#ready to spill blood if it means getting the job done...including her own

[doortotomorrow]

ICONIC LINES FROM THE 100 - Clarke Griffin

[glacial-snowflakes]

Subtle hum of the Hudson River - part 2 // Loki

A/N: Hi darlings! I'm sorry for not posting but I kind of don't have that much time rn :( I'm so so sorry! I hope you like it! <3

Here is part 1

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Summary: You and Loki take a stroll down the river, letting yourself be honest with each other. The words you spoke have an unexpected result.

WARNINGS: it's all fluff, don't you worry!; parts written like this are retrospection

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. It’s really motivating <3

Outrage and disgust filled every little whisper he heard. The team's looks were so sharp that they could cut one's skin open. Sighs full of hatred. Snarky remarks, supposedly innocent, yet hurt like hell. Why would anyone care about God of Mischief? Yes, he might live in the Tower, and yes, he might call himself one of the Avengers now, but he would never belong. Never. Not after what he did.

"They will never trust me, won't they?" Loki asked Thor, his sight focused on a cup he was holding in his frozen hands. The tea wasn't hot anymore. It went cold just like his heart that had never known the warmth of love. Trickster raised his eyes to meet Thor's. God of Thunder could swear that for a moment, he saw despair painted onto his brother's pale face. "I thought you didn't care about them nor their attitude towards you."

"I don't." The raven-haired man said immediately but seeing his brother's smile made him speak the truth. "I hate the way they look at me. I know what I did, and I deserve it. It's just— Nevermind." Loki sighed and took a sip of his cold tea. Speaking about his feelings was never his strong suit. Opening up to someone and spilling his guts felt like a nightmare he didn't want to experience at all costs. Runaway was the best choice.

"If you want to gain their trust, start with Lady Y/N. She's the most perfect for being the first one to break the ice with. Believe me." Thor gave his brother a clap on the back and nodded. "Go on."

"She's holding a knife right now. I am the one who stabs, not the one to be stabbed." Loki muttered. Thor's look said everything. In response, God of Mischief just rolled his eyes, stood up, and slowly approached you. You seemed so focused on the meal you were preparing that you didn't even notice him at first. He cleared his throat. "Lady Y/N."

You snapped out of the trance you were in just a few seconds ago. You lifted a knife you were holding in your hand. It was all covered up in ice, even sharper than the kitchen utensil itself. You held it up in front of your face as you were breathing rather heavily, scared of the sudden voice that made you come back to earth with a bump. Loki could swear that for a moment, your eyes turned impeccably white, just like the snow you could summon whenever you wanted.

"I— I'm so sorry, I didn't want to scare you. I truly mean it." Loki said immediately, waving his hands, the visible awkwardness painted onto his face.

"No, no! It's not your fault." You smiled to assure him that everything was fine. "Whenever I'm cooking, I'm in a trance. Just me, food, my mind free of all the bad thoughts that have been haunting me." You waved your hand in which you were holding a knife, and the ice melted away, just like that, not leaving any mark behind. Loki gave you a subtle nod and asked. "What are you cooking?"

"Oh, I won't tell you." You blurted out, which was followed by the awkward silence. "It's because I'm making my secret dish. Y/N's secret delicacy. No one knows what's inside except me." You explained in the blink of an eye. Loki seemed to be a little bit confused. Oh boy, you weren't good at small talks either. "If you want to, you can stay and sit here. We can talk about whatever you want or, if not, we can sit there in silence. It depends on you."

A sweet, delicate smile appeared on your face. You knew it was hard for Loki. You could see that. You noticed these quick looks he was giving whenever someone whispered his name. You noticed his need to be included when you were in a group, but everybody seemed to be ignoring him. Nobody wanted him to participate in meetings or conversations. He was in a crowd, yet he felt like he was all by himself. You saw all of this, and it made you feel bad. You knew what he did, but in the end, he was one of you now. Every god could bleed, and it hurt you to watch.

You wanted to make the raven-haired man feel better. Even if you were the only one to do this and every other person was about to judge you, you wanted Loki to feel included, to feel important. You promised yourself that it would be YOU who will make Loki feel welcomed, welcomed in a place where everyone pushed him away.

"Can I ask what your exact powers are?" Loki started the conversation, and you couldn't help but smiled. He truly wanted to talk with you. How adorable.

"I'm a demigod with cryokinetic powers. It would take a lot to talk about my abilities, but I will tell you that my favorite one is making ice daggers. Quick and simple, though it took some time to master the perfect shape." You chuckled. "Learning to aim ideally in a battle to cut through a chest and freeze someone's heart was the most problematic part."

"I didn't know you are so violent and tough."

"I am not... I guess I pretend to be." You said quietly, not looking upon a cutting board. A deep sigh escaped your mouth. "You know, it's not a job for everyone. Sometimes I'm too gentle for that."

You didn't let the silence last forever, as you immediately asked. "How do you find yourself here? Do you like the Tower?"

"Ah, you know... It has changed since the last time I visited." Loki said, clearly ashamed of all the damage he did back in 2012. Till these days, the thought of the Chitauri ravaging New York gave you the shivers. It was a very demanding and traumatizing first day of work as the Avenger.

"A renovation was a must." You joked; to clear the air and shoo away the atmosphere that was creeping towards you. "What about your room?"

"If you can call a small couch in Thor's bedroom my room, then I guess it's okay."

"You sleep on Thor's couch?" It was something that surprised you and not in a good way. You got that Loki wasn't everyone's favorite member, but there was a ton of empty bedrooms in the Tower in which he could live.

The God of Mischief nodded. "It's not that bad."

"I don't care. I will talk to Tony. You have to have your own bedroom. It's not like you can sleep on his couch forever. It's not comfortable in the long run." Loki opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "I've got it covered, don't worry."

There was something in talking to you that made Loki feel at home. The way you looked at him; gave him the sweetest and prettiest smiles he has ever seen. There was no hate in your voice, no disgust that he's been experiencing on a daily basis since he could remember. You actually treated him like a human being, despite everything he has ever done. There was only one person he knew with such a kind heart, and you reminded him of her; you reminded him of Frigga.

"You know..." Loki begun. "I feel like you are the only one that doesn't want to cut my throat or stab my heart with my dagger."

You smiled gently. "I think you deserve a second chance."

"And why is that?"

"This is a story for another time."

***

"Where do you think you two are going?" Tony asked when you and Loki approached the elevator. God of Mischief gave him a quick stare before pushing the button with an arrow pointing down. You turned your head to face Tony, who was making himself a coffee. "We're going on a walk." You answered with a smile on your face.

"It's almost midnight."

"Said a man with a cup of coffee in his hand." You chuckled. "We're going to be fine. He's a god, and I'm a demigod. Nothing bad will happen to us."

You knew that it wasn't you who Tony was worried about; he still didn't trust Loki. When you joined the Avengers, you were one of the youngest in the group. Fresh blood, you could say. Stark watched you growing from an impulsive, careless kid with ice powers to a deliberate adult, a demigod aware of her cryokinetic strength. Seeing you change over the years, he felt responsible for your life. Even if Man of Iron knew you could handle yourself, Loki was too powerful. Tony refused to believe in his change, and with it, he was afraid that the Trickster was purely playing with you. If only they saw Loki as you did.

A few minutes later, you two were strolling down the New York. Just you, Loki, and the subtle hum of the Hudson River that made your troubled hearts feel at peace. Slowly paced steps. Your knuckles barely brushing each other woke up armies of butterflies in your stomachs that went on war. If you were bold enough, you would grab his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers together, holding him like it was the end of the world. It was something you truly wanted from the moment Thor brought him into the group.

"So..." Loki cleared his throat. "If you want to, we can talk or, if not, we can walk in silence. It depends on you."

"I'm not ready, not yet... I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever be sorry for not being ready to talk about your feelings, Lady Y/N." Loki grabbed your wrist and made you stop your steps. "Ever, okay?"

Something was mesmerizing in his beautiful eyes and a worried smile. Something that made your heart beat faster; palms get sweaty and clammy. Something that made you agree to everything he said. It was like a trick, but not like the ones he did from time to time to piss of Thor or Tony. No.

You snapped out of it and nodded. "Okay." You said and took your wrist from his hand. You began to walk again with Loki by your side when he asked. "Lady Y/N. A few months ago, I had asked why I deserve a second chance. You'd never gave me an answer. I'd still like to know."

You smiled, looking at the tiny waves on the river. "I knew you'd asked that sooner or later. I think I can finally tell you why I think this way." Your eyes focused on his face now. "Okay... Let me tell you something. It's not a surprise that you've made some pretty bad decisions in your life, and you've hurt a lot of people. You think you're a monster, and you don't deserve to be loved. You were never more wrong.

"In this group, you probably won't find one spotless person. We are people that made huge mistakes. You don't have to look far." You grabbed his hand without thinking. It was an impulse that just felt right. "I was a reckless kid when I got these powers. No one was there to guide me through them, learn how to be in control. And to a bullied kid like me, it was something that made me feel better than others. I was the one on the top. With my mortal mum that couldn't handle the demigod kid and my godly father that had so many half-blood children he didn't give a shit about, no one could stop me. The bullied became the bully. I don't like to call myself that, but this is true. I went through hell, and I made sure they felt the same way. I'm not proud of it, but that is who I was.

"So you have me. And then there's former HYDRA's witch, a billionaire who made deadly weapons, former Russian spy, former HYDRA's most famous brainwashed assassin and etcetera. Welcome, you're just as messed up as we are. Being here with us is your chance to become a better man. You belong here, Loki. Trust me."

At that moment, something broke inside of him. For a second, he stopped being a mysterious, private God of Mischief that didn't want to let in anybody. He let go of all the concerns and worries that had been occupying his mind for far too long. He threw away the image of a monster he considered himself to be.

The words you spoke made him realize that as long as you were next to him, there was nothing he couldn't do. You were the key to his pure heart from the beginning. You were the answer he'd been looking for all along. You were the light that could sweep away the darkness that'd been consuming him from within, and he wanted you to shine beside him forever.

When Loki leaned over to your ear, all you could feel was his warm, shaky breath on your neck that sent the shivers down your spine. "Don't hate me for this." He whispered almost inaudibly as his hands found their way to your hips. His long, lean fingers quite roughly pressed onto your skin. Just like electricity, his touch pierced through your whole body, made your knees get weaker. Your senses were fogged, almost like you were under control. All you could focus on was how his mellowy soft lips felt against yours. The kiss was sweet and passionate, yet gentle at the same time. It wasn't hasty and rough like you'd expect it to be, no. There was something else, something special about it. It was Loki's way to describe every little feeling he had for you. Your adorable smiles you'd been giving him, slight touches you didn't even think he noticed, tea and sympathy. It was all for what he wanted to return the favor.

For a moment, you weren't sure if this was real. Was it just a pure imagination of your mind that was thirsty for love and affection? Or maybe it was a trick, fake reality that you'd fallen for so naively? No, it couldn't be. You could feel it. Feel your heart crazily pounded like it wanted to escape the cage in which it was held for far too long. It was the only thing that helped you stay sober.

You didn't want to stop this. You wanted to stay in this moment forever, scared that once it ended, it would never come back.

"Loki..." You started when you two pulled out to catch a breath. "I could never hate you for making my dreams come true."

The raven-haired man didn't say anything. In response, he wrapped his arms around your still weak body and brought you even closer, so there was no space left between you and him. You felt his chin gently placed on the top of your head. With a smile on your face, you embraced him tightly and snuggled your face onto his chest. All that you heard was his heart pounding fast in the same rhythm as yours, as the subtle hum of the Hudson River accompanied your feelings growing for each other at that moment.

tag: @handmaiden-of-mischief @amiechuchu

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 12 |n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of blood and brutality. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

or              

“  curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

A/n : this was supposed to be a longer chapter. The Tumblr was bring problematic since three days. This is not how the chapter was supposed to end but i couldn't post anything longer than this so i had to make changes to end it on a surprise tone like other chapters. I hope you still enjoy it.

Was he asking for too much?

His unsteady hand rose and fell, internal monologue stopping him from knocking on the door. Johnny wasn't sure how he even ended up outside taeyong's door. One second he was fighting with his thoughts and the next second he found himself jumping out of his car, almost ready to confront the person behind the door. 

He took a deep breath and was about to drum the wood when the door opened from inside, taeyong's sleepy figure greeting him instantly.

"John. Why are you here so late? Do you need something?"  from red pressed strikes on taeyong’s face, anyone would have guessed that he had been sleeping.

“Johnny! I’m talking to you.” he waved his hand in front of johnny’s distracted eyes.

“Huh” 

“Do you want something?”

“y/n.”

Your life was back on the wagon. Not truly but with a few exceptions here and there, it certainly felt like the old days. You were in chois on weekdays and took tuitions on the weekends. You met your friends while visiting the library and everything felt quite normal. Even with a few oddities, that being the five day training sessions with Jungwoo, some new people in your life, a residence that you felt happy coming back to, absence of someone that you’d never grown a liking for, everything was smooth. Just like before. The only thing you missed was some time. Time for yourself. Though you lived alone, which was a luxury nearing its end, you barely got a few minutes alone with your mind and that was something you craved more than the drink shoved in your hand at the moment. 

You loved your friends, without any doubt, but they lived with the bad habit of disregarding your feelings, feelings that said you would be anywhere but the restaurant you were sitting in. 

“y/n is going into hibernation again.” minjun’s voice broke your trance.

“What did you say?" You challenged him but he cowered in his seat and turned his focus on the soggy french fries instead. When he silenced, yugyeom spoke up, 

“Yo y/n. Don’t scare the child. Just drink away your sorrows. The wine is quite expensive here. If you are making me pay then at least make it worth it."

Suddenly, Jungkook's loud snorting caught everyone's attention as they all quietened, waiting for him to reveal the reasons for his action. Swirling his burgundy glass, he chugged the last bit of the drink before leaning backwards in his chair, relaxing himself.

"Now what's the drama with You" Yeong grumbled, clearly intoxicated. 

"She's already hammered" minjun giggled. 

"When are you going to invite us to your house y/n?" Jungkook chimed in, a smirk plastered on his blushed face. 

"Oh yes. Ms. Lawyer no more l-lives i-in the d-dorms." Yeong hiccupped, losing the grip on the bottle of soju. Yugyeom chuckled at her antics before snatching the bottle away to avoid any fuss.

"I also meant to ask you but you are never available for more than an hour or so. Are you doing alright" gyeom shifted his chair towards you while keeping a hand on his girlfriend's back.

You didn't know how to reply or what to trump up so they'd stop pestering you. However, you had no other choice than to continue with the streak you had started a few months ago.

"Of course i want to have you there but my roommate is very, how to explain, very bitchy. He got this corporate job and he-he works from home so I'm supposed to pretend like I do not exist and keep quiet. That includes no outsiders as well. It's gonna be like this for a few months i guess"

You mumbled the last part.

 You averted your eyes but didn't mean you could've escaped their intense judgemental gaze. You repeated the whole lie that you recited to arrange it in the box of deceit that you were filling since the commencement of these stories. Forgetting any of these would mean shattering their trust. And that was exactly what you were supposed to protect.

Once reiterated, you gathered how foolish the sentence was. Had it been said to you, there wasn't a chance of putting your belief in it. But your company was drunk enough to believe it; two of them were enough to carry the whole table.

"Wow. How horrible of him. We should take y/n with us yugy. She'd be happy and she can invite anyone." Yeong low-key let out a little drunk growl to press her point. 

Yugyeom cooed at her before replying,

"And where will you live? Our apartment has only two rooms and both are occupied. Where do you plan to settle down instead?"

