#one of the few times ive felt the aftermath of being blocked because this is so funny and i need it on my blog and op has me blocked

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

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[oreoambitions]

The Aftermath

I felt like maybe we could all use a version of this story with a happier ending.

"Lex is dead. I shot him. Jess is taking care of it."

Lena sweeps into the room with those words, already shrugging her bag off of her shoulder. She has eyes only for the figure in Supergirl's arms, but Supergirl has eyes only for her, her declaration playing on a loop in her head.

"Lena, I- I killed Lex."

"Luthors are like cockroaches: you think you've got them handled until they come crawling out of the walls again. Don't worry; I made sure of it this time." She's tapping to life the machines next to the medbay bed when she spares a sharp glance for Supergirl. "He told me everything before he died. About you. Put her on the bed, please."

Supergirl doesn't move. "About me?"

"There's a life on the line here, Kara. A little bit of urgency would be appropriate."

So that's that then. Kara tries to ignore the sudden wave of nausea but it's overwhelming. She stumbles the last few steps to the bed. Linda is breathing, but just barely. Alex mouths something in Kara's direction, but Kara shakes her head. No she's not okay. No she doesn't know what to say. No it doesn't matter right now.

"What's her name?" Lena asks. Alex starts to answer, but Lena looks pointedly at Kara.

"Linda Lee," Kara says. "Lex named her."

Lena cocks an eyebrow. "What a terrible fucking name," she murmurs. "Alex, prep an IV for me please."

"Lena," Kara begins.

Lena holds up a hand. "Don't."

Kara doesn't.

Linda wakes on a Thursday morning feeling like hell. The inside of her mouth tastes like the smell of blood and her bones feel like splinters and she's so weak she shakes just from the effort of sitting up. But she wakes, which is honestly more than she was expecting.

And Kara is there, which feels so impossible that for a moment Linda wonders if she's woken after all.

Linda doesn't have to say anything; the change in her breathing alone was enough to alert Kara, and so Kara is already pouring a glass of water by the time Linda is upright to drink it. They sit there quietly, watching one another, while Linda takes sip after slow sip. Linda looks at her and tries to see the enemy. She wonders if Kara is looking at her and trying to see the same.

"Lex is dead," Linda says. It's not a question. If Kara is sitting next to her and they are both still free then Lex's death is the inevitable conclusion.

"He is," Kara agrees. And then, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry," Linda says. She looks away. There are tears in Kara's eyes, and that's making tears threaten her eyes, and she's not about to be weak in front of Kara fucking Danvers even after everything. "He was not a good man."

"He was your family," Kara replies.

Linda takes another sip of water to be sure that her voice will be steady when she answers, "He wanted me to think he was."

Kara reaches out, hesitant, her eyes on Linda's as she slowly, slowly takes her hand. When Linda doesn't pull away, she squeezes. "You have a new family now."

Linda doesn't believe her.

It takes three more days, but Linda is finally able to sit up for long stretches and even walk the short distance to the bathroom without help. Her powers are coming back incrementally and she waits warily for Alex or Kara to tell her what it is they want from her. What if they ask her to retaliate against Kaznia? None of what Lex did was Kaznia's fault. But they don't ask her to do anything, and they don't ask her to leave, and the longer they simply allow her to recover the more anxious she becomes.

Alex and Kara arrive together one evening and Linda is sure this is it. She can walk all the way down the hall and back now, and her super hearing is returning, and it's about time to tell her to what purpose the United States will be putting her so that she can focus her efforts as she retrains. Alex and Kara are looking at one another conspiratorially and Kara is hiding something behind her back. Linda sits up and resigns herself to her fate.

"You can say no," Alex begins.

Oh Rao, here it is.

"Oh but why would you want to," Kara says. She dumps a pile of bright plastics onto Linda's bed, like books but slender and light, no pages, a puzzle. "Since you can't leave the DEO yet we thought we'd bring our weekly Danvers Movie Night to you. So go ahead, pick one!"

Linda doesn't know what a movie is, but Kara looks over the moon and Alex looks... indulgent. Linda plucks a plastic book out of the pile at random and offers it to Kara, who does a fist pump.

"Yes! I love Brave! Scoot over; we gotta order pizza."

Linda doesn't know what pizza is either, but Kara is worming her way into bed next to her, and Alex is pulling up a chair, and suddenly Linda is in the middle of a war:

"Pineapple does NOT go on pizza I am NOT having it." Alex makes a grab for Kara's phone. "It's an abomination!"

"You have to let Linda decide that for herself, she- give me that back! We can get two pizzas, gosh!"

"What is pineapple?" Linda asks.

Both Danvers stare at her for a moment.

"Okay," Alex agrees, "We can get two pizzas."

Lena is still the most beautiful woman Linda has ever seen, which is difficult because Lena, like everything else, is Kara's. It chafes. Linda doesn't want to talk to her at first, mumbles in answer to all of her questions, won't make eye contact, hates the way her heartrate picks up every time Lena touches her, hates the fact that Kara, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room can hear it. Lena never looks at Kara, and Kara never looks away, and Linda feels trapped in the middle of it.

The first time Lena comes to visit without Kara or Alex on her heels, Linda thinks of it as a trap. Lena is, after all, a Luthor. Maybe she's the one who will want to put Linda's powers to good use.

Lena doesn't touch her this time, doesn't ask medical questions or examine any of Linda's charts. She pulls up a chair and starts digging around in her bag.

"The unfortunate thing about being a Super," she says, "Is that there aren't a lot of people you can talk to about what you've been through." She smiles a tight smile. "Part of keeping so many secrets, right? Not unlike being a Luthor."

"Okay," Linda says. She fiddles with her own fingers, hands clasped in her lap.

Lena pulls a book from her bag and holds it gingerly, tracing the spine, not quite looking at Linda. "Lex gave me my first journal when I was a child, and, well. Every Luthor keeps one. I thought- I know you're not really- Kara said he was family to you, and that makes you family to me, so I thought I would continue the tradition." She holds the book out. "For you. For when you don't feel like you have anyone to talk to."

Linda turns the book over in her hands, admires the soft leather cover, the thick pages. She says nothing; there are tears lodged in her throat and she doesn't want to let them out. Lena fidgets for a moment, and then she stands up.

"Well, I'm needed in the lab, so. I'll leave you to your rest."

She's almost out the door when Linda says, "Thank you."

Lena freezes, her hand still on the doorframe, but she doesn't look back.

When Linda is strong enough to work in the gym, they introduce her to her new sparring partner. Nia is... odd. Goofy. Charming. Until she wants to throw down, and then not so much. She's more than a match for Linda with her powers still recovering, and it's nice to fight with someone who can keep up just for the ache and the joy if it. Linda tries not to think about the day she murdered Kara for Lex, but the first time she puts Nia on her back it all comes rushing in and she cries.

Nia sits with her and doesn't press her to talk about it, and Linda finds that she doesn't so much mind that Nia saw her in a moment of discomposure. When Alex tries to check up on them, Nia uses her body to block her view and sends her away with stern words.

"Have you tried ice cream yet?" she asks when Linda finally pulls herself back together.

"I don't know what that is," Linda admits.

"Oh man, I am about to absolutely blow your mind."

The first time Linda leaves the DEO it's with Nia and Kara.

"You can't wear DEO sweats forever," Nia says, one arm comfortably around Linda's waist. "And you'll feel better when you feel more like yourself."

Linda doesn't know what it really means to feel like herself. Kara drags her through the aisles and it's all overwhelming and bright and impractical. None of the pants have pockets. All of the shirts are too tight in the shoulders. Until at last Nia puts a hand on Kara's shoulder.

"I think I know what we need," she says. She leads them to the men's athletic section, and Linda discovers muscle tanks. This she can work with. She leaves with a bag full of athletic clothing and two pairs of jeans with real pockets and two button down shirts which make Kara smile.

"I have some old things you might like," she says. "I can bring them by some time?"

"You don't have to do that," Linda says. She already owes so much to these people, and to Kara especially. She’s already afraid of what it will take to pay it all back.

Nia smacks Linda playfully on the shoulder. “You have to let people be nice to you sometimes,” she chastises.

Linda doesn’t know what that really means either.

The days pass, and Linda gets stronger, and still no one tells her what it is they want from her. It’s a needle under her skin, a constant prickling anxiety that ticks up every time someone comes into the room until the day the world upends itself. She’s sitting in the sun bed writing in her journal when Alex brings a new visitor into the medbay, and Lena is beautiful, but the woman standing in the doorway is a vision, a goddess, a... Linda is running out of descriptors. In fact, she's not sure she remembers any words in any language whatsoever. The woman ushers a teenager into the room and then stands aside to let Alex pass. She looks at Linda with a curious expression.

"Kara...?"

Linda knows perfectly well that Kara is on the bridge, that this woman would have to have walked past her to get to the medbay.

Alex straightens up. "Oh! Right. Sam, this is Linda, Kara's other sister. Linda, this is Sam Arias. She's... a friend."

Linda is too busy tasting the name Sam Arias in her mouth to stumble over the word sister.

"And I'm Ruby," the teenager says, throwing herself down on a vacant bed and sticking out her arm. "Can we get this over with?"

Alex rummages in a drawer for the large bore needles Linda has come to learn the DEO keeps on hand for drawing Krpytonian blood. She sits up a little straighter, her interest suddenly piqued. Sam takes the vacant bed beside Linda's and rolls up her own sleeve.

"You might as well get a sample from me too," she says.

Alex pauses, needle still in her hand. "Lena said she already tested you."

"Yes, well." Sam glances at Linda, smiles a little, glances away. "I asked her to say that."

Alex sighs but she doesn't comment. She busies herself with Ruby, laughing with her, easing her through the process. Linda notes with approval that Ruby doesn't flinch when the needle goes in. Sam doesn't fidget while she waits, but she keeps stealing glances at Linda and looking away when Linda catches her.

"Who are you?" Linda asks at last.

Sam shifts uneasily in her bed. Alex moves over to her with a fresh needle, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

"It's a long story," she says.

"Mom was the vessel of an old Kryptonian god of destruction," Ruby supplies.

"I'd like to hear more about that some time," Linda says.

Alex gives her a slightly dirty look.

Sam comes back alone a few days later when Linda is training alone in the gym. She very nearly outmatches Nia now; she stays late after their sessions to work herself harder, seeking exhaustion, waiting to feel strong. Sam watches her for a while and then starts undoing the buttons on her shirt. Linda is pretty sure she's going to die if she sees any more skin, and so she looks away, willing herself not to flush.

"Wanna fight?" Sam asks, stripped down to a sports bra. She reaches up to pull her hair back.

"I could hurt you," Linda protests.

"I seriously doubt that."

Sam wins their first fight. And their second. Maybe Linda lets her win the third because there is something aching and good about Sam pinning her to the ground, knees on either side of her hips, so close that Linda can taste her breath.

"Yield?" Sam asks. Her eyes are on Linda's mouth.

Linda licks her lips without thinking about it. "Okay," she says.

The story about Reign comes out in bits and pieces between bouts. About the people she killed, how she nearly killed Kara, how she tried to kill Lena. How she packed it all away as soon as Reign was dead and pretended it never happened.

"You had a responsibility," Linda admonishes her. "You could have been there to help make things right."

Sam bows her head. "I know. But I'm here now."

They sit together on the floor, backs against the wall, sweaty and tired. Linda looks at her out of the corner of her eye, those soft brown eyes, slender hands, hard expression.

"So you and Alex," Linda comments, suddenly intensely interested in the wall on the other side of the gym.

Sam laughs. "Once, maybe, but that ship has sailed. She's with Kelly now, and I..." Sam looks at Linda, and then looks away fast. Too fast. "I have my eye on someone else."

Ruby's results come back and confirm what everyone already knows: she's half Kryptonian. The Arias women announce that they'll be moving to National City so that Ruby can be closer to the DEO for training and guidance. Alex announces that Linda is ready to move out of the medbay.

Lena immediately offers her a home. "I have more room than I need and it's like I said: we're family. I'm not going to leave you to figure the world out alone."

Kara glowers at her. "She's not alone."

"I know, darling," Lena says.

Kara flushes at the pet name and stammers. Linda and Alex share an exasperated look from across the room.

"What do you want me to do?" Linda asks. "I have my strength back. I'm ready."

This time it's Kara and Lena who exchange a look. "Ready for what?" Kara asks.

"Whatever it is you wanted me for," Linda says. She holds out her hands, helpless. "You didn't put me back together for nothing."

Lena squeezes her shoulder. "We put you back together so that you could live. What you choose to do with that is really up to you. But we have time; you don't have to figure it all out now."

Linda stares at them each in turn. Kara looks angry. Alex looks confused. The tears threaten to catch in her throat again. "I am a weapon," she says, reciting words from what feels like another life. "A weapon is a tool. A tool must have-"

"Lex is gone," Lena interrupts. Kara is clenching her jaw, tears threatening to spill over, hands trembling. Weeks ago Linda would have thought her weak. Now, she is not so sure. "You have incredible power, but that doesn’t make you a weapon. Like Sam and Kara, you get to decide what to do with your gifts; if you don't want to fight, you don't have to."

Linda thinks of Sam sitting against the gym wall, eyes closed, voice full of regret. I'm here now.

"I want to," Linda says. Her voice breaks. She clears her throat. "I want to help."

Kara cries.

Linda's belongings all fit into the backpack slung over her shoulder when Kara and Alex come to pick her up from the DEO.

"Get in, loser," Alex says.

Linda breathes a laugh; Mean Girls is the last movie they watched together.

It seems ridiculous to get in the car when she can just fly to Lena's, but Alex and Kara have been adamant and conspiratorial about this, so she complies. It is generally not worth fighting Kara on something once she starts to pout about it, and it's generally not worth fighting Alex on anything at all. When they agree on something, well, you might as well give up all together.

So she sits in the back seat and she doesn't comment when they leave National City behind. She watches the countryside flash by and she listens to Alex and Kara sing along loudly - and, in Alex's case, badly - to the radio. Kara punctuates almost every song with a story, and the two of them fight over who gets to choose the playlist when the radio signal gives out and Kara plugs her phone into the stereo.

They stop for gas and Kara buys Linda a sausage wrapped in bread and smothered in beans and cheese, which she refers to as "the king of all road trip meals" and which looks to Linda like vomit just waiting to happen. It turns out to be delicious; they make Alex buy them all a second round.

And then before Linda knows it the sun is sinking into that long golden hour and they are passing out of thick forests into a valley to the tunes of Death Cab for Cutie and Kara grins at her in the rearview mirror and says they've almost arrived. They pass a sign that reads Welcome to Midvale and Linda realizes with a jolt of fear where they're going.

Alex turns around in the passenger's seat to pat Linda's leg. "Hey," she says. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

But Linda is terrified when they pull up to the little house, the feeling of not belonging creeping her spine, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets, her heart racing. A woman comes out of the house before Kara has even locked the car. Linda can see something of Alex in her features.

"Hi mom," Alex says as the older woman ushers her in for a hug. Warm light and the sound of tinny classical music drift out of the open kitchen window to where Linda fidgets in the driveway. Kara hugs Elize too, and then Alex is pushing Linda forward, and Linda thinks maybe she's going to throw up those chili dogs after all.

Eliza smiles at her and holds out her arms. Linda glances at Kara, who nods encouragingly, and then steps gingerly into the embrace. It's... not terrible. Kind of nice. Eliza lets go and pats her on the shoulder.

"C'mon," Kara whispers. She tugs Linda by the forearm. "I'll show you our room. Oh, and Streaky! You're going to love him."

"Dinner's almost ready," Eliza says, "So you girls just go and wash up now."

Alex laughs when Linda sets the silverware out backwards, and Kara flicks kernels of corn at her with a grin when Eliza isn't looking, and Linda feels warmer than she thinks she's ever felt. When everyone is seated, and drinks are poured, and food is served, Eliza smiles at them across the table.

"It's so nice to have my girls home for the weekend," she says. She looks at Linda with a twinkle in her eye. "All three of you."

[stillness-in-green]

Changeling: The League (1/3)

Being some errant nerdery combining two things I love very much into one thing that is exponentially more nerdy than either thing on its own: My Hero Academia villains as Changeling: the Lost characters!

This will(/should) be a series of three posts containing some mid-length write-ups on the League of Villains, the Metahuman Liberation Army, and some odds-and-ends on other characters/alternate takes.  

Some prelude: The most prominent question that kept coming up as I was brainstorming the write-ups below was, “Is this retelling the story of My Hero Academia using Changeling: The Lost’s mechanics and world, or is this exploring Changeling: The Lost’s themes using the My Hero Academia cast?”  Would these versions of the characters be NPC villains in Izuku’s story, opponents (or possibly eventual allies) in some grand, epic clash between Heroes and Villains as begun with All Might and All for One?  Would it be the story of a corrupt system, pulled down by the PC group that was Shigaraki and his motley?  I had ideas for both, but in the end, I decided that, rather than oblige myself to the MHA canon, I was ultimately more interested in just letting the implied “story” focus on the League and their histories of loss, trauma and recovery, so that’s the spirit in which these are written.  (Though things do get a bit plottier when their story intersects with the MLA’s.)

Lastly, these are, of course, completely AU, but if you don’t know who the Liberation Army is, you’re probably still going to trip over manga spoilers, so be mindful.  

First, let me lay down some backstory!  Specifically, the story of All for One, One for All, and the lives they drew into their story...

THE PROLOGUE

There is a realm in Faerie inhabited by a pair of binary-matched Fae, All for One and One for All, styling themselves as warring brothers.  They’ve been fighting for many long generations, each in their own fashion.  All for One has tended to keep his power mostly within himself, employing many underlings, but sharing his power with very few of them.  One for All, conversely, has shared most of himself with a succession of users, and in each generation, the pair clashes, with OFA not very "present" for the battles (and thus at less risk), while AFO is able to bring more of himself to the fights.  Before each battle, each user of OFA would be "freed" for a period to find and designate a successor (who would inevitably go missing a few weeks later), before returning for the battle.  They often did this with deeply tormented feelings, but saw little escape from the pattern.  Each one hoped that they might be the one strong enough to break the cycle, as OFA told them each time was a possibility--patterns grow stronger for being repeated, after all--but none of them was able to do so until recently.  Toshinori Yagi refused to designate a successor, and finally, for his stubbornness, was recalled to do battle without one--without having passed even a fragment of OFA's power on, he was finally able to defeat AFO.              

