps it had been that there was no one to blame, no villain to pursue, that it was just one terrible moment. An accident. There had been the terrible accident, and Pharah had held Mercy, and Mercy had died, and that was all there was to it. Who could she hate? And so, perhaps it was these things, but perhaps it was that different quality to Pharah herself, that she did not explode into loud and keening grief. 

She buried her wife, exactly according to her religious wishes, and calmly laid a hand on her coffin before it was laid into the grave. She went back home, and cleaned and folded and scrubbed the floor, lined up the shoes at the front door in a neat line, and went to bed. She went to work, and redid the filing cabinet, and wrote a detailed schedule on the board, and shined her shoes. She carefully settled Mercy’s affairs, and mostly remembered not to bring up a cup of coffee in the morning. And, repeat.  Fareeha Amari was doing very well, by most standards. 

Even Tracer, in that first month, as people told her how unwavering Pharah had been in all this, had grumbled “Right, because Fareeha’s bloody fucking perfect and don’t I know it.” 

 People had mostly stopped asking questions with concerned faces, three months later. Anyone looking at her would have seen how stable and steady she was.

“Bit worried about Fareeha.” Tracer had said, leaning against Winston as they watched TV in his living room. 

Tracer had given up on living alone, sold her house to her cousin, and decided, simply, that she was going to live with Winston for the rest of her life. It was more than big enough for three, if it came to it, hope never leaving her even as she grieved, and it made the most sense to have herself there. She loved Winston, and he loved her, and Tracer was a bit frightened of her own recently-discovered fragility. He’d welcomed her happily. 

“Did she say something?” He snuggled her in a little closer. 

“No, and that’s part of it,” She sat up, gazing over the top of the TV back into her own mind, “she hasn’t snapped at me, or teased at me, in months. I spent all morning doing things I know drive her absolutely mad. It’s like she’s not even there, Win.” 

Winston shifted uncomfortably. “She knows you’re--well--she’s trying to--” 

Tracer sighed aggressively. “Win, it’s been months now. Not even on medication now, Doc’s really quite happy with me, and no one sniping at me did it in the first place. Don’t treat me like--”

“I’m sorry,” he touched her back softly, “I’m just,” he gave a sheepish laugh, “Myself, all the time.” 

Tracer shook her head. “She comes in, same time every day, she puts away her papers, she cleans something, always, she tidies up my desk, as well, without a word, ‘ardly. She does her work, ‘as a three pound meal deal for lunch, same time every day,, works out, and I ‘appen to know she goes to the Tesco every night, same time every day, gets a ready meal, goes ‘ome, cleans and organizes something, again, eats it, and goes to bed.” 

“Lena, how do you know that?” 

She tossed her hands in the air. “I followed ‘er, obviously! Multiple times!”

“We have to get you a constructive hobby.” 

“And she didn’t even notice I was bloody fucking following her. Fareeha.” Tracer gave a little frown and flopped back against Winston. ‘She’s ‘orribly depressed, Win. I know it.” she closed her eyes, 

“I don’t want ‘er to live this way. Or not live, right? Or worse, I don’t want to wake up one morning and find,” her eyes popped back open, gesturing wildly, “Commander Fareeha Amari, precise and disciplined in every way, ‘as done a very precise and disciplined job of offing ‘erself.” 

“You don’t think--” 

“I do think!” She jumped back up again, a creature in constant emotion. “She’s so bloody logical, to the point of being stupid, and she’ll, “ Tracer drew her hand widely across the air, slipping into a terrible Egyptian accent, “find it most reasonable that I will never find happiness again, and my lack of passion makes me a liability, and so, I will make sure not to leave a mess.” She snapped her fingers and jumped toward Winston, eyes locked. “That COULD happen, Win, I can bloody well see it in me mind’s eye!” 

“Lena--” 

“Know what she bought at Tesco, Win? Bangers and mash, a ready meal from Tesco for one. Of bangers and mash.” 

Winston put his hand on her back, and drew her into his shoulder. He said nothing. What was there to say? Tracer was right, of course, and he felt terrible not having noticed. But Pharah was so good at being stoic, at keeping herself straight, at convincing the world that she had always simply been this way, and he had forgotten how her speech had lost some of its formality, how she had laughed easier, how she had teased. How she had been happy. 

It was easy to ignore Pharah’s coping, because it was not drinking too much, or getting into fights, or hallucinating, but her absolute sense of control and order that guided her through difficulty. 

“Also, she isn’t eating enough,” Tracer shook her head, “She’s lost ‘alf stone, at least. Maybe more like a stone, really.” 

“What should we do?” He said softly. 

“Well,” she rocked back to sit on her heels, running a hand through her hair, “We ‘ave to ‘ave her come live ‘ere, with us. Break her out of it all, right?” She grinned. “Bunch of the sadsack bachelor types, that’s us. We can ‘elp ‘er, Win, I know we can.” 

Winston had no idea how Tracer was going to get Pharah to agree to this. He wasn’t sure if she knew how she was going to. But Tracer believed she would, and she could, and that it itself made him believe. 

____

It wasn’t nearly so hard as Tracer had thought it was going to be. It took only two weeks of wheedling and begging and claiming that she and Win couldn’t possibly afford the place without her, being everything that had happened. It would be a proper favor to them, if Pharah would come and live with them. Besides, wasn’t Pharah so good at all the things she wasn’t? She’d be so much more help to running the house than Tracer was, after all. 

Pharah was scrubbing the office floor, as she did every single Thursday, when she finally broke. A person could only avoid Tracer’s attempts at something she truly wanted for so long. 

“If you and Winston need money, I will give you money.” She did not look up at Tracer. Back and forth across the boards. Check carefully for a scratch the needs filling. RInse the brush. Repeat. “I have little need for extra income.” 

Tracer sighed heavily. She kept trying to give Pharah a graceful way to accept, and Pharah kept throwing it back in her face. It was aggravating to keep inventing new disasters for her and Winston to be having, particularly given that they were doing quite well, all told. 

She thought of the solution, and hated it just as quickly. Tracer had worked hard. The odds of any sort of relapse were exceedingly rare. She had just now gotten to the point where it seemed like people weren’t whispering about it behind her back at the greengrocers, that her reputation was beginning to shine up near to normal again. Life was full of bloody fucking sacrifice, wasn’t it? 

She knelt in front of Pharah. “Fareeha.” 

“What?” Rinse out the brush. 

“Win’s taken care of me, so much, over and over and--” It stuck in her throat, and she hated every inch of it, “I worry I might be too much for ‘im, if it ‘appens again, and ‘e’ll try to do it ‘imself, all over again. You know how Win is, about these things, and I thought, if you were there, you could reason with ‘im. Day by day. Might be best to send me off, but ‘e won’t, but, you know ‘e trusts your judgment.” 

Pharah looked up at Tracer. “I doubt I could convince Winston of this.” 

Tracer’s fists balled at her side. Pharah had always said Tracer had a way of working a person’s last nerve, but she wasn’t giving herself enough credit. 

“But,” Pharah continued, putting the brush in the bucket, “he is also unlikely to see an early sign. I would notice.” 

Tracer smiled and nodded. 

Sure you would, Fareeha, as my general early signs are jot off to Paris and kill someone, which I think Win might also pick up on, but all right. 

She sighed. “I will rent the apartment, until you feel secure. I will also pay rent at Winston’s, to assist.” 

On some other day, Tracer might have tried to tell Pharah that she could always buy another apartment, and it might be better for her to do that. But it was enough to know that Pharah would move out her things, even if every single box of Mercy’s scattered notes was going to the wide expanse of leftover warehouse they used as a storage unit in the back of Winston’s place. She had Emily’s things there as well, and was only beginning to realize she needed to begin to sort through them, so what could she possibly say? 

“Thank you.” was what she chose. 

_____

A new living arrangement is always difficult, even without the added difficulty of a person not realizing the are going through a certain amount of emotional trauma. Pharah had been living with she and Winston for six weeks now, and while they had managed to put her weight back on, and she had even managed a smile or two, Pharah still lived her life within the lines of her planner with rigidity and focus. She never looked up. 

She never spoke Angela’s name. 

Tracer began to spend the night in Pharah’s room, chatting to her about her day, asking questions that would almost certainly go unanswered. She had liked it, when she was struggling, and people had talked to her. Parvati had once recounted an entire night at the pub as a one woman play, and Tracer had managed to laugh, and so she knew there was some medicine in it. Whatever Pharah might think. 

So Tracer threw herself against Pharah’s brick wall, and she fell down, and she got up again. 

Until a Friday night on the sixth week. It was Shabbat, and Pharah had remembered it was Shabbat, because someone had greeted someone else in the grocery store as she got her three pound lunch. Tracer had noticed her quiet sternness, even more pronounced than usual, as they went through the store together, as they stopped for flowers, as someone had asked Tracer if she was planning to pop by the pub this week. 

Pharah said nothing, but Tracer was undeterred. 

“I do not entirely understand why you are in my room.” Pharah turned onto her side and shut her eyes. “Again.”

“I slept with me dad for something like two years after Mum died,” she scoffed and shook her head, “I know that sounds all sort of funny, least, the looks people ‘ave given me make me think so. 

But it wasn’t--just ‘aving each other, right there, as we were scared to lose each other, and--and well, it felt a bit lonely, and a bit cold. ‘Ard to explain, but there was something very comforting in it.” 

She laughed a little, chewing at the end of her nail. “Truth is, I only needed for so long, but somehow I knew ‘e needed it longer. To ‘ave me at ‘and, right? To know I’s safe? So I stayed there, a while longer.” 

Tracer looked over to Pharah, whose back remained turned to her, silent and still in the dim glow of moonlight, outlining her shoulder like a headstone. 

“We did mend, Dad and me.” Tracer shifted under her blanket. “Took time, but we did mend.” 

Pharah lay staring at the wall, jaw set in a hard line, arm tucked firmly under the single pillow she used. She said nothing. There was nothing to say, just more of Tracer’s rambling in the darkness. 

“There’s nothing in you that’s broken, Fareeha,” she said it with such confidence that for a moment, Pharah nearly believed it to be true, “rather, not forever. I know because there’s nothing that can be mended in me. There’ll be scars, of course, but,” she giggle and shrugged at the ceiling, “Isn’t as if you and don’t ‘ave plenty as it stands.” 

“You do not understand.” Pharah’s voice came like a command in the night. 

Tracer swallowed hard as the anger built up in her. Pharah was hurting and Pharah had a hard time with things, and Pharah did not mean to make it sound like the way she’d loved Emily wasn’t as strong, and she was going to pop Fareeha Amari in the face right FUCKING now. 

And she sat up to do it. 

But before she could, Pharah pushed herself up to her side. “You, maybe, will mend. You do not understand,” she turned to face Tracer, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, steam rising from a kettle, “because you are the sort of person people love. They remember you, they--they cherish seeing you, you make them laugh. You are the sort of person who has romances, a woman talks about you at brunch with her friends, and everyone says,” she began a very poor imitation of the East End, “well isn’t that Lena so very cheerful and what, right?” 

There is--” They were nearly nose to nose to now, but Pharah had the floor, and Tracer sat quietly even as her brown eyes glowed with fire. “There is nothing of that, for me. That is for people like you!” She slapped the bed in frustration. “And you will never, ever understand me, because you are some...Turkish rug, or a carved chair, and people notice you in a room, and they love you! Plenty want you in their homes.” 

Tracer moved to say something, but found the anger had left her, and she was filled instead with a deep and unyielding sorrow for all they had both lost, and all Pharah had learned she could lose. Tears slipped down her face, only to find Pharah’s had matched them. 

Pharah tapped her chest.”I am--a broom. A filing cabinet. I am useful, and needed, and diligent. I am necessary, and valued. But I am not loved. Except by her.” 

They sat in the terrible London quiet, the one that shouldn’t be real but had made itself known in the long, cold, sharp blades of that night. Both them looked down at the small expanse of cotton between them. 

“I love you. Course I do.” Lena’s voice was soft, but it did not waver. Then, quick firework that she was, her head popped up and she grinned, “Fuck’s sake Fareeha, why do you think I lay in here next to you every night and tell you stories,  me own ‘ealth?” 

It was her sunshine, always her sunshine, that broke the darkness, and even Pharah had to offer a weak huff of what had to pass for laughter now. 