His question made her think harder than she ever had in life as she picked at her jutted out lower lip. 

"Laundry room. You and me, will live in the laundry room because y/n needs a nice home."

"I already have a nice home yeongie." You took the opportunity, got up and reached out to pinch her cheeks, "but you won't know unless you are sober. Take her home, yugy. I'm also sleepy so I'll get going. See you on Tuesday." 

" It's already 11. Let me drop you home." Jungkook suggested, startling you.

"No It-

"Yeah you drop her. I'll take Yeong and minjun home but help me in carrying their asses to the car please." Yugyeom pleaded. He left the bills on the table and took Yeong in his arms. You expected jungkook to do the same but he passed minjun your shoulders instead,

"Wait for me outside. I have to call someone first." and he walked away, his lover grinning on your shoulder like it was the funniest thing in the world but you were fine as long as their drunken state saved you from some heavy confrontation. The only person left was jungkook and you had the perfect idea to dodge him as well. 

"So the same place or are you staying in the dorms this weekend?" He asked, driving out of the busy street.

"Just drop me at the nearest bus station. I'll ta-

"Nakamoto residence or the dorms y/n" you almost choked on the air as the word left his lips. Taking a bus home had seemed like the perfect plan but you had overvalued your common sense. Again.

"What are you talking about?" With hesitation evident in your voice, you muttered.

"Do you really think you'd go to a random house in front of me that I know nothing about and you'd be left alone without questions. I was there until the door was opened by someone. You really thought I'd have left you with a stranger. But i knew something was fishy when the receptionist told me that it's a home sweet home of Mr and Mrs nakamoto. Now spill before I get yugyeom to ask in his own way." He shifted the gears in frustration, your relaxed persona bothering him to no end. Getting jungkook wokred up wasn't a grunt work. He was like a matchstick, always ready to be ignited by any possible frictional surface. 

"It's not what you are thin-

"Don't lie please," he started, words dangerously polite, "If he's your boyfriend then there's no need to hide y/n. We would always be there to support you. When, how, why, i don't want you to feel pressured to answer me. Just because you go around with no commitment tag doesn't mean we'd judge you if you ever got in a relationship. We love you. Make us part of your life like we do. Can't we just expect that much." 

You gulped at how disappointed he sounded. He was right. You needed to include them in your life adventures but how were you supposed to explain him the riots you were dealing with. How were you supposed to spill everything without him getting his sword out. That would only lead to more troubles than you had the power to deal with. Trouble for you, him and for everyone who'd be passed that secrecy. 

So you begged, for some more time until you'd be more than comfortable to let all of them into your present life. 

Like every other word, this was also a lie that, in the first place,  you never chose to proceed with. 

He might have give in to you, but you knew eventually you'd have to muster up the courage to answer him and that day would decide another turn of your future. 

And you would make sure, inter alia, to shift the wheels in a more likeable direction.

“Use your fists!” 

Jungwoo’s grip was strong. His one arm was holding your waist and the other was around your neck. It was painful but you knew he wasn’t going to let go easily this time. This was the third consecutive scuffle or demo fight with him within the span of the last forty five minutes and having lost the last two, awfully at that, expectation of some mercy was not very demanding on your part. But only if he would grant that! You heard his chuckle as you wriggled in his hold. He was clearly having a lot more fun than you were. There was no way you could’ve applied renjun and hyuck’s advice but you still tried to follow their vague instructions.

“Bit his arm and turn.”

“No, don’t. Turn around and hit his torso with your knees.” 

Bit him?

Halting your movements, a low grunt left your lips as you lowered your body and pressed your teeth on his flesh. He screeched and immediately retracted his arm. Taking advantage of his loosened grip on your waist, you whirled around and raised your knee to strike at his upper body. In an instant, your hands fell on your knees and you inhaled a harsh breath, regaining your strength. Jungwoo, on the other hand, was curled up on the floor like a baby. You wanted to laugh at him but the more astonishing thing was the lack of any noise from your cheerleaders. Right from the start, they were rooting for you like you were earning them some hard cash and now that you had done exactly what they had wanted, they were silent. 

“Wha-

you opened your mouth to speak but their lack of attention held you back. Their eyes were fixed at Jungwoo,who still laid where he had landed. 

“What did you do?” renjun shrieked.

“Exactly what you told me to!” you replied with heavy breathing.

“We said torso!”

“Yes and i hi-

Mechanically your hand slapped your face as you noticed the position of jungwoo’s hands. You had, mistakenly, kicked him in the groin which only meant more trouble for you. 

“Save me.” you mouthed to hyuck and renjun while approaching jungwoo. 

“Sorry teacher.” you mumbled.

He remained quiet for a few seconds and didn’t make any movement. When he did, you took a few steps back, afraid of his wrath. Palms down on the mat, he sat up and with painfully quiet voice spoke up,

“Looks like you won. Good j-job. I think i need to visit the medical room. You can go and celebrate.”

“Does it pain too much” pointing to his crotch and averting your eyes, you asked.

“No. not at all but i might need to adopt your kids someday. You know if i can’t make my own.” 

“Sorry” you cried.

“Dismissed.” his civil tone, probably due to the ache, glued you in the position.

When you didn't move, donghyuck came, took you by your arm and guided you for the door.

"He's just being dramatic. Just chill. Another hit and he'd be good to go." He giggled and was soon joined by renjun as well, who was now crouching down in front of jungwoo. 

"You sure?"

"If he doesn't then you can always give him your baby. Ofcourse after asking your husband." Only after he rambled, he realised what he had actually said. His face screamed surprise. To save him from spiralling into deep shame, you eased him by cutting off his apology,

"Ew hyuck. Give him one of yours if you want. Don't come for mine!" And you exited the door.

You were halfway through the basement when you realised the lack of your device. Running back, you were about to shout when you overheard their gossip.

"No, I'm telling you she meant to injure me so i won't teach her anymore or this might be the revenge of all the weapon training. Her knee is stronger than jeno's punch. Don't laugh at me you shits."

Jungwoo was whining. 

"Haha. Yeah ok. But i told you renjun, she's physically stronger than her. Kind of totally opposite." Hyuck's voice quietened at the end but before he could speak further, you interrupted,

"Like who hyuck?"

Their faces went blank at your question and the reason of sudden heaviness in the air was beyond your contemplation. 

"You don't want to answer? Fine. Maybe it's not my place to question." You simply stated before circling the mat to pick up your phone from the chair.

"No. It's not li-

"It's fine hyuck. Chill." You shrugged and walked away, deciding against pestering them for information that they clearly felt too uncomfortable to share. 

"You need a fucking lock on your bloody mouth." was the last thing you heard before they were out of your hearing.

What was the need to ask something when you knew you won't ever get an answer out of them. Everyone was beyond friendly with you but still, there were some borders that nobody dared to cross. Maybe the mention of that woman was one of them. Fear of some unknown ghost of embarrassment was swallowing you whole when you heard grunts. Loud ones. You were still in the basement, the scuffle center being at the far end. The stairs were in front of you. The  snarls and growls were coming from the other end of the basement. The election wasn't hard and you didn't want to give in to your curiosity but you did. Your feet, not cooperating with the voice in the back of your head that told you to turn away, took you ahead in the direction of the noise. Though the residence consisted of only one plot but the basement covered two. Unknown to everyone, the house next to B.N was also their property and it was only utilised for the underground space. Hence the never ending lane and the countless closed metal doors.

The echo got louder with each step you took. It’s been more than a month since you were visiting the basement but those noises had never crossed through you until today. The end doors were forbidden for you, according to what you were told but now that you were exposed to it, there was no chance of ignoring. No prudent person would ever overlook such a thing. That was the justification you were repeating as you took baby steps.

All the doors were closed except one at the very far end. You thought about peaking inside then halted as if your conscious called you. The whimpers also stopped for a minute or so but your heart skipped a few beats when a collision following with painful shriek reverberated in the empty space. The door, slightly ajar, was just a few strides away but you were too startled to even back away from your position. Same pattern of hit and shouts continued again. Unaware of the happenings, you stood there as If you were waiting for someone to separate you from the concrete beneath your feet.

Adding to your distress, the metal door opened abruptly and you realised, you were again at a place where you weren't meant to be.

"What are you doing here?" Jaehyun's growl broke you out of the unconscious state you had fell into. Mechanically, you eyes roamed across him to notice a body lying on the table inside the room, strained cries escaping his lips. The limp body was enough to put two and two together to conclude that he was being tortured. He was a victim of jaehyun's wrath. 

"I asked what ar-

"Y/N!" he picked up his hand to touch your shoulders but you distanced yourself when you noticed the stains covering his clothing and hands, the blood red prominently visible even under the low light. 

His gaze caught yours in time and his eyes softened noticing the fear in your body. 

Very slowly, he reached out for you but immediately stopped, taking a note of your quivering lip.

"Hey. It-its not blood. I ca-can explai- Y/N!" 

The yells of your name covered the whole arena as you rushed away, leaving a dazed jaehyun behind.

"Who was it jae?" 

Jaehyun saw your trembling figure diminishing while you ran away from him as if you were disgusted by him. Not that he expected any other reaction, some good time has passed since someone innocent had came across their work. To say the least, it was never pleasant to have someone witness their harsh manners.

"JAE!"

"Y/n. She saw the body and also the blood."

He mumbled to ten whose visage, upon hearing, instantly mirrored jaehyun's.

"What about him?" Ten pointed to the man, "he's not speaking shit"

"Finish him off if you want. I need to handle something else now"

You raced as fast as you could have. You had never thought of yourself as a weak person but the sight was gruesome to just disregard and walk off. With shaking legs, you finally made it upstairs but the ringing, only became more earsplitting. Your hand harshly rubbed at your chest as you tried to defuse the tension bubbling in your whole body. After what felt like minutes, you covered your ears as if it would stop the ringing. It certainly did not but surprisingly it was muffled. You removed your hands and the blaring returned again. But this time, you laboured yourself to look into your surroundings. You saw chenle, jisung, jaemin running back and forth from the kitchen while doyoung seemed to be scolding jeno for something. Few others were also there, cleaning the couches and spraying some fragrance in the air. Everyone seemed to be their own turmoil, origin was which was yet to be known.

That's when it hit you. Maybe your ears weren't booming due to fright. 

"Chenle"you screamed at the passing boy, "do you hear this sound?" You pointed your fingers in the air to exaggerate your point. He merely nodded before he went past you and the very next second the noise was reduced to mere buzzing. You inhaled sharply to regulate your heartbeat but failed due to the ruckus  that enclosed you. Suddenly jaemin emerged, 

"Why are you so disheveled? Go and change from these workout clothes. Uncle is outside. Didn't you hear the alarm." Only Half of his words entered your head and before you could come to your senses, you were interrupted again.

"Y/n my girl!" Whipping your head, you saw a familiar figure entering the threshold. 

An old man that you surely had seen somewhere. 

His voice was a lot stronger than his aged body which he was dragging along with the help of a walking stick. 

Jaemin nudged you to greet him and you complied as soon as could have in your current state. Only when you got closer, you realised he was the same man you had met in the office celebration. You haven't seen him since then but he looked significantly weaker than before. Even with dark circles present, his face still was still shining with the smile he wore as he staggered inside. 

"How's life treating you my kid" he asked, patting the empty space on the couch. You took the seat and replied in a small voice,

"I'm good. Everything is nice." 

"Why am I smelling Jasmines this late in the evening?" He sniffed the air and galred at doyoung, " Do you take me for a fool? One thing! Cleaning. that is the only thing i ask of you. There are- how many of you are present since the morning. Answer me doyoung." 

The man barked and doyoung muttered a sheepish apology, his head dropping with shame. 

"Each one of you is nonsense. If you'd just clean up your stink once in a while, you'd save your money on the thousands of spray bottles you buy every month. But you thick heads only know how to shoot and punch. Now get me a glass of water before i die of this fake flowery smell"

He shouted like he owned the place and Maybe he did. Your mind and heart were not aligned up to comprehend the simple scenario that took place before you, the dizziness coming and going with intervals.

Then you were called again. 

Looking at your right, your saw jaehyun standing, his face ridden of any colour.

You noticed his new shirt. There was no blood on it. His hands were also cleaned and you were stunned at how quickly your eyes were running on his body to find any trace of what you saw in the basement a few minutes ago.

"y/n, i need to talk to you" 

For the first time, jaehyun's words were directed towards you without any poison in them. 

You still didn't wish to face him so you moved yourself to face the old man.

"Y/n ple-

"Now you don't even greet your own father jung jaehyun."

He spoke with a steadier and louder voice that felt like it was only meant for jaehyun. The contrast in his tone was striking. 

He was jaehyun's father.

"Sorry dad. I have something imp-

"I called you in the morning to inform yuta and taeil and yet i do not see anyone here. Do i need to die for you to respect me!"

You couldn't believe your ears when jaehyun answered in shuddering tone. 

"Yu-yuta is not here." 

He sounded like a child responding to his teacher, scared of some evaluation.

"Then call him."

"I mean he's away on business dad."

"Civil?"

It was like hearing Morse code.

"No."

"You sent him on a target place?"

"No. He's in Nice to collect information."

"Wow. Can you please clap your back for breaking the only sacred rule this family lives by?"

The silence in the extremely large living room was suffocating. This time, except you, everyone else was scared. And it still wasn't of any help.

"How dare you send a family man away on anything remotely dangerous. I thought you all were careful after taeil's incident but no. Nobody cares enough t-

Before he could complete, shaky coughs engulfed his body. Somehow, jaehyun grabbed him the moment he was about to fall from the couch. Doyoung ran for the kitchen while xiaojun, who was always too swift in his movements, came to the living room with a medical box.

You weren't sure what was happening with him or why he was being treated like some high mighty force or why he was so adamant on bringing yuta back but you could only pray that his wish won't be granted.

You weren't cruel but you were sure he'd be able to survive without that piece of shit roaming around.

You couldn't lose the few weeks you had without him.

Taeyong hands clutched yours like his life depended on you.

"Please please please y/n. It's been over a month since he's gone. I never withdraw from a deal. But this is an emergency. Uncle doesn't know you both were forced. He is a soft and weak hearted man. We cannot afford to tell him anything like this and clearly this would be seen as a betrayal to him. You both are nothing like what he's told but he doesn't need to need. He's the only father figure we have. Please just this time. I promise I won't ask anything from you after this. You do not need to live with him. he'd be here until two months are over. Please."

You lifted your brow at his last sentence and liberated your hands from his, feeling his trembling fingers. 

"I don't see the need to lie anymore, taeyong. You can tell him the truth and be over with it. If he has jaehyun as a son, he must be used to hearing blatant lies. This won't be the only one, I'm sure of that." Crossing your arms, you coldly said.

"I know you hate me but please y/n. You know how it is to lose the only family member you have. We have no one besides him. Never had anyone before him. The least we can do is keep him happy until it's too late. Please. Just this time."

Gobbling down each word, you merely nodded at him. If it weren't for his glossy eyes, you'd have threw up on him right after the first pleading but you weren't heartless like him. He was right. You knew how it felt to lose your loved ones, a fate you would never wish upon anyone. Not even the person you despised the most.

"Thank you. I owe you this one kiddo." He hugged you and you pushed him away. 

"Let me call him."

"Yuta!"

"Hmm"

"You need to come back immediately "

Taeyong spoke with urgency.

"Nope. I still have Three weeks and two days left." You heard his non-chalant words through the speaker.

"Yuta it's abou-

"Sorry I'm busy with my french girls. Call you later and please forget to take care of yourself."