In his defeat, AFO was cast out from Faerie.  He had little memory of who and what he was, but retained a sense for fae matters and a limited grasp on his powers.  He spent the next several years setting up shop in the local freehold, dabbling with Spring and Autumn Court matters as his fancy took him, and racking up a fair amount of renown with the latter in particular when the former found him too ruthless, and not only with humans.  One day, though, he stumbled across what would eventually become his way home--a little boy who felt startlingly familiar, black-haired with a mole on his chin.  AFO struck up a friendship, and when he eventually met the boy's father, things began to click into place--he knew this family because he once fought their matriarch, and that connection was the key to his return.  As he was once defeated by this bloodline bearing his brother's power, for his rise, he had to defeat someone of the bloodline--but he couldn’t just do it straight out.  With his brother, there were pacts in play, old bargains and arrangements.  He couldn’t just waltz in and kill Shimura Kotaro.              

One of them needed to ask. 

THE LEAGUE

Here are the League roughly as we might find them when they’ve been out long enough to build a motley, solidify their bonds somewhat, and start taking on bigger, toothier problems.  All have 7 dots of Contracts except Shigaraki, who has a modest leader bump.  Just assume he’s been out doing some level-grinding the others haven’t.

Shigaraki Tomura

Quote: “There’s always a win condition.”

Type: Gameplayer Wizened.  A trophy/souvenir of AFO’s time on Earth, Tomura survived a durance filled with little but tests in the guise of games.  Survival, combat, endurance, manual dexterity, reaction time, strategy, academics, even odd trivia--he learned them all under his Keeper’s tutelage, in preparation for the next battle with his brother's champion (AFO having seen that his brother's way of doing things has its merits).  Tomura grew up believing himself responsible for his family's deaths (though he's blocked most of the specifics, he knows in his gut that he's responsible somehow) and watching the realm celebrate the champion who'd defeated Tomura’s Keeper, but who hadn't done a thorough enough job to prevent the cycle from resetting after all.

Toshinori, for his part, initially had no idea that AFO had returned with a child, a new champion.  But he did know that AFO had returned (the realms are connected enough that you can't really miss it), and so waited for the next battle with some impatience.  He thought that he, perhaps, just hadn't done well enough, that he'd be more careful, more thorough next time.  After all, patterns become stronger when they repeat.  He doesn't truly understand that All for One can't be killed--not in Faerie, at least--and so there will be no end to the cycle as it stands.  Eventually, he got tired of waiting and sought out AFO on his own--and was shocked to find a kid, just a kid, where he expected to find AFO.  AFO did not think Shigaraki was ready for this yet, and was not prepared to watch several years' worth of effort and his cute keepsake get slaughtered (and he probably would have been; Shigaraki could have all the lives he wanted in training, but an official battle against the sanctioned bearer of OFA would have been different), so he ejected Shigaraki from Faerie and fought the battle himself.  As to what happened afterwards, Shigaraki has no way to know, but the gradual return of various other servants of AFO may eventually begin to shed some light on the subject…

Shigaraki is, when his story truly begins, still figuring out his current game--outside of Arcadia, second chances are harder to come by--but he’s a sore loser and a quick learner, so he never stays down for long, and he’s already made a friend in Toga, who he met in his escape from the Hedge.  He still has very ambivalent feelings about his Keeper, which makes him something of an outlier amongst changelings, who typically feel only terror and loathing for the Others that upended their lives and scarred them in ways that will never--can never--fully heal.  No one, including Shigaraki, has quite realized his connection to the Emperor of Darkness who caused so much havoc in the freehold when he escaped back to Faerie five years ago.  Likewise, Tomura’s fetch, only ten years old, is still in a mental care unit in juvie for the murders of the Shimura family, but dealing with that mess will have to wait until Shigaraki can stomach the idea of even looking at that version of himself.  

Tomura looks much as he does in canon, thin and covered with scratching and scarring.  Behind his tousled white hair, though, his red eyes gleam and flicker as if they’re forever reflecting the dancing lights of a screen.  His masked form has black hair rather than white, and eyes the color of dark, old rust.

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear.  Shigaraki’s entire durance threatened him always with the fear of failure (and the fear of the consequences of failure), and he himself would rather intimidate than charm, but he also shares the Leaden Mirror’s inquisitiveness and discerning eye.  As such, even when he first emerged from the Hedge, it was with a strong Autumn mantle, and it’s only grown stronger over time.  He’s often trailed by dead, desiccated brown leaves, and Hedge foliage that’s in his presence for any length of time visibly begins to wither--but his mantle flares up even more when he’s being actively combative.  Chilly, dry bursts of air can wring involuntary chills from those on the receiving end of his wide grins and dire promises. When he’s feeling more playful, one can sometimes see small flickers of light in the shape of unknown words or hear odd little strains of music from unrecognizable (albeit somewhat tinny) instruments.

Contracts: 

     Fleeting Autumn I.  He’s not so concerned with becoming some kind of symbol of fear that he’s pursued this Contract very much, but it never hurts to get an idea of what your opponent’s afraid of.

    Eternal Autumn I-III.  It takes time, glamour expenditure, and good dice rolls, but he can kill people this way, withering them down to nothing.  Conversely, he can also make plants bear fruit.  It’s occasionally useful.

    Hours I.  He’s figured out how to consciously botch the activation of this clause so as to decay the targeted object instead of restoring it.  It usually works, but sometimes randomly backlashes onto him instead, causing him injury--the bigger the object, the worse the damage.  The Wyrd doesn’t like being toyed with.

    Lucidity I-IV.  Clarity is a fluid, malleable thing for Shigaraki, which can make him extremely frightening--he can thank his Keeper’s lessons in control.  With this series of Contracts, Shigaraki can and does laugh off the kinds of deeds that would make other changelings quail back in fear of what their own minds would do to them in the aftermath.  He can also be shockingly perceptive for someone who by rights should have terrible trouble distinguishing the boundaries between Real and Unreal, Self and Other.  However, his use of these powers does make him somewhat mercurial and difficult to predict, even to his motley, as derangements come and go with the artificial inflation or drain of his Clarity.  It’s a downward slope, but one he’s taking more slowly than would otherwise be the case.

(Hypothetical Powered-Up Shigaraki: Adds two 5-dot Goblin Contracts, Blood-Binding and The Fatal Transformation.  Be it the power of glamour or the breath of life itself, if Shigaraki wants an enemy drained and is willing to pay his pound of flesh, Goblin magic will provide.  It’s a good thing he’s got friends to back him up, as both of these powers leave him in a pretty vulnerable state.) 

Toga Himiko

Quote: “I met someone cute today.  Don’t wait up!” 

Type: Mirrorskin/Leechfinger dual kith Darkling.  Toga served her durance in the chrome-tinted underbelly of a glass-and-brass dystopia full of mirrors, learning to steal life as easily as she stole food, and to slip from one form to another to keep ahead of everyone who’d chase her down for doing it.  More free than she’d been in her old life, to be sure, but still not free to truly do as she pleased, she dreamed of being able to hunt people down the way she’d been hunted down, with no one to answer to for it.  In time, she managed her escape and, on her path back through the Hedge, crossed paths with Tomura--distraught, lost, but still with plenty of fight left in him.  Each decided that the other was dangerous but sympathetic enough to be a better ally than an enemy, and they teamed up to find their way back to the real world.

Back in that real world, Toga is learning to put herself back together.  Getting back home only to find something waiting there wearing her face was a shock to her system, but after some agonizing (and a bloodbath in her parents’ kitchen), she’s decided it’s for the best.  If going back to being that girl means giving up the amazing psychic buffet the world now presents her, it’s not even a debate.  

Toga in her masked form is dark of hair and eye, a school girl with a wide smile and swift, excitable hands.  In her true form, everything bleeds paler--she’s china white, even her hair turning paler than flaxen fiber, most of her features seeming somehow insubstantial except for the long points of her teeth and the gas lamp yellow of her eyes.  

Court/Mantle: Spring, the season of desire.  Toga, more than anyone in the motley, has embraced the fact that she wants things now that she never would have before, that she has desires that no human would ever understand.  And why not?  She doesn’t kill people, after all; she just likes to taste.  The air around her is always infused with heady floral scents, and when she walks, phantom flowers trail up behind her.  Hemlock and cypress vine, spider lilies and nightshade--all lovely, to be sure, but the language of flowers does give her away.

Contracts: Everything about Toga’s Contracts heightens her skills as a predator, and she’s unquestionably the best in the group at it.

        Mirror I-II.  Allows her to shape her form with more specificity and finesse.

        Darkness I-II.  Makes her targets more suggestible.

        Fleeting Spring I-III.  Lets her pinpoint what her targets want so that she can shape those wants or her reflection of them as needed.

Bubaigawara Jin

Quote: “Nothing’s too much for my friends!”

Type: Truefriend Beast.  Jin’s human life didn’t differ much from his canonical backstory, minus the super power, but went drastically off course when he was hunted down--even on a motorcycle, hunted down!--by a monster on horseback and the various other monsters tumbling before it.  His changeling life consisted of one cage, one chase after another, and while most of the people around him were shaping themselves into being better vessels for coursing, baying, sharp-toothed menace, what Jin most wanted was the pack solidarity.  His Keeper thought this was funny but not a very useful trait in a hunting hound, so they started taking him to dog fights instead, hoping to scour the excess sweetness off of him.  Lacking a pack to stay for, he escaped, but the wanting for one never left him.  

Toga basically tripped over him his first night out, and her kindness then meant he was more than happy to follow her home.  He later made the acquaintance of Mr. Compress and Magne on a bar crawl and, wanting all of his friends to be friends together, introduced them to Shigaraki and Toga.  He’s also trying to make friends with his fetch, who is finding the whole experience of having a clone pop up at him at unexpected times to be unbelievably disorienting and nerve-wracking.  Which one of them is the real one, anyway…?

His mask looks much as Jin does in canon, though his scars are in different places.  In mien, he  always looks a bit rumpled, with short, sandy brown fur and bright, emotive eyes.  He’s dog-eared (literally), one alert, the other floppy, and his hands have stubby, darkened nails.  Unbelievably expressive and more overtly doggish body language--he didn’t keep a tail in his flight back through the Hedge, but people tend to remember him as having one anyway.

Court/Mantle: Courtless.  Jin’s too mixed up in his own emotions to pick just one to focus on.  He likes the idea of Spring, but he’s also skeptical that just wanting is enough to keep people safe, and that fear is rooted deep.  He’s also not without his old sorrows.  Of the High Court emotions, wrath is his rarest visitor.

Contracts:

        Fang & Talon (Dogs) I-III.  Jin’s got an undeniable rapport with dogs.  He loves them and they love him.  There’s practically no mutt he can’t get some words out of if he asks nice.  He’s also still got a hunting hound’s nose, when he needs it.  

        Hearth I-II.  Deeply dedicated to his friends, the Contracts of Hearth make advancing the goals of the motley (or hurting the chances of their enemies) even easier.

        Eternal Spring I.  Easier to be a people-pleaser when you know what pleases people!  Toga taught him this one.

        Moon I.  It’s good to know what people want, but it’s also good to know what kind of crazy people (fetches especially) might be sitting on.  This one also helps the group nail down where Shigaraki’s head is at on any given day.

Spinner

Quote: “What a mess.  Where are we even going with this?”

Type: Steepscrambler Beast.  Spinner spent, by his best reckoning, four years in a Faerie jungle.  It was always sweltering, sickbed heat with air so wet you could choke on it, and after a few close calls with the serpentine river dragons and over-large birds of prey that prowled the place, he’d all but given up trying to search for a way out--the sea of trees just went on forever anyway.  A long-tongued madman named Stain convinced him otherwise, with talk of hidden trods and clues found in the bellies of gutted fish.  When Stain went missing, Spinner resolved to try again, and though he can no longer remember the method of it, whatever he did seems to have worked.  He got back to his shitty hometown, but found it just as bad as ever, if not worse, with a fetch still cooped up in his old bedroom, spiralling ever further into depression.  And so, fed up with the state of his life and the apathy his fetch reflected back at him, he did something that very few changelings are capable of doing--he left home.  

Finding his way to the nearest big city with a proper freehold, Spinner gravitated to the Summer Court and got set up with an apartment in a small complex the freehold maintains for newbies to stay in while they get their feet under them.  Not too long after, Shigaraki and Toga wandered into a Summer recruitment drive, with Shigaraki immediately managing to get on Spinner’s nerves--which made it all the more exasperating when Spinner went home and found the both of them moving into the apartment next door to his!  Spinner’s still trying to figure out what he thinks of the mercurial and difficult Shigaraki, but they have been bonding over video games of late.

Spinner’s mask is a sun-darkened young man with a prominent nose and a thin, terse mouth.  He’s straight-backed but with a certain nerviness in his eyes, a stance that suggests he’s ready to throw the first punch.  He has a street punk look--pointy fingernails and pink hair--that people without the sight to know better assume is achieved with a nail file and hair dye.  His mask looks exactly like canon!Spinner with one exception--changeling!Spinner has ears.  They’re pointy, green and finely-scaled, but otherwise normal humanoid ears and they make his face look just a little wider and more humanoid than canon!Spinner’s lizard profile.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Spinner’s angry about a lot of things--the state of the world, the injustices served to his motley and the wrongs of his life in particular--but he’s also wrestling with a lot of self-loathing.  It’s easy for him to slip into fatalistic thoughts and get mired down in apathy, and every time he thinks he’s gotten past it, someone or something comes along that throws him off, and then before he knows it he’s back on the ground wondering how he’s ever going to get past this.  Leaning into Summer’s hot anger helps keep him focused.  His mantle is relatively weak, tending to manifest as a warm, dry wind only when he’s particularly fired up or activating Court contracts.

Contracts: Spinner’s well-rounded, but that’s because he has a hard time settling on anything.  His ridiculous spread of Contracts illustrates this.

        Den I-II.  Not interested in leaning into his animal instincts and learning to talk to lizards, Spinner has instead leaned into possessive territorialism.  Unfortunately, he still feels like a small fish, so it’s hard to muster up the swagger that would allow him to progress this Contract further.  

        Fleeting Summer I.  Need to pick a fight and score some quick glamour?  This is the clause for you!  Just make sure Dabi’s not around; that guy’s angrier than the whole rest of the motley put together and it skews the readings.

        Eternal Summer I.  Makes Spinner a walking thermostat. Yes, sometimes Toga and Mr. Compress take advantage.

        Oath & Punishment I.  There’s a certain capital-R romance to this Contract that Spinner likes, but he’d need to find something (or someone) to whole-heartedly devote himself to first.  At least he can do sick parkour jumps in the meantime.  

        Artifice I.  Temporary repair magic.  Handy around the house and when you fight with cheap knives.  

        Dream I.  Useful facts about the local Hedge and he’s generally content to leave it at that--he doesn’t have a lot of use for dream-spinning, not when Magne’s so good at it.

Dabi

Quote: “You’re mad, huh?  So what are you gonna do about it?”

Type: Gravewight Darkling.  Once upon a time, there was a barren couple who wished desperately for children.  For many years, it was only a wish, until Todoroki Enji finally found someone who offered him a solution.  Nine months later, Todoroki Touya was born, to be followed by a string of children, each haler and heartier than the last.  Seven years later, the firstborn child was taken away in the night.  No fetch was left behind--after all, the Other was only claiming the price they’d been promised.  Fifteen years after that, a changeling calling himself Dabi dragged himself out of the Hedge, having spent most of his life lighting funeral pyres and digging graves in Faerie until he dug his way out.

Dabi fell in with the rest of the League motley after being found by Magne after a fight went sideways.  She patched him up and offered him a group to run around with for a while rather than doing the solo act.  He accepted, but his pledges with the rest of the group are a bit different--more paranoid, less supportive.  Dabi is distant from the motley, and only time will tell if he eventually lets them in or not.  

In mask, Dabi’s a beanpole, wild black hair and bright blue eyes with a caustic grin, skulking about in a succession of black coats and heavy, workmanlike boots.  In mien, he’s even taller, a too-thin gaunt with great swatches of skin burned away by restless soul-fires, which still cling and flicker blue around his hands.  His skin fits him a bit too loose, and he wears staples to keep it all in place.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Could it ever be anything else?  Rather stronger than Spinner’s mantle, Dabi’s manifests as heat distortions in the air around him and, when he’s particularly riled up, blasts of hot air like you’d get opening up a hot oven.  He has some trouble advancing in the Court proper, though, as he prefers to only fight battles he knows he can win.  He feels, all the time, sick with rage, but until he proves willing to make stands even when the odds are against him, the Iron Spear’s time for him will be limited.  

Contracts: 

        Shade & Spirit I.  If he’s going to see ghosts around all the time anyway, he might as well be able to talk to them.  They’re only sporadically helpful, but as a skeleton in the closet himself, he has some fellow feeling for them.

        Elements (Fire) I-III.  He brought fire with him out of Faerie, but it’s a difficult thing for him to master, foreign to his seeming despite sometimes feeling as if it’s nestled in his very bones.  

        Fleeting Summer I-II.  Dabi’s much at home with wrath, and very willing to shape it to his own ends.  Whether or not he sticks around for them, he likes starting fights.  

        Punishing Summer I.  An odd branch of Summer magic, but one that he feels has some promise for him.  Compared to the more straightforwardly righteous Contract of Eternal Summer, this feels harsher, longer-burning, and that sings to him in ways he finds very appealing.

Mr. Compress

Quote: “If we’re going to break the law, why shouldn’t we do it in style?”

Type: Larcenist Fairest.  A simple stage magician of modest fame once upon a time, right up until he was offered a promising and lucrative gig by a stranger who thought he deserved a better stage for his talents.  The stage in this case turned out to be--well, you can guess.  His client (Keeper) wanted things stolen--they seemed to enjoy the taste of things ill-gotten--and there was always some new diamond or painting or antique.  Sako’s time in Faerie (which he came to share with Magne) was like a string of heist films: glamorous and bubbly and thrilling, but the underside was rife with lurid, impossible violence waiting on the slightest error, the stakes always seemed to be climbing, and of course you could never say no…  But one thing you can say for heist films is that they always allot a proper amount of time for planning, and so over time Sako and the others planned their last heist--the one to steal themselves into freedom.  If asked, Sako will tell a dozen different stories about how it went, but the truth is his memories are fuzzy, and the only thing he knows for sure is that he and Magne emerged from the Hedge alone.  

Sako’s a bit disjunctioned in time--many more years have passed in the real world than he spent in Faerie, and he spent a good many years in Faerie.  His fetch washed up in a nursing home in the meantime, riddled with palsy and Alzheimer’s, and though Sako is not by habit or preference a violent man, the sight of it filled him with a primal loathing.  And it’s so easy, in an overcrowded environment, to make a mistake with a dosage…  Sako still has a piece of the detritus left over, just to remind himself of how his story could have ended, and how determined he is to not let such a future come to pass.  