“I’m scared, as well. I miss Em every single day. I wonder what might become of me, sounds a bit dramatic, but that’s how I think of it.” She rested a hand on Pharah’s knee, “You ain’t the only one with plenty to take on. We’re soldiers, right? It’s ‘ard. And me ‘aving me,” she touched the place where her CA rested, “and Ang, well, she did know me best, ‘ard to say if this friend of ‘ers will ‘ave a mind for it. Just--a bit of an ask, innit? For me, as well.”

Pharah put her hand on Tracer’s. “You will find love again. It is very hard to know you, and not love you a little.” 

“Fareeha,” she waggled her eyebrows, “is this you proposing? Flattered I am, but--” 

In one smooth movement, Pharah swept up the pillow and batted Tracer in the face with it. She fell to the mattress in a flurry of bubbling laughter, and Pharah was forced into a smile. 

“Well,” Tracer’s voice was peppy as she folded her hands and grinned up at Pharah, “I think, that when you’re ready, there’ll be someone wonderful, you know Fareeha there are women who go just mad for closet organizational systems and all that, proper filing, I don’t think you’re ‘ard to match at all, and besides all that, Ang was never any of that, but she saw, well she saw what I see, in you.” 

Pharah shook her head a moment, and waved it off almost out of habit. 

Tracer caught her eye, made sure she saw the genuine truth and belief in it. “You ‘ave a good heart, and a more tender spirit than you let on. Ang always said so, even when I didn’t believe it, that everything you do is a kind of love. That you’re terribly loving. She saw that, in you. She--” 

Pharah turned away and pinched the bridge of her nose, tripping over her words.  “Let’s please not speak of her more. Tonight.” 

“Course,” Tracer nodded, “Sometimes I can’t talk about Em, neither.” Tracer reached gently, carefully, and rubbed at Pharah’s shoulder. “You always ‘ave an ‘ome with me, and Win, ‘ere, if you want it. We love you, Fareeha. We love you ever so much.” 

Knowing it was true, and knowing that it could not possibly repair the deep chasm in her heart, the one that cried her name when the wind blew, Fareeha Amari forgot herself, unmade, in an instant, every lesson she had taught herself about how to be in this world. She began to cry. No, to sob, choked breaths flashing the memory of Mercy’s broken body, her smile under their wedding chuppah, a thousand small touches and loving words falling on her like rain. 

Tracer held her. Tracer held her, and whispered that it was all right, and that she wasn’t a filing cabinet, until they both fell asleep.

[yamayamawrites]

give me a reason i deserve you if i stay - TodoDeku

A/N: Ah, yes! The moment everyone (no one) has been waiting for! I tried my hand at writing an angsty one-shot for TodoDeku! As always I would love your feedback, but I’d love it even more so this time since it’s my first time attempting more than a sprinkling of angst in a fluff fic. You can read this piece on AO3 here or keep reading down below! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Izuku trudged through the rainy, empty streets of his hometown towards the local grocer. He’d never gotten his drivers’ license; he had every hero license imaginable, even one enabling him to enter restricted areas under slightest suspicion of villainy, but never bothered to obtain his drivers’ license. It felt pathetic, but then, what was more pathetic? Not having a drivers’ license, or being an ultra-famous hero obtaining his license in his mid-twenties?

He drew the hood up on his hoodie. It was red and white, split down the middle – some sort of merchandise shop had been selling it, and honestly Izuku hadn’t gotten it because it was meant to resemble Shouto. He’d swear on his grave he didn’t purchase it because it was merchandise for Shouto, who had become something of a rival after high school; but then, he’d been so drawn to it, he doubted that there was any other reason he needed to have it that day.

The threading was worn with how many times he’d washed it, now. Somehow he always ended up getting it dirty. He’d have to wash it again when he got home, he thought bitterly, with the rain having soaked him to the skin. He thought idly about all the times Shouto steamed the water off him when they trained in the rain, how Shouto warmed him from the inside out. He tugged on the hood of the hoodie more, pushing open the grocery store door.

Despite the lack of people on the roads and sidewalks, the grocery store was quite busy. Especially for a Thursday morning, Izuku thought to himself as he scooped up a basket. He walked past an old woman who lived just down the road from him chatting to another woman, not as old, about a horrid storm passing through.

Ah, that was why it was so busy. He’d been working such long shifts he forgot that their town was expecting a thunderstorm to roll through and knock out the power. He supposed he should buy himself some food that didn’t need to be refrigerated or baked for that evening.

As it always happened when he went to the grocery store hungry, he left with much more than he needed. Carrying the grocery bags had never been a problem for him, but carrying them in the rain (which came down much thicker now) and wind put a damper on things. He stood on the doorstep of his apartment, fumbling with the bags and his keys when someone called out to him.

“Oh, do you need some help?”

Izuku knew that voice. He nearly dropped his grocery bags and his keys when he heard that voice. He turned around slowly, and of course, of all the times Shouto should be assigned to patrol his town…of course it would be now, now that Izuku stood wearing the silly Shouto hoodie he bought on impulse years ago now.

But – well, it didn’t feel so out of place, as Izuku gazed over Shouto’s own outfit. He looked like he might have been out for a jog, with the hoodie and joggers he wore himself. The hoodie that, in faded print, had the word ‘DEKU’ scrawled across the front.

“I-Izuku?” Shouto stuttered, taking a step back.

“Hey, Shouto,” Izuku grinned sheepishly. His hood slipped down and, while the hood had only done a bit of good keeping his hair dry, now his hair clung to his cheeks with the rain. “What’re you doing here?”

He tried to sound casual, but seeing his ex—well, whatever they were—standing there in a DEKU hoodie while he wore a Shouto hoodie made him a bit nervous.

“Vacation,” Shouto replied with a bluntness that Izuku hadn’t forgotten. “Can I help you with your bags?”

“So chivalrous,” Izuku teased back. “I’m fine. Do you want to come in and dry off?”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“I have stuff to make cold soba.”

Shouto froze. Izuku laughed, maneuvering the bags in his hands to insert his key into the door. “It’s really easy to make, you know. Really quick, too.”

Izuku had the top-floor apartment. It couldn’t be called a penthouse, but it certainly was nice; a wall of windows normally would let in a gorgeous sunrise, but today it seemed to darken the room, what with the gray clouds outside. Every once in a while, though, lightning would flash and lighten the room – if only for a moment.

Shouto sat at the counter while Izuku put groceries away. Neither of them spoke, let alone mentioned the other’s merchandise. Though Izuku’s eyes did wander to the worn lettering on the front. Did Shouto wear his hoodie as often as Izuku wore Shouto’s?

“So, vacation, huh?” Izuku broke the silence between them as he packed away the last of the canned food into his pantry. “In this small town?”

“I suppose I can tell you, since you’re a hero, too,” Shouto pulled at his drenched hair.

Izuku wordlessly walked down the hall to his linen closet and pulled out two towels. He tossed one to Shouto, who had followed him to the end of the hall to see what he was doing. “I am a hero,” Izuku affirmed.

“They wanted me to work here,” he said hesitantly. “With you.”

“Is that why you were waiting outside my apartment for me?” Izuku teased, though he felt his heart begin to thrum faster in his chest remembering the time they spent working together in high school.

“No,” Shouto countered quickly. “I had no idea where you lived.”

Izuku laughed. “I’m teasing, Shouto.”

“Oh,” the latter relaxed. Izuku threw his towel around his shoulders and reached forward, taking the towel from Shouto’s hands and gently rubbing it into his wet hair. Shouto tensed, but only for a moment. It felt wrong to touch him again, to feel the temperature difference of Shouto’s hair and skin even through the towel; but then, it felt so right at the same time, like he had to make up for years of lost time.

A few seconds later, Izuku let go of the towel. “Oh! You can take a hot shower, if you want,” he nodded towards the end of the hall. “Down and to the right. I’ve got some clothes that’ll probably fit you.”

They were about the same size, now that Shouto stopped to really look at him. He looked down, but only slightly, to see Izuku; the latter was probably only a few inches shorter than him now. Their build was practically the same, too. “If you’re sure,” he said finally.

“Of course I’m sure,” Izuku scoffed. “You’re soaked.” He paused. “Can you still do that thing where you make the water evaporate off you?”

“I can,” Shouto said with a hint of a smile. “Why? Want me to warm you up like I used to?”

Izuku blushed at that. “No, I’m going to go take a shower myself. I was just curious.” Another pause. “…Does it work on clothes, though?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve washed this hoodie so many times that it’s coming undone, and I don’t really want to wash it again because it got rained on.”

That ghost of a smile on Shouto’s face spread into a full-blown, charming grin that Izuku had only seen maybe twice in his lifetime. “You mean your Shouto sweatshirt?” he said.

Izuku flushed a deeper red, attempting (and failing) to cover his embarrassment with his hand. “Y-you’re wearing a ‘Deku’ sweatshirt,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but Shouto.

“I think it’s cute,” Shouto decided finally. “That you’d wear my merch.”

“I didn’t get it because of you,” Izuku insisted, then, stamping his foot down the way a child might when trying to convince an adult of something.

“So you just wandered into the hero merch section and picked up a hoodie that looks like my hair on accident?” Shouto appeared to be having a field day with this information, the way his tone shifted ever so slightly towards condescending.

“That’s like, exactly how it went,” Izuku grumbled back. “How about you?”

Shouto shrugged. “I think you’re a good hero,” he said finally. “If I can support you even by wearing a sweatshirt with your hero name on it, I will.”

Izuku thought he might melt at the flame of his high school crush being rekindled in him at such a disastrous rate. His cheeks felt like they’d begin steaming with heat – the way Shouto’s used to when he got embarrassed. “That’s kind of you,” Izuku squeaked finally, looking down at his red shoes. His feet were getting cold; despite his shoes being mostly waterproof, they’d soaked through in the heavy and unending rain.

“I’m going to go shower,” Shouto changed the subject. “Hang your clothes up and I’ll dry them when I get out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Sure,” Izuku replied with a curt nod. Shouto turned and shut himself in the large guest bathroom, complete with a soaker tub and waterfall shower. Perhaps Izuku should have told him he could take a bath, if he wanted.

He turned the opposite way in the hall and entered the master suite, throwing his clothes to the wood floor haphazardly. Closing his bedroom door didn’t quite register to him (he lived alone; he never closed doors behind him). He hung his clothes once he’d stripped them all, pulling out a different outfit to change into once he got out of the shower. His master bathroom was even larger than the guest bath, and maybe if Izuku hadn’t been so cold himself he’d have offered up his own shower, but he longed for nothing more than to stand under a rain of hot water for a pleasant change today.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in there – twenty minutes, maybe – long enough for Shouto to call out to him from the bedroom doorway. “Izuku, clothes?”

“Sorry!” Izuku yelled back, suddenly remembering he’d promised dry clothing to Shouto. He turned off the faucet quickly and threw on the pair of pants he’d grabbed, rushing back into the bedroom with his hair dripping water down his back.

Shouto stood at the doorway, as Izuku had suspected, with one of Izuku’s towels draped loosely around his waist. Over the years of heroism he’d obtained more scars from battle; Izuku’s eyes wandered aimlessly between them, counting them. That is, until Shouto cleared his throat and Izuku flushed with the embarrassment that he’d been openly ogling his ex…whatever they were. He still didn’t know, and he still didn’t want to ask.

“Sorry!” Izuku snapped his eyes away from Shouto, instead choosing to turn his back to the man in the doorway in favor of searching his drawers for clothing. He pulled out some sweats that fit him rather loosely, tossing them towards Shouto without looking. “These good?”

“Yeah,” Shouto replied. “Thanks.”

He heard the sound of his bedroom door shut and Shouto’s soft footsteps crossing the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, and finally he let himself breathe. He’d done a bad thing, a ridiculously stupid thing by inviting Shouto into his home, especially knowing full well that whatever feelings he had for the boy hadn’t fully subsided. Every time Shouto came on the news, Izuku recorded it. He needed to make sure Shouto stayed safe. He had only gotten more reckless as the years went on.

Izuku put on a tee shirt, then – some old tee shirt from his college days, with Uravity scrawled across the front in loopy, cursive letters. He’d only gotten it in the first place because he and Ochaco were dating, but he’d kept it even after they broke up. She’d become a celebrity across the globe with her rescue work and now mainly resided in Hawaii. Izuku kept thinking he should call her, but every time he picked up the phone he realized he didn’t know what to say.