And he hung up. 

A smirk formed on your face watching the grim expressions of taeyong.

"Good luck convincing him and while you are going to explain him the difference between the French girls and the French monkeys he has mistaken as women, why don't you explain me what exactly jaehyun does in that other end of the basement. I love some good stories, taeyong. So let's hear how good of a storyteller are you!"

taglist :: @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey  @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts  @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @/bralessmermaid

[prettyboybarzal]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied (2)

Pairing: Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader

A/N: Hello, angels!!! Here is part two... As always, let me know what you think! Part three is almost done and will be out next Sunday at 8pm. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter

“You’re practically jail bait for these men, do you understand?”

“I’m 21, not 18,” Sadie protested. It was 9 p.m. on a Friday night and you were standing outside Josh’s apartment dressed for a night out. You were reading her the riot act, knowing damn well that it was probably going in one ear and out the other.

“21 is young enough,” you argued. She rolled her eyes as you continued. “If you can’t find me while we’re out, look for Josh. Or Seth. Or Boone.”

“YN, everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I really hope so.”

The entire week leading up to Sadie’s arrival was stressful to say the least. You had to childproof your entire life just to have a problem free weekend with her, and that included childproofing the boys too.

Because Josh had met Sadie plenty of times before, he was more than happy to have everyone over his house for pre-drinks. It took a weight off your shoulders because being in an enclosed space with your closest friends meant it would be easier to keep tabs on how much alcohol she was consuming. And the more people she met before hitting the club meant there were more people keeping an eye out for her, and you need all eyes on her. 

Well, almost all of them. You could do without Pierre’s.

Josh’s apartment was already loud when you arrived, which came as no surprise considering about half the Blue Jackets were inside. When you entered, Sadie gazed around at his apartment like a kid in a candy story.

“This is where Josh lives?”

“This is what a cushy job gets you in Columbus.”

“Why didn’t Mom and Dad force us to become athletes?”

You ventured into the living room and were greeted by an assortment of hoots and hollers. Josh swept Sadie up in a big hug before introducing her to the rest of the boys and some girlfriends in a pretty general introduction. Seth slipped a beer into your hand with a knowing smile that screamed, “I got you. Stop stressing.”

Pierre wasn’t there and you were naive enough to think he might’ve passed on a night out, but then the front door swung open and he was sauntering in with a rack of beers in his hand. Sadie’s eyes cut to yours as he made his rounds to say hello.

When he reached her, he came up short. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the all too familiar facial features.

“You’re YN’s sister,” he spoke. “I’m assuming you already hate me.”

“More or less.”

“I’ll have fun trying to prove you wrong tonight then.”

He stepped away from her and said hello to the remaining few before completely ignoring you and slipping into the kitchen to put his beers in the fridge.

---

The executive decision was made to leave Josh’s apartment around 9:30 p.m., so while you ran off to the bathroom to get ready to go, Sadie flitted off to the kitchen for one final drink. Pierre did the same. When he entered, she was standing in front of the liquor, studying each bottle.

She didn’t even spare him a glance, having clocked him through her peripheral vision and deciding not to engage. He opened the fridge and reached in to receive a new bottle.

“You go to Ohio State, right?” he asked after popping the cap off.

She looked uncertain of him when he asked, but responded, “Yeah, I do.”

“You’re in the,” he paused, thinking for a moment about her class placement, “third year?”

“Yep.”

“How do you like it?” he asked, cocking his hip against the counter. He watched as Sadie poured herself another drink. She sipped it for taste, then added a little more Vodka. “I always got a little jealous of my friends who got to go to school.”

“It’s great,” she answered. “But I don’t think you’re missing out. If you make anything close to what Josh does, I should be jealous of you.” He chuckled softly, lifting the mouth of the bottle to his lips for a swig. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you do to my sister?”

He placed the bottle on the counter beside him, fingers swiping along the condensation settling against the label.

“I didn’t make the best first impression and she never gave me the chance to right that wrong,” he answered honestly. “It’s all good, though. I don’t need her to like me.”

Sadie caught the uneasy shift of his eyes from hers to the bottle beside him and decided that he had a shit poker face. 

“She’s a tough cookie sometimes,” she murmured. He nodded in agreement, eyebrows nearly raised to his hairline. 

“She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” he huffed, shaking his head to himself and taking another sip of beer. 

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t like me the first five years I was alive, so don’t worry, maybe you’ll win her over,” Sadie shrugged, giving Pierre a knowing look that he tried to ignore. If he was going to go around spilling secrets to anyone the last person he would choose was your little sister.

“Crazier things have happened, right?”

“Sure,” she said softly. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment like she was trying to decipher what he wasn’t saying. Pierre felt uncomfortable under her gaze, lifting his beer bottle to her and slipping out of the kitchen before she could make him sweat anymore than she already had. 

---

As soon as you walked into the club, you threw an arm over Sadie’s shoulder and led her to the bar. Josh and Pierre followed a few steps behind you as the rest of the group left to grab a table. Sadie’s eyes lit up as she studied every bit of the place you all frequented, overjoyed to finally be a part of your Columbus crew.

Sadie propped herself up onto one of the barstools at the bar and you stood beside her to wave down the bartender at the other end. Behind you, Josh and Pierre waited, deep in conversation about something to do with the team.

The bartender was quick to attend to your needs, dropping your drinks off swiftly before moving on to the next group of patrons.

You were busy surveying the land for potential suitors for the evening, not exactly sure if you wanted to end up in Charlie’s bed again or not. For some reason you were finding it hard to take interest in any of the men mingling around the bar with Pierre’s cologne overwhelming your senses as he stood just a few feet behind you. 

Sadie seemed to have no interest in the men that were hanging around the bar, which made you feel better at first. That is, until you realized she was eyeing up Pierre and then shifting her gaze back to you. She was up to something, that was never a good sign. 

“His name matches his face,” Sadie spoke after glancing at Pierre over your shoulder.

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s fucking hot!” she exclaimed. Her voice carried and while you choked on your drink in front of her, Pierre choked on his own in front of Josh.

“You heard that?” Josh asked him with an amused smile. He nodded slowly, desperately trying to push her words out of his mind. “YN’s blood is probably boiling.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be castrated by the end of the night.”

“It was nice knowing you, buddy,” Josh teased. 

As you and Sadie stepped away from the bar, Josh grabbed your sister and pulled her into his side. Left in their wake, Pierre fell into step with you. 

“You talk about me to your little sister?”

“Only to tell her how insufferable you are,” you informed him. He grinned, like he always did, like he was one step ahead of you. “Whatever she said to you, don’t believe. She’s a liar.”

“So, she was lying when she said I’m fucking hot?”

You turned to face him, standing tall even though he was basically a foot taller than you. You raised your voice just enough to beat out the music, growling, “If you try anything with my sister, I will literally--” 

“Holy shit, I’m kidding,” he said gruffly, an exasperated sigh attached to the end of the sentence. He shook his head, mumbling as he brushed past you on the way back to the booth. “I don’t want your little sister, YN.”

---

Two hours later, Pierre was wandering the bar in search of someone new to occupy his time. He’d been with a group of co-eds for a bit, one of which he’d slept with once before, but they’d decided to leave for another bar. And though he’d been invited, he decided to stick with his real friends.

It had to be somewhere around midnight when he slipped past the bar and noticed Sadie at the end without any of her appointed babysitters and immediately felt worry bubbling up in his stomach. She was the youngest in the bar and seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and even though you told him to stay away, the creeps eyeing her down from the other side gave him bad vibes.

So, he stepped up beside her and leaned against the bar with a smile. 

“Bonjour!”

“Hey, Sadie,” he greeted her. She hiccuped. “You good?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she slurred. “I’m getting another Tequila shot.”

“Do you need one?” he asked. His tone of voice was teasing, but the concern was clear on his face. When she turned to look at him, he saw how strikingly similar she looked to you. It was probably the glare on her face that did it.

“I want one,” she repeated. “And you’re going to take one with me.”

“Well, okay.”

Pierre had seen this one too many times before. He knew this shot was going to be the end to her night, but it didn’t matter how hard he tried to stop her, it wasn’t going to work. The bartender brought the liquor over and after some convincing on Sadie’s part, he poured a shot for himself as well.

The tequila went down easy for the two men, but the look on Sadie’s face told Pierre that she also knew that shot was going to be her night’s death sentence.

“You look pale.”

“Let’s go sit,” she murmured, grabbing his wrist and pulling him with her towards the booth with the rest of the group. Seth caught Pierre’s frantic eyes as they approached.

“She’s going to be sick,” he whispered as soon as they were standing beside each other. They both looked up at Sadie who’d taken up residence at the end of the table, knuckles white from from clutching the top. “Where’s YN?”

“I have no clue,” Seth answered. “The bathroom maybe.”

Just as Pierre started to look around the bar, hoping to find you in the crowd, Sadie lurched slightly. 

“I need to get her out of here,” he said. “If she throws up here, YN would never want to come back and she loves this place.”

“Do you want me to just take her?”

It was a good question and Pierre stopped to think for a moment about the answer. Seth could take Sadie off his hands and he could go about his night normally, or he could prove to you that he wasn’t the asshole you painted him out to be. For whatever reason, he chose the latter.

“No, I got her,” he said. “Let YN know what’s going on, would you?”

---

You returned to the table not even fifteen minutes later, already pissed off because of how long the bathroom line was. Needless to say, Seth letting you know that Pierre had taken Sadie back to your place was not what you wanted to hear. 

“You let her leave this bar with Pierre?”

His fingers danced nervously along the beer bottle in his hand. The 6’ 4” defenseman was utterly terrified of your wrath, and had you not been so pissed off, you would’ve thrived in the feeling. “I know you hate him, but he was just trying to help out.”

“Help out?” you repeated. “You think Pierre would do something out of the kindness of his own heart for me, Jonesy?” He nodded a bit sheepishly. “You’re delusional.”

With that, you snatched your purse off the table and stormed out of the bar in pursuit of your apartment. The walk was only about ten minutes long and, quite frankly, you didn’t give a shit that you were walking through the city at night in a short little dress. You were a woman on a mission and anyone that crossed your path with the wrong intention was going to get your wrath, and it seemed that everyone knew that because you weren’t bothered once. 

You threw your door open once it was unlocked and the decorations on the wall rattled as the door hit the wall beside it. Pierre, who’d been standing outside the bathroom door, jumped out of his skin at the sound. He righted himself and stood tall as you entered the hallway unsure of what type of reaction he was going to receive from you. 

You hardly looked at him as you barked, “Where is she?”

“Puking.”

He leaned forward and pushed the bathroom door open a bit wider, revealing Sadie with her head on the toilet seat. You huffed as you entered and kicked the door closed in his face before slumping down beside her.

“Sadie, what the fuck?”

“I suck.”

“How much did you have to drink?” you asked, hand rubbing comforting circles on her back. 

“I was trying to keep up with your friends,” she murmured before gagging into the toilet again.

“You know that they’re all well above six feet and weigh like two hundred more pounds than you, right?” you stated. She nodded and groaned pathetically. “You should’ve known better.”

She didn’t offer a response to your chastising and instead sat up to look at you and said, “I thought I wasn’t going to like him.”

You raised your eyebrows at her.

“Pierre?”

“Yeah. He’s actually a really nice guy,” she grumbled, dropping her head back into her hand that was propped up on the toilet. “Held my hair back for me.”

With an eye roll and a grunt, you stood to leave her to fend for herself.

“Wait,” she called as soon as your hand was on the door knob. “Can you tell Pierre that I’m sorry I ruined his night?”

“Sure.”

“Be nice to him.”

“No promises,” you grunted, pulling the door open to kick the hockey player out of your house.

---

Pierre was uncomfortable in your apartment. Before you arrived, he was too worried about Sadie to even think about the fact that he was in the middle of your personal space. But now, as you sat with her in the other room and he stood in the living room lurking, he knew he didn’t belong.

There were books decorating your coffee table and plants hanging from the ceiling above him. The television stand was cluttered with picture frames of your family and friends from home. His eyes caught on a photo strip from a Blue Jackets event. Josh’s arm was slung over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist, both of you clearly hammered and smiling like two idiots who’d been sitting at the open bar all night. 

Although he couldn’t remember much of that night, thanks to the date he was entertaining, he did remember one thing. He remembered the dress you wore. 

It was this dark blue, almost navy dress, and there was a slit up your leg to your thigh that he kept finding himself gazing at. For the first time since he met you, he thought about what it would be like to feel your body against his, to slide his hand up and between your thighs in the middle of a team event just because he could. 

When he got home later that night after dropping his date at home, he jumped beneath a cold stream of water in the shower. He was desperate to clear his mind of every dirty thought that included you. In the end, the only thing that could clear it was release and he ended up jerking off in the shower despite himself.

“I could’ve used a text. I was worried sick.” 

You snuck up on him, leaving him with no time to pretend like he hadn’t been staring at you in each of your photos.

“I would’ve texted you but, in completely unsurprising news, I don’t have your number,” he said defensively. 

It wasn’t like he was expecting you to grovel at his feet for making sure your sister didn’t vomit in the middle of your favorite club, but he would’ve appreciated a little less attitude or a simple ‘thank you’. 

“Her phone was dead, too, and she started throwing up in a bush, so I was a little more concerned about holding her hair back than calling you right away.”

Your mouth snapped shut.

“Anyway, you’re welcome.”

Your mother would kill you if she saw you now. You didn’t even say thank you. 

But, before your mouth could catch up to the thanks at the tip of your tongue, Pierre was pulling the apartment door open and disappearing down the hall. Not even a parting glance was sent your way.

[theadrogna]

Dream Show Challenge 2.0

@singledarkshade​ came up with the Dream Show challenge last year, where we had to give her a list of 7 TV shows or films and we were given a cast of 7 actors in return. This time we were given someone else’s cast and were allowed to recast one character (plus add some if we wished). This time I came up with:

Virtuality

Synopsis:

Good people die before their time and it happens every day. Eli Danzig is doing his best to change that. He invents a way to upload consciousness to an online server where the dead can live out a normal life in a virtual environment. He builds an entire world to keep his uploaded souls entertained, making it as lifelike as possible. Huge amounts of processing power are required so Eli must choose his clients carefully.

The electronic world is called Virtuality and the uploaded persons are known collectively as the digi-souls. Virtuality has a small but growing population, which is a continuing concern as it means more storage space is always needed. Eli funds his enterprise by playing the stock market using his AI Tallis to filter information and predict stock prices. Sometimes he sells patents for the things that the digi-souls invent, but more often they give their inventions away for free. However, money is always a worry because none of this is a stable source of income.

Cast:

Eli Danzig (Donald Glover) – Eli is a young computer programmer of genius level intellect. He came from a poor background, and was the first in his family to attend university. He is determined to make things better for people, by improving society. He believes that “only the good die young” is a real problem, and if he could keep the good people in the world for longer then maybe more good could be done. He invents a digital after-life for people to upload their consciousness to, but he must maintain it a secret to keep the unscrupulous from corrupting it or destroying it. He researches every person very carefully before inviting them to join Virtuality.

Ashura Hadid (Tala Ashe) – Ashura is a terminal cancer patient who becomes one of Eli’s digi-souls. She is a prize-winning journalist and novelist, known for taking on difficult stories about things that people would rather keep hidden. She’s recently been looking into CharterTech, owned by Maggie Charter as part of a series on corruption in tech companies, but most of her efforts are going into completing her final novel. Eli and Ashura have undeniable chemistry, but live in very different worlds. She is very driven and moral, always looking for new ways to expose corruption and wrong doing.