In his mask, Mr. Compress (well, he needed a new stage name) is a handsome, auburn-haired man in his forties who gestures constantly, frequently toying with a short white cane, and speaks in refined if somewhat dated language in a rich, theatrical voice.  He always dresses a bit more nicely than he needs to, preferring clothes with hidden pockets and long sleeves, and is rarely without a hat to flourish.  His mien mostly serves to heighten all of that--he becomes impossibly graceful and compelling, his voice catching the ear like a song, and his clothes are revealed to be Hedgespun, the feather in his hat belonging to no bird an ornithologist could name, the buttons on his coat and the stone accentuating his bolo tie shifting slowly in pattern and shade the longer you watch, and the cane almost certainly a low-level token of some kind.  The most eye-catching thing, though, is the mask--he wears a white mask that always seems to have a different pattern on it, though it never moves while you’re looking directly at it.  He doesn’t seem able to actually remove it all the way, though he can slide it around enough to eat or theatrically squint or blink his eyes (dark and bewitchingly expressive).  If it’s forcefully pulled off, it’s only to reveal another one beneath it--though he’ll complain that it stings and ask you to refrain.  

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear magic!  Mr. Compress didn’t come out of the Hedge with a particular Court affinity, but he was drawn towards Autumn like a compass needle finding true north.  He’s only a limited interest in fear (though his response to his fetch shows that he has his share of it), but he’s endlessly fascinated by the ins-and-outs of faerie magic.  Trinkets, tokens, pledge-craft--if it’s a clever trick, he’s interested.  His mantle shows as pops and starbursts of light, and frequently as a cool, trailing mist about his feet.  

Contracts: The only person in the group more focused than Toga.

        Separation I-IV.  Escape magic fit for Houdini himself.  If it looks like Compress is locked up or restrained, it’s almost only certainly because he’s allowing himself to be.  

        Forge I-III.  Sleight of hand is even more impressive when you’re using magic!  Extremely convenient for those times when he needs a passable ID or a house key he does not in fact own.

Magne

Quote: “Take it easy, honey.  I’ll handle it.”

Type: Metalflesh Elemental.  Magne was a criminal before she was a changeling, and it was in that capacity that she--like Mr. Compress--fell prey to an offer that should have been too good to be true.  The heist team needed a bit more muscle, is the thing; they were getting caught too often without a good combatant.  And so came Magne, given a sturdier body (that could, incidentally, meld through safe walls when necessary) through processes she only remembers in her nightmares.  An odd thing happened with her, though--what Magne felt the pull of in Faerie was less the element she became and more the stuff of Arcadia itself.  Where her Keeper expected her to become hard as steel, instead she embraced dream conjury; where she was instructed to protect the rest of her band, that protection took the form of healing as often as it did squaring up for a fight.  It’s hard to argue with the results, though--Magne is a fierce and stubborn defender of any group that wins her loyalty.  

Currently in a live-and-let live relationship with her fetch--she feels a bit sorry for the poor creature, and would rather see her find a way to break free of the image she was forged in and make her own path than kill her.  It’s painful to be around her, though, so while Magne’s willing to extend some help from a distance, she would rather the fetch keep her distance.  Time will tell if her fetch--who has her own desires and very much shares Magne’s willingness to bust some heads over them--is prepared to abide by this.  

Magne in mask looks much as she does in canon, though she can afford nicer clothes.  Her preference for butch presentation is unchanged, but the jeans are designer and the shirts elaborate silk prints.  She has a collection of fetching sunglasses for any occasion.  Her mien is a gleaming ochre bronze, flesh hard and smooth, her hair (a bit darker in color than the rest of her) always a bit stiff but, on the other hand, difficult to muss.  Her body is in all ways a more chiselled, more perfected version of the body she went into Arcadia with, which Magne has mixed but overall relieved feelings about.  The flesh-to-metal transition her Keeper forced on her was bad enough; whyever would she trust the Others with gender affirmation?

Court/Mantle: Spring, season of desire growth. Magne’s desire is to never be held down by any sort of repression or expectation forced on her by others (the Others in particular), and this pride drew her strongly to the Antler Crown.  While she doesn’t exhibit the flowing, graceful beauty so prized in women of the Emerald Court, her passion for self-expression and her unstinting support of those fumbling their way towards the same has certainly won her her share of admirers.  Magne’s mantle takes the form of fresh-scented air and pleasant breezes.  She doesn’t leave flowers where she walks, but you can sometimes find ivy where her hands have been.  

        Contracts: 

        Dream I-III.  By leaps and bounds the most talented dream-weaver in the motley, Magne’s oneiromancy is light-hearted and nonjudgmental while her oneiromachy is formidable.  Everyone in the motley can soothe one another’s nightmares, but Magne is the best at it.  She usually has at least one or two dream-task pledges active with mortals, too, so she rarely struggles to keep her glamour reserves--or her wallet--full.  

        Elements (Metal) I.  Magne’s retained only the minimum level of connection with the metal she was forged from; in truth, her body is less important to her than what she does with it.

        Eternal Spring I-III.  Easing fatigue, curing wounds, and even bringing in         a gentle rain--Magne’s deeply in touch with the rejuvenative aspects of her Court.

BONUS TIDBITS:

Shigaraki experienced more deaths in Faerie than any other member of his motley.  After all, you might know the cheat code for unlimited lives, but that doesn’t mean you never die.  And it did feel like death, every time.  Of course, sometimes failure just meant Sensei shaking his head and Being Disappointed.  That still felt a bit like dying too, though.

Over the course of her durance, Toga had more than one knife fight with a cyber hero adventurer hunting through the city’s underbelly looking for a power core.  Also, changeling!Toga is much less murderous than canon!Toga because if she were as murderous as canon!Toga, Clarity loss would rapidly render her unplayable.  

Spinner was pulled into the motley over a planned playdate heist to see how well Shigaraki and Toga could work as a unit with Mr. Compress and Magne.  Being very familiar with heist stories by that time, Sako and Magne decided the group needed one more guy to provide muscle, and as it happened, Shigaraki and Toga lived next door to just such a one.

I have not decided on whether the Todoroki family are a mundane equivalent of the way we see them in canon, all deeply damaged by Endeavor’s ceaseless drive to fulfill his goals by way of his children, or whether they’re actually pretty normal and well-adjusted with the exception of Enji’s one dark secret.  Either way, Natsuo is the only one who has any inkling that there was anything “off” about Touya’s death/disappearance.    He has no inkling of the truth, obviously, but he always felt that Enji didn't react quite the right way to Touya's death, or thought Enji was behaving suspiciously on the night Touya vanished.  

The League’s basic motley pact includes the dreaming pledge, so they frequently take mental voyages into one another’s dreamscapes to clear out the nightmares and indulge in silly, impossible-in-reality lucid dreaming adventures.  The exception is Dabi, who would rather have nightmares than people in his head.  

Mr. Compress doesn’t jokingly call himself an old man anymore because he’s too traumatized by finding out what he’d actually be like in old age.  

Shigaraki, while beginning the story in a fairly ambivalent, uncertain place, eventually finds his way towards a goal of helping to free loyalists--from their hopeless circumstances, from their learned helplessness, from their starstruck adoration.  He finds this goal over the course of his late-game encounters with Kurogiri, Gigantomachia, and Re-Destro, and it is through helping them that he’s finally able to begin to process his own feelings of attachment and affection towards his Keeper.  It may well be that the fetch of Shimura Tenko is Shigaraki’s final boss.

[elejahfanfic]

The Vampire Files/8

Fanfiction

Part 8

AU story, with characters from tvd/to, featuring Joel Goran from Saving Hope

Nick and Elena are FBI Agents investigating supernatural activities and homocide caused vampires and demons.

Expect witches, demons, vampires. Inspired by X-files, Twin Peaks, and many other shows

Main pairing_Nick Amaro & Elena Gilbert

tag_ @miguelsbrat​

thanks so much for reading ✽\(ˆ▽ˆ)-✽ ✽-(ˆ▽ˆ)/✽

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The New Orleans dawn was breaking. The remains of the night were slowly being washed away by the  first rays of the sun. Elena was gazing out of the hospital windows into the horizon blank waiting for the results of Nick's check up. The attending came up to her informing her that Nick will be left for observation as he had lost significant amount of blood, and being an FBI agent they didn't want to risk anything by releasing him, even though his blood work showed that he wasn't in any risk at all. As the nurses left, Elena walked in the room they transferred him to.They wereboth silent.There was so much explaining to follow, but at the moment they just felt it wasn't the time or the place.

"I owe you my life" Nick said, swallowing hard.

"No, you don't. This is what partners are for. You saved mine, remember?"

"It's not the same."

"We are not keeping score. You got to rest. I will head back to the hotel, get a shower and change. I think they will let you out later today. I need to go meet Stavros. And interview the voodoo woman. I will swing by the magic shop later."

"Ok" Nick said closing his eyes. He was tired.The magic of the ointment Elena applied had worn off and now he felt the aftermath of the horrific ordeal he went through.

She looked at him warmly, making a small mental sigh. She enclosed him in her heart that night they played Monopoly. He shed his Agent demeanour off, and shown her a person he really was deep down. Kind, warmhearted, sweet.

Flashback

"I want justice for the victims. This is what drives me. Cold cases were the most challenging. I love challenges."

"Well, you are in the most challenging section of the FBI now." Elena said.

"And think that you are in it for the same reason. You care about the people. At least that's what I could say about your reports."

"Yeah. But I don't always manage to get it. You read that, too. There’s too many dead ends”

“I know. But you are not giving up - and I admire what you have accomplished. I do.” Nick said with a meaningful glimmer in his eyes.

Elena now took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

Nick fluttered his eyes open.They softly connected with Elena’s, making her shudder slightly. It had happened the first time they met, and they knew that there was this something deeply rooted.They both had felt it. Their souls connected before they were even aware of it.

“I got to go” Elena pulled her hand away. “See you later.”

Nick nodded, watching her get out of the room, his heart quivering dreamily. A secret smile curved his lips.

Outside, Elena pulled her phone out and dialed Jenna's number.      

"Morning you," Jenna said as she picked up the call,"how are things? Is he going to be all right?"

"Yes," Elena replied,"I need you to send me all about the Bloodborns"

"So, you haven't talked?!" "He is still processing. I would be after the night he had. Sorry to wake you" Elena said apollogetically.

"You think I have slept?!"

"Hope Alaric has" Elena said. "Yeah, he has a full day at the University. So, you think this will complicate things?" “Things are complicated, but they actually are getting clearer”

"Elaborate" Jenna said, not understanding her niece’s logic.

"I can't. You would be involved an it is not goo at this point of investigation"

"Right. Be careful. My gut feeling tells me this is way bigger than just some random ritual killing" Jenna sighed.

"Yeah -got to go." Elena said and hung up.

At times Elena felt like she was reliving the twisted version of the 'Groundhog Day' movie. But here, no matter how hard she tried to get it put things right, things would always get even more tangled up.  

Flashback

Years back, when she was about to enter the FBI Training Academy

"You know why they are recruiting you?" Jenna said.

"I know. It's not because I am so good at biochemistry" Elena replied.

"Straight to the special program?," Jenna continued, "I am not sure about this"

"I am going there, because of the resources. Because- the darkness is taking over and I have to do everything I can to stop it."

Jenna enveloped her niece a warm hug.

****

In Washington DC, a few hours later

Caroline walked in her office. Klaus saw her come in and went to her, knocking at the door out of courtesy.

"Today you have to slay. Take Liv with you and get make the summons on this case be worth our while" Klaus in a serious manner.

Caroline nodded. It was obvious the magic of him being this great comprehensive charmer disappeared over night and he was his usual emotionless sour self.

Why did she care. They had a job to do. Prosecute  criminals and put them in jail. Stop thinking with your heart. Echoed in her head. He is just another waste of time. That's how she labeled some of her men. She called Liv over to her office and they went through the case in question.

Rebekah's day started with somewhat better. One of her patients showed great improvement. But still there was no answer from Marcel. At times she wished she could just tune out.

****

In New Orleans, a few hours later

Elena stuffed nearly a whole beignet reading what Jenna had sent her. But there was nothing that could establish the connection to Nick and his blood needed to be used for a ritual.

"What is not right in this picture?" she muttered going through some of the facts of the Bloodbornes again.

Her phone rang and it was Agent Stavros, notifying her that he was now at the precinct.

"I am on my way" Elena said hanging up.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Nick woke up with a throbbing headache, born from the strange magical potion Elena gave him. It had kicked something in him, bringing out a memory that rose up like a wind from nowhere.

Flashback

25 years ago

"You will forget about all of this," Dita Galindo said to Nick,"there are no monsters. That are just stories people invented. There are good and evil people. It is as simple as that. Now eat your dinner"

"But I know what I saw. That changed into a wolf." Nick said.

"No. The man befriended the animal. That is all. And your imagination is running wild. But it is all right. You're ten. You will grow out of it."

Dita Galindo did everything possible to make sure Nick didn't know anything of his origin. And he never bothered to find out. He concentrated to work hard at school and get out of Louisiana and get in the FBI. He was diligent, silent, dark and very meticulous. And the name vulture he got always digging into cases that were impossible to solve, digging into dead meat, as some of his colleagues would say.

Nick brushed his fingers over the side of the neck where he was bitten. He took a deep breath. The sudden realization that monsters that bit him were very real, shook him. These monsters wanted him. Why him? Who was he?

He got up and as he wanted to get up he felt faint for a moment. The nurse walked in suggesting he should lay down.

"I want to discharge myself," Nick said,"I will sign any paper. I am not staying here. I need to go"

The nurse checked his IV and then looked at Nick who closed his eyes for a moment. The images of the vampire biting him appeared again. He opened his eyes and now asked the nurse to call the doctor.

“You should rest.” the nurse tried to calm him down, but Nick was too agitated to listen to her.

“I want to see a doctor now! Get me the Attending. Now!” he demanded.

"You are not fit to do anything today" the Attending said.

"I am leaving, so can you just give me whatever I need to sign to get out - and you will be clear form any possible repercussions that might occur" Nick sat up. He pulled the IV needle out of his backhand.

The Attending could see that no matter what he said Nick was determined to leave. He bandaged his hand, and told him that the nurse would be with him shortly.

And so, he was out of the hospital, finding a cab in front that took him to the nearest rent-a-car place. His phone rang and it was Elena. He looked at it and thought for a second whether he should answer or not. The hospital must have told her that he had left. She was his partner and by rights, he had to answer her, but he chose not to and blocked her. But Elena rang again and he blocked her call again. He was not in the mood to talk to her. Not yet. First he had to get some answers himself. Then his voice mail alert came on and he now played her message.

"Whatever you think you are doing. Don't! I know it is not easy to process all what's happened. Been there.Call me back."

Deep down he knew she meant well. He knew that he was now led by his emotions that were jumping all over the place, like someone put him on live wire. But he left the reason behind and now drove like mad to Carencro, where his adoptive mother Dita lived.

Outside the Magic Shop, Elena was pissed that Nick took off without calling her and she now told Agent Stavros that they had to postpone 'scouring' the place.

"I have released Davina's body to the family. But they will not have the funeral till- " Dean said referring to the woman's heart.

Elena sighed. "You believe that it can be retrieved?"

"I heard what Agnes said to you." Dean replied.

Elena was quiet for a second. She could not pull the wool over his eyes. Dean was involved with Davina, but he didn't know how deeply involved she was in the vampiric world.

"Can I help you?" he offered.

"Nahh- plus- you need to rest. This is not over by far. I will need you fresh and ready for what's to come. See you tomorrow" Elena said jumping in the SUV.

"Bloodborns  are described as the offspring of both an Angel, and a Demon. However, users of this power will have the potential to become more powerful than either side.

This is due to the fact that said spirit would be neutral and possess power from the forces of both Light and Darkness. These beings are based off of the Nephillim, the hybrid offspring of an Angel and a human, with the only difference being that both parents are immortal spirits. Their children became Witchers, monster hunters."                  

"Answer, dammit!" Elena kept pressing the speedial with Nick’s number over and over again, but there was no answer. She drove like mad hoping to catch up with him before he got to Heloise's house. And she managed to get there some twenty minutes after him. She could hear Nick asking question after question and Dita not giving him any answers.

Elena knocked on the door and walked in, apologizing to Heloise for being so forward. Nick now looked at her surprised to see her there, "How did you know”

“Where you were?" Elena finished his sentence and sighing a little replied."I know - about you and where you lived as a kid."

It felt like he was slapped on his face. She could see the rage and disappointment rise in his eyes, "What a great partner you are?. What else do you know?"

Dita looked at Elena now, who gave her a nudge with her head to leave them for a moment on their own.

"I know that you are angry right now. And everything that had happened last night isn't helping" Elena said to Nick.

"You are kidding, right? Is this some kind of a sick joke to all of you? All my life I have been lied to. I want answers. But I don't want them from you. I don't know what shit you will tell me to cover something up" He felt faint again and now spat back Elena about the strange thing she gave him that probably was the reason for making him feel weak.

"Ok. Sit down. You are not back to yourself. You have lost a lot of blood."

"The magic makes him like that" Dita said.

Both Elena and Nick now looked at the witch’s direction.

"What magic?" Elena asked straight forward, as she knew that thing could get bad if there was a clash of magic inside a person.

"Set on him, to keep his real nature subsided" Dita said.

Nick sat down now as he was not feeling good.

"Right. Now you have tell me what magic was used on him" Elena said in a steady calm voice. It was clear that Dita was nervous, but she loved Nick, and clearly didn't want him to suffer.

Nick now started sweating and Elena now looked for some cold water and a towel to ease his condition a bit.

He gulped looking at her now. "Tell me- what am I? Why did they take me?"

"I will. But now- we need to get this magic out of you," Elena brushed Nick’s forehead with a damp cloth,"I am sorry that I kept things from you. Big mistake. Fucking big mistake"

Nick now took hold of the brunette’s arm looking at her with eyes that indicated he is going to slip away, but he managed to mutter. "Fucking big mistake, Gilbert"

"Yeah. Later- you can shout and be pissed as much as you want- but now- I need you to stay with me- do you hear me- Ok?"

Nick nodded a little- feeling like his whole body yet again felt like it was going to lose life.

Elena now ordered Dita to get the witch who had done this to him.

"She is not alive, anymore" Dita said.

"Then some other!, Elena said. "This has to be done. He will not make it otherwise. I am fucking serious!"

Dita just waved off with her head. “There is nobody. I’m sorry.”

Elena now took her phone and dialed a number.

"Valerie," Elena said and proceeded explaining what had happened.