He scoffed. It seemed that way with a lot of his old friends, now. The only person he had even remotely kept in touch with was Kaminari, who lived in a neighboring town doing electrical work on the side of his hero gig. Everyone else had either moved away or cut ties.

Izuku padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. He grabbed another dry towel from his closet (with little regard to the number of towels he’d already used that day alone) and began vigorously rubbing his hair dry. The storm had only gotten worse, he noticed with the darkening sky. Supposedly, it was noon, but it looked like early morning with the lack of light outside. He flicked on the lights in the apartment. They flickered stubbornly but ultimately stayed on, much to Izuku’s relief. He’d hate for the only time he contacted Kaminari to be when he needed some electrical work done.

Not much later Shouto emerged from the guest bedroom. The joggers he wore were just a tad tight, and a little short in the legs. The tee shirt fit him snugly, though, and it took everything in Izuku to keep from tracing every shadow of muscle with his eyes. Although, while he kept his eyes level with Shouto’s, he noticed the latter seemingly memorizing the way his own arms looked bulging out from a college tee shirt.

“Lunch?” Izuku asked nonchalantly, but it became harder to ignore Shouto’s eyes on him.

Quickly, Shouto looked up. “Yeah,” he murmured finally, meeting Izuku on the other side of the kitchen counter to once again prop himself on a barstool. He seemed perfectly content watching Izuku cook him food.

They’d cooked together often in the dorms at U.A. Izuku held onto those memories fondly. Much of his high school experience he tried to forget – the nights he’d go to Shouto’s room because he couldn’t sleep, or the nights Shouto would come to him because he’d had a nightmare. The nights they’d spent exploring each other, starting with holding hands and gradually moving to shy kisses, then more passionate ones, then exploring every other—

“Izuku.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re mumbling.”

“I still do that?” Izuku wondered aloud, digging through the fridge. He ducked his head inside to hide the blush inevitably crawling up his cheeks.

“I always liked that about you,” Shouto mentioned offhandedly. When Izuku looked up, Shouto was observing his nails with something of a disinterested look on his face. He buried his face back into the fridge, searching around for what, he couldn’t remember.

He grabbed for the ingredients he’d purchased earlier that day for cold soba. It had become a staple meal for him, since it was quick to make and he knew by heart how to make it. His heart ached nearly every time he prepared it, though; not having someone to sit and eat with did a number on one’s emotional state, especially after getting so used to eating surrounded by friends and family.

He got assigned to his small town shortly after he left college. It wasn’t a great position, at least not at first; despite his hard work in high school and college, he was still viewed as an intern for a majority of his first few months with his company. Shortly thereafter, though, he was discovered – fighting some mammoth Quirk-having man trying to take out the town’s elementary school really brought to light what his Quirk meant. From there it was a relatively smooth road to where he was now – living in this small town as a cover, traveling for work practically every week to larger cities. He was what the business called a “fill-in” hero, quite close to what All Might had been. Though, All Might wasn’t ordered to go where the trouble was, he just happened to be where the trouble attracted itself to.

Neither of them spoke as Izuku bustled around the kitchen. He’d gotten used to working alone. Shouto thought, a couple times, he could jump in and help; but then he knew what a klutz Izuku had been in high school, and though he supposed he had no idea what Izuku was like now, he didn’t want to risk soba ending up on the floor. Especially since he was so hungry.

They ate in that same silence. Even as the lights flickered in time with the roaring wind and booming thunder outside, they said nothing, opting instead to sit across from each other at the dining table and use the storm outside as ambient noise. Hesitantly, Shouto’s foot nudged into Izuku’s, the way they’d become so used to doing in high school when they sat and ate with each other.

“What happened to us?” Izuku blurted, finally, and he likely startled himself more than he startled Shouto with the way he jumped at his own voice.

Shouto looked up, then hummed to himself. “What do you mean?”

“We used to be so close,” Izuku flushed.

“Well, you know what happened.”

Shouto was right; Izuku did know what happened. He hoped something would have changed in the past several years. But then, Endeavor was still around, and he still had a tight grasp on nearly every part of Shouto’s life.

Shouto worked under Endeavor. He had since the moment he left high school, and he continued to even seven years later. At one point, during their third year, Shouto had promised Izuku he wouldn’t let his father have such a tight hold on every aspect of his life; and yet, nearing their graduation Shouto ended whatever their relationship was. Izuku had always thought it had something to do with Endeavor, not just because of his dislike for him but because the news of his relation to All Might had just gotten out.

Their friendship ended abruptly. There was no falling out, nor did they drift apart. Shouto left Izuku without explanation, without last words, without even a goodbye, and yet Izuku still lost sleep thinking about Shouto today. Even after Shouto had called Izuku just after they began their first year of university, crying and drunk after some party, talking about how he missed him and his father was responsible for coming between them. Even after several more calls, which Izuku let go to voicemail because Shouto’s slurred voice became too painful to respond to.

“Why did you let me in?” Shouto asked.

“Because you were outside in the storm,” Izuku replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Because for a kind heart like Izuku’s, it was the simplest thing in the world. Shouto watched Izuku on the news a lot; he’d earned the nickname ‘Kind-Hearted Hero’ for all his good deeds. Shouto wouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

“Right.”

They migrated to the living room, lounging on separate couches. Izuku turned on the television and flipped through his favorites list – a bunch of hero channels from different regions of Japan, others a bit more foreign like the Hawaii news. He caught a glimpse of Uravity’s pink costume on the Hawaii channel and left it, watching one of his former best friends rescue civilians from a magma villain who had emerged from one of the volcanoes. Shouto seemed disinterested the moment the villain left the screen, so Izuku flipped to something else.

He settled on some third-rate movie to serve as background noise as his gaze settled instead on Shouto. Before the former could say anything, though, Shouto blurted out an apology. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and the words carried more weight than perhaps anything Shouto had said to Izuku before.

“For what?” Izuku replied nonchalantly, but he knew.

“For not realizing that you meant more to me than my old man.”

Izuku shifted his gaze out the wall of windows, watching the raindrops race down the outside of the window panes. He remembered well the ugly taste in his mouth when Shouto told him nearly a year later that his actions reflected his father’s wishes. It almost hurt worse knowing that Shouto would leave him for his father’s sake rather than leave him for his own. “He’s family,” Izuku said, as that was how he’d reasoned with himself in the past. That was how he quelled his tears on the nights he especially missed Shouto next to him – which was, to say, most nights.

“He’s not family,” Shouto replied harshly. “He’s my old man. Family for me was our class at U.A.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Dancing in the commons when Jirou played music, and having spontaneous game nights when Momo decided to make a game board, that was family,” Shouto cut him off. “And Kaminari charging everyone’s phones when we went on training camps, and Sato baking cookies every Sunday and having us help him frost them.”

Izuku let out a bitter laugh. All the memories he had of U.A. had been drowned out by Shouto, and therefore tainted. He hardly remembered what it had been like to dance around to Jirou’s music with Ochaco by his side instead of Shouto, and by then it became too painful to remember the way Izuku’s head rested so snugly against Shouto’s shoulder. Or the days that he and Shouto helped frost cookies and one (or both) of them ended up coated in frosting for the other to lick off when they found a moment to themselves. All of it, every part of his U.A. family, started with Shouto.

“You ruined that for me,” Izuku said quite casually, considering the blame he laid on his best friend’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispered back.

Izuku didn’t know how to accept his apology. How, after seven years, could he simply forgive Shouto for the love he’d missed out on? Did Shouto even love him anymore? He supposed that hurt even worse than forgiving him – the thought that Shouto had come all this way just to find out he didn’t love Izuku anymore. Would he have even come in if he didn’t?

“You’re mumbling, Izuku.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They sat for a moment, looking at each other. The lights flickered again. Izuku hoped they would go out so he didn’t have to keep looking at Shouto’s face, tracing the detail of his grown-up features. Even before they graduated Shouto wore a bit of baby fat, but now with age his jawline had sharpened, his cheekbones elevated and prominent. Had he not the recognizable hair and even more recognizable scar, Izuku might not have noticed him.

Ah, and the ‘Deku’ hoodie. That helped, too.

Shouto tentatively came to sit next to him. “I know you can’t forgive me, no matter how kind hearted you are,” his voice had dropped to a whisper. “I’m just asking you to listen to what I have to say.”

“Sure,” Izuku murmured back. He watched the way Shouto’s lips moved as he spoke.

“I quit my old man’s agency.”

Izuku’s jaw fell.

“I gave my resignation and he told me never to come back. So I researched what agency you worked for, Izuku, and asked them to assign me to you.” He bowed his head. “I’m your subordinate, unofficially. They were supposed to announce my hiring into the company this coming Monday.”

Izuku laughed, then, startling Shouto. “What’s so funny?”

“You’d willingly hire in under me,” he practically choked on the laughter forcing itself from him. “Shouto, you’re the number three hero, and you decided the best course of action was to work under the number two hero?”

Despite his old age, Endeavor remained the number one hero. Izuku strategically refrained from mentioning him.

“I just needed to see you again,” he insisted. “I know that what I did to you hurt you, and it only took me seven years to realize that my father’s happiness was not my own.”

It was everything Izuku had wished for. Nearly the exact words he’d always dreamt of hearing, so why did it feel so…unsatisfying? Why did it sound so ugly to him?

“This wasn’t the way to do it, I don’t think.” Izuku’s voice was quiet. “Not by putting yourself under me. I never wanted that.”

Shouto’s lips settled into a frown. “What did you want, then?”

“To be your partner,” Izuku replied easily. “To work alongside you, then come home to you every night. Is that so much to ask?”

“Izu—”

“Was that ever what you wanted, or did you just lie to me?”

Izuku had learned to manage his bouts of tears in his college years, but it was for naught, now; they fell down his face freely, like the rain outside. Bitter and cold, but much quieter. He didn’t hiccup or sniffle like he would usually crying this much. Shouto watched him, waiting inevitably for that pained wail that usually accompanied Izuku’s tears – had almost always accompanied them whenever he made Izuku cry – but it didn’t come.

“That was always what I wanted,” Shouto murmured finally. “But it was never what my old man wanted for me.”

“It’s fine,” Izuku whispered, but it was most certainly not fine. He’d dedicated his three years at U.A. solely to his love with Shouto, and sure, maybe he’d been naïve to believe it could last, but he’d at least hoped he could have a few more years. Maybe.

“It’s not,” Shouto shot back, his fists balling in the joggers Izuku had let him borrow so sweetly. Hell, if Shouto asked, Izuku would probably let him borrow a thousand dollars without asking so much as why. “I can never give you back those years,” he whispered.

Izuku thought for a moment. “I’m calling the agency,” he decided finally.

“Wha—why?”

“To tell them you’ll work at the same level as me or you won’t work there at all,” Izuku replied with a wave of his hand. He fished his phone from his pocket.

Just as he did so, about to mention needing a charger, the power flickered. It did not come back on, this time.

“Shit,” Izuku grumbled. Shouto stilled; he didn’t know that he’d ever heard Izuku swear before.

“Izu,” Shouto murmured, “it’s a nice gesture, but—”

“Don’t call me Izu,” Izuku bit back. “Not now.”

Shouto stilled. It had just slipped out, but then, it felt so wonderful rolling off his tongue again. The name he’d called out so many times before, back in high school, the name he’d pleaded on the phone while his words were slurred by the liquor he’d downed during his university years, the name that clung to the inside of his mouth like peanut butter since the moment he saw Izuku again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He’d never meant the apologies to his father before, the ones for becoming friends (and even lovers) with All Might’s prodigy. But the apologies kept tumbling from him with Izuku, and he meant each one more than the last; every ‘I’m sorry’ only atoned for one of the minutes, no, one of the seconds he’d stolen from Izuku.

Izuku hung his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he muttered finally. “I’m being childish.”

“I don’t think so,” Shouto replied simply.

The wind howled outside. Izuku had opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the loud booming of thunder from beyond his wall of windows, and a crack of lightning illuminated them. In that moment, Shouto saw the tear tracks down Izuku’s cheeks, and he reached blindly to cradle the other’s face. He entirely expected Izuku to draw back, but instead he was met with Izuku pressing his cheek into the outstretched hand. Izuku melted into his touch, and that pained cry Shouto had heard so many times before during their time at U.A. shattered the silence that had settled between them.