Oren Murphy (Jim Byrnes) – Oren was Eli’s professor at University. He made sure that Eli got the scholarship that he needed to attend, and then acted as his mentor. He suffered from high blood pressure and had multiple strokes. He agreed to be Eli’s test case for Virtuality and was the first digi-soul to be uploaded. He is a calming influence on Eli’s life, often being the one to counsel him out of a rash decision.

Shona Lennox (Sophia di Martino) – Eli’s technician, she has a background in medical devices and large-scale genetic information storage. She built the mainframe and worked out how to put into practice Eli’s ideas. She often finds herself in unusual situations now she is working for Eli, but likes her new job and the excitement it brings, even if she complains about it. She used to work for CharterTech but Eli doesn’t know that when he hires her. When she leaves CharterTech she decides to start self-defence classes and can definitely handle herself in a crisis.

Ryan Fournier (Joey Batey) – Ryan is an inventor who has been responsible for some of the world’s most important leaps forward in technology, including making ecological sources of power more viable, such as wind and solar power. He is a problem solver and a big ideas guy. Unfortunately, he was born with a genetic condition that meant he died young, but he is now one of Eli’s digi-souls and living on in the Virtuality. He loves nothing better than to sit down with a problem and work out a solution, but occasionally he realises what he’d missing out on in the real world and ends up depressed and unhappy.

Chie Ohta (Naoko Mori) – Chie is a medical researcher and entrepreneur, but she was unable to save herself from a rare blood disease, despite years of trying. In the process she brought many other useful pieces of medical technology to the market and helped save the lives of countless people with cures for diseases. She loved her work, but always knew she was on borrowed time. She left behind a husband and children, who have no idea of her new existence. She continues to check up on them, despite Oren’s suggestion that this isn’t a good idea.

Maggie Charter (Alison Janney) – Maggie is a self-made woman, in the way that all billionaires are self-made. She inherited a fortune from her politician father and invested in business. She had a technical background so she picked tech companies as an obvious interest. She now owns CharterTech, one of the largest technical manufacturing companies in the world. She once tried to recruit Eli and has never been pleased that he turned her down. She knows nothing about Virtuality but has heard rumours that someone was working on something like it.

Tallis (Arthur Darvill) – Tallis is the AI personality that maintains the Virtuality. He is often mistaken for one of the digi-souls by the newly uploaded as he is so lifelike. He is polite and caring, always available to listen. He is Eli’s friend and also occasional advisor. Tallis means “knowledge” and he has access to all of the world’s online resources.

Occam (Karen Gillan) - Is another AI, built by CharterTech. She is new and unruly, but very quick to follow her creator’s orders. Sparks fly between her and Tallis.

Episodes:

Episode 1: Virtually Home

Ashura Hadid, prize winning writer, is dying at the age of 38. It’s not fair, it’s not right and she is having none of it. She is being treated for an aggressive brain tumour, but decides to stop treatment when it becomes clear that it will impact her ability to write and finish her final novel. The novel is partly a work of fiction but is also based on real life events at a chemical factory in the city that she has been researching.

Eli Danzig introduces himself to her and explains that he can offer her a second chance at life, by uploading her mind to Virtuality. She explains that she has no money and Eli tells her how he finances the project. She will never have to pay to live there. Ashura questions Eli further about the procedure and Virtuality itself. Eli tells her that he chooses young people, like Ashura, who have died before their time and had great contributions to make to society. They live in a computer generated world where things are simple but they can continue to work and interact with each other. However, they cannot have contact with the outside world, because Virtuality is a secret. It isn’t ready to be opened up to the world, there isn’t enough storage space on Earth to facilitate it. He doesn’t want it to be something that only the rich have access to, so he has decided to choose who gets to go there.

Elsewhere, Maggie Charter discusses her heart condition with her doctor and hears that she may only have a few months to live. She is 61 years old and a tech mogul. For years she has been looking for a way to cure her heart disease. Her network of corporate spies have heard of a young man with an unusual portfolio of patents and a strange pattern of spending on digital storage. She finds out that it is Eli and decides to look into what he is doing more.

Over the course of their discussions, Eli and Ashura grow closer. Eli’s AI partner, Tallis, warns him that he cannot form emotional attachments to the Digi-souls. Ashura will die soon and then Eli will only be able to have limited interaction with her through the interface he has built. Ashura thinks over the proposal and decides to take the plunge. Episode 1 ends with her death. However, Ashura doesn’t die of brain cancer, she is found murdered in her apartment.

Episode 2: Extra Life

Eli must upload Ashura within 12 hours of her death to retain all of her memories, after that time degradation begins to take place. Eli races against time to reach Ashura in the morgue and take the brainwave recording that he needs. Shona Lennox, Eli’s technician, ends up breaking in while Eli creates a computer distraction. They are finally able to upload Ashura’s consciousness, but she has forgotten the days before her death, and they are unable to find out who killed her. She has also forgotten who Eli is.

Meanwhile in Virtuality, the digi-souls try to analyse Ashura’s work for the likely culprit and begin putting together a picture of who it might be. Someone at CharterTech seems a very strong candidate, but then they discover that Ashura was close to uncovering a chemical spill which derails their ideas.

Episode 3: Online Banking

Maggie is putting together more about Eli and his weird ability to make money from stock market trades and a portfolio of patents that seem to have little in common. She uncovers more about the shell companies that he trades through and puts more pieces together. Tallis flags up her interest and Eli works to cover his tracks. It’s the worst time for Ryan to make a major breakthrough in water purification that could save hundreds of lives, but only if they can get it to the right people. With Maggie watching everything that Eli and Shona are doing in the real world, perhaps only the virtual world can get the idea where it needs to be, especially as Ryan is feeling like his efforts don’t matter as he reads yet another news article on how climate change isn’t real.

Shona is contacted by her former boss at CharterTech who invites her to return, but Shona turns them down. The concerning part is that she’s being asked to work on an AI project called Occam. Ashura continues her investigations into CharterTech whilst rekindling her past relationship with Eli.

Episode 4: Occam’s Razor

Maggie has a heart attack, but survives, however she is becoming more and more concerned about her health. She brings online her own AI, Occam and begins to sift through all of the information that she can acquire on medical technology. Occam comes across Chie’s work when she was alive. No one else seems to have been quite as close to curing the heart issue that Maggie has. Occam notices that Eli’s shell company has patented some devices that were based on Chie’s work. In fact, Occam notices that this is something of a trend in Eli’s patent’s and brings together the other work that he has done to see something that Maggie has been unable to see up until this point. Eli may have some way of accessing the brains of the dead.

Episode 5: Reality Bytes

Ryan is bored and ends up creating a virtual ant colony that soon gets out of control, causing all sorts of trouble for Virtuality. Tallis is very much not amused at the replicating program that Ryan has introduced to the system. He and Oren are left to deal with it with only minimal input from Eli as he is being sued by CharterTech over one of his patents. It looks like a lawsuit brought specifically to waste his time, but there doesn’t seem to be anyway to circumvent it, especially with everyone else busy with the increasingly problematic (and storage sucking) ant farm.

Episode 6: Denial of Service

Someone tries to hack into Virtuality and it is up to Eli and the digi-souls to stop them. Chie finds out that her teenage daughter has a new boyfriend, and against Tallis’ advice she looks into him and discovers that he has a possible chromosomal abnormality which could lead to an early death. Chie tries to decide whether she should find a way to let her husband know.

Eli and the others successfully prevent the hack but are worried that someone now knows of the existence of Virtuality. Certainly someone is testing their defences. Shona finally tells Eli that she used to work for CharterTech and the fallout is unfortunate.

Episode 7: Second Life

Eli finds a possible new candidate for Virtuality and starts his due diligence. Usually Shona would be involved in this process but their recent falling out means that things are not running smoothly. The new prospect seems like the perfect candidate and Eli almost begins his usual approach, until Oren uncovers some anomalies that Eli had missed. They may not even exist at all. The question is, who knows enough about Virtuality to do something like this?

Tallis uncovers the existence of Occam, and there is a brief encounter where they size each other up. Occam is identified as the force that tried to hack Virtuality before.

Episode 8: Power Switch

City-wide power outages see Eli scrambling to ensure Virtuality doesn’t go down and lose all the digi-souls. Shona returns to help and the two resolve their differences whilst saving the world that they built together. The digi-souls come up with increasingly desperate plans to produce the power they need to survive, but save the day in the end. Ryan puts together new plans to ensure it never happens again.

Episode 9: Deleted

Ashura finally gets to the bottom of who murdered her and it was nothing to do with CharterTech or Maggie. Her exposé of a chemical company’s disregard for environmental law was the issue that caused her death. Shona uses some contacts to get the police involved and the digi-souls help Ashura gather enough evidence to get the culprit put away in jail for a long time.

Eli and Ashura address some of the issues with their relationship, but resolve to give it a go, despite the obvious barriers.

Episode 10: Boss Fight

Maggie and Occam finally uncover the existence of Virtuality and the digi-souls. The finale sees Maggie managing to force her way into the digital world, whilst Occam and Tallis fight it out. Eli and Shona do their best to help Tallis, but find their offices raided and their technology confiscated. Maggie gets time to get a foothold, but the strain is too much on her heart.

Just as Eli and Shona find their way back in, Maggie dies in the real world. Eli can either choose to kill her for good or keep her malevolent presence in Virtuality. Tallis isn’t too keen on sharing with Occam either.

[ofclaires]

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021. 

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all ! 

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence. 

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.  

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet. 

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.  

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

[miss-tc-nova]

My Hero - Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Well...Gonna dabble in something outside of my usual KH. I love so many of the characters, I hope to write more in the future. 

Music inspiration: Dangerously by Charlie Puth

~~~~~

              By the hand, I lead my guest up the steps towards the daunting throne. Her grip holds tight, nervous and afraid. I can understand that sentiment, feeling the anxiety bubble in my own chest. This is my zenith, the epitome of my years of careful planning. This will be the end.

              She takes a seat and the metal crown lowers, fitting carefully around the extremity she’s been fostering for years now. Once it’s in place, I take another look, noticing the fidgeting in her fingers.

              “Would you rather we postpone tonight?” I ask, genuinely concerned. I’m honestly just as nervous as she is; for all I know, my fear might’ve prevented me from moving forward tonight, so I put my emotions aside and follow her lead.

              “No.” In her single word, she’s confident; despite the tremor in her voice, she’s determined to see this through. “Whether it’s now or later makes no difference. This is the best choice for humanity.”

              A soft smile tugs at my lips. “You’re a true hero.” I attach a pair of cuffs to her wrists. “We’re almost done. Let me know if it’s uncomfortable.”

              “Yes.” There’s a pause. “How does this work again?”

              I step back to examine my work. “This machine will amplify both our quirks, allowing us to reach the entire world. Still sound like a plan?”

              She nods, silent in her sullen steadfastness.

              With my guest ready, I make my way towards the control panel nearby and begin making my final preparations.

              I’ve spent so long preparing for this exact moment. A storm of pride, anxiety, and anticipation swirl in my chest. I could scream to the whole world right now, but I must wait until the end to celebrate. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get here; blood, sweat, and tears have gone into my ambition—and I’ve given perhaps more than I should have.

              I can’t dwell on that thought; there’s no going back no. I made my choices and it’s too late to regret them.

              The room shudders.

              Tearing my attention from the panel, I look to the door at the far end of the room. A second rumble shakes the walls, even from its distant origin. There’s no mistaking what that is.

              Now on borrowed time, I pick up the pace, terrified of the fact I have no chance to double check my work.

              “What’s going on?” she asks, clearly uneasy in her vulnerable position.

              I don’t want to worry her but I can’t lie—honesty is the only reason she’s put her faith in me.

              “He’s here.”

              My hands race across the board, though I must admit that his known presence slows me down. It takes everything in me not to panic or slip up, but I’m simply not fast enough.

              He arrives.

              The door bursts open like a pressurized can. A furious predator—he steps into the room. Those molten ruby eyes instantly find me, subjecting me to that vicious snarl he wields. Only I know him well enough to see the veiled panic in that expression.

              “Hands up!”

              I lift my hands. Careful cooperation is my best move here. The hero holds all the power; nothing would save me if he decided to end me here. I have no henchmen, no allies, no back up; everything hinged on the secrecy I let slip somewhere. Now it all hinges on ragged memories.

              “Step away from the controls!”

              His name slips from my lips. “Katsuki…”

              “Shut up! It’s Dynamite to you!” he snaps. “Now get down here before I blow this whole place to hell!”

              “Wait. Please, just listen.”

              “No!”

              “I-”

              “I SAID NO!”

              Another blast destroys a wall of unused equipment. With all the authority granted to him by his title and power, he points at me.

              “I have no mercy for villains—especially you! Not after you left!”

              “Let me explain.”

              “You had your chance to explain and you chose not to. You disappeared without a word—no text, no note, nothing. And then you show up five years later on my fucking criminal report?! Stealing machinery and kidnapping people?!”

              My teeth clench. Katsuki has every right to be angry at me after how I left.

              “I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve given up being a hero for you!” That hurts like a slap across the face. “And you just left. You left me to become a villain! Did you even care about me?!”

              “Yes!” My answer couldn’t leave my mouth faster. “Yes, I loved you; so much that it still terrifies me. I never wanted to leave you, but I had to. We wanted very different things, Katsuki.”

              “You could’ve talked to me. We could’ve worked something out.”

              “Your dream was to be the number one hero and I didn’t see you giving up that dream any time soon.” I gesture to him. “And look where you are now—standing at the top as the most powerful hero in Japan. But I never wanted anything to do with your world of heroes and villains.”

              “I knew that,” he snaps. “I know that you hate heroes but I made a promise! You didn’t think I could keep my word?!”

              “We were fifteen. We were naïve and you made a promise you didn’t understand.”

              “Bullshit I didn’t understand!”

              “Then you would keep it even now?”

              His scowl falters. This is my gambit—my only hope in stalling my failure—but it comes at the price of opening old wounds.

              My sight blurring, I demand, “Even in the face of everything I’ve done, you would keep that promise?”

~~~~~

              “Katsuki, stop!”

              Against my wishes, he bites harder. A yelp escapes me, finally convincing the young man to release me.

              With a self-satisfied smirk, he wipes away the saliva dripping from his mouth. I glare, dragging a sleeve against my neck.

              “You’re so mean.”

              His hand takes my chin, forcing our faces only inches apart. Dark allure fills his voice and he says, “No, I’m possessive. You should know that by now.”

              That simper nearly has me taking the bait, but I want to play this game. “You’re lucky my shirt collar will cover it up.”

              “Oh yeah?” Bringing his face closer, grazing my lips with his soft, smooth ones nearly causes me to cave. “I can change that.”

              “Don’t you dare.”

              “Or what?”

              I want to give, to feel his lips against my skin again, but I also want to win. Hands against his chest, I push him back. What I didn’t realize was that his bed was directly behind him and he pulls me down on top of him. I make my escape, sitting up to frown at the young man. He flashes another grin, one far rarer, with sincerity and softness—one just for me. He’s rough and stubborn and sometimes mean, but he’s everything I love.

              And that’s a problem.

              “Okay. Sheesh. I’m sorry.” His thumb presses between my eyes, smoothing out the scorn. “Just stop making that face.”

              Letting my eyes flutter shut, I soak in the feeling of his palm against my cheek. A soothing serenity rolls through me, giving me all the comfort I never had before. I lived in fear my whole life, but Katsuki could make it all melt away with a single touch—forgotten but not gone.