"Right. This what you will do,” Valerie said to Elena, who now found a silver knife in the kitchen,"as you cut the blood from your wrist and you pour it in a clean silver bowl, put the dagger on his chest- as you tell the words- conlidam in sanguinem"

"This is going to work?" Elena said in desperation.

"It will"  Valerie said.

"All right," Elena said hanging up,"come on"

She pulled Nick up in a seating position and took his sweater off, and as she helped him lay back, she proceeded with the ritual.

[losingmymindtonight]

Trope: Sleepy

There were a lot of perks that came with being a billionaire, but the ones Tony Stark ended up appreciating the most were nearly always the things other people wouldn’t even consider.

Sure, he liked being able to leave large tips on small checks. He liked being able to buy clothes without checking the price tag. He liked knowing that no matter what college Peter chose, the tuition wouldn’t be an issue.

But the thing that he was grateful for now was the fact that since the MedBay was his, and because he employed everyone in it, he got a lot more leeway that he would’ve in a general hospital.

For one, he’d been able to hire the best pediatric dental surgeon in the country to do Peter’s wisdom teeth surgery. He’d also been able to demand that Helen Cho worked beside him. She was partly there to advise him on Peter’s enhancements, and partly there because there were very few people Tony trusted with Peter’s safety, and she was one of them.

He was also allowed to stay right beside Peter as they prepped him for the surgery, and had Helen’s distinct promise that she’d fetch him the second they were done. He could’ve stayed for the whole procedure, even, but Peter had scrunched up his face at the suggestion, murmured a lazy ew, and made Helen promise to kick Tony out before they started.

Now, though, as Cho and the anesthesiologist bustled around his hospital bed, Tony could see that the kid was shamelessly grateful for his steady presence at his side.

“Are you even sure I need the IV?” Peter asked, eyes darting between the elastic tourniquet the anesthesiologist was fastening around his bicep and the needle on the tray beside her. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, wack me over the head?”

Tony snorted. “You’ve got a thick head, kid. Wouldn’t work.”

Cho joined in his amusement, patting Peter’s other arm gently. “It’ll be alright, Peter. I even brought out the numbing cream we usually use with little kids. You don’t feel a thing.”

Peter cringed away when he saw the anesthesiologist prep the needle, and Tony gently tipped his chin up and away, forcing the kid’s gaze onto his face rather than the imminent poke to the back of his hand.

“Why is it,” Peter murmured, “that the older we get, the more pain people think we’re cool to tolerate? Like, shouldn’t everyone get the numbing cream? Is suffering, like, a right of passage or something? I don’t get it.”

“Hm.” Tony entertained the rambling partly because he adored the kid, and partly because it was a fantastic distraction. “You make a solid argument, squirt. Maybe you should grow up and be a doctor like Cho, here.”

“Technically, Tony, I’m a geneticist.”

“You’re also a doctor.”

“In my spare time.”

Peter gave her a lopsided smile, Tony’s hand still pressed against the side of his face. “Well, I think you’re a great doctor.”

Cho smiled back. “That’s just because I stitch you back together again after you’ve done doing something foolhardy.”

“Isn’t that a valid reason?”

“All done!” The anesthesiologist declared, taping down the kid’s cannula. “Everyone ready to get started?”

Peter started twitching nervously. Even when Tony let go of his chin, his eyes stayed locked on his face. “I, uh, this is gonna suck, right?”

“No,” he reassured, keeping his voice calm despite his own nervousness. “You heal quickly, and I made opioids that work on you for a reason. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s a very easy procedure, son.” Tony bristled at the way the dental surgeon (Doctor Rhine, maybe? He hadn’t really been paying much attention during the introductions) addressed the kid, despite knowing that it was all done in kindness. “And you won’t remember a bit of it.”

Tony shifted a little, trying to relieve some of the stress on his back from perching awkwardly on the edge of the kid’s bed. Peter’s IV-free hand shot out and latched around his wrist.

“Wait, don’t go,” he was blushing, but didn’t let go, “not, uh, not yet. Please?”

“Easy, I’m not leaving until you’re too drugged to notice.” He patted the kid’s shoulder gently. “We talked about this, remember?”

Slowly, Peter’s grip eased. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Hey, no apologies. Just relax.”

“Alright,” Cho gave the anesthesiologist a quick nod, “you ready, Tony?”

“Mhm.” He cupped the side of Peter’s neck, firm and steadying. Part of him wanted to crack a joke about filming the kid and uploading it to YouTube later, but he held back. He knew the kid was nervous about the whole thing, and he doubted it’d help. Instead, he just swiped a thumb over his cheek and smiled encouragingly. “Hey, what’d you do on patrol last night?”

“Um, I stopped a robbery on 77th. Then I helped out with a fender bender a few blocks down. On 150th, I think? ‘N then I went to, uh, to, uh... to Delmar’s.” Peter blinked rapidly. “Whoa.”

“Strong, isn’t it?” Cho touched the small of Tony’s back, out of view of Peter. A barely-there reassurance.

“Yeah. Whoa.” The kid’s eyes wandered up to meet his. “Mis’er Stark?”

“Hey, buddy. You’re alright, just let the drugs to their thing.”

He brushed his fingers through the kid’s bangs softly as he dozed off, heart warming at the fact that he never once looked away from Tony’s face, even as his gaze got glassy and unfocused.

“You can go now, Tony.” Cho patted his arm. “He won’t remember any of this.”

“Yeah, of course.” He made sure Peter’s head wouldn’t roll uncomfortably when he relinquished his hold on his face, then rubbed his cheek to catch his admittedly drowsy attention. “Hey, kid. I’m gonna let them do their thing. You alright if I go for a bit? I’ll be right back as soon as they’re done. You won’t even notice I left.”

Peter just let his eyelids droop shut. “M’kay.”

“Good boy.” He didn’t know why the kid’s easy acceptance of him leaving made him feel just the tiniest hint of rejection. After all, the whole point of the drugs were to chill him out. Tony had helped design them with that in mind. But... still. A part of him wanted the kid to ask him to stay. “I’ll see you in a bit, alright?”

He didn’t get a response. Peter's eyes were closed, breaths deep and slow.

“He’ll probably just nap now.” Cho pulled him away and pushed him towards the door. “Go on, Tony. The sooner we can start, the sooner you can help him wake up.”

Back in the waiting room, he found himself envying the kid the drugs. He’d have given just about anything to get to check out during the hour and a bit he spent loitering in the halls. He drank three cups of coffee, ate a bagel, counted every ceiling and floor tile in sight. All the while, he had to force himself to studiously ignore the fact that just a few rooms away, someone was pulling his kid’s teeth out of his skull.

And, okay, logically he knew he was being a drama queen. Peter was fine. Wisdom teeth extractions were, like, the most mundane procedure of all time. Nearly everyone had it. Hell, he had had it, far enough back that Jarvis, the human Jarvis, had been the one taking care of him in the aftermath. He knew that his parents must’ve been alive, but they hadn’t been there. He remembered that, even through the haze of painkillers.

Peter wouldn’t experience that, at least. He’d come back to himself with Tony at his side, and it would only be a few hours before May arrived. Peter had adamantly declared that he’d rather have her see him once he was fully conscious and recovered, and nobody had argued with him.

Tony felt a little touched that the kid had been fine with him seeing him drugged off his ass. Then again, they’d been through this kind of thing before, with countless broken bones and gushing lacerations, courtesy of reckless patrols.

The doors to Peter’s room opened, and Cho and the dental surgeon walked out. Cho was already giving him a thumbs up before she’d fully emerged, aware of his tendency to work himself up during waits.

Bless her.

“All good, Tony.” She smiled, coming to a stop in front of him. “Textbook surgery, not a single complication. Two of them were impacted, which we already knew, but they weren’t difficult to remove once we got in there. He was perfect, too. A real trooper.”

“So he’s alright?” He felt a little ridiculous for needing the extra reassurance, but not ridiculous enough to avoid asking. “You’re sure?”

Doctor Rhine (Tony decided he was sticking with it) glanced at Cho briefly before nodding. “As Doctor Cho said before, Mister Stark, he’s perfectly alright. A little out of it, but nothing you wouldn’t expect after a wisdom tooth extraction.”

“He slept through most of it, which is what I was hoping for,” Cho added. “He woke up a little near the end, when we were inserting the gauze.” She grinned. “He asked for you.”

His heart clenched. “Was he upset I left?”

“No, no. He wasn’t distressed. He just asked where you went, and then said he wanted you to come back.” She nodded behind her, in the general direction of the kid’s room. “And on that note: you’re welcome to go grant him his wish. Just because we’re not sure how his system is going to react to the painkillers you synthesized, I’d like to keep him in there for his first dose. As long as he doesn’t have a reaction to that, we’ll just wait until he’s awake enough to head up to the penthouse. There’s a nurse in with him now, but you’re welcome to take over.”

The idea of Peter asking for him soothed the piece of him that was still chafing over the kid’s easy acceptance of him leaving earlier.

“Yeah, right.” He made a beeline for Peter’s door, barely pausing to turn back. “Thanks, Helen. Thanks, Rhine.”

He hoped he got the man’s name right.

If not, whoops.

The kid was exactly where he’d left him, although someone had removed most of the monitors and other equipment. The IV was still in the back of his hand, probably for easy administration of pain meds later, but nothing was attached to it. He looked asleep, face peaceful and eyelashes brushing his cheeks. A curly-haired nurse was standing at the kid’s shoulder, talking to him gently. She looked up when Tony stepped in, smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart, look. Dad’s here. See? I told you he was on his way.”

He thought about correcting her, then didn’t bother. He kept most of the details about Peter confidential, even from the medical staff, but he knew that they extrapolated, made assumptions. He didn’t even blame them. It was just human nature.

It would take to long to explain the truth at this point. And right now, he just wanted his kid.

“Hey, Pete.” He kept his voice hushed, setting his palm over the kid’s forehead in greeting. “How’re you feeling?”

Peter’s head lolled slightly in his direct, lazy smile forming around the cotton in his mouth even as his eyes stayed shut. “Mis’er S’rk.”

“That’s me.” He glanced up to the nurse, who was watching him with a knowing smile. “How’s he doing?”

“Perfectly.” She matched his quiet volume, and he made a mental note to give her a raise. “He’s been waking up a little these past few minutes. He tried to sit up a few times, which went about as well as you can imagine. He should settle down now that you’re here, though. Most kids do once their parents are in the room.”

Peter opened and closed his mouth around the gauze lazily, eyes cracking open just a sliver. “Di’ you leave me?”

Tony forced himself not to flinch. Man, this kid really knew his soft spot.

“Just for a bit, squirt.” He used his sleeve to wipe a bit of drool off of Peter’s chin, careful not to jostle his jaw. “They had to do the surgery. I was right outside, though.”

Peter’s face scrunched up in thought. “I… I don’ remember that.”

“Good.” It was good, too. He’d been having nightmares about the kid remembering the surgery for weeks. Sure, it wasn’t the same as having a metal reactor screwed into your chest, but Tony’s brain didn’t make the distinction. “You’re not supposed to.”

“W’s I sleepin’?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Peter hummed in response, turning his face into the palm Tony pressed against his cheek.

The nurse nudged his arm to catch his attention. Man, he’d forgotten she was even there.

“I’ll step out, now. Doctor Cho’ll be back in a bit to check on him and see if he’s ready for some pain relief. Don’t be concerned if he falls back asleep, that’s very normal. Most kids are happy to nap once they realize that they’re with someone they trust.” She paused. “If you need to leave to do anything else, just hit the call button and I can sit with him for you.”

“No, I’ll stay. But thank you.”

“Of course.”

Once they were alone, he hopped up onto the bed, tapping Peter’s ear until he recognized the change of positions and started a series of clumsy attempts at octopusing his way into Tony’s arms. He helped him along, eventually settling the kid against his chest. He rubbed soothing circles over Peter’s back as he grew loose and heavy against him.

He was glad that the bed had already been raised into a semi-reclining position, because he wouldn’t have been able to fumble with the controls and also keep cradling his armful of limp teenager. After a little shifting, he found himself decently comfortable, and settled in for the long haul.

Cho came in about a half an hour later, took one look at his position, and started laughing quietly into her sleeve.

“Yeah, yeah,” he massaged the back of Peter’s neck as an apology for the noise, although the kid slept on, oblivious, “we’re very cute. Just take the picture for blackmail and move on.”

“I would never.” To be fair, he believed her. “Has he been sleeping since you came in?”

“He was awake at first, but then he conked right out on me. Nurse said that was normal.”

“It is. He’s still got the sedation in his system, and his body is probably trying to heal.” She moved to their bedside, checked Peter’s pulse on his wrist. “Do you think you could get him to wake up for me? I want to see how coherent he is, and ask if he’s in any pain.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shook Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, Pete. Wake up, buddy.”

“Hm.” The kid’s brow furrowed in displeasure. “Don’ wanna.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know. Just for a bit though, squirt. Cho wants to talk to you.”

“Hey there, Peter.” Cho bent to look at his face. “How are you feeling?”

The kid dragged his eyelids open, blinking rapidly to try to orient himself. “Tired.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“Hm. Yeah. Ow.” Peter fumbled up a hand to poke at his cheek, but Tony caught it before he could. “Ow. M’ face hurts.”

Tony’s gaze snapped to Cho, and she was waving off his concern before he could even voice it. “Relax, Tony. The sedation is pretty limited in the analgesic department, and I guessed he’d go through the lidocaine quickly.” She held up a syringe. “I came prepared.”

He let out a genuine sigh of relief. There was nothing he hated more than Peter in pain. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She injected the painkillers into Peter’s IV port. “The pain should be better in a second, Peter. You just keep cuddling with Tony.”

“Oi,” he glared, “we’re not cuddling.”

“Looks like cuddling to me.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s... physical reassurance.”

“It’s cuddling.”

“Shut up.”

She laughed, turning her attention back to the kid. “Do you feel better now, Peter?”

“Mhm. Does Mis’er Stark have t’ leave now?”

“No, buddy,” Tony rubbed his back, “Mister Stark’s staying right here.”

“F’r the surgery?”

“You already had the surgery, kiddie. You’re all done.”

“Oh. Di’ I do good?”

“So good. A model patient, I hear.”

Cho walked towards the door with a smile on her lips, waving goodbye before slipping out silently.

“Mis’er Stark?” 

Peter blinked up at him heavily, little grin on his face. Some of the gauze had come loose, and Tony pushed it back into place carefully. Once he was done, he smoothed a few curls away from the kid’s forehead, soft grin coming unbidden. “Yes, Mister Parker?”

“D’you... D’you know h’w much I love you?”

His heart stilled. No, seriously, he swore he could feel it falter.

“No, bud.” The words felt numb in his mouth. “I... I guess I don’t.”

Do you love me? He thought. Do you really? Do I even deserve that?

“I... I love you... uh...” He watched Peter struggle for a unit that made sense, and some of his shock was swept away by the wildfire of his own love raging through every inch of his chest. “I love you ‘s far ‘s I c’n reach.”

There were times when Tony was struck by how young Peter was, how much the kid was still very much immersed in childhood, even if he liked to play at being an adult. This was one of those times, and it hit him out of nowhere with the full force of a speeding train.

He hugged him closer, voice rough. “I’m taller than you, kid. I can reach higher.”

“‘S not a... a compe-competi-comp’tition.”

Tony physically held back the laugh that rose at Peter’s absolute butchering of competition. “Of course it’s not,” he soothed.

Peter seemed to ignore his own declaration, trying at another clumsy metaphor before Tony could even finish. “I-I love you ‘s high ‘s Spider-Man c’n climb, Mis’er Stark. ‘S... ‘S really high, y’know.”

Peter’s head slipped forward a little as he spoke, so Tony gently repositioned him so it was resting on his collarbone and brushed the bangs out of the kid’s face. “The suit can go to space, kiddo. Got you there again.”

If he was being honest, he’d expected the kid to have lost his train of thought long before now, but he was determined, it seemed. “I love you to... to...” He blinked slowly. “Love you to... Antarctica. ‘N the North Pole.”

“The South Pole’s in Antarctica, kid.” The whole conversation was ridiculous, and it was making him feel gushy and gross, but in a way that was actually kind of nice. “Santa’s on the other side of the world.”

“‘S... ‘S not.”

He smirked at the kid’s drowsy stubbornness. “Australia’s farther than Antarctica. So I win once again.”

Peter twisted himself so he could slide further down Tony’s chest and gaze up at his face. He rushed to support him.

The kid shot him a dopey grin. “‘M gonna win. I got one.”

Tony ran a finger over his temple, right along the hairline. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” Peter’s eyes closed, then opened. His stubborn determination to finish their little game seemed to be just about the only thing keeping him conscious. “I love you t’ the Kuiper Belt ‘n back.”

If this went on for any longer, Tony was going to end up crying.

“Well,” he swallowed back a wave of emotion, “that is a really long way, huh?”

“Mhm. I win. D’... D’d I win?”

Tony dropped his voice to a whisper, smiled softly. Screw his reputation. It’s not like anyone could see this, anyway. “Yeah, buddy. You won.”

Peter seemed contented by the words, and Tony waited for the kid to relax against him before dropping his forehead against the crown of his head and letting the final layers of his armor shed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable and frighteningly adoring.

“You know, kiddo,” he breathed slowly, fully aware that this was the cheesiest thing he’d ever done and not caring in the slightest, “I love you to the edge of the universe and back. And just for reference, there is no end of the universe.” He shifted his precious bundle closer to his chest. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody.”

Peter stretched, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt and voice barely audible. “Mm. M’kay. You win.”

He’d expected to be more horrified that the kid had heard him. Instead, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction, like he’d just fulfilled an innate need without even recognizing it. 

“You know,” he whispered, “I hope you remember this.”

“‘Course I will,” Peter mumbled back, “‘M... ‘M Spider-Man. Spider-Man ‘members important stuff.”

He chuckled. “Yeah? Well, good. ‘Cause this is very important.”

And so are you, he thought, smiling like the world was in his arms.

(And, in a way, it was.)

[crystalninjaphoenix]

No Strings on Me

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

A bit of a shorter story, but after the event that was the season finale, there’s some aftermath that needs to be taken care of before the boys can move on to the next phase. Specifically, with Chase. He needs some help after all this. Let’s hope the other two are able to give it to him.

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One 

Chase was in the bathroom. The bathroom of Jack’s apartment, to be exact. Sitting in the empty bathtub, to be even more exact. Jack and JJ thought it would be best if they all stayed together, and, well, Chase agreed. He didn’t want to go back to a big, empty home. He didn’t want to be alone. But he didn’t exactly want to see the others right now, not after they’d caught him up on everything he’d missed while he was...away.