It felt like an eternity, but only a few moments later Izuku collapsed into Shouto’s chest, gripping at the tee shirt he’d loaned him and letting his tears spill messier, louder. “Damn it,” Izuku hissed between hiccups and moans.

Shouto wrapped his arms around Izuku. His fingers threaded in Izuku’s hair, knotted and frizzy from the vigorous towel-rubbing earlier that morning. He tugged carefully at the knots, carding his fingers through his hair delicately. The sobs still came, but they were fewer and further between and instead replaced with more ragged breathing. It felt like high school again – Shouto had helped Izuku fall asleep on restless nights so many times combing his fingers through his partner’s hair, and the menial task often lulled himself to sleep, as well. But the thunder outside woke them up each time they so much as thought about sleeping.

Izuku’s bitter laugh rang through the living area suddenly, loud compared to the roaring winds and even the thunder outside. “You know just how to calm me down, huh?” His voice sounded cold, a little distant, even. Like he wished Shouto didn’t know how to calm him down.

“Is that a bad thing?” Shouto replied, tugging loose one last knot before letting his hand fall to the back of Izuku’s neck.

Izuku hummed, thinking. “Maybe not,” he decided finally.

“Why only maybe?”

“I mean, if you ever became my enemy you could just pull my hair a little and I’d fall right asleep,” Izuku said pointedly. “Then you could kill me or kidnap me, or whatever.”

Shouto hid a snicker behind his hand. “You’re joking, right?” he asked between soft laughs.

“Well? I need to stay on my guard,” Izuku replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’d never hurt you,” Shouto replied, gently cupping Izuku’s cheek once more. He wiped some of the wetness away with his thumb. “And I’d certainly never use that trick to kidnap you. Jeez, Izu…ku.”

The power didn’t come on for several hours. Shouto heated some canned ravioli for them for dinner, and Izuku dug a few candles out of storage to put around the apartment. “You can stay here for the night,” Izuku said as they sat around a candle in the living room, trying to play Quirk’s chess by the candlelight.

“I wouldn’t mean to impose,” Shouto replied quickly.

“There’s a guest bedroom,” Izuku said, knocking aside one of Shouto’s pawns with a weak Quirk. “And…my bed is big enough, too.”

Shouto didn’t need the light to know that Izuku was blushing. He could tell by the slight tremble in the latter’s fingers as he took Shouto’s pawn and set it on the ground to the side of the board, where more than half of Shouto’s pieces lied by then. (Izuku always had been way better at Quirk’s chess; not only because he’d collected a chess set of strong Quirks, but because he was an amazing strategist, especially when Quirks were involved.)

“Your bed certainly sounds more welcoming,” Shouto thought aloud, “but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t,” Izuku countered quickly. He coughed. “I-I mean…it’s not a bother to me.”

Their game of Quirk’s chess finished quickly. Izuku won – partly because Shouto was eager to get some rest, partly because Izuku was quite easily the best Quirk’s chess player in damn near the entire country. Shouto lit his finger to function as a candle as they made their way down the hall to Izuku’s bedroom, and he held a ball of flame so Izuku could see while he dug around for a spare set of pajamas. Shortly after he and Izuku had changed (backs turned to each other) into pajamas, Shouto dried the clothes hanging in the closet. By then, they had mostly air-dried anyway.

Shouto crawled onto the large king-sized mattress shortly thereafter. Izuku had gone to use the bathroom one last time, and when he crawled into bed beside him there was little hesitation; Izuku curled into Shouto, like they’d done so many times before, like they could resume right where they left off. But it was different now; Izuku had certainly bulked out in muscle mass, and he’d gotten a bit taller. Still, Shouto’s arm draped across his waist, and Izuku tensed – only for a moment, before relaxing into him.

“I missed this,” Izuku breathed.

“I haven’t slept well since I’ve slept with you,” Shouto admitted in the same breathy tone.

Izuku rolled over, the need to hold Shouto just as strong as the need to be held himself. He wrapped his arms around Shouto, tangling their legs under the plush covers of his bed. His head fell below Shouto’s chin. They’d fallen asleep like this before, usually after tough villain encounters or draining class training sessions, when all they wanted from each other was physical contact. Instinctively, Shouto’s fingers found Izuku’s hair once more. He combed his fingers through, though Izuku’s hair wasn’t nearly as unruly as it had been earlier that day.

Izuku fell asleep first. He always fell asleep first, and back in high school that gave Shouto time to observe the boy’s gorgeous features. He’d tried to count Izuku’s freckles multiple times, but he always fell asleep doing so. Even with their close proximity, the unnatural darkness of the sky made freckle-counting near impossible, but Shouto still took the opportunity to relish in the ways Izuku’s face had changed. His cheeks carried much less baby fat than they used to, but he still looked much younger than he was; those big doll eyes always made him look so much younger and more innocent. He had a slit in one of his eyebrows, and where Shouto had just thought it was a fashion statement earlier that day, he could see now that there was a ghost of a scar through the arch of his brow. He grazed his finger idly over the mark, wondering if he’d obtained any other scars. Then, knowing Izuku, he definitely had.

Somewhere in those thoughts and his fingers breathing over Izuku’s skin, Shouto drifted to sleep as well, and he slept through the night for the first time in almost seven years.

***

Six Months Later

“Shou, we’re going to be late!”

Izuku bustled around the living area of their apartment. He tried (and failed) to fix his tie as he did so, looking everywhere for his other shoe. Shouto came down the hallway holding the red shoe triumphantly, his own shirt untucked and unbuttoned with his tie around his next. “Apologies, Izu,” he said in his slightly-sarcastic tone, “I was busy looking for your shoe.”

“Thanks,” Izuku huffed. “I’d ask you to fix my tie, but you look like you’ve got your hands full.”

Izuku threw himself onto the couch while Shouto buttoned and tucked in his shirt. Izuku thought he’d never get over the ease with which Shouto tied his tie, kelly green like his hair. “Do you need me to tie yours, too?” Shouto asked, though he knew full well he didn’t even have to ask; he’d tied Izuku’s tie for him nearly every day for the past six months, now. He knelt down and tied it for him without waiting for a response. Then, once he’d finished doing so, he tugged the tie and pulled Izuku’s lips to his own.

Izuku kissed him, pulling back after a moment with a squeal. “Late! We’re late!”

“Calm down,” Shouto replied. “They can’t well start the meeting without their two best employees, can they?”

“Let’s go,” Izuku said, jumping to his feet. He grabbed Shouto’s neatly-tied tie and pulled him towards the door of the apartment.

The agency headquarters building was a good thirty-minute drive from their apartment. The drive, as always, consisted of Izuku and Shouto reviewing villain sightings and plans of action. Shouto drove – Izuku still refused to get his drivers’ license, and now he had a valid reason to. They pulled up to the front of the agency just as Kaminari trotted up, wearing a suit of equal savvy as Izuku and Shouto’s own. “Hey!” he waved, panting just slightly. “At least I’m not the only one who’s late!”

“We’re not late,” Shouto called back. “Everyone else is early.”

Izuku laughed.

They walked into the building together. Most others were required to show their badges before they entered; but the number two, the number three, and the number seven heroes were not. They strolled past reception, making casual conversation as they went. They were in the middle of a discussion of who would win in battle – Izuku with a hand tied behind his back or Kaminari – when Shouto pushed open the large conference center door. “Sorry we’re late, everyone,” he called with a bow.

“You’re not late,” Aizawa countered from the other end of the room. “The rest of us are early.”

[sunflwrvolume6]

someone lost, something gained [36]

This is a huge step, a leap forward that she won’t ever be able to take back. And if this all ends disastrously, she will not only lose the only man who’s held her interest in three years but the man who has made her happy through such a horrible time. She meant what she told Antonio. She didn’t think she would ever smile again after Granddad passed, and that thought alone terrifies her.

[ao3 ☆ wattpad part one | part two]

[previous ☆ masterlist]

[get tagged here]

note: not going to lie, this is 4k of pure tooth-rotting fluff. i almost split it into 2 chapters/posts, but here it is in all its glory.

Veda frowns at her reflection, smoothing down the front of her dress. It’s too much, she knows it is, but Hattie had been adamant about this particular outfit. She’d said that if Niall didn’t want to take Veda to bed immediately after seeing her in this dress, then he’s either stupid or just not that into her. Veda crosses her fingers and hopes her cousin is right.

But she still walks out of the bathroom and into Hattie’s room with doubts swirling in her mind. “Are you sure I’m not, like, showing too much?”

“Veeeeee,” groans Hattie as she tosses her book aside. “Look. Yes, your back is exposed, and yes, maybe it’s a deeper neckline than you’re used to. But you don’t look like a two-dollar prostitute, so it’s a win.”

“Well, thank god for small mercies.” Sighing, Veda makes her way back to the mirror, calling over her shoulder, “What should I-?”

“Oh, step aside. Your favourite cousin is here to save the day. Sit,” Hattie orders with a vague gesture toward the tub.

Veda rolls her eyes but obeys while Hattie rummages through the bag Veda brought downstairs with her. Hattie comes up with an eyeliner pencil and bottle of foundation. She warns Veda to stay completely still -”Or I will stab you in the eye and not feel bad at all” - then gets to work. Veda follows every command, tilts her head up and down and side to side. She even manages to somehow control the twitching of her eyelids as her cousin applies mascara.

Finally, Hattie steps away and beams. “Hey, you actually look somewhat presentable.”

“Hey, you’re actually kinda being an ass.”

Hattie yelps when Veda goes to stand. “What do you think we’re doing? We aren’t done!”

“I’m supposed to be meeting him soon,” Veda protests, and Hattie shoves at her shoulders until Veda sits again. “If I’m late, I’m blaming you.”

“Worth it.”

Forty minutes later, Veda is slipping her feet into a pair of nude peep-toe heels, courtesy of her cousin who heard about the date finally happening and went shopping. She sighs and checks her reflection again. Dark red lips, perfect winged liner, curled lashes, and a touch of peach on her cheeks make her look entirely different than her every-day face. The mass of curls pinned on top of her head is definitely a change from her usual bun, and Veda will never waste the time again.

But even she has to admit Hattie’s magic has made her look incredible.

“Be home by Cinderella, or the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.” Hattie drops to sit on the couch and cocks her head. “Better yet, don’t come home at all.”

“Wow, you really think I’d put out on the first date?”

“For Niall? Yes.”

Veda pauses before collapsing into giggles. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. Don’t burn down the house.”

“I’ve been cooking since I was six. I think the house will be standing when you come home in the morning.”

Veda slides her phone into her purse and steps out onto the stoop, pulling the door shut behind her. Someone whistles sharply across the street, and she checks that Nonna isn’t watching before she raises her middle finger at Antonio. He laughs, shaking his head, and tells her to have fun. He really doesn’t need to add the lascivious wink - she hears the innuendo in his voice - but he does anyway.

“I’ll tell Nonna you’re pestering me, Ant.”

“She gets one look at’chu, she’s gonna wonder where you’re goin’ all dolled up. You really want questions right now?”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow,” she giggles as she makes her way down the block to the subway.

The sun edges closer to the horizon, but the heat of the day is nowhere near dissipating. Veda’s heels click against the pavement, joining the cacophony of fellow pedestrians moving to and fro. The restaurant is just ahead.

Her heart beats faster in her chest the closer she gets.

Hattie made sure Veda was out of the house in time, but Veda didn’t make sure she was actually ready for this.

This is a huge step, a leap forward that she won’t ever be able to take back. And if this all ends disastrously, she will not only lose the only man who’s held her interest in three years but the man who has made her happy through such a horrible time. She meant what she told Antonio. She didn’t think she would ever smile again after Granddad passed, and that thought alone terrifies her.

Niall is quite possibly the most wonderful she could ever love like this, and losing him would be just as devastating as losing Granddad.

Love. Far too early for that, Mitchell.

Light streams through the enormous windows, catches on Niall’s dark hair like a halo around his head. He’s staring down at the phone in his hand; his thumb taps at the screen, he pauses, then his thumb taps again. The process repeats five times before Veda’s phone vibrates against her side. She steps out of the foot-traffic, digging through her purse until she comes up with the device.

From: Niall > I’m excited to see you

It is such a simple message, but it brings a smile to Veda’s face until her cheeks hurt. She locks her phone and looks at him. He’s gorgeous. His face falls when he sees she’s read the message but isn’t responding. She swallows down the sudden surge of nerves and eases her way through the evening crowd.