              A jolt of icy guilt settles in my stomach. There was a reason the make-out was so heated.

              I reopen my eyes to stare at him.

              All that softness vanishes. “Don’t give me that look.”

              “We can’t avoid this conversation forever,” I say, slipping to the side.

              With a huff, he sits up. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. So what if I want to be a hero. Why should that have anything to do with us?” My gaze drags away, however, a firm hand pulls it back. His eyes are hard and determined. “If I can’t avoid the conversation, you can’t either. So spill it; what’s the problem?”

              Pulling back, I take a moment to focus my thoughts. Katsuki and I met by chance, literally stumbling into each other on the street. Due to the nature of the bad day, I broke down, but I guess that abrupt act is what earned his pity. He sat with me until I could calm down. We passed by each other a few more times before he eventually asked me on a date. I fell hard, becoming entirely infatuated. But of all the things we spoke about, our prospective careers were not one of them until today.

              “My parents died during a fight between a hero and a villain.”

              When there’s no response, I peer up at him. He stares as if trying to understand. I probably should’ve kept my silence, but it’s out now.

              “The small town was practically leveled when they were done, including the shop my parents were in. And I was at home watching cartoons when the news came on. I got the worst phone call of my life that day.”

              “That must’ve been one tough villain.”

              Katsuki’s never been great with his emotions, that I understand; so, dealing with my baggage must be incredibly awkward for him. What I don’t get, though, is how blind he is.

              “The hero did just as much damage as the villain.”

              “Come on. Part of the job is to protect people. I bet-”

              Interrupting his defense, I meet his gaze with a hard glare. “It was the hero that killed my parents.”

              Unfazed, he replies, “So that’s it? You think all heroes are gonna do that?”

              “Can you promise me they’re not?” I’ve cried over this many times before, but that hit of resentment never hit quite this hard. “He destroyed my entire town—killed half the people that lived there! And do you know what happened to him?!” He waits for me to answer my own question, an uncomfortable scowl on his face. “Nothing! That fucker got off scot free with a slap on the wrist! My family, my neighbors, and friends! They meant nothing but a slap on the wrist!”

              Those warm palms are at my face again. “Hey, calm down.”

              Tearing away, I know I’m long gone. “What kind of society is willing to destroy thousands, maybe millions of people just for the sake of some hero’s shit reputation! How is that fair to the people who are dead?! How is that fair to my neighbor’s elderly mother with no one to take care of her?! How is that fair to the guy engaged to my friend’s sister?! HOW IS THAT FAIR TO ME?!”

              “It’s not. But that’s not all heroes.”

              “You can’t prove that!”

              In one swift motion, a firm hand shoves me down onto the bed. Through my tears, I glare at the boy pinning me. His eyes burn with determination.

              “Like hell I can’t!” he says. “I’m gonna be the best damn hero the world has ever seen and that means I’m gonna show you what a real hero is.”

              He doesn’t get it. “Katsuki-”

              “No. I mean it.”

              From that look and the tone of his voice, I know he does, and that fact douses the indignation festering in me.

              “Whenever you need me, I’ll save you. Because I’m gonna be your hero.”

              “You shouldn’t make irresponsible promises.”

              “It’s not irresponsible if I mean it.”

              There’s no getting through to him; he’s as stubborn as ever. Still, even while I know we want different things, it’s nice to think that there will always be someone on my side.

              I hate the hope in my whisper. “Really?”