He scowled. “Away.” That was the word Jack used. He was hesitant to use a stronger one. Honestly, what word would even fit? Kidnapped? Evil? Being used? Something that meant all of those at once? Chase pulled his knees up to his chest and looked down. An instinctive position. Curling up like this protected the face and the most sensitive body parts. He stayed like that, thinking back on the events earlier that day, after they’d all managed to get back to the apartment.

JJ had made dinner. Apparently he’d gotten familiar with the layout of the kitchen in the month he’d been alone. But even that, even something as simple as eating dinner had proven to be a challenge for the three of them. Jack had immediately scarfed it down, but he hadn’t been able to eat much before he started to feel nauseous. He’d excused himself, practically rushing to the bathroom. That just left Chase, picking at his food, with JJ.

“Hey, uh...” Chase didn’t look directly at JJ, but he did look in his general direction. “How did you get around the, um...” He gestured to JJ’s mask. “I mean, with the doc...well, I don’t know exactly what’s up with him now, but...he’s not doin’ his job at the hospital, I know that much. So how...?”

In answer, Jameson had stood up, walked over to one of the kitchen cabinets, opened it and taken out what looked like a fat syringe. He waved it at Chase, then put it back and sat back down inside.

“Oh,” Chase said, surprised. “I thought...I mean, you have to get those from the hospital, and you...need good reason. Did you...make something up to tell them?”

Jameson shook his head, folding his arms in an uncomfortable manner. At that moment, Jack walked back into the room. “Hey, I heard that last part,” he said. “And, uh, well, Hen’s ID wasn’t deactivated, since they think he’s just on vacation, so...it still works to open the doors and stuff.”

“You’re stealing the shots from the hospital?” Chase asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, what else are we supposed to do? We can’t let JJ starve to death because of what that fucking demon did.” Jack took his seat at the table again. “And speaking of starving to death, I thought...I thought you said you were hungry. You haven’t touched your food yet.”

“I’ve been touching it.” Chase stabbed his fork into the chicken, as if to prove this point.

“That doesn’t mean you’ve been eating it.”

Chase looked away. “I mean...I think what just happened to you is proof that...I dunno, hard to adjust again.”

“Chase.” The tone in Jack’s voice was enough to make Chase look back at him again. The new, brighter blue eye gave his stare an almost lopsided appearance. “You’re gonna have to at least try. You look like hell, and I can tell you’ve lost a lot of weight. You’re not gonna get better again if you don’t eat.”

He tried, really he did, but he just...”Can you...tell me that I can?”

“You don’t need permiss—” Chase didn’t say anything, just gave stared at him with a pleading expression. Jack’s eyes widened, and he leaned back slightly. “Yeah...yeah, you can eat.” Chase’s shoulders immediately slumped in relief, and he didn’t have any trouble from that point on.

What happened after they ate, though, was tough to get through. Chase demanded to see Schneep. He wasn’t sure what state he was in now, and he needed to know. Jack and JJ had exchange a worried glance at his demands, but they still showed him to the guest room where Schneep was...staying.

He didn’t know what he expected. But it wasn’t this. This still, limp body, with eyes blocked out by static that overflowed into tears. He’d been hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor, also presumably stolen from the hospital. And he was still wearing the same clothes he’d been that day. Chase sat down hard in the chair the others had placed next to the bed. This was somehow worse than all the scenarios he’d been imagining. No change at all hurt more than seeing things get worse.

“Hey, doc,” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing his hand. It was warm, which surprised him. “I’m sorry about all this.” He turned back towards Jack and JJ, who were hovering in the doorway. “Has it...has it been like this the whole time?”

Jack nodded. “A few months. Bit over three, to be exact. We...don’t know how to fix it, or what happened, or what’s wrong with him.”

“Why don’t you ask me?” Chase asked dryly.

Jack blinked. “What do you—?”

“I was there, Jack. I was part of this, this is—” He stopped himself from saying this was his fault. He knew that it wasn’t. But...god, how could it not be? If he’d just been a little bit stronger, if he hadn’t fallen for Anti’s tricks in the first place, this never would have happened. He swallowed through the lump in his throat. “I saw what happened. He told me what this is.”

Jack walked over to stand next to Chase, and put a hand on his shoulder. Chase immediately shrugged off the too-heavy weight. A flash of hurt crossed Jack’s face, but he covered it immediately. “Well...anything would help,” he said softly.

“...right. Yeah.” Chase looked back at Schneep and his blank eyes. “What happened...I was supposed to get him away, to the place he’d set up for this...this purpose. And...” Chase shuddered. “Anti...he can’t affect someone unless they’re in a mentally weak place. He can force inside, that’s what he calls puppeteering, it’s what happened to you on Halloween. But...to really mess with them...”

“You don’t have to go into details if you don’t want to,” Jack hurried to say.

“I—alright. Alright.” Chase took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them slowly. “But he...he...what he said happened to Schneep is that...his soul was separated from his body.”

“What?!” Jack glanced at JJ. “Is that possible?”

JJ furrowed his brows, confused, then shook his head, making a strange gesture with both hands. “That’s ‘die,’” Jack translated. “You’d die without a soul?” JJ nodded.

“Well, if the soul was just left there,” Chase said. “But...he put it somewhere. I—I don’t know where, but it was something to do with TV screens. Or maybe that’s just how he accessed the place.” Chase remembered walking the empty halls of that underground maze. Sometimes there was a TV screen in the eye-ridden walls. He’d walk past it and hear...something that almost sounded like a person...“ ̴́ ̢ ̀͠ ͝ ̷̢ ̕͠ ̡͢ ̡̀ ̛͢ ̢ ̀̕ ̵̛͢!̸̕ ̡̧́ ̨ ̛͠ ͡ ̕͠ ̵̕͟ ͏͞ ̧͠ ͟ ͏͏̀ ̷͟ ̨̕ ̨ ̢͢ ̷͢ ͠͏ ̀ ̷̴ ̀͠!̀”

“Can we...can we undo it?” Jack sounded afraid of the answer.

Chase shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Silence for a moment. And then, “Well, we know more than we did before. That counts as progress!” Jack said, forcing a note of cheerfulness. “Now we have good ol’ knowledge, we have those books that could maybe help us, we can meet him on his own level.” JJ straightened, nodding optimistically.

“I guess it’s better than where we were before.” Chase let go of Schneep’s hand—why was that so easy, he should’ve wanted to hold on longer—and stood up. “Maybe...we have a chance...” he said reluctantly.

Jack smiled. “That’s the spirit!” He pulled Chase into a one-armed hug. Chase squeaked, and wiggled out of it, backing back toward the door. Jack gaped at him. “Chase, what—what’s wrong? You’ve never...I mean...”

“I-I’m going to the bathroom,” Chase said, stepping past Jameson, who was giving him the most peculiar look, and into the hallway. “I’ll-I’ll be back.”

And that was how he ended up here, in a ball in the tub, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him. It wasn’t enough that he’d helped put one of his best friends in a coma, he had to be repulsed by his other best friend just trying to comfort him.

He tried to tell himself that wasn’t what was happening. But he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. When Jack had tried to hug him, it felt like his skin was about to crawl off his body. The weight of his arms had been stifling, suffocating. And the feeling of being pressed against another person made his breathing stop and his brain go crazy with the need to just get away.

Chase curled up tighter. It wasn’t always that way. He used to love hugs. What happened?

You don’t hate me, Chase. I’m your fr̨i͟͏e͝n̛d̵̀.

Chase shuddered. Anti. Anti was what happened. For a demon, he’d been awfully touchy-feely while Chase was with him. If he wasn’t off doing...whatever it was demons did, or making Chase...he didn’t want to think about what Anti made him do. But if neither of those more pressing engagements were underway, Anti would show up. He’d wrap his arms around him, tightly, and wouldn’t let go. His favorite thing to do was touch the stitches on his neck, gently stroke them. Chase had thought it felt...nice...at the time. Now he shuddered, remembering it.

He uncurled from his position, climbing out of the tub and walking over to the counter with its mirror. He leaned over the sink, staring at his own reflection. Jack was right. He did look like hell. In fact, he almost didn’t recognize the thin, pale face with dark circles under its eyes and brittle hair tangled and faded at the ends. But there were two things that affirmed it was actually himself he was looking at. The dirty cap that he still wore, mostly out of habit now, and the green stitches wrapped around his neck. Contrary to the rest of his appearance, they looked as clean and pristine as the day he gave them to him.

Chase gritted his teeth. He could feel them. They were itching, grabbing at his skin. Around his wrists, too. He held up his hands, examining the stitching there. There was a small, loose end dangling from his left wrist, half an inch long. Before he could stop to wonder if this was a good idea, he snatched the end, and started pulling. And kept pulling. The sensation of thread rubbing against his skin, being pulled from somewhere inside, made him want to scream. But he kept at it, until the string was about the length of his forearm. And then it stopped. He tugged, and no more string came out. It just felt like something was pulling his wrist along.

There was another loose end on his right wrist. Chase repeated the process, and got the same result. He whimpered. There had to be something else he could do. There had to be, he couldn’t just be stuck with this, stuck with him, forever.

He looked back up, catching the fearful eye of his reflection in the mirror. He watched his reflection’s hand reach up, feeling the stitches on the neck, causing his reflection to shake at the sensation of fingers on its stitching. The reflected hand made its way around the back of the reflected neck and back to the front again, where its fingers brushed against a dangling string. The fingers seized the string, and slowly, steadily, a length of green thread unreeled. Simple as pulling out a vein. Until it stopped, and all Chase could feel was that—that tug.

You’re being d̶͞i͟͟ff́i͞c̷ul̛̕͢t on purpose, Chase. Come on, be good for your fr̴̢i̴͠en̨d̴ or I’ll have to dr̶a̶g̛̕͞ you b̢͠e͢h͞iǹd̴̕ ̡͟me̵.

Someone was knocking on the door. He heard it, but he didn’t listen to it. He was too busy clawing at the stitches, nails catching on thread as he tried desperately to get them off, get them off, get them off. If he could just get under them, if he could only get them away from him, everything would be okay. He wouldn’t have been so weak, Anti wouldn’t have used him, his friends wouldn’t have been hurt by him, he wouldn’t be such a fucked human being—

The door must’ve opened at one point, because now someone was trying to pull his arms away. He resisted, naturally. That was what you do, you resist the pull during those moments when you’re aware enough to realize you’re being yanked along down empty red halls. There was blood on his neck and under his nails, and the stitches weren’t coming out. He wasn’t breathing. Or if he was, it was so shallow that it didn’t register. And the stitches weren’t coming out.

His hands were finally taken away from his throat, warm hands wrapped around his fingers so they couldn’t wiggle back. He stopped trying at that point and just stood there, gasping. Chase realized there were tears in his eyes only when he had to squint through them to see who it was who’d stopped him. Dark blue eyes, a darker blue mask. Jameson.

“I—I can’t, I c-can’t,” Chase gulped. His cheeks were wet. “I c-can’t, I just—I j-j-just want—” 

Jameson didn’t say anything, obviously. But Chase realized his eyes were watery with unshed tears. After a moment, during which Chase tried his best to recover his breath, Jameson let go of Chase’s hands and reached over to the mirror, swinging it open to reveal the medicine cabinet behind it. He plucked out a box of Band-Aids and held them out to Chase.

Chase took the box, giving Jameson a confused look. JJ responded by tapping his own neck. After a moment, Chase opened the box and took out a Band-Aid, carefully removing the paper covering. He took a moment to steel his nerves, then put the Band-Aid on his neck, over one of the spots that was bleeding. JJ nodded encouragingly. Chase stared at him for a moment more, then sat down on the toilet seat, steadily making his way through the box as he used up Band-Aids fixing the bleeding. After he was sure every spot was covered, he looked up at JJ.

JJ’s eyes squinted in a way that meant he was smiling underneath the mask. He held his hand out toward Chase. Chase instinctively shrank away, holding his wrists closer to himself, but when the hand didn’t come any closer he slowly relaxed, and took the offering. JJ pulled Chase to his feet, and gently led him out of the bathroom and into the apartment’s second bedroom. Normally that was where Jack slept, but Jack had been gone for a month, and it looked unused when JJ flipped on the light.

Chase looked around. “I thought...you would’ve been sleeping here. While you worked on getting Jack back.”

JJ shook his head. He walked over to the room’s dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. After a moment of rummaging around, he started pulling out what looked like loose cloth until he had a pile of it, which he gathered up and dumped onto the bed. He beckoned for Chase to come see. Chase slowly crept over.

It wasn’t just a bunch of loose cloth. It was...scarves. And bandannas. A variety of styles and colors. Chase gave JJ a wide-eyed look. “What’re...?”

JJ tapped his mask, right over where his mouth was. It clicked for Chase then. Of course JJ would know something about the stitches. Of course he would understand why Chase was trying so frantically to pull them out, to no avail. He’d been living with them for longer than Chase had. And his had caused quite a bit of inconvenience, too.

Chase sat down on the bed and began sorting through the pile. “Heh. Why does Jack have so many?” he muttered. He pulled out a piece of purple. The color was quite nice. And it was a bandanna, no loose dangling ends. He tied it around his neck, fully hiding the stitches from view. Then, he noticed his wrists, and held them up for Jameson to see. He gave him an inquiring look.

JJ folded his arms, thinking, then walked right back over to the dresser and opened a box on top of it that looked like it had never been opened before, at least not regularly. He pulled out a yellow headband, threw it away, then showed Chase what else was in the box: two matching wristbands. Chase nodded, and JJ tossed them over. Chase caught them easily and quickly pulled them on, tucking the loose string inside. “I...I think I like this,” he said quietly. “Thanks, JJ.”

JJ smiled again, then jerked his head toward the bedroom door as if to ask, Are you ready to leave? “Not...yet,” Chase said. “I want to change clothes. These are kinda a mess. Do you mind?” JJ nodded, and left.

A few moments later, Chase reemerged from the bedroom. JJ, who’d been waiting outside the door, gave him a thumbs up. Chase returned that with a small smile. He felt at least a little better now. Not back to normal, but not...like it was with him.

The two of them walked down the hall and came out into the living room. Jack was curled up on the couch, also in a new set of clothes, staring at nothing. The moment they walked in, his head snapped toward him. He did something strange: he closed his left eye, the normal one, for just a moment. He smiled, and opened it again. “Hey, dude,” he said, his tone falling somewhere between gentle and casual. “Are you...okay now?”

Chase leaned against the nearest wall. “No. But...I’m not as bad.”

“That’s okay. It’s...gonna take a while. For all of us.” Jack took a deep breath. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry about what happened back there. The, uh, hug thing.”

“What?” Chase blinked, surprised. “No, you don’t have to be sorry. I shouldn’t’ve freaked out on you.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I made you uncomfortable, and that sucks. I’m the one at fault here. I didn’t know it would make you upset, but the fact of the matter is that even if I didn’t know, I still need to apologize. It may have been an accident, but it...it hurt you. And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Chase stared at him. He could feel the tears coming again, just a different kind now. “Thanks, man.” He took a deep breath, then crossed over to the couch and sat down. He was on the other side, and he wasn’t at all eager to get closer to Jack, but...he didn’t want to be alone right now. JJ followed him into the room, taking his place leaning against the wall. He made some gestures that Chase didn’t understand.

“What is...?”

“He’s wondering what to do next,” Jack translated. “It’s sign language. We, uh, only came up with it after...he took you. And, uh, Chase.” Jack made eye contact with him. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. It was all him.”

Chase felt the urge to explain. “I mean...if I hadn’t been taken, then Doc wouldn’t be—”

“He probably would,” Jack said. “Remember December last year? JJ and I think maybe Anti was trying to get him in this same sort of...coma, whatever, but wasn’t quite strong enough. He’s been trying for a long time, Chase, and if he hadn’t been able to use you, he still would’ve found another way. Chase, you’re not the bad guy here. You’re the victim. And you need to stop taking blame that isn’t yours to take.”

Chase made a strange sound, part whimper, part squeak, part sigh of relief. He...he needed that. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m not the bad guy. I’m the—I’m the victim.” He flinched automatically, saying that, expecting retaliation for saying he was hurt. Of course, it didn’t come. And...it felt good to be able to say it. “But...JJ’s right, what are we going to do next?”

Jack glanced at JJ. “Well, we need to figure out what could be happening to Henrik’s soul. And then we need to see if there’s a way back. And then, if there is, we need to get it back so he’ll wake up.”

“That’s only three things,” Chase muttered. “Not too hard when you say it that way.”

JJ laughed a bit at that, a muffled sound. He held out his hand, and a blue circle flared into existence, spinning on the fingertips briefly before fading away. He looked at the other two, then flexed his fingers again as if to say, we have this.

“Yeah, that could help,” Jack said, picking up on the unspoken message. “I know you don’t know what it is, but you know how it works?”

JJ nodded.

“Didn’t you guys say you had some magic books?” Chase asked. “I think I remem...shit!” He bolted upright. “JJ, I stabbed you! Fuck, I’m sorry about that, I-I know it wasn’t me, but I still feel like to need an apology—”

JJ held up a hand to still the flow of words. He nodded in understanding, and Chase practically wilted with relief.

“Yeah, we have some magic books,” Jack said. “Four, wasn’t it?” JJ nodded. “Maybe something could help us in those.”

“I guess the next step is researching, huh?”

“No, the next step is bedtime.” Jack pointed at the digital clock hanging on the wall. “I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep for the entire next day.”

With the mention of sleep, Chase was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. How exhausted he’d been for a long long while. The adrenaline must’ve been wearing off finally. “I...I don’t think I can be alone,” he whispered.

“Then we can all sleep in my room,” Jack said. “I know I have a ton of spare blankets and pillows. We can make a nest on the floor, or two people can sleep on the bed together.”

“Dibs on the nest,” Chase said. “Do you...mind if I’m by myself?”

“Of course not, Chase,” Jack said gently. “JJ and I can take the bed. That’s okay with you, JJ?” JJ laughed, then gave a thumbs-up. “Then it’s settled.”

Night fell. The city continued on its business outside. And for the first time in months, the three of them slept soundly.

[pinina12]

Pennywise X Popular Cool Girl Reader Part 2

Its been a week since that creepy incident. You would wonder at times if it was even real, or if it would still be down there in that sewer. For some reason you will be often caught day dreaming or more like Wondering in your thoughts. The way IT, looked at you. The way IT smiled at you. Those carefully used words he used. The way IT said your name, without a hestitation. Its pure image wouldent leave your mind. And it terrified you. But because you are the "Supposed" girl with no fear. You decided to leave this like that, and shrug everything single thing of you. And just simply forget that it even has happened in the first place.