“How many times did you write that message only to delete it again?”

His head snaps up, and his smile falters as his gaze skims over her body. “Fuck, Veda, you look - wow. You’re gorgeous.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. Hattie did all the work. I just played the role of live-action Barbie.” Her face heats up at the way his eyes are still on her. She steps forward to kiss his cheek. “You look amazing, too.”

And he really, really does. The gunmetal grey of his V-neck brings out the blue in his eyes, and his dark jeans only accentuate the muscles they hide. Veda’s mouth grows dry as she stares, fragments of a dream worming its way to the forefront of her mind. She wants to feel beneath her fingertips the stubble along his jaw, the soft strands of his hair between her fingers.

She wants to make him look as turned inside-out as he makes her feel.

Ever a gentleman, he holds the door open and waves her through. She laughs softly.

“This is just so you can stare at my ass, isn’t it?”

“I’m only a man, Ve-Veda,” he chuckles as his hand settles on her lower back, a steady point of warmth that rapidly overtakes her entire body.

Veda will remember nothing of the decor, none of the faces they pass as they follow the host to their table, or the aromas of meals that mingle in the air. All she can focus on is how his hand hasn’t moved. The way his fingers brush against the hem of her dress above the curve of her ass. The rush of her heart as it desperately tries to push oxygen through her veins instead of the desire to lead him to the bathroom.

As much as she loathes the loss of contact, Veda is thankful when they sit. His touch was far too distracting, and it is nearly impossible to be on your best behaviour when all you want to do is feel more of that touch in places unsuitable for public audience. He grins at her from across the table; his eyes hold a knowing gleam, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

She barely spares a second to check the menu, ultimately deciding on a salad. He frowns slightly, opens his mouth, but she shakes her head. The confusion on his face disappears when she explains she only eats like a pig at home. Being out in the real world means she has to use the manners Granddad worked so hard to teach her. Niall laughs and tells her she’s doing a great job.

“So, I have to admit something. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for, well, too long.”

Veda cocks her head. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I was pushing myself onto you.”

She can’t help it - she starts giggling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny. I mean, it kinda is? It’s why I don’t text you every day asking you to come over.”

“You should have. DB and I would’ve loved to spend more time with you.”

Ellie’s words echo in her mind, and Veda drops her gaze to stare at the glass of water. She doesn’t want to voice the doubts, but she knows she needs to. She has to know.

“Can I ask why? You wanted to ask me out, I mean. Aren’t you worried that this is just me, like, latching onto the first person who shows me a teeny tiny iota of stability during a life-altering event?”

“Well, I wasn’t before!” He taps his finger against his glass and laughs quietly. When he looks at her again, there’s an earnestness on his face that astounds her. “No, I’m not. Veda, I figured out a long time ago that sometimes, you make a choice and it turns out to be the worst fucking decision of your life. But it’s a lesson learnt, and you move on and try to remember that lesson.”

“But what if it turns out this is just my brain craving affection and comfort after I lost my best friend?”

He smiles softly, reaches for her hand, and she lets him link their fingers together. “Then I can’t be too upset, can I, that I’m the one who got to offer it to you.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Veda mutters as she blinks rapidly, but the burning remains in her eyes. “I can’t do this. You are too damn perfect. What the Hell.”

The stricken expression on his face is replaced with amused exasperation, and he lifts her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. She bites her lower lip to stop her giggles, even as the server arrives with their meals, and Niall sticks his tongue out at Veda.

The date seems almost…effortless. As if it’s merely one of their hang-outs in a restaurant instead of her house. Even the knowledge that this is changing their relationship isn’t enough to make Veda panic for long. He keeps her laughing with stories of his childhood, and she tells him more about her life with Granddad, even the tale of her throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the street while he taught Hattie how to ride a bike.

She never wants it to end.

“Where to next?” she asks as he leads her toward the door.

“Well, I figured you weren’t the type of girl who would be content with sitting in the dark for two hours while watching a film that may or may not be awful.”

“You guessed right.” Veda frowns when he hails a taxi, his hand tight around hers. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re lucky I trust you.”

“I’ll do my best not to fuck that up then.”

Veda stares at him for a moment then shakes away the feeling that he is far better than she deserves. Everything he’s told her has been pleasant, wonderful. Even the strained relationship with his brother pales in comparison to her own familial ties. She doesn’t tell him that, though. It isn’t a competition, and she would hate to ruin the atmosphere of the evening. She would take the win in a landslide, anyway.

Niall helps her from the backseat, his hand solid and strong and not releasing her even after she’s on her feet. His lips brush against her cheek, and Veda ducks her head to hide her smile as they step away from the cab so it can drive off. She squeezes his hand then turns toward their destination. She pauses, blinks at the dark blue building and bright yellow letters.

“IKEA?”

Niall shrugs and shifts his weight. The lot lights wash his eyes an icy blue, but there’s so much warmth there. “Has a date ever done this with you?”

“No, I can say with absolute certainty that this is incredibly unique.” She bites her bottom lip at how uncomfortable he looks, as if he’s afraid he has messed this up. She sighs, touching his cheek with her free hand. “You were right. A movie would have been cliche, and I am so not dressed for anything requiring more than walking. Niall, this is perfect.”

His gaze drops to her lips, but he doesn’t kiss her like she desperately hopes he will. Wants him to. Instead, he smiles and loops his arm with hers. She waits to pout until he’s not looking at her. Why won’t he just kiss her already? He has had ample opportunity, and she’s practically begging for it by this point. After all, it was only a month ago that she kissed him. It’s his turn now.

He suggests a game as they walk through the aisles, pointedly following the arrows on the floor unlike the other people. The rules are simple, he says: Find the most ridiculous items on the shelves to decorate a home with, and whoever has the weirdest collection wins.

“What’s the prize?” she asks even as she adds a tray printed with ugly Santas to her list.

“If I win, I… hm. I get another date with you.”

“And if I win?”

“Another date with me.”

Veda giggles, presses her face into the side of his arm. “So either way, we both win?”

“Exactly.”

She tugs on his arm after a moment, and he follows obediently to the mini-home setup. His face scrunches up once inside, his eyes darting around the small space. Veda understands his distaste for the tiny home - the idea of leaving less of an imprint on the environment is nice, but she needs more room to move.

This, though, seems more like -

“Are you claustrophobic?”

“I am,” he admits with a self-deprecating chuckle. Nervous. Anxious.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. How could you have known?”

She immediately steps out of the display, pulling him with her, and Niall draws in a deep breath once they’re back in the aisle. He squeezes her hand gently. Forgiveness. With an apologetic smile, she gestures for him to lead the way.

The kids’ section instantly catches her attention. Not the bedding or furniture, but the toys. She never really had playthings as a child, since Olivia wasn’t much of a mother, so Veda, without shame, checks out the stock of every store she steps foot into. Granddad started her plush animal collection, and Veda adds to it every chance she gets.

Niall doesn’t judge her for her excitement over the stuffed dogs and teddy bears and penguins. In fact, he even moves away to look in other bins, holding up various creatures for her scrutiny. She falls a little more for him because of it. For once, she feels like she doesn’t have to hide a part of her.

That she can show everything she is, and he won’t think less of her.

“Veda! Oh, my god, come here.”

Veda turns away from the pandas and makes her way through the cramped aisle to his side. Her eyes widen, and she gasps at what he’s found. “Holy hell, they’re amazing! They’re bigger than DB!”

“It’s ridiculous.” He pauses, resting his hand on her back, and she meets his eye. “Want one?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t need it.”

He frowns as his fingers catch her chin, hold her head still so she can’t look away. “Ve-Veda, I didn’t ask if you needed it. I asked if you wanted it. Yes or no, no thinking allowed.”

And what else can she say except “Yes”?

His smile lights up his entire face, and he lets her go to dig through the bin. She raises a brow when he comes back victorious with a plushie in his hands. He lifts a shoulder jerkily, explains that the ones on the bottom haven’t been touched by gross hands nearly as often as the ones on top.

Veda accepts the reasoning - it’s logical, after all - and reaches for the shark. He takes her purse so she can clutch the stuffed animal to her chest. She knows her grin is too wide, too childlike, but the heat beneath her ribs overwhelms any potential embarrassment.

No guy has ever offered to buy her a stuffed animal, let alone a three-foot shark.

Once he’s paid for the blåhaj, as the tag proclaims, and a new leash for David Barkie, Veda follows Niall back out to the car park. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple, and they walk in silence toward the nearest subway stop. A heady thrumming kicks up in her veins, singing praises of how wonderful the night has been.

How amazing Niall is, even before he’s given her one of the best dates she’ll ever remember.

Her mind suddenly stutters to a halt as they stand together on the subway, scarcely an inch between them though there’s no need. They’re the only ones on within a two-seat radius. She groans as her head drops back. He stares at her with a question in his eyes. Veda sighs and wonders how to explain what she’s thinking. What comes out is:

“This date wasn’t terrible.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asks, the words slow and purposeful. Like he doesn’t want to offend her or be offended himself.

“Yes and no.” She exhales sharply and decides to go all-in. “Okay, so you remember how we met because of my friend Ellie’s wedding? Well, I was the maid of honour, and I gave a speech about Chris and Ellie’s first date.”

“I’m guessing it was terrible?”

“The worst. She called me after, and I swear, I almost fell asleep as she told me because it was just… so boring. There was no chemistry! But she went out with him again, and now they’re all gross and in love and married. So I said I wanted a date like that. Something terrible that lead to an amazing love like that.”

Niall nods slowly, and Veda leans into him when the car sways, coming to a stop. “Well, I suppose this could be our second date, because me coming over after your granddad passed was a terrible time for you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Veda laughs, the sound watery but bright. “I think I’ll take the perfect first date considering how long it took to finally get to it.”

Niall steps out onto the platform first, reaching back for her hand. His brows are drawn together, a slight downturn to his lips, and Veda wonders what he could be thinking about. What could have made him so serious so quickly? When he strokes his chin, she realises he’s putting her on.

“The perfect first date?”

She rolls her eyes but plays along. “Yep. Almost guaranteed you’ll get a kiss at the end of the night.”

“Anything I can do to make it happen?” he asks, pulling her closer when a group of men walk past. Not even nine-thirty and they’re already drunk. One of them whistles under his breath, his gaze heavy on Veda’s exposed skin, and Niall hurries her along.

“Keep being you, I suppose.”

Nonna stands in her doorway, watches as Niall and Veda approach, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even wave. Veda appreciates that, though she would like a bit more privacy as she comes to a stop at the top of her stoop.

Setting the shark down at her feet, Veda stares up at Niall through the glow of the porch light, at the soft curve to his lips and the way his eyes shine. She steps further into his space and thanks the inventor of heels as she kisses Niall’s smile away. His hands settle gently on her hips, warm even through the fabric of her dress, and she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer. His heartbeat is rapid against her, or maybe it’s hers that is fluttering so quickly beneath her ribs.

Nearly every single neighbour is peering through their windows when Veda finally pulls back, and she huffs out a quiet laugh. “And here I thought living in a small town would be the only way to get this kinda nosiness.”

“They worry about you,” he whispers, shrugging, and Veda kisses him again. God, she is falling too hard for him, and she doesn’t want to stop.

“Thank you for tonight. I really enjoyed it.”

Niall is the one who kisses her this time. One hand cups her cheek, and she chases the taste of wine and chocolate on his tongue. Heat flares up in her belly as his fingers press firmly into her skin. She wants more than this slice of perfection.

She wants him, any way she can have him.

The invitation is on the tip of her tongue, the plea for him to stay the night, for the night to never end. But then he’s pulling away, putting a sliver of distance between them, and her body goes cold without him. He whispers a goodnight, his lips brushing hers once more, then makes his way down the stairs.

Veda watches him walk away and wishes she’d asked him to stay. Her mind catalogues all the things she’s going to tell Granddad about tonight, about how amazing and unique and unexpected it was, before -

Right.

She can’t tell him anything. Tears burn in her eyes at the reminder. Granddad would have loved Niall, and Niall would have loved Granddad. Granddad will never meet Niall. So Veda does the next best thing: She grabs the stuffed shark off the stoop, carries it inside, and sets off to find Hattie.