              “Don’t you dare doubt me.” His forehead presses against mine. “No matter what happens, I’ll be your hero.”

~~~~~

              “Well?” I demand. “You still want to be my hero? Even though the whole world says I’m a villain, would you still protect me?!”

              “That’s why you’re doing this? Because one asshole hurt you?”

              “Hurt me?! He took my family! He destroyed me!”

              “He’s dead!”

              “So what?! He rotted in prison until the day he died and then five more took his place! But I can prevent millions-no, billions of people turning out like me!” I hold my arms out. “This is me trying to make the world a better place! I caused you to suffer and I deserve to be punished for that. But you’re a hero and your job is to do what’s best for the people. That’s what I’m doing! The only difference is that I don’t care if I have to be the villain to do it.”

              I take in this hero for possibly the last time. Seeing him wavering comes as quite a surprise. Still, behind it all lies the person I fell in love with—he hasn’t changed a bit. The number of times I dreamt of giving up and crawling back to him, even if just to suffer his wrath, is innumerable. No one made me reconsider everything I knew about this world like he did and I almost gave it all up for him. s

              But I couldn’t let go of my animosity.

              “I’m sorry.”

              I turn back on him, continuing my procedure at the control panel.

              She calls out to me. “Look out!”

              A series of blasts fill the air, and for a second time, I’m interrupted before I can complete the process. He snatches my shoulder, shoving me up against the machine. One of those deadly, explosive hands presses against my throat. Frantic fury fills those eyes; he’s acting on pure instinct. I wouldn’t be surprised if it all went black in the next second. However, he simply stands there, his crushing grip holding me in place while he glowers at me. I deserve his wrath and that injects a fresh wave of guilt into my brain but, ultimately, I know I wouldn’t have done anything different.

              My heart stops while a blaring ring fills my ears. The guilt had nothing on this. Tears immediately begin spilling over, showing every weakness I have. His lips smashed against mine are rough and desperate, as if this is his last resort.

              My remorse enflamed, I try to push him off, but Katsuki’s tightens his hold, turning from forceful to choking. In seconds, my strangulation forces the kiss to end. I grasp at his wrist, but I didn’t have enough strength to force him off before, let alone now in this state. This is probably the end.

              “I hate you,” he says darkly. Tear prick in the corner of his eyes.

              “Kacchan!”

              If I wasn’t screwed before, I am now. Leaping into the room are top heroes two and three: Deku and Shouto.

              “Midoriya?” My guest turns mortified.

              Deku calls out to her. “Don’t panic, Eri. We’re here to save you.”

              Katsuki lets me hit the floor. While ragged gasps pull air into my lungs, I fight my panic. I’m so close; I only have a handful more commands to put in, but that’s not going to happen with these three. My hand slams against the floor; I failed.

               Suddenly, a hand takes my arm, forcefully pulling me to my feet. I don’t even fight against it; there’s no point.

              “So fucking much.”

              My gaze trails along his arm and to his face. There’s no longer anger on his expression, but something more intimate. I’ve seen this look before, on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths, on the day I met Katsuki—pity. And I hate it.

              His grip relents but the palm remains open to me. I only have a second to decipher this gesture because the other two are getting closer. I glance one more time at that pity, wondering if he did understand all those years ago.

              I may be signing my own death warrant, but at least it’ll be by his hand.

              Resting my hand in his, I feel the connection being made that grants a person access to my quirk.

              Without a word, he turns towards the stairs and raises his hand. Shock flashes on their faces before a blast—larger than I had ever seen from him—sends the two heroes back to the bottom.

              “What the hell are you doing?!” Shouto yells.

              Deku instantly understands. “They used their amplification quirk on him!”

              “But why is he fighting us?!”

              “I don’t know…” The young man braces himself for a fight. “But if we don’t stop them, everyone in the world is going to lose their quirk.”

              Katsuki looks to me, his pity replaced by the sincerity and softness he shared only with me. The reality of his choice is starting to set in, and the magnitude of his sacrifice hits my resolve hard. He meant it—he understood and he meant it.

              It only takes him four words to break my heart.

              “No matter what happens.”

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Six (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 6.2k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If for whatever reason, you’d ever have to be a spy, you’d be absolutely fantastic at it. Not only are you quiet, but you’re fairly secretive. You’d be good at a job like that, infiltrating the enemies lines and gathering information just to bring it back to the person who wanted it.

Although, you’re not the one doing that right now, it’s Neysa. She’s the one gathering information from others and bringing it to you to assess as you try to work out this now oh-so complicated plan. It’s so bad, that you might even have to go back on your word about double-alliances.

You throw the blankets off of you, slipping off of the bed. You take one glance at the clock to check the time to see that it’s two in the morning, you’re going to be right on time. To wake yourself up a little bit, you go into the bathroom, turning on the sink. You gather a handful of water before splashing it onto your face.

Using the towel to dry off your face, you toss it onto the counter and then head to leave the room. The door opens automatically for you, and the walk through the hallway is short. You can see the silhouette of Neysa’s body standing by the tv in the living room.

One of your ankles pop, which makes her turn to make sure that it’s you. You can see her shoulders sink a little bit, relieved that it is you, and not someone else. She won’t have to explain why she’s standing in front of the tv on low volume at one in the morning.

“So?” you whisper, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Haymitch says that Peeta says no.” Neysa tells you.

“No surprise there, it was worth a shot. Katniss is probably holding him back.” Which is a good thing, your intentions aren’t to be friends with them, if you get in, you can kill them and then get out.

If they both have managed to set history, then that means that they have to be taken out, it’s as simple as that. They shouldn't be allowed to stay alive longer than a couple of days. You know that Brutus is already on edge, you can only imagine how Gloss and Cashmere are.

You three are like a pack of wild wolves.

However, as you four will be working towards the same goal, it’s for different reasons. They’ll likely want to do it so they can get it off their backs and be able to survive without the worry of Katniss or Peeta sneaking up on you guys. As for you, you can’t just settle with being a two-timing victor.

If you can take out both Katniss and Peeta, then the crown would be pure gold. You’d be looked at differently for the rest of your life. People would practically bow at your feet. If you can take down the people that have broken records, then you’re no one to mess with. 

And on top of that, you want to take down Finnick too. That’s three fucking kills that would make you a ton more deadly and looked up to. The boy who won at the youngest age, and a pair of tributes from an outsider district that got twelves. Just the thought of having power like that in your palms sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d be a living legend. Infamous, people would know your name for years to come.

(Y/n) Rosecelli. Victor of both the sixty-sixth hunger games and the seventy-fifth Quarter Quell. She went up against twenty-three other tributes and came out a winner on both occasions. On top of that, she also took out three record-breaking victors. One of whom was the youngest victor, ever, Finnick Odair. And the only two tributes who have ever received a twelve, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

You can see it all now.

“Well, what about Finnick?”

“Said he’d talk to you in person today.” Neysa says, “Will you tell me your plan now?”

You smile a little bit, “Infiltrate the enemy’s alliance. Wipe them out. Go back to my original alliance. Three simple steps.”

Neysa is thinking, until a smile starts to slowly spread over her face, “Smart girl.”

--

Getting out of bed this time is much harder than it was the first time. You would rather just lay here for a little while longer and stare at the ceiling. For once, this feeling of dread belongs to you and not anyone else. And you have a faint feeling on why.

You’re about to be interrogated to hell by the one person you hate the most in the world. He’s going to ask you why you’ve changed your mind so quickly and if he should be weary of anything. And then he’ll ask if he should even trust you, especially after you made your goal very clear; kill everyone and win.

He won’t be dumb enough to accept blindly, which will be a pain in the ass, but you suppose it could make it more fun as well. Having him look over his shoulder, keeping one eye open when he sleeps. Always anticipating your next move.

Why not play with your prey a little bit?

The dread is replaced by your own enthusiasm. You pull yourself out of bed, going to the bathroom to take a shower. The water is burning hot on your skin as you scrub yourself clean with nice smelling soaps. You allow yourself to wash your hair today, since you’ll need to be looking your absolute best today for the interview. Greasy hair isn’t the best quality to have.

When you’re done, you scrunch your hair in one towel, while drying your body with another one. You pull on comfortable clothes since you’ll be changing soon anyway, and go back to your hair immediately after. With a few detangling sprays, the brush goes through your hair as if there were no knots to begin with.

You squeeze out any excess water into the sink. You look as good as you’re going to for now, and you practically skip your way out into the dining room. Only Neysa sits there, coffee mug in her hand. The avox is by the table with food.

“Coffee,” you tell her, she nods and moves into the kitchen to grab it, “Room for creamer, please.”

You take your seat across from Neysa, loading up your plate without a word to her. You begin on a roll, occasionally dipping it into your stew. Every movement feels as if you’re in a hurry. You have to slow yourself down considerably, giving yourself a time limit for when you can take another bite.

When the avox comes over with the coffee the way you like it, you thank her. They’re human as much as you are. If there’s one thing you’re not fond of in the Capitol, it’s the way they use district people as servants for something they’ve done. No matter how bad, they don’t deserve to be treated like that. Not to mention, there are much worse jobs than this for them to take, too.

Actually, the avoxes aren’t the ones picking them out, it’s the officials that run all that for Snow. They’re the ones assigning people based on what they think they’d be good at. Hell, you think that some avoxes aren’t even people from the districts, that it’s people from the Capitol too. Which is weird, considering that the Capitol is supposed to be the favorite.

“Amias will be coming up in thirty minutes to get you.” Neysa says, “Eat quickly, just don’t make yourself sick.”

“Sure.” you say, resuming the pace that you had been going originally.

It’s only ten minutes later when Edmond is coming into the room. He hesitates by the doorway, and then he cautiously takes his seat at the table. Five minutes after that, Brutus is bounding into the room without a care in the world, also taking a seat. The only person that is missing is Theo, thank god.

You’re glad that you haven’t been forced to listen to his fucking voice, it’s an absolute nightmare to deal with.

Once you’re done eating, you ask for another cup of coffee while you wait out the last ten minutes. Today is going to fly by as if it’s not actually happening. It’s the last day of ‘peace and quiet’ before tomorrow, the beginning of the games. It’s like sitting on the edge of your seat.

There’s literally endless possibilities on what the arena will look like tomorrow. You haven’t got a single clue on what it might be. All you do know is that it’s going to be special and deceiving. It’s how the last Quarter Quell went with Haymitch. While you were rewatching the games, they included Haymitch’s games.

Your only guess as to why is because it’s the most recent Quell. They’re throwing you a bone of sorts. Let you know that it’s going to be hell from start to finish. Things are not going to be what they seem.

The landscape was beautiful, the animals, the air, the water, the land. All of it was something out of a dream, it looked like. Until dream turned to nightmare, when the animals turned out to be rabid, and the arena was nowhere near friendly. And that was the year there were forty-eight tributes instead of twenty-four. Not only were the tributes doubled, but everything inside of the arena was working against them.

Haymitch had gotten lucky when he won. His stomach was spilling out of his body, he was quite literally holding it in. As for the girl he had gone up against, she was missing an eye. Blood was running down her face as if it was a new established river. The both of them should have been dead, but one of them threw their weapon over the cliff. It hit the forcefield, and came right back at the girl, nailing her in the forehead.

It’s the only reason why Haymitch had won. He realized that the forcefield was there early on into the games. Utilized it and stuck by the cliff for the rest of them. The girl was just unlucky that she was still standing there when the weapon came firing back.

The sound of an opening door makes you glance over your shoulder. And just like Neysa had promised, Amias stands at the door, “Ready to go?”

You finish off the rest of the caffeine, you now know why Neysa has been so adamant when it comes to drinking this stuff, it really does keep you energized. You set the mug back down before skipping down the steps to Amias.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She opens the door for you, but doesn’t follow you out just yet, “Brutus, be down there in at least three hours from now, showered.”

“Got it.”

Amias closes the door after that, and the two of you head over to the elevator. She takes care of pressing the buttons, bringing you guys down to the floor where you need to be.

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Get you dolled up so you can make an impression on sponsors.” Amias says.

You roll your eyes, “No shit. What am I going to look like?”

“You’ll see.”

Resisting the urge to get snotty with her, you lace your fingers together and stare straight ahead. The elevator doors open, and she takes the lead, bringing you through the hallways. It’s not as empty as it usually is, there are a few people walking around already.

They look like Capitol citizens, so your best guess is that they’re prep teams and stylists. Although, the stylists typically treat the prep teams like they’re under their boots, so the prep teams run the most errands while the stylists sit back and do anything else. The stylists’ jobs are more important though, so it’s no surprise.

Anyway, that doesn’t really matter.

Amias brings you into the room where you had been for the tribute parade. The two guys are already waiting by the chair, looking at you skeptically, until the one that normally does your hair, perks up considerably.

“You washed your hair! Good, did you use all the products they had?” he asks, coming over to feel.

“I thought I’d leave the aftercare to you guys, since I don’t really mess around with that type of stuff.”

“Good decision.” he says, then he looks at Amias, “We’ll let you know when she’s ready for the outfit.”

“I’ll be back soon, (Y/n)” Amias says, leaving the room.

You’re directed to the chair, and the one who does your hair doesn’t really hesitate with getting to work. The other one sits back for now, rummaging through all the makeup that they have on the vanity. He’ll open a pallet, look over it, and then set it back onto the stack that just seems to grow taller and taller.

You watch patiently as your hair is messed with. He starts off with blow drying it, which takes a pretty long time since he’s not using the hot air. He’s got plenty of time to mess around and do what he wants. He leaves it fairly damp, coats his hands in product, and then spreads it through your hair. He doesn’t bother brushing your hair before moving on to the next product.

The hair and makeup are probably going to take forever, which is why Amias slipped out of the room. The tribute parade outfit didn’t take nearly as long or had a hassle like this, because it wasn’t as important. People can hardly see you when you’re on the chariots anyway, since you’re so distanced.

As for the interviews, people are going to see you up close and personal. Every detail that is fucked up will be critiqued harshly, which leads to bad publicity. It takes away sponsors, it dissipates Amias’s good reputation, and suddenly you’re not a favorite anymore.

You just want to get through with getting ready, so you can skip to the part where you’re standing in front of Finnick. You’re quite curious about what he might say now. How he’ll handle everything, and if he’ll take you up on the offer.

Neysa was sure to specify that you wanted both Mags and Finnick as allies, but only to mention it to Finnick so he could make the decision. You were hoping that you wouldn’t have to talk to him face to face, and have the mentors communicate for you guys, but it will be easier to convince him. Maybe you can even play innocent, apologize and say it’s one big act.

As if he or anyone else would believe that now. They know who you are, they know how you won your games. The only thing that you’re genuinely good at--besides everything else that you’re good at--is the fact that you’re deceiving. But you can’t be deceiving to an audience that already knows your plans.

You can sure as hell try, but that will tear away all the work you’ve made. Sponsors will likely go down the toilet. And honestly, since you depend on sponsors to get you by--and you’ll definitely be doing that this year because of the arena--then you can’t really give that up.

Wasn’t a good plan anyway.

You watch as your hair is parted into two, the top half, and the bottom half. The top part starts at your temples, and he pulls it into one ponytail at the back of your head. He then pulls out a ton of bobby pins, beginning to pin a bun in place. When he’s done with that, he pulls some hair out in front to frame your face before using hairspray to keep the top half in place.

He moves onto the bottom, making your hair into loose curls. After each section, he’ll use more hairspray and then move onto the next. This is when the makeup guy finally comes in, getting to work.

You close your eyes to make it easier for him, knowing that you probably won’t be able to see yourself in the mirror in a while anyway, “What time is it?”

“Only two or three hours before interviews start.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Half past one.” the one doing your hair answers, “I’ll be done with your hair soon, and then go and get Amias while you eat something.”

You can’t believe that time has flown that fast. You’d be super surprised, but you did get out of bed by nine, which is pretty late considering all the early starts you’ve been getting lately. Amias more or less threw you a bone by letting you get up that late. 

Brutus is lucky that he doesn’t have to go through as much as you do. He doesn’t even have hair to be messed with.

“Did you see the scores last night?”

“Of course I did, can you believe it?”

“Are you going to sponsor either of them?”

“Are you stupid?” he asks, and then pauses to think, “They’re going to be dead within the first day.”

“Who do you think would be dumb enough to go after them?”

“Me.” you laugh.

“Well--” the one doing your makeup sounds like he doesn’t believe it, “You’d really go after Katniss and Peeta?”

“They’re not that good.” the hair guy says, “Especially not Peeta.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Hair guy laughs, “You only like them because of their love story. Plus, they’re a couple of teenagers, they may be youthful, but they don’t have that much experience.”

“Who do you think that they’re allied with?”

“After we saw what Katniss did last year--probably Mags. I mean, can you really see her with anyone else? She chose a child as an ally and skipped over Peeta entirely.”

“I guess you have a point.”

They’re not wrong, Katniss did get with a child, and you saw her around Wiress and Beetee the first day. And then later on with Mags at the fishhook station. You think that was just before she went to the bow and arrow station. You can hardly remember it because you were still training with the idiot in body armor.

He wasn’t very good at his job.

Anyway, if Katniss is paired with Mags, then that inadvertently pairs her with Finnick too. Which then drags Peeta into that mess as well. It makes sense for them, but you wonder how Johanna and Blight pair into all of this… 

Finnick could have very well been acting like that to throw you off his trail, though. So you should take all this information with a grain of salt. Finnick is a good liar, you’ve seen him in action quite a lot since volunteering. 

But if Johanna and Blight are in this, then that would mean that Peeta brought them in. He seems to have more sense than Katniss does. She chooses the weaker people--people who can’t really fight back if she wants to overpower them. And she doesn’t seem to do that because she does plan to fight them later on, it’s because she wants to look over them.

As for Peeta, he paired with the careers. He’s smart, getting with people that can protect him. When he had first come in with Katniss, his first place to go to was Brutus, Cashmere and Gloss. Then Johanna, and later you during lunch. Like he was trying to set down a base with you guys on purpose.

Well, they did what they had to do. They knew none of you, unlike you guys. You’ve heard about and known each other for years. They’re new to this whole victor thing. It’s a shame that they won’t live to be able to see the rest of it.

They finish hair and makeup at around the same time. You’re given food that isn’t messy and would mess up your makeup--even though he had sprayed a ton of setting spray to keep it all in place. You eat enough, leaving yourself slightly hungry so that you won’t feel nauseous on stage.

Amias comes in ten minutes later with the hair guy. In her hands is a dress-length bag that’s concealing it from sight. Hair guy pulls out a moving closet that’s just a few metal poles on wheels. She hooks the hanger on, and then unzips the bag.

Your mouth falls open, “Jeez.”

Amias looks at you, “Do not disappoint on stage tonight. This is the best dress I have.”

You give her a look, “As if I ever disappoint.”

“Spray some of that glitter in her hair again,” she tells the hair guy, “She’ll need it tonight.”

Your face is covered with what looks like cardboard, while the hairspray is added. Amias pulls the dress out of the bag, there is no zipper, the back is open enough to the point where you can just step in. They hold your hands and arms while you step in, then they pull it up and over your body.