Tuesday Morning, already. You was at a bench at the college waiting for friends to come. Just breathing in and out slowly, while looking and taking the views you were recieveing from the bench you was at. But for some odd reason, you felt that horrid gut sensation that you hate feeling. That odd sensation of being watched. Oh no, not like any pair of eyes that would look at a person for at least 5 mins. Nope. It was that feeling of being drained by their stare. A stare that seems to last an enternity without a end.

But that gut feeling quckly got cut off when you saw your friends reaching out to you. As always a smile played at your friends just like your smile was. " Hahahaha did you see the way miss opts yelled at us, hahaha she really thought that her threats would make us shake." Your friend Melissa, said. She couldent stop laughing, which completelty made her ignore the fact that the head of year was standing right in front of her, just staring at her with dissappointment. You along with the others quickly made to a corner out of the head of years sight, and giggled at how awkward it would be for melissa.

As soon as she looked back, she gulped and coughed as to excuse her silliness from earlier, and looked at us back and back to the head of year. "Uhh, hiii heads, hows it going?" She looks at the head of year awkwardly. " Dont hi me, as if you havent said nothing that was directed to miss Opts. And if you really think you and your other troublemaker friends can get away with what you done in class, your absolutely wrong. And for the record, you and your friends",...... she says while looking back at us while i quickly look away while holding my laugh in,..............." Will be suspended for 2 days, for the very reason you lot know." And with that she takes off.

" Nah bruv, what the heck we got suspended again, you guys know our record is going to be fucked, i mean if it isnt already" I say laughing at the end, like honestly can life get any worse? i put my hand on Melissa shoulder and say" Really? Heads???" I smile, "Shut it..haha" we walk to the entrance of the school and laugh while remembering, the things we done in class.

We all four, was just enjoying our moment when of course we came across with the Bowers gang. They the were standing a few cm away. We just stared at each other, It felt like were in a eye contest competittion. But for once they left without saying a word. Which was reliefing.

Walking down the streets, plugged with the brand new headphones on while listening to good music, alone. Me and my friends parted our ways and said our fairwells after the 2 days that will pass by very quick.

Looking down at my feets, while not caring what could be ahead of me. Today and the other days ive been taking a different route to get to my house. It is longer but worth for not going thru a uncomfortable situation again. Once again that odd gut feeling has comed to live, and it was irritating me, but now its somehow different, not to the one that I felt earlier or any of the past days. But more of a danger alert, humanly danger alert. It was weird i must say that i tried to shrug it off and think its nothing, until i felt a tap on my shoulder. I quickly unplugged my headphones and looked behind. Oh shit.

Lets say, my day is going to be completely fucked. I looked at them with anger and digust. And no, this time it aint the bowers, but with some other gang that me and my squad have been messing about. You knows fights and all yepp. The silence was quickly disturbed with that disgusting raspy voice of their leader.

"Oi we got buisness to finish, and you know what." ............" I have no fucking idea what buisness you mean, no may you the fuck leave before this shit gets real messed" with such anger that i had in my tone as the same with such anger my eyes were flaming with. " You little shit, you dont fucking talk to me like that" he came launching at me with a knife, i quickly dodged his attack, and twisted his arm as he lets go of the knife and i kicke it away , while i head buttt him in the head, he drops on the ground harshly. The other went with a punch but i caught it with a swift motion and with my knee i kicked at his balls.

While i was busy being finished with those jerks , i grabbed my phone that droped and shoved it in my pocket... BOOM.... i felt such pain at the back of my head , as i stumbled with pain and shock running at the same time ast the very moment. Wide eyes, as i slowly turned around seeing one of those fuckers with a bat. I blink a few times, to try and recover my reality and react into action, but no matter how hard i tried, i couldent. I was feeling wavey, as in like i was losing my balance, my conscious and light headed. That is when i completelty lost myself and dropped on the ground with a loud thud. Closing my eyes, while breathing as i heard loud heavy footsetps going to my way. Trying hard to lift my heavy lids as my blurry vision was be presented, but i manage to catch shoes, but not any shoes, they looked huge in my opinion, Jokey, Childish. But whos?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....... loud screams from a desperate young men, and pleads from others. Eyes closed, and trying to figuer out what coukd be happeneing around me? Growls, Loud Growls. But Also Giggles. Giggles with such a sick, insanity being invovled in. Rips, Something very disturbing was being ripped, but what is it? The aftermath...ughhhh that smell, that smell seemed so metalic...blood?

.........Silence was all i could hear right now at this very secound. All the pleads, Cries, agony was all gone in a split secound. I finally managed to slowly lift my heavy lids and look. Its not like with such a blurry image i can make something out but what first came to my vision was red, red on the ground, a red liquid. When i tried to look elesewhere, thats when something blocked my way from seeing more. The very own shoes, i slowly grunt in pain when i tried to force myself move. The person slowly bented down to get to my level. But this person seemed to be a ver tall one.

I carefully looked up, and thats when i meet those familiar eyes. That familiar smile, everything.

" Hello there , (Y/N), dont you worry, Pennywise has everything in control now, my sweets,... ohoho yess he do!!!!" With such excitment he says. It canf be him. It cant be that pennywise clown. No its a joke. You see how his once amber orangey eyes turn into a hue blue once. As he gently caress your cheek. He seemed to to slightly shake at his first touch with you. You wished you knew what he was going to do with you, because before you knew anything else you blacked out.

Hey guysss sorry if this was super long, really sorry if i got u kinder bored or something but i promise to make the next chapter a really good one that invloves more pennywise into it.

[sariasprincy]

Where it Happened ix - ItaSaku

Part i    Part ii    Part iii    Part iv    Part v    Part vi    Part vii    Part viii       Part ix (here)    Part x

Yes, I know this is massively late. What else is new?

Where it Happened part ix

keep reading

“What are you still doing here?”

Without picking his head up from the wall, Itachi opened his eyes. He angled his head towards Shisui as his older cousin stopped in front of the chair he had claimed only five minutes earlier. “I still have another six hours on my shift.”

Shisui shot him a look that clearly stated that hadn’t been what he was implying. “I meant what are you still doing here? In this hospital, in this city.”

A long sigh escaped Itachi. He had just performed a valve replacement before being pulled into emergency surgery the moment he scrubbed out.  And his shift wasn't even halfway over. He was the epitome of exhausted. This was the first break he’d gotten since walking through the doors that morning and he didn’t want to spend it debating with Shisui. Again.

“Not now, Shisui…”

“Then when?” Shisui slipped into the empty chair across from him and leaned back, his attention focused solely on his younger cousin. “You’ve been back for two months and you’re already miserable.”

“I am not miserable.”

“And apparently you’re a liar now too.”

Itachi scowled. “Who do you think it was that convinced me to come home?”

Shisui didn’t immediately answer. Guilt flickered across his face, causing Itachi to immediately regret his words but he didn't take them back. “Alright, maybe I did convince you to come home for selfish reasons, but I...I thought you were just being stubborn. I thought if you had talked to your father and sorted things out, we could go back to the way things were, but…”

A pair of nurses hurried past the row of chairs behind where Shisui was sitting, and Itachi watched them disappear around the corner before he sighed softly. “Things will never be the same here.”

There was a finality in his statement. As if he was finally voicing a truth they had all been trying to avoid for so long now. It had been kept deep in the back of his mind but Itachi had known all along that this place he had once considered home would never be a safe haven again. Too many things had happened. Too many things had changed. And he needed to change with it.

“You should go,” Shisui urged.

Itachi eyed his cousin for a long moment, wondering when he had become so mature. It wasn’t a side he often showed but he smiled nonetheless. Even if it was filled with nostalgia and quickly fading.

“My mother…”

“Mikoto will understand.”

“My patients-.”

“I’ve already reassigned your cases,” Shisui smirked.

Itachi arched his brow curiously. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A few days.”

Against his better judgment, Itachi chuckled quietly. He couldn’t find it within himself to feel annoyed or manipulated. Because the truth was he had been itching to return to the hospital that had begun to feel more like home than his actual home.

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t one pink-haired cardiac surgeon that made him miss the life he had started to build across the country but he would only be lying to himself. He missed Sakura. He missed their banter and her no-nonsense personality. She was easy to talk to and he could rely on her when he needed another….well, him.

Itachi had tried to convince himself that his affections for her were nothing more than a crush. She was just someone he had redirected his attentions, a distraction, but as the days passed into weeks and weeks into months, he was beginning to understand she was more than that. He cared for her. And he missed her. He wanted to go back. He had to go back.

“What about you?” Itachi asked as he fixed his gaze on Shisui again.

His cousin shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it won’t be the last you’ll see of me.”

The last of Itachi’s anxieties faded upon Shisui’s smile and for the first time since he had returned home, he had something to look forward to. “I’ll need to book a flight.”

If possible, Shisui’s smirk turned even more smug. “I already have. You leave tomorrow night.”

xx

Over two months had passed but it was as if things had ever changed. The condo Itachi had rented during his extended stay was still waiting for him as was the car he had left parked in his parking stall. His mother had asked him multiple times if he had plans to give notice to the landlady, but a part of him had been unable to give up the small living space he had made his own. Like he knew one day he would return.

Itachi didn’t linger long in it now, only stopping to gaze out the window at the view that had become so familiar for only a moment before he showered and changed into a fresh suit. He had a scheduled meeting with the Chief in a few hours and if he knew Tsunade as well as he believed he did, she would have quite the earful for him for leaving so abruptly.

He passed the coffeehouse he used to frequent on his way to the hospital and quickly stopped in. The same barista was behind the bar and she smiled in recognition before she made his usual.  He waited patiently as he reread the email from the Chief’s secretary, confirming his appointment with Tsunade later that morning.

A moment later his attention was ripped away as the sudden screech of tires clashed with the blaring of horns.Itachi picked his head up just in time to see the immediate aftermath of a delivery truck striking a city bus broadside. People both inside and outside the coffeeshop paused in front of the windows, blocking the majority of the damage, but the screams and shouts for help could be heard throughout the intersection.

Without pausing, Itachi sprinted out the front doors. A few civilians were already hurrying towards the bus to help and so his focus shifted to the delivery truck. The entire front end was crushed, crumbling the door and making it impossible for anyone to get in or out, but the window still was mostly intact and he pulled himself up to it.

“Someone, please help me!” the driver called.

“I’m here,” Itachi said, drawing the man’s gaze. Fear danced behind his eyes and flickered across his face but it lessened upon sight of him. “My name is Itachi. I’m a doctor. What’s your name?”

“Chi-Chiyo.”

“Alright Chiyo, what hurts the worst?”

“My leg,” he answered. Both his legs were stuck under the dashboard, making it impossible to assess the damage. “I think...I think it’s broken,” Chiyo added.

“Without moving your neck or back, can you tell me if the bone has broken the skin?”

It was a moment before he answered. “N-no. I don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Itachi told him calmly. “What about your chest? Does it hurt to breathe?”

Chiyo shook his head, causing Itachi to immediately still his movements. The frightened man tried again, “No. I think-I think I’m okay. Can you help me out of here?”

“Chiyo, I need you to stay here and try not to move,” Itachi said calmly. He could hear the sobs and cries of the injured through the rest of the wreckage and he was itching to see how bad it was. “The fire department is going to have to cut you out. I need to go check on everyone else, but I need you to stay still.”

“No, wait! Please don’t go,” he begged.

Itachi bit back his impatience. “You are going to be fine, Chiyo. But I have to go check on everyone else.”

The plea was only too apparent on the man’s face, but  Itachi said nothing before he jumped back down off the truck and hurried towards the bus. It was far worse than he thought. There were two casualties he noticed immediately, but he quickly turned away to help those still alive and in serious condition.

By the time the first responders began to survive, he had already stemmed the blood flow on three survivors and was in the process of stabilizing another when they suddenly lost a pulse. He began chest compressions and didn’t stop even as the paramedics loaded them into the ambulance until he felt the familiar throb of a heartbeat under his fingertips.

The minutes ticked by as the rig raced down the main road. The lack of trauma equipment was making him restless, but after asking for an ETA for the fourth time, the familiar emergency entrance for the hospital came into view and Itachi breathed a small sigh of relief as the first responders unloaded the patient to the awaiting doctors.

“Uchiha? What the hell are you doing here?”

Tsunade was eyeing him half surprised, half annoyed as he stepped out of the back of the ambulance behind the stretcher. She waited for him as the rest of the staff rushed the patient inside before they hurried into the ER after them. “I am here to discuss the possibilities of signing an extended contract.”

The Chief shot him a pointed look. “And you thought you would come in style?”

“I have a meeting with you in an hour,” Itachi said as he pulled off his suit jacket and hung in on an empty hook reserved for trauma gowns. “But I believe it is safe to say that we will have to reschedule. I need to get this patient into surgery. Do I have privileges?”

Tsunade pursed her lips but her decision was made when a flatline was suddenly called. “Get in there.”

With barely a nod, Itachi swept into the trauma room.

xx

Sakura was upset. Beyond upset actually and more into the realm of downright pissed off. Her emerald eyes were narrowed as she scanned the surgical board, eyeing the long list of ongoing surgeries. A nurse was in the process of updating the board and she watched her pen move with active interest as she cataloged the current traumas.

“Does that say that there’s a Cardiac Tamponade in OR 3?” Sakura asked suddenly.

The nurse paused in her writing to glance over her shoulder at her. “Uh...yes.”

“And how exactly do they plan to repair that with the only Cardiovascular attending standing here?” When the younger woman just stared wide-eyed, Sakura’s glare deepened. “Why the hell wasn’t I paged?”

The nurse just blinked at her bewildered, a bit taken aback to be on the receiving end of Sakura’s harsh words. Sakura knew it wasn’t her fault, but it had been a crazy day for the hospital.

Ten trauma surgeries, back-to-back. Ten victims had come in from a bus crash downtown and every single one that had been rushed through their emergency room doors had been brought down to an operating room. Sakura had been in and out of surgeries for near that of eight hours, and she didn’t understand why she hadn’t been paged for a surgery that obviously needed her skill and experience.

Admittedly Sakura was tired and cranky. She had put in a lot of extra hours in recent weeks and she was pretty sure her blood had turned into coffee and caffeine, but she didn’t offer the nurse an apology as she spun on her heels and hurriedly caught the elevator to the surgical floor.

A surgical team was already inside the OR and silently Sakura watched them work through the windows of the washroom as she pulled on her mask before scrubbing. Irritation still simmered in her chest but she made sure to scrub thoroughly before she finally slipped into the room.

“Who the hell decided it would be a good idea not to page me?” Sakura asked loudly. She accepted a sterile cloth from a nurse and dried her hands as she gazed pointedly about the room.

“That would be me.”

Sakura stilled. She knew that voice.

Automatically her eyes drew to the person standing in the Lead Surgeon’s spot. Even under the scrub cap and mask, she recognized him immediately. Everything about him was familiar: his tall, lean form, his stance, his stunning, black eyes. Even his technique as he cut and sutured was unmistakable.

“Itachi.”

He glanced at her briefly at the call of his name before he returned his attention to the task at hand. Emotion struck her suddenly and sharply in that simple look, twisting and knotting in her chest until she didn’t know how she felt.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had gone and left her behind, and now he was standing here as if he had been there the whole time. Betrayal took root under her breastbone and she fixed Itachi with a dark glare. “What the hell are you doing here, Uchiha?”

“I am working on resolving a fairly complicated Cardiac Tamponade,” he replied without looking at her.

“You don’t work here.”

Itachi paused to glance at her, his eyes unreadable. “I do as of seven hours ago.”

She blinked. “Under whose authority?”

“Chief Tsunade.”

He returned to the patient with his answer, leaving Sakura speechless. She hadn’t seen him all morning; they must have just been missing each other. And she hadn’t spoken to Tsunade since the night before as they were both pulled in and out of surgery.

Sakura felt blindsided. She wanted to yell and shout and hurt him all the ways he had hurt her, but she refrained. There was still a patient on the table in serious condition, and the only person she trusted to help them more than her was Itachi himself. He may be an ass, but he was an incredibly intelligent, incredibly talented ass.

The surgical staff was beginning to stare. There was nothing more she could say without causing a scene, and so without a word, she dropped her towel onto the floor before she marched out of the room. She ripped her mask off and tossed it in the garbage in the scrub room before she headed back out into the halls, in search of one person in particular.

She found Tsunade before the surgical board.

“When the hell were you going to tell me that you hired Uchiha Itachi back?”

Tsunade pulled her hazel eyes away from the large whiteboard slowly to peer at her. “Is that a problem? We still haven’t found a replacement for his position.”

“You should have run it by me first,” Sakura said, her voice unforgiving and laced with an edge of steel.

The older woman arched her brow but didn’t remark on her tone. “You and I both know you can’t run a department, never mind by yourself, when you have other obligations to the hospital. You’ve turned down every other applicant. I felt since you had no problems working with him before, you wouldn’t have any objections to hiring him back.”

“It still needs to be approved by the board.”

“It was forty-five minutes ago,” Tsunade told her. “As soon as Uchiha is out of surgery, I’m presenting him with a contract.”

Sakura blinked incredulously. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“You were in surgery,” the Chief countered. “And the board only requires five votes.” When Sakura continued to frown, Tsunade turned to face her fully as curiosity burned in her hazel eyes. “Did something happen between you two that I’m not aware of?”

Sakura didn’t immediately offer an answer.

Itachi had kissed her. And then he left. She had asked him to stay and he had walked away like it hadn’t meant anything. Like she hadn't meant anything. She could admit that it wasn’t as bad as proclaiming his love or sleeping with her and leaving her alone to deal with their unborn child. Perhaps she was overreacting, but she couldn’t deny the hurt that thrummed in her chest.

“No,” Sakura eventually said. “Nothing happened.”

xx

The sky was dark outside the hospital windows, the moon hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Itachi watched them drift past as he pulled on his suit jacket, only turning away as a resident tentatively called his name. Hyuuga Hanabi was standing in the doorway of the Attendings’ lounge with a chart in hand and he silently stepped away the window to accept the offered binder.

His patient was stable. And their labs were clear, meaning he could go home tonight without concern. “Are you working tonight, Hyuuga?”

“I stayed last night,” she told him. When Itachi glanced at her, she flushed and immediately amended her statement. “But I can stay again.”

He nodded as he flipped the chart closed again and passed it to her. “Good. I want her labs checked again in a few hours. Page me if there are any changes for the worst.”

The young surgeon-in-training nodded before she took the chart back. However, she didn’t immediately turn to leave and Itachi turned back to her as she toyed with her next words. “Can I ask, are you just visiting or are you back?”