[seasonofthegeek]

Drift Away, Part 3

Parts 1, 2, 3:

“It true you can walk in the sun?” Bakugo asked, looking past the prone vampire to the heavy curtains covering the far window.

“Yeah, but I have to work at it. It’s not something that comes easy,” Kirishima answered after a hesitant pause.

Bakugo simply hummed in response, seemingly lost in thought.

“What can you do?”

“Anything I fuckin’ want.”

Kirishima grinned and shook his head, dry hair rustling against the pillow. “I mean power-wise, man. I know how Ver is.” He frowned. “Was, I guess. You must have something cool you can do.”

Ignoring his question, Bakugo studied him. “How does it make you feel knowing that I killed the woman who made us like this?”

“You want to know if I’m mad?”

“I want to know what you think about it.” He watched emotions flit across the other vampire’s face. Kirishima was an open book if he wasn’t trying to be careful. Bakugo had realized his blank face for hiding how he was really feeling was a huge smile, but he was still having trouble determining what smiles were real and which ones weren’t.

“I’m not sure how I feel,” Kirishima admitted with a sheepish smile. “I loved her, and I hated her. She was the first person to make me feel important, but she was just so… I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“She left you to decay in the shithole forever. Doesn’t seem too complicated to me,” Bakugo replied gruffly.

“Guess I know how you felt about her then.”

Bakugo stood and turned away from the other man as he began to ready his bag for going out to grab them another human for dinner. “She made me even stronger than I was before, so I guess I’m thankful for that. Doesn’t go much beyond that though. She was a selfish, hateful bitch.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Kirishima’s voice was soft, quiet. “Killing her?”

“No.” There was no hesitance in Bakugo’s answer. “Regret everyone else though. Never wanted them to die. They were her victims just like us.” He looked down at his palm and brought forth tiny popping explosions for comfort. “Still not sure how I survived it.”

“I’m still wondering if I did or if this is some kind of purgatory.” The sickly vampire grunted as he tried to push himself up on his elbows. His shoulders shook for the brief moment he was upright and then he fell back to the bed with an agitated huff.

“Just rest, idiot. I’m going out for dinner. I’ll bring someone back.”

“Hey, Bakugo?”

“What?” He finally turned back to Kirishima to see him covering his face with one arm.

“Can you try to keep me from killing this one? It really makes me feel bad.”

Something about his request made warmth spread through Bakugo’s chest and he covered it with a sneer. “You’re an awful vampire, you know that?”

Kirishima laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah, that’s what she used to tell me too.” _____

“How old are you? I know you aren’t older than me. You act like you’re in charge, but I think you’re a baby vamp.”

Bakugo glared at Kirishima from across the room. “What do you know, idiot? You’ve been little more than a shitty skeleton for the last few hundred years.”

The other vampire grinned and shifted so he could find a more comfortable sitting position on the bed. “You’re young, aren’t you? I doubt you’ve been a vampire more than a decade even.” He tilted his head as if he was listening for something. “That’s what it feels like anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. We were all young once.”

Bakugo growled under his breath and stood, unceremoniously tossing the book he was reading on the table. “I’m going hunting.”

“I want to come.” Kirishima grunted as he tried to get his legs to cooperate while he forced them over the side of the bed.

“You’ll just slow me down.”

“I need to move around or I’m going to stay stiff.”

“Then walk around the cottage.”

“But I don’t want to,” Kirishima whined. “I wanna go outside.” He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled immediately, leaving him to slide off the edge of the bed with a surprised yelp.

Bakugo shifted his weight, trying to keep himself from immediately rushing over to Kirishima’s side to prove his point. “See? You’re too weak to go out.”

“Come on. I won’t get in your way. And if I can feed on the spot, you won’t have to carry anyone back here. That’ll be easier, right?”

“No. Stay here.” He went to the door and didn’t look back even when he heard the other man calling his name. _____

Kirishima watched Bakugo hammer the last nail into place, successfully covering the hole in the cottage roof so that sunlight couldn’t filter in during the day any longer.

“Wood is old as hell,” he muttered, climbing off the makeshift platform he’d created from a chair on the table. “Cracked some of the boards with the nails but hopefully it’ll hold ‘til we get out of here.”

“And you take me to the council,” Kirishima supplied.

Bakugo only grunted in reply as he moved things back into place.

“I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“Hah?”

“I don’t think I’ll go to the council.” Kirishima shrugged and made a show of stretching his legs the length of the bed, the tips of his toes pointing outward. “Ver never wanted me to be around any of them; that’s why she left me here, I guess. Seems silly to let you just take me to them now.”

“You’re going,” Bakugo growled.

“You can’t make me.”

“Wanna bet, you shitty old vamp?” He held open his palm and small explosive pops flashed above it.

Kirishima watched his act, eyes widening in awe. “That’s really neat.”

“It’s not neat! It’s deadly!”

“Well, sure.” His expression went thoughtful. “Is that how you killed Ver?”

“Why do you call that bitch that?”

“What?”

“Ver.”

Kirishima frowned in confusion. “That’s her name.”

“She’s The Countess.” Disgust colored his words. “That’s the only name she ever gave. Even the council calls her that.”

“She always had me call her Ver. I know she used The Countess too, though.” Kirishima stretched his upper body and Bakugo caught sight of the hand he usually kept hidden under the blankets. Though the skin was still darker in color, it was much less shriveled than before and there was the hint of movement in the fingers. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

“What question?”

“Did you use your fire hand to kill her?”

“Don’t call it fucking ‘fire hand’. That sounds ridiculous.” Bakugo glared at him. “It’s just my power. And no, I didn’t use it on her. I couldn’t.”

“She bound your power.” Kirishima nodded wisely. “She did that to me. It sucks.”

“Yeah, well, no one else knows about that so shut up. I caught her at a weak moment and drained her dry.”

“Oh.” He blinked in surprise. “I guess that explains how you survived then.”

Bakugo gave him a steady look. “What do ya mean?”

“She was invincible to most attacks.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’re vampires.”

Kirishima shook his head. “No, I mean, she was really invincible. Vampires can be killed. It’s hard to kill us, but it can be done, so we’re immortal, not invincible. If you drained enough of her blood, some of that power must’ve transferred to you long enough for you to be able to kill her.”

“How is that any different from bleeding any other vampire dry?”

“You survived killing your sire. I don’t think you could’ve done that if you didn’t have a least a little of the invincibility in your system.” He picked at a loose thread on the old blanket in his lap. “None of her other children survived, did they?” His voice was soft and though he’d phrased it as a question, it was more of a statement.

“Only you,” Bakugo finally sighed. “I checked on the ones I knew about. I hoped if I was still alive that maybe…” He ground his teeth together. “I thought it would kill me too. I didn’t expect…”

“You said she was having a weak moment. What had happened?”

The emotional toll of the conversation weighed on Bakugo and he wanted to change the topic but had a feeling that the older vampire wouldn’t allow it. Something about his attitude during their talk had him feeling uneasy.

“You know of Yaoyoruzo?”

Kirishima’s face lit up. “Momo? Is she still well?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s fine. But The Countess was always jealous of her creation power.”

“Yeah, she hated her,” Kirishima agreed. “Wait, she didn’t try to fight Momo, did she? That would’ve been disastrous.”

Bakugo couldn’t stop the chuckle that forced its way out of his throat. “Ah, no. She’d have lost in a heartbeat.”

“Definitely.”

“She did find a human with a creation power though. Wasn’t nearly as good as Yaoyorozu’s but she thought it’d be a start. Turned this little girl and immediately took her power, then beheaded her and started trying to create stuff.”

Realization dawned on Kirishima’s face. “And she was weak from that.”

Bakugo nodded. “I was supposed to be guarding her but…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“That’s it? I did what I had to do?” Bakugo asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Kirishima tilted his head, studying him. “You’re brave. I could never bring myself to hurt her. I admire you.”

“Fuck off.”

“What? I do!”

“Whatever.” Bakugo paced to the other end of the cottage and stared out the window. The sky was still dark, but he could feel the soon-coming morning chill in his bones. There would be no leaving the safety of the cottage now.

“I don’t think you’ll take me to the council,” Kirishima said confidently. “I think you’ve got too much good in you to hand me over.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I think I’m right about you.” _____

“Going out. Be back before the sun’s up,” Bakugo grumbled as he did his ritualistic check on the windows before going to the door.

“You sure I can’t convince you to let me come? I can probably walk most of the way.” Kirishima gave him his brightest smile that didn’t dim from the glare he got in reply.

“Stop fucking asking. You’re staying here.” He turned the doorknob, grumbling under his breath. “Can’t even make it across the damn house on your own.”

“Be safe!” The other vampire called cheerfully. He concentrated on his supernatural senses, following Bakugo’s essence further from the cottage until he was too far away for his mind to keep track of.

With a groan, Kirishima stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck. He scratched at his stomach as he moved across the cottage to open the door. He breathed in the refreshing night air still tinged with rain and stepped out into without another thought.

Bakugo hadn’t hunted for them in two days because of a heavy storm and it had taken every bit of willpower Kirishima had not to give away that he no longer needed the young fledgling to take care of him. He rounded the cabin at a light jog and within second was sprinting head on into the thick of trees. Branches whipped around him as he raced by, scratching and tearing at his hair and clothes and skin but he couldn’t care less because he felt free.

Finally, free.

He ran until the faint aroma of human blood caught his attention and he stopped, finding himself on the edge of a town.

It would be easy to keep going now.

He’d only meant to leave the cottage for a few minutes, to get a taste of the night and then go back to his bed before Bakugo returned but…

But he could just keep running.

He could run and run and run and no one would ever find him. Anyone who could recognize him was long dead most likely. Ver rarely left witnesses when it came to her prized possessions and he knew he’d been her best.

He could escape into the new world and never look back. He could start fresh.

The thought was tempting. So tempting.

But then there was Bakugo.

By vampire standards, they were the only family they had left. Although with him being so newly turned, it was quite possible he still had human family alive. Unless Ver gave them the same treatment she’d given Kirishima’s family.

He shuddered at the memory even if the pain was only a dull ache he had to search for after all this time.

With a sigh, he turned back in the direction of the cottage. His pace was much slower, barely more than a jog. His feet felt heavier the closer he got, and he found himself almost returning to the town he’d seen before when it hit him.

Bakugo’s scent was faint but getting stronger as it mingled with freshly spilled human blood. It spurred Kirishima to hurry into the cottage and throw himself into the bed, pulling the blankets up around him to mask his venture outdoors.

He leaned against the headboard and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the healing skin pulled tight with the movement. The door slammed open and Kirishima schooled a pleased, expectant look on his face. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, well, this dumbass was camping by himself not too far from here.” Bakugo dropped the unconscious man on Kirishima’s legs. “Feed while I get cleaned up.”

The man groaned softly and Kirishima’s nose wrinkled up. “Hey, uh, Bakugo?”

“What?” he snapped, not turning away from the sink basin where he was washing his hands.

“I was thinking while you were gone, and I might have an idea that will help me heal a little faster. Like a lot faster really.”

The other vampire turned to face him slowly with a hard glare. “And you’re just now deciding to say something, moron?”

Kirishima flashed him the sheepish smile that he’d often used as protection from their sire. “Sorry. I guess my mind has been a bit foggy with the lack of blood and all.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the sink. “Tell me your idea, bloodbrain.”

Turning his smile from sheepish to slightly hopeful, Kirishima tried his best to look as non-threatening as possible. “You could let me feed from you.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

[anaisfinallywrites]

Day 1 - February 8th “Cupid”

"We should probably put them in a room together to sort their shit out," Scott said thoughtfully.

The whole room was so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Scott looked up to see everyone was looking at him.

"I can't believe you're mentioning this now after all this time. They haven't exactly been subtle since from the very start." Lydia looks decidedly unimpressed with Scott's observation.

"We didn't get along from the beginning, okay? There was a lot of bad blood with him and me, him being passive-aggressively helping while I'm stubborn as hell to not listen to his advice. I'm slow on the uptake, not dumb." Scott retorted defensively.

"Isn't that the reason why we're having this very secret meeting that neither the two of them are present for?" Allison spoke up, trying to defuse the tension. "You can try all you want, princess but Derek is an immovable wall when it comes to Stiles." Erica chirped with way more mischief in her eyes than was necessary.

Boyd sighed a long-suffering sigh. "You can't blame the guy, okay? We all know his track record with relationships."