It’s a mermaid dress, the type that’s skin-tight at the top but flows at the knees. This one is a little looser though, allowing you to move without problem. It’s silky on the inside, but a little rough on the outside because of the glitter. When you rub it and take a look at your hands, nothing transferred.

The dress is held up by spaghetti straps that cross in the back to make an x. There is no plunge, it dips a little to show off cleavage, but that’s where the line is drawn.

“Grab her the white heel-less shoes.” Amias says, she pulls out Tanith’s necklace, putting it on for you.

They bring over a pair of shoes that look basically the same as the black ones you wore for the reaping. No heel, but they are heels, designed to keep you balanced even if you lean back. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be careful with how you move around.

You let them put on the shoes for you, since you don’t have that much of an option. Even with the shoes on, the dress still hits the floor, and there’s a little bit of a train in the back.

They slip in matching earrings, bracelets and the ring that you had gotten from the tribute parade to please whoever threw the gift at you. It’s a hope that they’ll sponsor you when you’re inside of the arena because of it. It makes you look considerate and humble, which you don’t really care about.

They’re like a hurricane with how they move around you. They tweak, they adjust, they take a step back. Amias orders them around harshly, she’s strict on what she wants. She’s obviously got something envisioned and she won’t allow it to be fucked up by a couple of morons.

“How much time until interviews?” you ask.

Makeup guy takes a look at his watch, “Thirty minutes.”

“Am I done?” you ask Amias.

“In a hurry?”

“I’ve got something to do, and it has to be done before interviews since we’ll be standing on stage after them.”

Amias looks over you one last time, “Yes, you may go. Pull up the front when you walk, don’t bend down, and don’t touch your face or hair. If you need something to play with, stick with the ring and necklace.”

“Thank you.” you say, giving her a wave as you slip out of the room.

In the hallway waits a couple of people already. Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus primarily. They all stand together in a half circle. Gloss looks over by chance and catches you.

Following what Amias said, you pull up the front of the dress as you walk over, being sure to give a look around to see if Finnick is out just yet. You can’t imagine that he really needs a lot done to him. The guys always get let off easier.

A great example, is whatever the fuck Brutus is wearing.

“You’re kidding me.” you flick the silver armor that he has on.

After, you’re quick to make sure you haven’t chipped your nail polish. It’s fine, it’s probably got some strong coating knowing Amias.

“Nope.”

“You’re basically wearing what you had for the tribute parade.” you scowl, “I guess you can get away with whatever you want.”

Brutus shrugs.

You look at Cashmere and Gloss to see that they’re wearing similar sequin outfits. You make a face, nodding since it makes sense that they’re matching. They’re siblings after all. Cashmere takes this as a nod of approval and sends a smile your way.

“You look amazing.” Gloss says.

“I know.” you say, looking around again.

There he is, eyes locked on you. He uses his index finger to beckon you to follow him, going around a corner. You let out a laugh, and then look to the others to see that they’re waiting to see what you’re laughing at.

“I’ve got to use the restroom, can you believe that? I’ll be back in a second.” you tell them, before leaving them.

You pass by a couple of people in the hallway, and with the way that they stare, you feel like you’re at a high school prom all over again. Junior year after you had won your games, the way that people looked at you was never the same. As if they were afraid to approach you or something.

You did win prom queen that year, though. And then the year after that, too.

You take a wide turn around the corner as if Finnick is going to pounce on you the second you round it. However, he’s pretty far down the hall, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.

“What happened to being too good for an alliance with me?” he asks, he looks amused and cocky.

“I came to my senses,” you flash him a white smile, “I realized that it might be good to have you around, after all.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that Katniss and Peeta got twelve’s?”

You can’t lie your way out of this, he’ll know, “Partially. Forget hanging around with Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus. I want a place in whatever you have.”

“Fat chance.” he says, and you can feel your smile fade a little.

“Why not?”

“You know why. I don’t want you killing my allies.”

“Want them all to yourself?” Your eyebrow spikes up, “Tell me Finnick, are you going to be able to protect them when they rush towards the cornucopia tomorrow?”

Finnick opens his mouth, “They can take care of themselves.”

“Let’s see, you’ll be taking care of Mags, and Katniss will be taking care of Peeta because he’s nothing but a sack of flour--how ironic. If you have me there, I can basically be a bodyguard.”

“Until you kill one of us in our sleep, right?” Finnick watches your face carefully, “You’re mistaking me for something that I’m not.”

“Everyone is going to kill each other one way or another.” you say, “I won’t have to do it early on, that’s the whole point of alliances. I keep you guys around until we start to turn on each other.”

“What if we don’t have those intentions?” Finnick asks, there’s an edge to his voice.

You open your mouth, “What are you planning?”

“Tell me, (Y/n), are you a loyalist?”

You can feel yourself become stiff. Loyalist, a term normally used for people who would follow the government no matter what happens. In that case, it would the Capitol and the districts. It’s no secret that District One and District Two would follow the Capitol because you guys are treated like loyalty, as for the other districts...

There’s a deeper meaning, especially after what happened in the last games. Not all the districts like the Capitol or President Snow and his precious Hunger Games. They would do anything to cancel them, and after what Katniss pulled with Peeta, there have been a few people fighting back, Neysa and Edmond were whispering about it over dinner last night.

Loyalist. Loyalist. Loyalist.

There’s a much bigger plan going on here.

You snap your mouth shut, which has since opened after that question. You press your lips together tightly as you stare at Finnick’s face. You feel like a robot with how you don’t move.

Loyalist. It would mean that they’re planning to go against President Snow, right? It would mean that there will be people who stay loyal to the Capitol, and the people who wouldn’t be.

You can’t lie, you have had a fantastic life in District Two. But you’re human and you realize that other people are too. Just like how you hate how the avoxes are treated, you hate how some of the other districts are treated too.

But if an uprising is what they think is going to solve all of this, you don’t like them at all. They’re going to screw up the way of life for too many people. District Two is happy how they serve the Capitol, no one will fight with them. And if you’re wrong about that, then there aren't very many who will.

However, would you fight with them? If what he said is real, would you fight with them?

“You are bold.” you continue staring at Finnick with an open mouth, unsure of how to actually approach this, “And careless for asking me a question like that outright.”

Finnick’s face twists now, “Are you, though?”

The thing is you don’t know. The hunger games is all you’ve ever known. You’ve never lived any other lifestyle.

“Yes or no.” Finnick insists.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” you decide, “Because I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to. Forget the alliance thing, I change my mind.”

You start to walk off, but Finnick catches your arm, “I could tell you.”

“Why would you want to?”

Finnick lets go, “Because having you on our side could be useful.”

“Useful for what?” you lower your voice, “Getting everyone else in District Two to follow behind all the other rioting districts?”

He’s clearly surprised that you understood so quickly.

“We have nothing to complain about, Finnick. We’ve got the good life.”

“And everyone else? What about the people who don’t have the good life? The ones that fight to live everyday? What about them?” he asks.

You nod slowly, thinking, “Well, I’m not a loyalist and I’m not too fond of being considered a traitor either.”

“You’re after the glory of being a legend, right?” Finnick asks, you take a step back, “This is better than that. People will know that you were the first person from District Two to hop on and lead. You want people to look up to you, here it is.”

You want to tell him it’s not the same, but the words don’t appear in your mouth.

Finnick is looking past you now, and you turn to see who he’s staring at. Haymitch Abernathy, his eyebrows are drawn together, “Interviews have started.”

“Thanks.” Finnick says, and the two of you watch as he disappears behind the corner again, “Don’t make the decision now, but if you do want to join us, come and find me inside of the arena.”

You look at him, “You’re going to run to the cornucopia, I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. Which is why I think you’ll make the right decision.”

You scoff, “Right decision? You know what you’re asking, right?” and then you laugh, shaking your head as you pull up your dress so you can walk away, “How do I know if any of this is even true?” he doesn’t say anything, “Exactly, this could be some sort of sick ruse just to draw me in to kill me and get me out of the way. I didn’t come here to be killed, I came here to win. And you’re going to have to fight me for it.”

You shake your head at him one last time before turning around and walking back to the main hallway. There are a ton of people waiting now, but you don’t spare any looks. Brutus is waiting for you by a tv, which holds both Cashmere and Gloss.

“They’re doing it together?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, since they’re siblings and all,” Brutus takes a look over your face, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” you say, “I’m ready for all of this to be done now. No more meddling, I just want to be inside of the arena.”

“Tomorrow.” Brutus says, “Then everyone can pay their dues.”

You smile a little bit at the thought, “Anyway, are we going up together?”

“No, we’re not.” Brutus says, you watch as Caesar starts to wrap up the interview.

“Better get ready.” he motions for you to go down the hall.

You do, being sure to hold up the front of the dress as you go down. Amias is standing in a little alcove with a mirror. She adjusts a few things, wishes you luck and then you stand in front of the doors.

There’s a cheering of the crowd before Caesar starts talking, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome one of our favorites! You know her as the girl who blew her competition out of the water! Let’s give a warm welcome to (Y/n) Rosecelli!”

The doors open, you can see Caesar has his arm outstretched towards you. The spotlight meets your eyes, making it difficult to see, but you don’t dare to move your hands from the fronts of your dress. You’re just puzzled as to why he said the second thing.

‘Blew her competition out of the water’? Since when? As in you did so well during your games, or something you might have done during this week that you weren’t aware of? It’s weird to know that the Capitol gives tributes nicknames, you’d think they’d run out of them.

Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister duo. Beetee, the genius. Finnick, the peacock. Johanna, the deceiver. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire and Peeta Mellark--loverboy.

You never got to know yours. 

You take Caesar’s hand when you come up the steps, giving the biggest smile you can to the audience, “Caesar!”

“(Y/n)!” He meets your enthusiasm.

The two of you wait until the audience has settled before actually starting with the interview. When you look over your shoulder, you can see that Cashmere and Gloss are waiting up on some small walkway. You’ll be standing there for an hour when you’re done with this interview.

“How does it feel to be back in the Capitol after all these years?” He begins, “You know, we’ve missed you and your business.”

“It feels fantastic, really. Like I’m back in my second home, the Capitol has this welcoming feel, especially for me. If it weren’t for my favorite students back home, then I would stay here forever.” you give a big smile, “I might even consider it, after I win.”

Caesar laughs, the citizens cheer at the sound of that, “You’ve got your mind set on the big win?”

“Of course I do. And I promise to make this year much more entertaining than my first games. No abrupt endings this time.”

More cheering, enough so that Caesar has to watch the clock so it doesn’t take up too much of your time, “You said that you have students, what ever do you mean?”

You laugh a little, “I mean my two tributes who won, Tanith and Zavian. I’m hoping they’re watching, but knowing Zavian, he’s likely avoiding the television until I’m off.” you give a look to the nearest camera, “As for Tanith, she’s on the edge of her seat, fingers crossed that I don’t blow this.”

“You could never!” Caesar says, “You’re too good to even be on here.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Caesar.” you laugh with him.

“Is there anything you would like to say to Tanith or Zavian?”

You pucker your lips as you think, “Well, I just want them to know that I will uphold my promise. I will be coming home, even if it might kill me. I will be walking out of that arena alive.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“I’m a bold person.” you say.

While the crowd cheers, Caesar is obviously thinking up other things to ask you, “Should we expect any surprises?”

It feels like you have a flashback to the hallway, to Finnick telling you not to make your decision right then and there. It was open-ended. It was an invitation to go and see him whenever you’d like inside of the arena if you come to your senses. As if he’ll take you in with no question.

“Maybe.” You say, “Because we both know that the arena will be a doozy, there’s no telling what might happen inside of there.”

Caesar nods, liking that answer.

There’s a faint beeping, which is a signal that your interview is over.

“Thank you for your time (Y/n), it was a pleasure having you.”

“It was a pleasure being back inside of the Capitol after nine years.” you give a wave to the audience.

“Everyone, please give a big round of applause for (Y/n) Rosecelli, our favorite star!”

Star. That’s your nickname.

You’re a Star.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 81: Turning a Corner

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

The instant Katsuki had asked to “borrow” Park for a bit, the Shiketsu students had erupted into chaos. Shida looked on the verge of panic, those extra limbs of hers twitching, while Tsuchikawa looked only slightly worried.  Shinji looked nervously between him and Park, but ultimately settled into a kind of hard look that mixed protectiveness of his classmate with a trust in Katsuki.

Smart kid.  Respectful too.  Always used his Sir’s around Katsuki.  Exuberant as his old man though, which meant he was best in small doses.

It wasn’t surprising that Tatsuma was the one who had a problem with it.  The giant girl stepped between Katsuki and Park protectively.  “With all due respect, sensei” she began, in the same way Katsuki had used countless times over the years, where no respect was actually intended, but the performative aspect of it was required, “I’m not sure I should allow you to be alone with my classmate.”

For fuck’s sake, what kind of monster did these kids think he was?  And sure, he’d spent more than enough time threatening to blow Villains apart, or shove their heads up their asses, or take out enough of their teeth that they’d be drinking from a straw the rest of their lives, but he wasn’t some psycho who’d explode at the drop of a hat!

Just because he was known for having a temper and this little brat had beat the shit out of his daughter was no reason to think he was going to enact some kind of brutal revenge!

“Sticking by your friend’s a good quality to have,” he said, holding Tatsuma’s gaze and not backing down in the slightest.  But neither did he put up any more of aggressive posture than he already was. He was here to build bridges, not burn them.  “Your classmates are lucky to have you looking out for them.  But I promise you, I’m not here to dish out punishment or anything like that.  I just want to talk.  We won’t even go far, in case you hear something that makes you want to come running.”

Tatsuma frowned, but dropped her challenging stance.  She looked over at Park, her eyes seeming to ask what do you want to do?

And that was the scary thing, wasn’t it?  Park hadn’t flinched, hadn’t budged.  She’s shown no fear whatsoever.  But she hadn’t shown any other kind of reaction either.  It was as though she was just resigned to whatever happened to her.  What the hell had they done to this girl?  Who the hell had done this to this girl?  Even with what he’d read in her file, it didn’t all add up to this.

“It will be fine,” Park said.  “There’s nothing he can do to me.”   That hasn’t already been done was left unsaid, but Katsuki heard it hanging in the air all the same.

He had worked with Heroes who fought traffickers and some of the worst scum the world had to offer, serial killers, rapists, and even cannibals.  Some of them managed to find the balance separate themselves from the job and live at least something like a normal life.  But some of them saw the worst and lost a part of themselves to it. Something inside them died.  You could see it in their eyes.

Park’s eyes were the same.

***

Park followed quietly behind Katsuki, stopping when he did once they got closer to one of the compound’s utility sheds. She remained stoic, almost uncaring, but there was an element of readiness.  He’d been on the receiving end of any number of lectures and chewing outs over the years. He knew what it looked like when you knew you were getting one of those.  This wasn’t it.

It was the kind of readiness where you were prepared to, at a moment’s notice, either physically defend yourself or hold yourself to a dignity that would not give your attacker satisfaction.  He had a brief flashback to being violently restrained and muzzled at his first Sports Festival.

“I am ready, seon seang nhim,” she stated in a neutral tone. She used the Korean phrase for “teacher,” which he vaguely recalled included not using the teacher’s name as it was considered disrespectful to show familiarity.

Katsuki frowned, briefly, but forced himself to keep a more professional expression.  As much as part of him wanted to tear into this kid for beating his daughter, that wasn’t something an adult did to a child.  It wasn’t something a teacher did either.  Katsuki would have to ask the damned hobo how he’d kept himself from killing kids like him.

“Okay,” he said, carefully. His anger rose up in him, like a threating to spill out like a bomb, but he forced it back down.  “I’m not going to lie to you.  I’m mad as hell.  And I’m not saying there wasn’t blame to go around.  But I want to hear your side of things first, before anything else.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Park explained plainly. “The arrogant one had us fight each other to demonstrate a lack of practical martial training as some sort of lesson in not becoming arrogant with our quirks. I treated it as I would any fight in the line of duty.” She tilted her head back at where Hokori and the other Shikestsu students still were. “By the instructor’s own logic, I acted accordingly. If anything, I exercised restraint.” She said all this was stone cold logic, but the expression on her face indicated she didn’t expect him to accept that logic.

Park’s description of Boost-Rush as “the arrogant one” nearly had Katsuki laughing.  If that wasn’t the truth!

“You get you’re a student, right?” he asked. He was trying not to be sarcastic, but some of that bled through. “There’s giving your all in training and there’s going all out in the field.  And even with that, there’s proportionality of a threat.”

His own words came back to haunt him again, ringing in his ears.  HE WON’T DIE IF HE DODGES!

That wasn’t who he was anymore.  Not most days, anyway.  He pushed that particularly unsettling memory down.  “Is that how you do your training at Shiketsu?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “No, I learned that by simply surviving in the neighborhood my parents were dumped in when they fled the Humanist bigots back home. They didn’t realize they would be even less welcome here. Some were very explicit in their disdain of our presence.”

She was speaking calmly, but there was the barest hint of a murderous rage in her eyes, simmering and growing steadily, the lid barely holding it back.

Katsuki knew all about rage. His is irrational, a fire that flares up like one of his explosions and takes out everything that’s nearby.  It’s a flashfire anger, lashing out at whatever upsets him, whatever perceived wrongs the universe or some specific individual has committed against him.  It’s rarely as justified as he’d like to pretend it is.

On his good days, he’s tamed his.  He learned to use it, fueling his actions in battle.  Outside of that, the worst he usually gets these days is yelling. There’s times, like earlier with Boost-Rush, where he did lose his control, and unleashed his anger on someone through violence.  But it’s not like before, not like when he was a child, where would sometimes vent his anger on Izuku for perceived slight of challenging his status as “top dog.”

He hadn’t been a rich kid, like Glasses or Ponytail or IcyHot.  But he’d been remarkably well off as a kid.  Nice neighborhood, never had to worry about anything.  The struggles this kid or others like her had faced, he couldn’t have begun to imagine.  And add being an immigrant on top of that…

“You had to fight just to survive,” he said.  It wasn’t a question.

She stared at him for a moment, then lifted her shirt slightly above her waist. This revealed the scar of a deep gash.

“That was at the hands of Japanese motorcyclists who objected to a “chon” being in their neighborhood.” She turned and exposed her lower back, which revealed a series of jagged scars. “A Zainichi gang leader ran barbed wire over my back for “drawing the Japanese back on us.”

She then kicked off her shoe, leaned down and took the sock off, revealing her little toe was missing. “And that was some of my own “countrymen,” gangsters who wanted me to join them for “solidarity.” I refused. They beat me, then cut that off as a reminder not to be a “race traitor.” And none of that accounts for the casual racism and hate from the “polite aspects” of society. A police force that doesn’t care unless the public outside knows about it, along with no pros to look after my people when this country offered “sanctuary” to us, so yes, Teacher,” she said in Japanese this time, but without the implication of respect. “I have.”

With great effort, Katsuki kept himself under control as Park went through her litany of injuries and injustices.  She was no older than Katsumi or the others, but in terms of life experience, may as well have already been an adult Pro-Hero for all the horrors she had seen.  No wonder she was so ready to strike out during simple training exercises.  The school of hard knocks had nothing on her.

It made his blood boil. Kids should get to be kids, not have to worry about gangs and their neighbors threatening their lives and bodies.   He knew that things had improved some in the last few years, but the Hero Public Safety Commission was still playing a light hand with making inroads to minority neighborhoods.  The really good Heroes went wherever they were needed, but they still played it light with actual Agencies.  That this shit was still happening and no one was really doing anything about it..!