For a moment, Itachi merely regarded her. When he found only curiosity in her gaze, he murmured, “I plan to stay for some time.”

A genuine smile passed her face. “Welcome back then.”

Her energy was infectious and Itachi found the corners of his mouth turning up but he didn’t say anything more before Hanabi finally exited the lounge. It was only once he was alone again that he realized something. No one else had welcomed him back. Not even over the course of his ten hour shift.

A strange emptiness settled behind his ribcage as his smile vanished as quickly as it had come. The lounge suddenly felt so empty without any other surgeons present, and silently he slipped his old employee card into his pocket before he left the hospital.

Out in the parking lot, Itachi scanned the rows of cars, searching for where the intern who had picked up his vehicle had parked it. He had barely scanned the first stalls when a familiar face caught his notice.

Sakura was following the walkway down to the employee parking lot, the strap of her purse in the crook of her elbow and an overnight bag thrown over her shoulder. She hadn’t seen him and Itachi quickly followed her, wanting to catch her before she drove off.

“Sakura,” he called.

She picked her head up from where she had been digging through her bag for her car keys. When her eyes landed on him, she frowned. “My shift already ended, Uchiha,” she said as she resumed her search.

The use of his surname was not lost on him nor was the irritation sharpening her tone. It was the same one she had used in the OR earlier that afternoon, and it seemed that time hadn’t cooled her mood.

“Can we talk please?” Itachi asked quietly as they stopped beside a dark midsized SUV.

“You can talk to me tomorrow when I get in.” She didn’t spare him a glance as she finally located her keys and popped open her trunk. In one smooth movement, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and tossed it in before she reached up to pull the trunk closed again.

It was quickly becoming apparent that she was content to end their conversation there as she turned towards the driver’s door, but Itachi quickly moved around her, his hand coming to rest on the door handle before she could reach it.

Sakura glared at him, silently conveying that he would do well to move before she made him move. He knew she would too, and he shot her a pleading look. “Sakura…”

Her expression didn’t soften but the immediate threat faded. “What?”

She shot that single syllable at him like a bullet, leaving a sharp, stinging pain in its wake, but he didn’t flinch away. He understood her frustrations. She was disappointed and angry and he suspected hurt, even if she hid it well behind frosty, emerald eyes.

“I know that my leaving upset you. I am truly sorry.”

“Are you sorry you upset me or sorry for not telling me you were leaving?” Sakura asked pointedly.

“Both,” he admitted. “When I first came here, I never intended to stay. It was only supposed to be temporary.”

“Then why did you come back?” Sakura snapped.

Itachi didn't immediately answer. He had a few reasons for coming back, some more significant than others and some he wasn’t quite ready to admit aloud. Especially not with Sakura still looking like she was one misplaced word away from physically removing him from her path.

“Because of you,” Itachi finally said. When she scoffed, he quickly continued, “And Kakashi and Neji and even Ino. You all have breathed life into a place that is normally filled with pain and suffering. You all remind me what it was that made me choose to become a surgeon in the first place. That is why I came back.”

Sakura looked away as her anger lost much of its vibrancy. He waited with bated breath for her to speak, but when the seconds continued to tick by silently, he pressed quietly. “You asked me to stay.”.

She shook her head slowly. “But I didn’t ask you to come back.”

Her words were soft spoken but the betrayal rang clear in her tone. Her hurt resonated like it was his own and Itachi found himself unable to meet her gaze as a sinking feeling suddenly settled in his chest. “I needed time to get my life back together.”

Again, Sakura didn’t answer. That was when the first raindrop fell on Itachi’s hand before another peppered his skin next to the first. When he met her eyes again, Sakura’s face was unreadable. Not blank, but full of so many emotions it was hard to decipher one from another.

“Can we talk over dinner?” he asked. “Or coffee?”

Sakura didn’t move. For a long moment she simply stared at him as the rain began to quicken, striking the ground in slowly growing droplets. And just when he thought they would stand there forever, she murmured quietly, “You never called. Or texted. I never even got so much as an email. So you can’t have that much to say. And I know that I don’t either. I’m going home. I’m tired.”  

Her rejection struck Itachi like a physical blow but he said nothing before he opened her door for her. He waited until she slipped behind the wheel before he closed it behind her and stepped away, silently watching as she backed out of the parking stall and drove away.

It seemed after all they had been through together with the cases and the late nights, and the shared losses over ice cream and pizza and all manner of junk food, they were back to where they had started: Itachi, the new attending, and Sakura wanting nothing to do with him.

to be continued...

[animeniac]

Starbomb Ch. 2

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy because I swear it’s a lot more light-hearted than it sounds. Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the proposal continues, and when Bakugou spots Uraraka fawning over a bunny in the window of a toy store, he resorts to craftier methods to “win her.” Meanwhile, Uraraka toughens up in the face of his harrassment. 

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Maybe if Todoroki could have left the troubling quandary alone, Bakugou would have retreated to his room for a quiet evening of studying. But, he foresaw sleepless night for allowing history to repeat itself. He felt like he had the responsibility of preventing the sins of his childhood from ever occurring again, and he had every right to be troubled.

Quirk Marriages should have been outlawed - in his opinion. At least, the masses should reject such a deplorable practice. While the fire and ice young man knew nothing about love firsthand, he knew the effects of a choleric marriage.

When he grabbed Bakugou's arm, he had to curb his violent urge and hinder himself from giving the lout the battle that he wanted back at the Sports Festival. He pulled him into an alleyway on campus and pushed him against the brick wall out of any teacher's line of sight. "What was that back there?" he demanded to know.

Bakugou's eyebrow twitched. He exclaimed, "What the fuck is this shit?" He couldn't understand why Todoroki of all people pulled him aside for a sudden confrontation.

"Marriage with Uraraka? You know you embarrassed her in front of the entire class," scorned Todoroki.

The only reason that Bakugou added to this conversation was so that Todoroki didn't mistake him for some kind of romantic, sappy softie. There was no way he'd let his reputation stoop to that level. He begrudgingly elucidated, "I shouldn't have to tell you, but it's not the fairy tale shit you might have been thinking. I'm marrying her for her quirk and nothing else - not that it's any of your damn business." As usual, his scowl did not betray him. He had nothing to hide.

"Yeah, I got that," scoffed Todoroki. His hands shook as he restrained the combustible kid against the wall. He had to contain a lot of disgust in order to prevent an escalated altercation. "That's repulsive. She's better than that, and she deserves more for her life. You don't even know what it means to marry someone for their quirk. Do you know what kind of life that leads to? Pain, neglect, abuse of power are the only things that come from a quirk marriage. Such an arrangement escalates from a legal convenience to an abusive tragedy - especially with someone as violent as you."

Bakugou snorted, "Ha. Spare me the emo dribble, half-and-half. I don't need a fucker like you talking down to me. I know what I'm doing, and I don't give a flying fuck how you feel about it." This trifling conflict bugged him. The destructive young man only spoke what was on his mind. He knew that his life was destined for greatness, and he needed to carry on that legacy with a person who could lend the most compatible genes.

Why would he waste an opportunity on sentimental crap when he could make kids that could make tons of floating bombs?

Maybe Todoroki needed some time to collect himself, for he felt his rage swell within both sides of his body. Even if he shared his past, he would not be able to quell the drive of Bakugou. He could hear his breath as he panted, "Your volatile personality will kill her inside before she ever gets to the age to marry you. Don't you get that? You can't force someone to marry you."

Was someone like this capable of love? Todoroki wasn't even sure if he was capable of such an affinity for someone else. They were all in the middle of their adolescence and had only been pubescent for a few years.

Daringly, Todoroki knew that if he glanced at Bakugou's glower, he'd feel the emptiness that his father often had throughout his childhood. However, when he raised his eyes to study Bakugou's, he had a glimpse of his wide, crimson eyes and neutral, relaxed brow. Sadness? No, vulnerability - that couldn't be it. Quickly, he turned his head around to see what his classmate saw - Uraraka.

The class prodigy slowly loosened his grip on Bakugou's collar. Those weren't the eyes of Todoroki's father.

Noticing the movement, Bakugou snapped back and shoved Todoroki away from him. "I got shit to do. Enough of this," he barked before he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away from the scene.

Todoroki could properly calm himself. He took a deep breath before Yaoyorozu met up with him. "I had my doubts at first, but there's something about him that's different from the way my father looked at us. He's not dead behind the eyes - he's just difficult," he sighed and stretched out the tension from his arms.

"It kind of came out of nowhere, don't you think - this whole obsession? He probably doesn't know about the thing that Midoriya and Uraraka have for each other," she pondered out loud to him.

Of course, that didn't cross Todoroki's mind. He softly smiled, "They do?" Midoriya would be more than suitable as a romantic interest for her.

She wanted to tease him for his density. Yaoyorozu let out a deep sigh as she gazed at him. He had such a capacity for caring despite his stoicism. "They don't know about their feelings for each other, either. Well, Uraraka knows she likes him, but she doesn't know if he likes her because he doesn't know that either. And, he doesn't know how she feels. I probably shouldn't have told you that."

Why did something like that have to be complicated? He could hardly comprehend the drawn-out explanation. And, how does that count as liking each other if they may not even be aware of their feelings? "Anyone would make a better partner than Bakugou," decided Todoroki. He could still stand by that fact. Even if he weren't the worst for her, he definitely wouldn't be the best.

"And Mineta," added Yaoyorozu as she watched the kid fawn over one of the girls from their school.

"What does he have to do with this?"

Kirishima met up with Bakugou at the gate UA's campus. He noticed how late he was, but of course, he refused to say where he'd been. They agreed to get some fast food before heading back to the dorms. On the way to a burger joint, the red haired boy spotted Uraraka standing with a few of her female friends in front of some novelty toy store or boutique. The colorful lights illuminated her face, so there was no way that Bakugou could have missed her.

Since the best way to get to their destination would have been to cross the street, Kirishima stood at the crosswalk and patiently waited for cars to pass. He also wanted to avoid any conflict with the girls. Bakugou seemed a little more perturbed than usual. His rigid hands gripped the insides of his pockets.

A smirk rose to his face as Bakugou passed up the crosswalk to pass by the toy store. What could have caught her immature eye? Her wide eyes glowed along with her giant smile. The window displayed a green rabbit about the size of a cat on sale at half price. He would have just passed by, but the sight irked him. "What are you staring at that for? You look like a baby. What kind of high-schooler gets shit like that?"

"Bakugou, no," muttered Kirishima as he jogged up to the scene from meters away. If he kept harassing her, he'd get in trouble. On top of that, he would probably ruin his chances of being with her. Above all of that, he could hurt poor Uraraka's feelings!

But, she was strong. She could stand her ground in the face of petty adversities. "Leave me alone. I thought you were going to study," Uraraka complained.

Toru and Mina had gone into the store. They apparently failed to see Bakugou approach them, or else they would have stayed by her side.

"What? I already know the material. It takes me less than an hour to study," he explained, but then he shifted his attention back to the infuriating bunny. His blood boiled as his haughty demeanor surged. "Why don't you just buy it already? Are you stupid?"

Uraraka held her breath and tried with all her might to fight back the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes. If she uttered a single word, they'd probably spill down her face and reveal her weakness. She couldn't afford something like that to happen in front of him. Although the stuffed animal only cost a few coins above her budget, she couldn't bear splurging her limited allowance. "I have to go," she strained herself to say.

The instant that Uraraka turned her back to Bakugou, tears stained the pavement as she walked away from her tormentor and back to the dorms. He probably had no idea that he hit a nerve, but she would rather he never know her financial situation. A block away, she messaged her friends that she had forgotten something at the dorms. She wouldn't have been able to afford to do anything with them anyway.

Kirishima ran up to Bakugou who was still fuming. The rocky hero had difficulty balancing his stern sincerity with a tactful plea. Only the perfect medium would be sufficient after all. Gritting his teeth, he frowned, "Bakugou, Uraraka is poor."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" spat Bakugou as he continued down the street. He didn't have much money on him either - enough to go to the shitty burger restaurant and play some games afterward. That particular location was mostly an arcade, so their food was cheap and legitimately mediocre. He burst open the glass doors before stomping into the facility.

Who would he be if he stopped to coddle Uraraka? He knew she could handle whatever he threw at her. Her resiliency was one of the characteristics he didn't despise about her. However, when she took it too far and became cocky, that pissed him off the most.

The explosive hero-in-training growled his order at the cashier before he trudged over to the prize bar while he waited for his food. He needed to calculate which games he should play for what prizes. Most of the cheap toys and accessories never appealed to him, but upon approaching the booth, he immediately spotted that grinning, green rabbit that Uraraka had fawned over earlier that evening.

An even 2,000 tickets were all it cost. How unfitting. That's about how much it cost at that toy store. At both locations, the dumb rabbit was insanely overpriced in his opinion.

"Do you see anything you like? Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe you see something she'd like," pitched the irrelevant booth operator.

Were women so simple? Could he win something like that to get her to quit crying and whining all the time? And if she were as destitute as everybody cried about, then that would make his objective a lot easier to achieve. Even though he didn't have a lot of money, he probably could buy more than she could.

She'd be at his mercy.

Now, Bakugou could not comprehend just how malicious his thought process truly was. Even if he knew, that probably wouldn't quell the drive that flamed in his eyes. "Win her over. Win her. Win," he thought to himself with a growing grin. That's what it came down to after all. Fortunately, he didn't think to go as far as Endeavor once did by approaching her parents with a lump sum of cash. That case scenario failed to cross his mind.

Regardless, he only had the money in his pocket.

Bakugou knew not to go too crazy with this investment. He had other shit to do.

Kirishima shivered. He felt the aura of fervency burst from Bakugou. As they walked back to get their food at their table, he nervously laughed, "You didn't tell me that you wanted to marry Uraraka. Aren't we kinda young?"

"We're not too young to plan for the future," he muttered without any inflection in his voice.

"Ah," he replied. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't even have anybody I like yet, and I'm already 16." Should he ask more questions? Did Bakugou like Uraraka, or did he have some convoluted plan that involved her? He couldn't tell.

With his mouth full of food, Bakugou set his classmate straight. He corrected, "Who said anything about liking her?"

Well, that was that.

Sweat slid down Kirishima's temple, and he sighed, "I think I'm just gonna play a couple of games and go back to the dorms. I just got an email that said the exam tomorrow is canceled."

Perfect. Such an occurrence was as if the world parted for Bakugou's destiny. He grinned as he chomped through his burger. At this point, he had to wonder if influencing her would even be a challenge. He knew just the game to play to win the most tickets - a game of chance, for he felt incredibly lucky.

Meanwhile, Uraraka reached the dormitory shortly after her encounter with Bakugou and had since cleared the tears from her eyes. She spotted Midoriya and kind of wanted to avoid him just in case he recognized that she had been crying. In front of him, she wanted to appear strong. When he approached her, she smiled, "Hey, Deku. What's up?"

"I thought you were going shopping with Tooru and Mina. What happened?" Midoriya asked. Hopefully, he didn't sound like he was accusing her of anything. As always, he was a little concerned. The scene from earlier with Bakugou was a little intense. He had a lot of guts, though, and after knowing Bakugou for a considerable amount of time, he had never witnessed the blond go out of his way for a girl or anyone for that matter.

Like she read his mind, Uraraka mumbled, "Bakugou's really annoying."

Midoriya's eyes widened. He rose his head to see the irritation in Uraraka's knitted brow and frown. "What?" he said. Did something happen between them again when she went into town?

She continued as she stared at the ground, "He's selfish and really brutal and harsh. I wanna say that there's more to him, but sometimes, I don't know. Maybe he's just a bad guy."

If Midoriya had intentions like that for a girl, he would have to go through a lot of effort before he talked about marriage. In a way, Bakugou was similar to him. They both had social inhibitions. For Midoriya, it was a lack of self-esteem that prevented him from getting close to others. And for Bakugou, his greatest hindrance was his egotistical behavior. "Kacchan isn't a bad guy. Every nice thing he says, he really means," he added. Inversely, he didn't mean every insult he threw at people.

Except, Midoriya figured that Bakugou meant every jab he slung at him.

Uraraka frowned. She kind of hoped that Midoriya would just agree with her, but he was right. She took a deep breath and smiled, "Midoriya, you might see the good in people when it's not even there. You're really special like that. Maybe that's your other quirk."

He jumped and blushed as sweat rained from his head. "R-Really?" he stuttered. "You're okay, right, Uraraka?"

Gripping the air, she nodded, "Yup! I just came back to get something I left in my dorms." Maybe she could splurge every once in a while. "Thanks for talkin' to me." She went up to her dorm after waving back at her friend.

Whenever Midoriya became a hero, Uraraka would be one of the many people that he wanted to protect.

Sure enough, after Kirishima left the arcade, Bakugou wound up with the stupid green rabbit. He had slaved at some game of chance for hours. Naturally, he won the jackpot twice with minimal effort before going back and forth over whether or not he should waste his tickets on a stuffed animal. How could he go back to the dorms with such a piece of shit toy in his hands? It would attract attention. He glared down at its smug grin.

How could he give something like that to Uraraka? What was he supposed to say? Maybe he could just throw it at her or leave it at her desk. Everything he thought of sounded too uncanny and out of character. He had only given something to someone a handful of times, and typically, the gifts were more of a repayment than a token.

Token? What the fuck was this token supposed to symbolize? He gripped the cotton plushie by the neck and ground his teeth together.

No way! "I'm not going to give her shit!" he decided out loud as if to announce to the world that he wasn't a pansy. Initially, he thought that he had the advantage in the situation. By flexing his monetary muscle, he thought she was at his mercy. Yet, he was the one that spent hours of effort and time trying to win her a toy. For what? Was this the only way to get what he wanted? After all, he reveled at the idea that all the events lined up for him earlier that day.

Moreover, would she smile?

No, not fucking moreover! Who gave a shit about things like that?

Bakugou's eye twitched, and the image of a smiling Uraraka withered out of his mind just as quickly as it had faded into his thoughts.

All this contemplation disgusted him, and he needed to put an end to it. He was already thinking of the girl way too much. As he neared the campus, his grip on the toy steadily increased until he finally decided to blow it up. He planned to focus on other aspects of the future aside from marital opportunities until at least his third year of high school. And for the rest of the night, he didn't think of Uraraka once.

Not thinking of other people was one of his best talents.

Then, at school the next day, he spotted Midoriya holding the same stupid rabbit stuffed animal that he had destroyed the evening before. All the annoyance picked up where it left off.

Bakugou's fingers twitched at the knuckles as he stomped towards his former childhood friend. "Oi," he snarled, "Where the fuck did you get that? You can't give that to her."