"We know," everybody chimed in perfect unison.

"Um," a hand was raised tentatively from the tallest guy in the room. "Are we seriously trying to act as Cupid for Derek and Stiles?”

All eyes honed in on the golden-haired cherub looking, boy. "Yes, we are." The answer was unanimously bland.

"What are you going to do? Love potion?" Kira asked sceptically.

"Nope," Scott said with a grimace on his face. "Jennifer Blake. He'll just kill us when he gets his head screwed on straight."

Lydia knocked on the table with her knuckles. "We can't be subtle with the two of them. We need a steamroller to make them see it. Any romantic movie ideas?"

The silence was telling.

"Ugh."

↬

"What are you doing here, Braeden?" Derek greeted the woman carrying a duffel bag in front of his door.

"I thought you said I could save money and stay at your loft whenever," she replied with wide innocent eyes.

He sighed deeply and stepped aside to let her in. "I'm not playing whatever game you're playing."

"Good to know that you know there's a problem." She walked in like she owned the place, dropping her duffel bag at the side of the sofa and sat down gently. "Valentine's Day is like two weeks away."

"Will you be my Valentine's?" He asked sarcastically.

"I'm going to ask Laura," she said, entirely too gleeful.

Derek made a disgusted face as he closed the door.

"So, you still haven't resolved your problem," Braeden stated with exasperation.

"Do you remember that time I nearly sucked out his heart because I don't have one? Well, I do. Vividly so," Derek said darkly, still standing at the door.

"He doesn't blame you. You do know that, right?" She looked at him pointedly. His face darkened considerably. "I blame myself even if he doesn't."

"At least you acknowledge there's something between you two. What with your passive-aggressive baking and Peter's grouchy remarks about his idiot of a nephew." Braeden leaned back on the sofa and surveyed her surroundings like she didn't just make the most profound observation about Derek Hale, Grump Extraordinaire.

Well, it wasn't profound observation. Try as hard as he might, Derek can't completely mask his longing stares and outright staring when it comes to one Stiles Stilinski. And everybody knows except the said object of affection, which is ironic considering the boy was supposed to be as sharp as a bloodhound with a scent and he views information and secrets like the only thing that would sustain him.

"Any plans to ask him out?" Braeden riffled through her duffel.

Derek harrumphed as he made his way to the kitchen. Not that he could hide all that much, open floor plan and everything. 

"I'm thinking about something," he admitted hesitantly.

Braeden made a whooping sound right where she sat.

And Derek proceeds to regret every life decision he made so far.

↬

"You're not supposed to mope about my brother at the freaking kitchen he works in," Laura grouched as Stiles beat aggressively at the batter that's probably unusable by now.

"Who says I'm moping about your brother?" Stiles retorted half-heartedly and stopped beating the abused batter.

"Aliens from outer space would have been privy to your most private thoughts about my brother." She didn't look up from balancing the checkbook.

Stiles snorts. "Ugh, how do I get over this stupid crush? It's worse than before compared to Lydia..." he pouted morosely into the batter.

"You two are entirely hopeless when it comes to anything regarding feelings," Laura commented not unkindly.

"You're - How are you and Braeden?" Stiles changed tack mid-sentence.

"We're good. Better than good, even. I, for a fact, know that she's planning a grand gesture in the very distant future. You, on the other hand," she taps her pen on her bottom lip in thought. "Well, you'll grow old and die alone as long as you don't man up and make a move."

"Well, I'm kinda waiting for your thick-headed brother to make a move actually. The ball is in his court this time around, anyway." Stiles muttered unhappily. Laura made an over the top shocking gasping noise. "Why didn't I know about this? How could I not even have heard a peep of this?!"

"We are very private people," he said seriously. And really, he's not even joking.

↬

And so, the mad dash begins. The pack are conceiving plans to help their assumed oblivious friends while Derek and Stiles are respectively trying to work up the courage or work out a plan to... take the next step. So to speak. 

As one would expect, it leads to some... well, disastrous results.

↬

The bakery is in full rush hour at eleven o'clock in the morning, almost lunchtime for everyone but still early enough to buy brunch to curb the hunger. 

Derek is always working at the bakery, and so is Laura. The only person who doesn't help out is Peter, not that he couldn't cook or bake to save his life but more to the fact that no one wants to put up with the constant "chatter" that comes out of his mouth. The rest of the pack, which consists of Scott, Kira, Boyd, Isaac, Erica, Lydia, Danny, Jackson and Stiles, they work part-time or full-time at the bakery. Laura says it's good bonding time, but really, who was she trying to kid?

Lydia and Scott were trying their best to concoct a plan that would put the two (not so) stubborn idiots in a situation to make them talk to each other, whereas Derek has been trying to work up the courage to go up to Stiles and just be... blunt, he's never been anything but passive-aggressively straightforward, anyhow. Stiles, on the other hand, is trying to make himself available time-wise. So far, every single time Lydia and or Scott manages to corner them, aka giving them space or a controlled environment, Derek is very tempted to take the obvious help. But the rest of the pack is observing with shit-eating grins on their face and so he thought better of it. Laura was resolutely staying out of this gay chicken shit, as she so eloquently puts it, but secretly she's having popcorn with Braeden to see what happens next.

So much for a helpful big sister.

Stiles couldn't take it anymore. He sighed long and loud, stared determinedly at Derek's turned back and just strode towards him. 

The pack held their collective gasps as much as they could during the rush hour, simultaneously helping the customers and stealing glances at their quarry.

"Derek," Stiles said his name quietly. He didn't need to say it out loud because of two reasons. One, Derek had always focused on him whenever he's around, be it his heartbeat or his breathing, Derek is attuned to it. (Stiles would say the hyper fixation is super creepy if he wasn't so gone on the grumpy asshole of a wolf.) Two, he knows he's special to Derek. Stiles doesn't know what it is that makes him special yet, but he will soon enough.

Derek didn't turn around to look at him, still busy with packing the baked goods (?) but his body swayed in his direction for a split second with his head tilted. He's listening even if he pretends he doesn't care.

"Uh, so. Valentine's a few days away. Are we making headway or are we still dancing around it like it's a pit of vipers?" Stiles muttered, careful to make his words audible only to the intended recipient. Luck is, however, on his side because the rest of the wolves in the bakery are still newborn bitten wolves, even if it's been a few months since. Lack of desire for training does wonders for Stiles being sneaky.

Derek finally turned around to face him, eyebrows and lips scrunched in a way that Stiles has long since interpreted as the exasperated 'What the hell are you going on about?' look. He couldn't backpedal fast enough to save his tattered dignity. "I mean, okay then. We'll be friends forever then. There's nothing bad about it. Having you as a friend is better than not having you at all, so if we can just forget this ever happened-"

"Stiles." 

"Uh, yeah?" Stiles asked hesitantly.

"Can we meet in the preserve and continue this conversation? There are too many ears here." Derek pointedly did not look at any of the wolves that surround the bakery.

Stiles took a deep breath. "Uh yeah, sure. No problem."

"You better be there instead of letting your brain run wild with an idea that's most likely untrue," Derek pointed his patented glare at Stiles. "I will hunt you down." Stiles shivered at the threat. Nobody should make a threat sound sexy. Like, seriously. On the other hand, he can concede that he does have a tendency to let his insecurities and doubts get the better of him but, have you seen Lydia Martin and Derek Hale? Anybody's self-esteem would plunge down an abyss and Stiles has been here before, once burnt and twice shy and all that shit. Rejection hurts no matter the better outcome that you got out of it. Lydia Martin as the best friend and sister he never had but wished he did is awesome but Derek is different. Derek is so different that he's probably not on the same planet, in Stiles's honest opinion. 

Derek is still looking at him, the glare softened a little, eyebrows raised up saying 'Are we clear?'.

"Crystal." Stiles nodded like his head was a bobblehead. "I will be there and I assure you that you won't need to hunt me down to get to the bottom of this." His voice cracked embarrassingly at the word.

Derek smirked like a cat with cream.

"Shut up, asshole." Stiles gave his own glare as he turned around to make his way out of the bakery. He ignored the questioning looks from the pack.

Stiles hurried home. He has a possible date to get to. Or just plain ole revelation. Derek is taking a break at one in the afternoon. Stiles only has so much time to ponder how this will end because he's about to get his long-awaited resolution. A few months late, but better late than never.

[pink-jindallae]

At the hospital / Part 1

[Nathaniel/Candy] full angst / heavy mention of panic attack Hospital scene from episode 16 completely rewritten. I'm so slooow to write ;-; 

Words: 3464 Author note: Before starting this reading, I would like to highlight Candy's mental state of this episode. I personally felt a lack of investment as Nath's girlfriend. If he wasn't her LI, okay, sure. But as her boyfriend I don't agree. She saw him bleeding to death a few hours ago and she just leaves? Amber asking Candy to stay alone with Nath? Um, no? I'm not sorry to say that I have the fucking right to be with my boyfriend, as much as her.   As a writer and as Nath stan, I couldn't let it pass. I got so much frustrated that I had to rewrite the entire hospital scene because first; I can. Second; Beemov cannot get me away from my man like that. LET ME STAY. And third: I LOVE the angst.   Anyway, I hope you will enjoy the angst nonetheless ;) 

Candy P.O.V.

Nathaniel has been awake for over an hour now. A little while ago, Kim and I were interrogated separately by the police about Nath's assault before they got to question him. Kim assured me soon after that she had repeated word for word Nath's version. As for me, I did the same with a robotic voice, too tired mentally and physically to pretend to be fine in front of the policemen. They didn't ask me too much questions, perhaps discerning my torment. Just after the police left, a nurse came to report on Nathaniel's state. We were relieved to hear his wound wasn't too deep and his organs were untouched. However, she also informed us that Nath had a head injury, so they had to keep him under observation until tomorrow to see how his condition is evolving. My face had blanched during her whole speech, but I didn't interrupt, unlike Amber who peppered her with so many queries. She acted like a lion mama, nearly throwing a tantrum in the hallway, thankfully Kim was there to calm her down. The nurse only concluded by saying we could now visit Nathaniel, although not for too long since he was still recovering and probably exhausted by his prior interrogation. To my surprise, Amber requested to stay alone with him for an unknown reason. I initially didn't agree, because even if she is his sister, I'm his freaking girlfriend and there was no fucking way I would leave like that! Not without seeing him safe and sound. Besides, how she asked rubs me the wrong way, like I wasn't that much important. I acknowledge she has a special bond with her brother, still, it wasn't a good reason enough to push me aside. I know she has changed and I don't rightfully hate her anymore, but God, I just wanted to punch her face at that moment. Hopefully she agreed to let me stay in the end, thanks to Kim who interjected in my favor. However, Amber still demanded to see him by herself first and to avoid another outburst in the hospital, I let her do as she pleased despite my own wish to come along. Only because I would be alone with Nath after as she promised not to be too long. When Amber left, Kim kindly offered to stick around with me a little longer, to which I refused. While I'm grateful for her concern, I needed to be by myself for a moment. Moreover, I would have felt bad to monopolize her presence just for my sake, because she too, was tired after such a night. She despised the hospital anyway, so, she went home to rest without insisting. And now I'm on my own in the waiting room for what felt like eternity. I can't remember how long I've been counting the minutes. The hand of the clock is turning, and yet, time seems to have frozen. It ticks with an annoying sound as if to emphasize the surrounding silence of death, reminding me again and again this disastrous evening. That deafening noise is taunting me, resounding a little louder as soon as I lose the thread, just to have the pleasure to grab all my attention while I'm waiting to see Nathaniel. I watch it with a rather confusing obsession despite my annoyance. I hate myself for that, I can't help but check the seconds spinning through the clock face. Because that noisy thing represents the heartbreaking absence of Nath by my side. Even if I know that on the other side of the wall, he's alive... Slumped on my chair, I bring my legs against my chest, my forehead glued to my knees. I need to see him so much ... "Are you all right, Miss?" I raise my head sharply. Another worried middle-aged nurse is looking at me and I can see pity through her clear eyes. What a sorry sight am I. "Y-yes." Great, my voice is shaking. "I ... I'm just waiting to see my boyfriend ..." "Oh ... is it the boy who arrived at the emergency room earlier?" I only nod, unable to speak at the recall of the events. The nurse sits next to me, her clipboard pad resting on her lap. "Your boyfriend is safe now, don't worry." she begins in a benevolent tone that irks me. "His relative is by his side right now, but you can rest for a while." The nurse's compassion touches me deeply, or maybe it's tiredness that speaks for me, because I feel my eyes sting a little bit as I'm about to cry any time soon. "I have to see him first." "This evening must have been very hard for you too, you have the right to rest. I'm sure he won't be angry if you come back later." She still insists. "I can't!" I nearly scream. "I need to see him!" Unable to contain myself anymore, I hunker down, squeezing my arms so hard that a red mark is blemishing my skin. I can't go home. Not now, not like that! Not seeing him drives me crazy! I'm exhausted ... my whole body is sore. "Would you like to call someone? Family, friends?" I shake my head, eyes closed. Her insistence begins to pester me. Why is everyone is completely disregarding my feelings? Amber, the nurse, even Nath. I'm that much insignificant not to have anything to say. My voice, no matter how I yell, is unheard and my opinion not even an option. Amber had already asked me if she could see him first, alone, and I meekly agreed to make her happy. And yet, I had to fight so I wouldn't be sent away, still muffled and saved by someone else. The nurse now pushes me to go home for the sake of resting regardless my desire to stay. And Nath… Damn, he didn't even wanted to see me at the gym. Kim said she called me because he agreed to, but with the way he acted, I doubt that. He was so stubborn, not listening to anything and facing my lack of power, Kim decided to call the ambulance against his will. During the ride to the hospital I have wondered; if she hadn't phoned me, I would have been unaware of Nathaniel's state since brother and sister like to keep secrets as if I wasn't part of their life. As if … I was nothing. "Just leave me. Go away." I coldly mumble, chasing those memories away. The nurse doesn't insist anymore and walk away after reminding me to contact the medical staff if I needed anything. Like hell I would. I feel many eyes on me nonetheless, kept under surveillance from afar. My mental state seems to worry them, but I don't care. All my thoughts are turned to one person. I decided to get up after her departure though, to freshen up a bit, the need to walk and think about something else motivating me to move. Specially to avoid their insistent stares, almost too heavy with judgment. When I see myself in the mirror, I quickly comprehend their dismay. It is anything but glorious ... My hair is disheveled, my eyes are swollen from crying and consequently, my mascara has heavily dripped on my cheeks. My white-like face doesn't really help to improve my condition. I look a fright ... The most impressive thing is my clothes stained with blood – his blood –. No wonder the nurses were concerned. I hurry to make a coarse bun in order to hold my hair in place, then rinse my face, erasing below the neon light all traces of this morbid night. I still look exhausted but at least I'm more presentable. Once I'm satisfied with my reflection, I go back to my seat. Meanwhile Amber has appeared in my line of sight, coming out of the elevator with a sullen expression. My heart skips a beat and I run to join her. "Amber!" She glances up at my panicked face and smiles weakly to reassure me as best she could, although it looks more like a grimace. "I was looking for you. You can go see him." "How is he?" I ask, worried about her peaky look. "The doctors told me he could go home soon. Luckily, he can talk and move despite his head trauma." Upon hearing the news, all the pressure on my shoulders evaporates bit by bit. I'm so relieved he is fine… "Did he ..." The blonde cuts me off, shaking her head in negative. He didn't reveal anything to her either. I sigh, depressed. Of course, he's not the type to vent so easily. Even her twin sister doesn't know everything about him. The few times we spoke indicates that Nathaniel didn't confide to her as much as she believes to. "I'm sorry for earlier…" she suddenly resumes, changing the subject. "… for insisting to see my brother alone. But please understand that I needed to talk to him. Nothing against you." I'm taken off guard by her sudden apologies. I really didn't expect it at all to be honest… "I… It's fine. I guess." I articulate, dumbfounded. She averts her eyes, probably feeling too guilty to look at me directly. "I may have overreacted." "You did. And to tell you the truth, it hurt me."  I frankly blurt out. "So honest, as always. I like that about you." She lets out a small laugh and I smile in return. I'm glad she noticed her wrongdoing and asked for my forgiveness. She was as anxious as I was, so, I can understand in a sense. And to be fair, I'd probably request the same in her shoes if she wasn't her relative… "Thank you again for being there for him ... Thank you for everything. You saved his life." She sobs in a weak voice, taking my hands in hers. I lower my eyes at her statement, not sure to deserve gratitude. I didn't do anything. Kim saved Nathaniel while I was watching him, helpless. My conscience planting arrows in my heart keeps me quiet, not knowing what to answer. Amber's hand pulls me out of my thoughts by squeezing mine. She stares without saying anything, her message mute. I only notice now that her green eyes have lost their sparkle, filled with remorse too. "I'm going to his flat to bring some clothes and feed Blanche. I'll be back soon." she informs, gently releasing my hand. "Watch over him, please. He's waiting for you." I just agree in silence, the knot around my neck tightening slightly. I don't waste more time to watch her go and fly to the elevator. And damn the seconds feel like hours in the lift. I've waited so long to see Nath that I tremble like a leaf out of stress. My anxiety is only amplifying, trapped in this metallic box. The walls come off as an oppressive cage, shrinking around me. I feel like I'm suffocating ... It makes my mind runs wild, what I've striven to push back in my mind suddenly arises with brutality. My boyfriend is laying in a hospital bed after an attempted murder. The bloodcurdling realization I could have lost him forever tears me from inside. I remember too well watching him bleed to death. I can still smell the blood, see the light in his eyes weakening and his life being taken away slowly… I struggle in vain to hold back my suffering, but it's far beyond my strength. I can't help but dwell on the events, unable to think of anything but his twisted face of pain, the gaping wound and the pool of blood. It wasn't an accident. Someone tried to end his life. Stop! I must not panic. Do not panic! Nathaniel is fine, Nathaniel is fine ... I repeat these words like a mantra. Focusing on dominating my terror, I close my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply. My breath is shaking, but I keep taking deep breath to calm the frantic beat in my chest. My body is agitated with nervous spasms, I squeeze my hands hard to stop my tremors. Carefully ... slowly ... I'm breathing. At long last the elevator stops and after a soft "ding", slides open. The overwhelming gasp of air at the opening wakes me up from my horrifying trance, my lungs finally accepting some oxygen. After a gulp, I'm resolved to get out and stand right in front his room. I enter with a gentle push on the door which creaks faintly under the pressure of my fingers. What I see behind crushes my heart. Nathaniel seems to have fallen asleep, but his features are drawn, denoting extreme fatigue. His face is still a little pale, but slowly picks some colors up again. His left eye is slightly swollen, as are his knuckles. There was no doubt he tried to defend himself against his aggressors as much as he could. I pinched my lips so as not to break down again, shaken beyond word by his atypical vulnerability. I must be strong. I shed enough tears. At some point, I finally allow myself to approach with catlike stealth to avoid waking him up. My hand smooths his golden hair, brushing aside wet strands on his forehead. Softly … fearing of hurting him more. With the same care, I stroke his damaged hands in hope it would erase the marks of his fight. I wish I could take all of his pain… "You're here…" I jump, startled. Nathaniel is awake. He painfully opens his eyelids to gaze at me. I'd like to answer something, but on the verge of tears, words are strangled in my throat. "I'd have preferred to welcome you in some other way." he continues with a sheepish smile in an effort to relax the atmosphere. Except it provokes the opposite of the desired effect. He looks at me, his eyes filled with grief. His hand frees itself from mine to caress my cheek and I close my eyes to enjoy his touch full of tenderness. I barely notice him wiping a tear that has escaped against my will. And here I promised myself not to cry anymore. Damn it… "I ruined our date again." He feebly murmurs. "Forgive me." I shake my head, eyelids firmly closed. Other tears flood with me powerless to stop it. Nath remains silent, busy to dry all the sad pearls rolling on my skin. "Don't be ridiculous, you idiot ..." I end to whisper with a trembling voice. "We'll have other dates. I just want you to heal quickly." I swallow my tears somehow and finally open my eyes to offer him the best smile I could do. Nevertheless, he only observes me without saying anything, his look indecipherable. His eyes glint with a dark and melancholy glow, almost seeking to penetrate my thoughts. His face seems tortured, preoccupied, a frown on his forehead. A voice in my head hisses that pain is not the main cause. Anxiety, anger, guilt, maybe something else. I'm not sure what I can read. He carries my hand to his lips and kisses it with infinite love, contrasting with his painful expression. Nath, is there something you're not telling me? The rustling sound of sheets catches my attention all of sudden. My veiled eyes immediately fall on Nathaniel who's trying to get up, his face disfigured in pain. "Nath!" With an unsteady step, I try to lie him down but this obstinate man resists. "I just want to sit down, I'm tired of laying." He insists. "Don't be foolish, you have to rest! Imagine if your wound opens again!" I'm unsuccessfully trying to convince him, but he is too adamant and completely deaf to my protests. I shortly give up, helpless in front of his stubbornness, and put his cushion in a way he can lean on it without hurt. It takes him a few minutes to find the right position. "It doesn't hurt too much?" I ask as I sit on the mattress to get closer. "I'm fine ... I've experienced worse." Worse? What can be worse than being stabbed in the abdomen? Could it be related to the scar on his lips? To his father? My face runs out of blood just imagining it. Facing my frightened look, Nath takes my hand again squeezes it more firmly. "No wait! I mean ..." he resumes with difficulty. "... I'll be okay, you don't have to worry about that." "How could you ..." His thumb lays on my lower lip to keep me quiet, fondly brushing it. "I'm fine, okay? That's all you need to think about now." "But you nearly killed yourself, how could you expect me to stay calm after that? Nath, you could have died!" "What happened, happened. And I'm still alive." What the hell! I know he wants to be reassuring but he can't tell me that like that, as if it was something trivial! "Listen to me," He begins but I refuse to hear his nonsense. I drop and shake my head. The situation is so absurd, it makes me crazy! It's a nightmare. Breathing becomes difficult again, I feel like choking once more. Sensing my distress, Nath cups my face and forces me to look at him. "Listen to me!" He gives me time to calm myself before carrying on. I stare back with a look in which an unreasonable dread is reflected. I know I'm overreacting but … "You're afraid." I'm not. I'm terrified. "I understand, I really do. But look, I'm fine." He caresses my cheeks with lots affection and so much care to put me at peace, but I'm still shivering so much. However, my body is less stiff now, soothed by his voice. "I'm fine…" He calmly repeats again, insisting on this point until I stop shuddering. "All I need is my girlfriend by my side. This night has been painful enough for you and for me… We both need to rest. Just let me enjoy your company. Is it too much to ask?" I have to admit he's right. He is indeed fine. He survived and is certainly exhausted by his injury. I was so preoccupied by my own fear I forgot the most important; taking care of him. Ashamed, I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry…" "No don’t be, love." He murmurs, putting his forehead against mine. "I'm the one who should be. You deserve so much better than that." "Shut up." I sob. Our faces are so close, caressed by our breath, yet I feel so far away from him, an unbreakable wall between us. And I know… he is the one building it, pushing me away. Again. "Come." He simply finishes by opening his arms. He wants us to cuddle. "Your wound, it could open ..." I weakly protest, fighting against my own desire to snuggle against him. "My right side is fine." Nath persists. I don't want him to suffer ... My hesitation crumbles a little more when he softly pleads: "I need you in my arms ..." I don't want to start a quarrel, especially in these conditions. I'm too tired anyway. Besides, I'd lie if I said I don't want to be in his arms too ... Short of argument, I breathe: "Promise me to tell me if you're in pain." He simply nods, and I give up. With caution, I go around the right side of the bed where he's not injured. I'm careful not to lean too much upon him, my side propped against his cushion, but my head finds its way to the crook his neck. His right arm slides around my waist and presses me a little more against him despite my reluctance, yet I oppose no resistance. His soothing heartbeat under my palm relaxes me. He is still alive… Being in his arms drains all energies I had left, in other word, almost none. My eyes close when he brushes a warmth kiss full of comfort on the top of my head. I'm just so weak even though I should be the one who supports him. I can't help myself thinking I must do more than complaining and crying. He silences me when I word my thoughts and confesses that being here is more than enough. Actually, it is what he needs the most according to him so, I'm not arguing. After all, a nurse is coming soon to kick me out and I don't want to leave him with a pointless fight. Silence now surrounds us. Not a single word is shared anymore. We are just enjoying each other presence… … as if it would be the last time.