"Oh, hey, Kacchan," greeted the All-Might protege. He wasn't too sure what Bakugou meant, but he figured he could easily clear up the confusion. "Uraraka gave this to me this morning." Although Midoriya assumed that he could read Bakugou pretty well, he had no way of knowing what went through his mind at that moment. Why did he care about Uraraka giving him a toy?

Then, he saw evidence of a flicker of feelings - Bakugou's glistening eyes. Of course, Midoriya knew that Bakugou wouldn't cry over something like this, and the tears wouldn't even well up in the corners of his eyes, but he'd seen such a look in his eyes before then. He was frustrated as if something he wanted but couldn't reach had swung in front of him and away from him without warning.

Midoriya felt guilty. He was about to apologize, but then...

Abruptly, blood shot within Bakugou's eyes as they radiated a demonic crimson glow. He couldn't believe the situation, the audacity of that girl. His anger swelled faster than he could think. "Where is she?" he barked as he stormed into the classroom. Even though no one knew the strides he made for the prize that he destroyed, he felt like his cards had been exposed to everyone in the damn class.

"K-Kacchan," stuttered Midoriya as he followed him into the classroom. Was it a blunder to reveal where he got the toy from?

Bakugou slammed his hand onto Uraraka's desk causing her to jump. "I'm going to buy everything for you after I become the number one pro hero. You got that? Don't be stupid and waste your money on nerds, and then, maybe I'll marry someone like you," he shouted. When he slowly lowered his head to see her response, he respected her to cower or cry or at least look away. Yet, she looked into the deepest part of him with a knitted brow and the darkest glower he had ever witnessed.

Something in his chest jumped even though he had his feet firmly planted on the ground, and then, she slapped him at his weakest moment.

"I'm never gonna marry you, and if you think you can buy me makes you disgusting! I'll be my own hero, Bakugou," Uraraka barked back as she tried her hardest to keep him on the ground so that the teachers didn't see her delinquency.

The desk rattled as Bakugou gripped the sides of it to stay still until she forced him back to the ground.

She barked back despite the consequences. She readied herself for a fight as she got to her feet.

His eyes widened and dilated, and the redness somehow faded from his eyes, but at that moment of tension, he swore, his rage had grown tenfold. In a low grunt, Bakugou replied with nothing but dryness in his stare, "Motherfucker."

Midoriya ran up to the scene. Many other people prepared to defend her in this calm before a storm. "Kacchan," he began to challenge him with the utmost intention of ending Uraraka's sorrow.

Typically, Uraraka would have faltered to Midoriya's act of heroism, and while she found his gesture to be incredibly charming, she wanted to seize this opportunity to stand up for herself. She was her own hero just like she said. "I can handle this," she replied as sweetly as she could despite her frustration and determination in her shaking voice. Midoriya would stand up for himself, so she needed to, too.

Bakugou's hands had remained in his pockets. His fury grew by the second, but this time, it merged with a unique sentiment - undeniable intrigue. How bad could a good girl get? He wanted to test her limits.

He still wanted to fight her or someone.

Fortunately, Eraserhead entered the classroom and ordered everyone to their seats and tried to not pay attention to whatever over-the-top dramatic scene occurred. The class obliged.

[cheeruplovely]

Olicity: Aftermath (3x01 stolen moment)

(gif credit: http://favim.com/image/3834005/)

The moment Oliver knows that he’s in love with her is when she’s laying out before him. She’s prone on the table that he’s been on so many times with her taking care of him, and all he can do is stroke back the hair from her blood-stained forehead. He wants to move, to take charge, to go after the people that did this to her - to them - but all he can do is stand there beside her, because the idea of being apart from her and her waking up without him is hurting the part of his heart that he reserves exclusively for her.

That’s when he knows.

Oh, he knew that he loves her. He’s pretty certain he’d been about to tell her that over dinner before the explosive interrupted things. He’s known it for a while now. He’s reminded of it every time she smiles at him, every time there’s a flicker of gold in his eye line when her ponytail swings, every time she emails him another case study of how to improve his business image with one of her signature smiley face emoticons following it.

But now, with a slight tremor in his fingers as he curls his free hand around her still one, he knows that this is not adoration, infatuation or even an obsession.

He’s in love with her. Entirely. Completely. Eternally.

Up close, he can see the evidence of her nerves for tonight shrouded in the soot that covers her from the explosion. He can see the slight shake that she had in her hand when applying her eyeliner, the extra layer of red coating her lips for that flawless finish, the earrings that she’d worn once to the office on the day of a big meeting because they were her favorite pair. How long has she spent perfecting her hair when she’d stepped out of the shower after work? How many dresses was she torn between wearing? Were the red heels new or has she been keeping them for the perfect occasion?

For all the build up they’ve had over the last few years, who’d have imagined this had been nothing but a nervous first date? He’s felt a discreet humming through his body today at the thought of ending it across a table from her, an anticipation of those smiles she has for only him, of what her eyes look like when she’s seeing him as more than a boss, a friend, or a partner.

Tonight he’s come so close to starting the rest of his life with her, and as his gaze roams over the charred marks on her crimson dress, he wonders whether that’s still a possibility for them.

“Oliver!”

The way she bolts up towards him finally draws movement out of him. He meets her halfway, matching her racing breaths with soft words that don’t quite register because all he can think about is those fearful eyes staring back at him. Part of him is glad that she’s awaken in search of him, that she knows that he’ll be right at her side, but that’s pushed aside by the part of him that’s just carried her away from a burning restaurant without any idea if she’ll really be okay.

But she is. He can see that now. There’s no dangerous burns although she’s covered in ash and grime, and the head wound is worrying him a whole lot, but she’s awake, and she’s looking at him, looking for him, and she’s alive.

He’s not sure what words he speaks when she agrees to lie back on the metal table beneath her, never relinquishing the grasp she has on his arm in case he can even fathom the idea of leaving her side. He knows how the cold metal stings the skin, but he can still feel the choking heat of the ruined building and he imagines the cool surface must be quite soothing to her heated flesh.

And then he’s over her, carefully pushing her tangled her away from the bleeding gash on her hairline and finding that he’s not so worried. He’s aware that head wounds bleed deceptively freely even though the wound is shallow. It’ll bruise around the impact site, but he doesn’t think it will scar, although all he can bring himself to say is that she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Her eyes never leave his, not until her breathing has settled and her eyes slip close. “Felicity, eyes open,” he directs, far more briskly than he means to but the panic of her slipping away again is too real. “I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, nodding with a slight wince, and she’s in pain, he needs to do something about that. She’s hurting, he needs to fix it. “Are you okay?” she asks him, squeezing her hand around his forearm.

It halts everything in the forefront of his mind - because everything he’s focusing on is her, her, her, and she is asking him to reverse that. He doesn’t matter right now, not in his own set of priorities, because all that matters is that he has the bodily action to get her to safety and he hasn’t died in the process, so as far as he’s concerned, he’s fine.

“We’re both fine,” he assures her, bringing his free hand over hers with a touch of assurance. “You’ve hit your head though, so we just need to be careful for a while, keep an eye on you.”

She processes this with a deep breath, something he admires about her. It never takes her longer than the space of a breath to shift her reality to whatever has changed around her. She moves with the task at hand, applying herself however she’s needed, but right now all she needs to do is keep breathing and keep holding onto him, never letting go if he has his way.

That’s what he wanted for his evening. To never let her go.

He had no intention to rush anything, but this was Felicity. This was the woman who holds every part of him in the palm of her hand. As much as he wants to be a gentleman who planned to kiss her goodnight and see her to her door safely, he knows that if she’d invited him inside he’d have been a slave to her offer and spent the night with her in his arms. He wants to be better than he has in the past, to wait, take things slowly, to find appreciation in the slow burn, but they’ve been dancing around this for over a year now, and they hardly need to waste time with getting to know each other.

He’s already in love with her. He’s already planning on spending every day falling more in love with her.

There’s nothing left to fight.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in other fics, or have a prompt, or any comments at all, please feel free to drop me an ask HERE. 

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[tryingthisfangirlthing]

@viennainspringtime I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t happy I made you feel things. ;D I hope them not being around didn’t feel throwaway, but basically I’m trying to focus on Teslen and the vampires, and, I don’t know, I feel like Helen losing them would have very much fueled a certain single-mindedness about the whole thing (not that she wouldn’t have been single-minded before, but more so now). Also, I’m sorry, this chapter is a bit of an infodump, with a bit more backstory/worldbuilding that’s addressed in part 5 but I didn’t want to spring on readers out of the blue during that scene. I hope it’s not too bad, though. :P

Teslen vampire/hunter AU, Part 4

Contains: guns (that are actually not used for a change), vampires and associated mentions of drinking blood, mentions of deaths of canon characters (Henry and Ashley), mentions of life-threatening situations, possibly slightly obsessive behavior?

---

Six days Nikola lay slumped there, in his locked-down laboratory, half-delirious, adjusting the hastily inserted IV whenever he felt lucid enough to safely do so.

He only ventured out, once, near the end, when he became so hungry he feared he might rip into his own wrist while asleep, and once he had retrieved the blood bag he hooked himself back into his blood matrix scrubber, fed, and slept for another thirty-six hours.

It had been a true Hail Mary pass, and he never wanted to come that close to death again.

 Defensive hadn't worked, and so he grudgingly began to think more offensively, towards actively disabling instead of merely blocking and deterring, enjoying the challenge of a new design paradigm but hating that he had been driven to it. (Her idea of some kind of energy-based weapon wasn't half bad, actually, right up his alley.) He found a place on the top floor of a converted warehouse, and set up his new fortress, and waited.

 He waited a long time, months, in fact, weeks upon restless weeks of looking over his shoulder and perfecting his new systems and very much not wondering what sorts of books or wines she liked. (She just seemed like the type to be able to properly appreciate both.)

A reverse image search with some clear footage from her previous attack turned up one “Abigail Fernley,” M.D., but aside from the standard documentation (birth certificate, driver's license) there was very little, and the entire thing smacked of a façade, the sort he too was intimately acquainted with.

(He really should have turned the images over to the police so they could lock her up if they hadn’t already — his most effective way of getting rid of hunters — but he reminded himself that pressing charges in this case could raise a lot of questions he wasn't very keen on answering, including why he had such an intense security system against someone who was, to their knowledge, a burglar. Her, he much preferred to deal with himself.)

 There were also far too many Henrys and Ashleys in this world for those names to be of much use. There was one boy, whom he thought might be the relevant one — a computer science student, whose body had been found drained in the aftermath of a feeding party. But sources made no mention whatsoever of family, and one or two sites on the deep Abnormal web spoke of him being a werewolf — which ruled out him being her son, at least biologically.

There were simply far too many casualties, even a few unwanted turnings — and it angered him, these arrogant fledglings who thought they could rule the world by force and bend it to their petty whims, these idiots who cast a black mark on them all and flew in the face of all the enlightenment his great race was capable of bringing to the world. Thankfully, most of them also woefully underestimated humans, and sooner or later had their spoiled little asses — or rather, heads — handed to them on a silver platter. Those vampires... once the transformation had taken place there was no way back, and he could understand humans eliminating that threat.

(There was a local takedown, recently, some rich upstarts. Nikola was nearly certain that was her work: careful, quick, and with an abundance of biochemical weaponry.)

 He began to believe she had given up chasing him — he didn’t fear that, no, it would be a good thing if she had, remember? But he couldn't let his guard down, because it would be just like her to take advantage of that moment. (He debated doing it anyways, deliberately. It would be a clever trap.)

 He threw his restless energy into his work in the laboratory, registering several minor patents for efficiency improvements in circuitry, streetcar propulsion, and radio transmission, and into his other work: a book, A History of Vampires, which he aimed to be the premier reference on his species once the world was ready to know the truth. He added a chapter on arrogant spoiled brat fledglings, in the heat of the moment, then revised it, then deleted it, then un-deleted it again.

Their history, though, that was his favorite topic. His race, once the kings and pharaohs of the world, ruling by virtue of their wisdom and bringing peace and enlightenment to their subjects, had been made practically extinct by the Church — sterilized and banished. Until the end of the 19th century, when one doctor, one brilliant woman, had revived them. Helen Magnus had devised a serum from pure vampire blood, and injected a small group of desperate Eastern European patients with it. Whatever her original intentions for that experiment may have been, the great race was reborn, and spread. Nikola himself had been one of the second generation, seeking out these people in the dark corners of 1890s London who were rumored to have become younger, unaging, and nigh-indestructible, and he had practically begged to become one of them, if it were possible. Eternity for his work, and damn any safety precautions.

 He had nearly given up on seeing her again, nearly returned to some semblance of his normal life, when she rang his front doorbell.

“Well, this is a surprise.” He couldn't come up with a better quip on such short notice, when he saw her in the evening twilight on the building's door camera. She was bold, and his heart sped up, as he wondered what she had up her sleeve this time. She carried no bag full of gear, just her usual leather jacket, a scarf over her neck, and a holster at her hip. “Though, if you wanted to try to climb into my bedroom window again, I wouldn't mind that, either.”

“I’d be daft, trying to enter directly into a bedroom.” She tilted her head, briefly. “Though given how little you sleep…” She cleared her throat. “May I come up?”

He stilled, debating it for a split second, but his curiosity won, easily. “You leave your gun by the door.”

She clicked her tongue. “That's hardly fair. You have an entire defense system up there, plus your natural advantages. I should at least be afforded my gun.”

“If I may remind you, you're the one coming to me. My rules.”

“I'm not coming to try to kill you. This time.” She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression impassive. “I could suggest a meeting in ‘neutral’ territory, say, a park. A place with so many more possible angles of attack. A restaurant poses its own issues, as well.” She paused, for a moment, to let her words sink in. “I want to speak with you, Nikola, and this is the best place for us both. But I won't surrender my gun. Are you going to let me in?”

He frowned, setting his jaw as he buzzed her into the building. “I'm sure you know which apartment.” His only response was the sound of her boots on the stairs.

It was surreal, letting her into his apartment. She stopped just beyond the door, glancing around, shifting her weight onto one foot, completely unselfconscious.

He swallowed and closed the door, watching her. “Why are you here?”

She folded her arms, staring right back at him. “As strange as it may sound, I do feel obligated to thank you for calling an ambulance. It may very well have saved my life.”

He inhaled. “I hope you don't make me regret that.” Taking a step back, he sized her up, and she did the same.

“Why did you do it?” She held up a hand. “And spare me any platitudes.”

“I hate seeing death. Despite what you may think of me, I don't laugh and watch the world burn.”

She lifted her chin, pursing her lips. “I suppose that's fair enough. For what it's worth: thank you.”

He tilted his head, allowing a half-smile to seep over his face. “You're welcome.” He gestured towards the living room with a flourish. “If I may offer the lovely lady a seat and some wine?”

[anonymouslypoz-blog]

The Break up

Dazed and confused, my actions on here were the dumbest and most selfish thing I probably have ever made.

For a few days, I’ve been thinking on how-to break the news to my partner then, the option that I decided to go for was to get him furiously mad and scared of me to the point that he’d break up with me.

My reasoning then was I could not tell him. I could not bare the fact that I disappointed him, that I wrecked our plans on having a family with a beach house and live happily ever after. But to be honest, the relationship before all this happened was starting to fall apart, I tried to salvage it and I still am, heres on of the messages I sent him prior the break up: 

“Babe, you know how much I love you.  I gave you my heart and trust when you first said i love you, when you said i was more important than the people you work with when you said that I was yours. 

But, your words are so different from your actions now. I feel neglected and it feels like you’re intentionally ignoring me. No matter how long ago my last relationship was, my guard is still up. Probably higher than ever before. It’s just always been me, myself and I for the longest time and I’ve only depended on myself. 

It scares me a lot that I’ve been so happy the past week and that big chunk of my happiness has been solely dependent on you. The past few days have been very challenging and heart breaking for me. I’m hoping and wishing that this isnt just a summer fling. 

I know I am capable of being happier than I originally was before we met and I sincerely have no one else to thank but you. You made me feel confident and loved again. Now, I’m afraid to lose you and if you ask me, I don’t ever want to.

 But a relationship doesn’t work one-way babe. It’s a two-way street. Communication is the most important factor in a relationship. Thats why I fell in love you in the first place. We had that spark. We connected. We talked. We bonded. We shared an unforgettable night together. And I want that to happen more. 

I need you to be a part of this babe. All I’m asking is that you make time for me, for this to work further. Fulfill or plans on building a house by the beach, start a family, and live happily ever after. I’m not asking you every hour or every minute of your time. But just like when we first met. Those first few days we were both on a high for each other. We were both very much infatuated with each other.”

That night with my clouded judgement, I decided to send him a hurtful and demeaning text message and immediately blocked him. I didn’t want to hear anything from him, I didn’t want to be asked for my reasons. But my plan was just up to that stage and don’t think of a plan for the aftermath.

Heres what I think I sent him: (well, one of)

“Last week I started to get tests for my self. I kept it on the down low. Just to see if there’s something wrong with myself. Wednesday I got called in and got the news of me not being well. I tried to be strong but of course the thought of just ending it myself was there hence texting you Wednesday night. But of course I didn’t do it. I thought of ending it myself because I didn’t want to see my family suffer from seeing me ill and spending for my health. I tried to get strength from you as I didn’t want my friends and family to know about it and I didn’t want anyone feeling pittyful but I learned a lesson from that. I won’t get it from anyone else but my siblings and friends. I thought you’d be there to at least give me support after what we’ve been through. This is not me asking for your pitty or paawa.  Since we haven’t formally ended it. Let me formally end it for both of us.”

Past midnight, I was in my room, as usual crying and thinking of how dumb I was my landline rings. I pick up towards the end of the ring and I said “hello” like who the fuck calls a landline at this hour?!

I hear nothing but a heavily breathing sound, my chest tightened and it was him. He spoke a few words while weeping, his words were, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry if I hurt You.” He kept apologising for something he didn’t do and again I broke down and came clean to him but the damage has been done. I’ve hurt the man I’ve truly loved.

Few conversations after, he then says what he felt. He asked me “how could you be so selfish? Did you think I would leave you for that?” Honestly, I did not have any answer to that question. I was speechless, I never got to that point in drafting my master plan. 

Whats done is done. Ive done the damage. He had nothing more to say but to wish me good health and to be brave. I’ve accepted my fate on this matter. Theres no turning back. 

Who am I to chase him back when I know I’ve hurt him? Who am I to chase him when I know I’m not healthy anymore? Who am I to chase him back and risk infecting him? Love is Love and I do care for the person. I wish him all the best in the world, whatever he’s going through, I know that he’ll get through it through Christ and prayers.