“You got dealt a shit hand,” he growled.  “A kid, no, a woman your age, shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that.  But you survived and showed them you’re tougher than anybody who tried to kick you down.”

He gestured around, broadly. “Most of the kids here, they grew up with pretty cushy lives.”  He thought of Katsumi, when Eijiro had been beaten within an inch of his life.  Of Sato and his kid, when they’d lost his wife. Of Izumi’s infected with a debilitating influence as a means to hurt her grandfather.  Of the small, but still somehow too great a number of close calls, when Villains had tried to cross lines and come after their families.  Of the myriad others who had to worry about whether or not mom or dad was coming home.  

“Not always easy.  And not without their own tragedies.  But you’re operating from a whole different perspective.  Not one they’d understand easily, and not one you’re obligated to explain to them.”

Katsuki continued.  “I was an angry kid too.  Ready to take on anything and everything that pissed me off. I had legitimate issues that were driving my anger.  But I didn’t have real reasons for being angry. I invented them, lies I told myself about why it was okay to be so anger.  But you, you have real reasons.  And don’t let people tell you otherwise.”

He looked her straight in the eye.  “But you’ve got to use that anger.  Direct it at the right people.  And the people at this camp aren’t it.  Everybody’s here to get better.  Everybody’s here because they want to be a Hero and help people.”   He frowned.  “And yeah, my kid was ready to pick a fight with your classmate.  Or you.  She knows she screwed up.”  

It was a good thing he couldn’t share the details of this conversation with Katsumi.  She’d have been pissed at him for admitting that, even if it was the truth.  Or at least, an approximation of it.  She knew it was a bad decision.  Whether or not she’d internalized it as a screw up was a different question.

“I can’t change what happened to you, personally, or to your people or neighborhood.  My job’s to help put you on the best path to being a Hero. And I can’t do that if you’re treating your fellow students or instructors like they’re the enemy.”

He’d managed to get through that without yelling once.  Impressive. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age

She hadn’t gone to put her sock back on. Instead she’d listened to all of what he had to say. It was obvious she’d been expecting a variety of directions for this conversation to go: an angry lecture, threats, self-righteous condemnation, head-in-the-dirt denial, but hadn’t been prepared for acceptance or validation. Especially given his reputation for a short fuse and quick judgements. She’d paid attention to all of it, but had made no movements, nods, or sounds to indicate her stance.

When he finished, Park was quiet for a long time. Unknowingly she had begun to hold her cross in her hand, a thumb rubbing across the metal.

“I..I know, but..it’s so hard.” There was the tiniest of breaks in her voice, but she composed herself. She reached down to put her sock back on, probably distract herself from her conflicting feelings.  “I’m used to seeing enemies on all sides.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Walking around with all that anger, even with plenty of therapy, it’s something I deal with every damn day. It’s something I’ve got to constantly be aware of, be on guard against.  I find healthy outlets.  Or, at least, mostly healthy ones.”

He thought back to some of the conversations he’d had with Eijiro over the years, questioning whether he was a good enough person to deserve love and family.  Of long talks with Izuku, about all the wrongs he’d done to him.  Of the making amends part of his therapy and the long time he’d spent grappling with realizing he’d been chasing after a goal without ever truly understanding what it meant.

“There’s days I don’t do that good of a job,” he said, finally.  “The internet’s full of clips from times I lost it.  But I don’t stop trying.”

Park had long since put her sock and shoe back on and was once more listening. She had resumed fiddling with her cross, but not quite as frantically as before.

“Outlets.” She spoke the word with a familiarity that indicated she had heard it multiple times before now. “My parents have tried to find such things for me. A friend of my father’s instructed me in Yongmudo since I was small. Such things have been known to instill discipline, peace of mind, and perhaps even an “outlet.” In truth it just gave me a means to start fighting back. I “want” peace, Teacher, but to strike at those who wronged you...feels very good.” She squeezed the cross, hard enough that he saw her knuckles turn white. She chuckled bitterly.  “Probably what drew them to me to begin with.”

“Them?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.  Was someone using Park?  It only took him a few seconds to connect the dots.  He may have been a brawler at heart, but not for nothing did he have an investigative record second only to Tintin’s.  “The Commission.  Dammit, I thought Hawks had all those programs shut down!”

Park gave him a confused look. “I’m not sure what you mean, but yes, your Hero Commission. I had been rounded up more than once by police for getting in fights with local thugs, but nothing on my record. So I thought anyway. One day a Japanese man in a suit knocks on our door and asks to speak with me. He knows who I am, apparently from the police, and asks me “How would you like to take them down legally?”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Of course I knew these were the bastards who left us without Heroes to protect us. The same ones who unleashed Ignition on Chinese civilians. All the same, they were also the only ones who could arrange Pro protection in the future. I love my family, my community...if it meant working with them, then I would do it. Our neighborhood is poor, purposely nondescript, no way for the big schools to notice. So they arranged for my name to end up on Shiketsu’s radar.”

She shook her head, a rue smile actually crossing her lips. She said some words in Korean, caught herself, then said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’ve only ever told my parents and Chie.”

“It must be my winning bedside manner,” he said, putting on a small smile of his own.  He was still going to give that bird-brained Deputy Commissioner a piece of his mind, even if the programs didn’t sound quite the same. It was still predatory as hell.  

“But that’s a good goal,” he said.  “Sounds like you’re doing it for the right reasons.”  Maybe a little revenge, but it still sounded to his ears like she wanted to help, to make a difference, more than she wanted to hurt.   She was sticking up for people who didn’t have anyone else.  Izuku’d like that.  “So I’ll cut you a deal…  You’ve got my permission to walk away from anything here, anytime you get too mad to function.  But in exchange, you’ve got to talk to somebody after, and you’ve got to stop trying to beat the stuffing out of my students.”

Park looked visibly shocked, the first time her usual composure had completely cracked. She was clearly not used to Japanese people in authority being on her side. For the first time since the conversation had started, she finally seemed to show her age.

“Teacher,” she stops, realizing she was using Korean phrasing. “Sanada Sensei in Shiketsu has actually been trying to get me to see their counselor. I have refused every time.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe I should reconsider that.”

At the mention of beating up his students, she closes her eyes. They seem to vibrate a bit, closing them had been a means of hiding intense emotions. A hand squeezed her cross tightly. There was the very smallest hint of wetness to her eyes, but it was brief. Park opened her eyes again.

“I can do that.”

***

Isamu gulped, not for the first time.  Aizawa-sensei made him nervous on a good day, when he was just being his usual brooding self at Class 1-A.  He made him even more nervous when he was giving him direct attention, like what was happening now.  Like several other students, he’d been pulled aside for one-on-one, individualized or small group training.

“You’re getting good with your Quirk,” Aizawa said, flatly.  “Your father must have taught you well.”  Was it just his imagination or was there a little more warmth in his voice when he said that?

“As best he could, Sensei,” Isamu said quickly.  “Though he never got good enough with it for Hero work.”  Why would he say that?!

Aizawa gave him a flat look, one eyebrow slightly raised.  “You really want to dance around this, kid?  I know you know that I know.  Maybe not everything, but enough.  Your parents were pains in my ass, but they did good work.  Especially the Sky Egg.”

This wasn’t a surprise. But it was a surprise to be talking about it so openly.  Sure, he was the kid of a couple of Vigilantes, not Heroes like just about everyone else here.  And sure, Aizawa had worked with his parents multiple times, as had Midnight.  So it wasn’t like he really thought he was hiding anything.  At least not from them.   Deku had figured it out too.  And there were probably more people he hadn’t figured out.  But he hadn’t told any of his friends.  He trusted them, didn’t think it would come back to bite him in the ass.  It was just… something known but not talked about.

“Ah, thank you, Sensei.” That seemed like the proper response. And he didn’t even incur another round of foot in mouth disease.  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

Aizawa gave him a look. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Isamu gulped.

“All of which means I’ve got a pretty good idea of what your Quirk’s capable of,” Aizawa went on. “Yours is like his.  Almost identical, but subtly different if you know what you’re looking for.  I’m surprised Deku didn’t figure it out, honestly. But since you think you’ve got an identical Quirk, you’re limiting yourself.  He figured out ways to use his propulsion offensively and even for short bursts to launch himself, but you’ve already mastered all those tricks.  I’ve even see you firing repulsion blasts without having to brace yourself.  You don’t actually need three points of contact.  And I’ve seen you launch yourself during training too and steer yourself once you’re in the air.  So I want you to try something.”

There was, perhaps, a slightly maniac look in his teacher’s eyes.  “You’re going to fly.”

Isamu gulped yet again and his eyes went wide.  “Sensei?” He definitely couldn’t fly.  He could use a repulsion burst to launch himself and steer a little in the air, even keep himself from too bad of a landing, but he definitely couldn’t fly.   Could he?

Dad has said that he’d been able to slide through the air as a baby.  He’d even been able to recover something like it with boosts through the air. But that was really just not falling, not flying.  Wasn’t it?

He managed a nod. “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll try it.  What do I need to do?”

“Unfortunately,” Aizawa said, “I’m not allowed to just push you off the roof of the compound.  Sink or swim tactics work wonders.”

That was a joke, right? He had to be joking about that! Someone tell him Aizawa was joking!

His teacher’s expression betrayed no hint of emotion.  “So instead, what I want you to do is concentrate your power on pushing against the ground under your feet and the air under your hands.  You’ll need steady output from all four limbs to control it.”

Right.  He could do that.  He could do that.  He could probably do that.  He could possibly do that.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on his Quirk.  Just like when he was sliding along.  Energy out from his feet, energy out from his hands.   Steady, smooth, power.  

Nope!  Not steady!  Too much power flared from his feet and launched him into the air.  Cursed laws of physics!  Isamu cut his Quirk, but it was like trying to stop a bullet after it had already left the gun.  His arms and legs flailed uselessly as he launched skyward, until gravity began to reassert itself and drag him back down. Aizawa wouldn’t just let him go splat, would he?

Boy, was that a stupid question.  

So he had to save himself!

He scrunched up his eyes and concentrated on his Quirk again.   Steady, consistent, power.

Isamu felt the energy flow from all his limbs again, the pressure fairly equal.  Quickly, he realized he wasn’t falling.  His eyes snapped open.  His was only a few feet off the ground, but he was holding himself up in the air, unsteadily.  Trails of blue-white energy from all his limbs filled the air.  He kept his hands pointed carefully down, using them for stabilizing bursts while his feet provided the thrust.  

“Whoa!”  It was extremely unsteady.  His head was already beginning to hurt from concentrating so hard.  But he was doing it!  

And just as easily as it had come about, his concentration wavered and his power faded.  He hit the ground with a soft thump, landing on his butt. Isamu looked up to see Aizawa standing over him, offering a hand up, but also smirking knowingly.  Isamu took it.

“Good,” Aizawa said. “Keep practicing that.  I’ll send Ground Zero over later if you’re still having trouble.  His explosive-powered flight is similar.”

He needed to get very good. Immediately.

And he really needed a conversation with his friends.

***

Kimiko was fuming. Lunch had ended and they hadn’t even been able to begin the big shipping operation!  Even worse, it was entirely possible they wouldn’t get to do it at all! She hadn’t been able to tell what anyone was saying, but it sure looked like Koda and Aoyama had had a major heart-to-heart.  And since it hadn’t ended with any slaps or either of them walking away in tears, it was probably good news!

Which was, in and of itself, a good thing.  Koda definitely deserved all the happiness in the world.  She was probably the sweetest person that Kimiko knew.  And Aoyama was… not exactly a friend, but someone she was definitely friendly with.  Even if he didn’t particularly like Takuma, he was good people under the fancy-pants attitude.  Plus he loved listening to gossip and always had the best dirt on foreign celebrities. If they got together, it was a good thing!

But she didn’t know!  And since she didn’t have her phone, she couldn’t even share her speculation!  There was major league gossip going on and not only couldn’t she share it, but she didn’t even know the full story!

What was the world coming to?!

So many of Class 1-A was dating now!  Midoriya was dating Sora Iida, Takuma was dating Tensei Iida, Mineta was dating Yoarashi, Shoji had his girlfriend Shiryoku from the Business Course, Kaminari was apparently dating Monoma (What?  What was the story there?!  Why didn’t she know any details?!), Haimawari was dating Tetsutetsu, Koda and Aoyama were a maybe, and she was dating Kenta!

So that left… Kirishima-Bakugo, Kocho, Tokoyami, and Shinso, right?  Todoroki wasn’t interested in romance or sex, her loss, but Kimiko could respect boundaries. Sometimes.  And she wasn’t even sure what kind of people Shinso was interested in. He was only about six months younger than most of them, but he sometimes seemed like a kid by comparison.

None of which was relevant to the task in front of her.  Namely, personal medical training with the Metabolic Hero: Bioshock!

“Eri, ah, Doc Clock, sent me over files on everything she’s been teaching you,” Bioshock explained. “Including all the scores from your practice tests.  She’s definitely proud of you.”

Kimiko felt a smile spread across her face.  She’d actually really been applying herself to her medical studies.  Schoolwork didn’t come easily to her, but this was definitely worth it.

“So, pop quiz,” Bioshock said.  “Best way to treat a broken arm in the field?”

This one was easy. “If there’s bleeding, use a sterile dressing to stop it.  If there’s no skin puncture, use my Quirk to assess the extent of the break.  After either one, immobilize, construct a splint if possible.  Once I’ve gotten them to safety, ice packs can help with the swelling.”

He nodded. “Good.  And what’s the most important thing to keep an eye out for when doing search and rescue?”

She knew this one!   “Structural stability and my own safety. Don’t want to make a problem worse and I can’t help anyone if I need someone to rescue me!”

Bioshock nodded again.  “Good,” he said.  “And where in the body would you find a squeedily spooch?”

Panic gripped Kimiko’s heart as she realized she didn’t know the answer to that.  Squeedily spooch… squeedily spooch... what the heck was a squeedily spooch?!

She frowned as she realized he was struggling not to laugh.  “Hey!  That’s not fair!”  Her arms waved wildly through the air as she voiced her displeasure.  He was a teacher, so she couldn’t actually hit him like she would Kenta or Takuma, but… “There’s no such thing as a squeedily spooch!  You can’t just make stuff up like that!  What the heck is wrong with you?!  WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!”

The Rookie held his composure for a moment longer, before breaking into laughter.  “Sorry, sorry,” he said.  “I shouldn’t laugh, but I just wanted to see what you’d do…   Which reminds me, actually, I’ve got a theory about your Quirk…”

He was cut off as a shrill alarm cut through the air.  Bioshock’s face instantly went serious as he looked around.

“Perimeter breach!  Perimeter breach!”  An electronic voice sounded in the space between alarms.

“Come with me,” Bioshock said.  He was clearly trying not to let his worry show. “I’ll get you to the compound…”

If I can was left unsaid.

***

The second the alarms went off, the Rookies and teachers leapt into action, with a speed that would have impressed just about any Hero, forming a defensive circle around the U.A. students.    Uncle Kacchan set off small explosions on his palms, working himself up into the agitated state needed to sweat and use his power to its fullest.  Aizawa unraveled his capture cloth and lifted his goggles to cover his eyes.  Super-Ball dropped into a fighting stance, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his rubberized features set into grim determination.    

Ravenous unleashed several of his Binging Balls, the chomping spheroids floating about him like small planets orbiting the sun.  Small puffs of thrust flared from Boost-Rush’s arm pipes.  Bezoar dropped to all fours, his canon emerging from his mouth as he swept the tree line.  Aunt Mahoro pulled a small metal cylinder from her belt, which expanded into a staff.

Aunt Mahoro looked back, as though wanted to assure them that it was going to be okay.  She waved a hand in their direction and the world went a hazy green.  She had to have cast some kind of illusion over the twenty-odd students, probably making the training field look like they weren’t there at all.  Most of them had been on the main grounds, working on their Quirks.  The Shiketsu students, Ojiro, and about a dozen others had been elsewhere on the grounds, receiving their own training.

“We’ll stop or hold off whatever it is,” Toshi heard Aizawa say. Was he imaging it, or was his teacher’s voice shaking?  “You’ve all got full permission to use your Quirks to escape or fight off anything that tries to stop that escape.  The other Rookies are either on their way or protecting your classmates.

As it was, Toshi felt his heart racing in his chest.  A quick glance around revealed a sharp divide in reactions.  Some, like Kocho, along with members of Class 1-B like the bat-like Koumori and Kaniyashiki looked worried, but not overly frightened. They probably even wondered if this was just a test or one of Aizawa’s famous “logical ruses.”  It was absolutely a reasonable reaction to the presence of danger.  But they were all also Hero-students, quickly pushing past it to at least take up basic defensive stances, some of them calling up their Quirks.

The kids who had Hero parents reacted differently.  There was fear first.  They’d all been told the stories of what had happened during their parents’ first training camp.  The injuries. The kidnapping.  The fact that the League of Villains had nearly killed so many of them.  Would have killed so many of them, if not for a lot of luck.  Haimawari too, was reacting similarly.  His experiences between the Internship and the incident on I-Island had stirred up a great deal of courage in his friend, but also shown him how bad things could get very quickly.

This was supposed to have been a safe place.  The world was supposed to have been a safer place. The worst Villains had been faced and defeated.  And yes, it still needed Heroes, still needed people to stand up and say “I am here!” in the fight against evil.  But the past was not supposed to repeat like this.  

Their parents had fought hard so that their lives would not be as filled with trauma.

Already, the Nomu incident has put a lie to that.   Was it becoming even more of one?  Some of them had been tested in that, scarred, made afraid.  Some of them had been spared, aware of the terror but not a part of it.  

The fears of the past rose up to claim them.

But beneath the fear was grim determination.  Katsumi was already scowling, putting herself in front of Izumi.  Asuka had deployed Frog-Shadow and she and Haimawari had both put themselves around Shota.  The Twins looked ready to take off at a moment’s notice.  Tetsutetsu had transformed her arms to metal.  One by one, everyone was activating their Quirks. Even Kocho was extending her wings.

“I don’t need you to protect me, dammit!” Kaminari snapped, pushing Monoma so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, instead of behind him.

Monoma himself looked very pale.  If Toshi didn’t know better, he’d swear the other boy was shaking. He didn’t have any of his support items with him, Toshi realized.  “I.. I was just trying to…”

“Look,” Kaminari said. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a big girl.”

If ever there was a sign of how seriously his classmates were taking this, it was that Mineta did not make a joke about Kaminari’s statement.  Even Sero was quiet.  This was deadly serious.

“Do you think we are really under attack, Toshi?” Sora asked.

“Quit yapping, all of you!” Katsumi snapped, before he could answer.  Toshi recognized her body language.  Feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms out, fists clenched.  She was spoiling for a fight.  That was Katsumi all over.  Always spoiling for a fight.  After the beating she’d taken, he suspected she was looking for a target even more than usual.  He hoped and prayed that she had the good sense to recognize the odds were very good they were outmatched.

“This is bad,” Fukidashi whispered.  The animated girl’s face had gone blue and covered with hashlines.  “The background music’s getting really scary!”

***

For just a moment, Katsuki was fifteen again.  An arrogant, hot-headed kid with too much rage and an inferiority-superiority complex he won’t even begin to really unpack until he’s failed his Provisional License Exam, and won’t have finished unpacking until…  Well, it’s a work in progress.  But he’s back there, more than twenty-five years ago, thinking that Villains—murderers like Muscular and Dabi, master criminals like Mister Compress, deathrow inmates like Moonfish—don’t stand a chance against his barely trained ass.

He was wrong.  So wrong.  He was captured, perceived as a Villain, with All Might unable to properly fight because he was there.  And then he had to live with the shame of having to be rescued.  Of knowing that Izuku would stage a rescue for him, when he definitely wouldn’t have done the same.  He’d have let those Villains have the “worthless Deku.”

The knowledge of how much of a shit child he was still fills him with shame.

But here and now, even broken and bowed, he will not allow the same thing to happen to his daughter and her classmates.  He’d be cold and dead before he allowed that to happen.

“Just heard from the others,” Mahoro said.  “Sandblast and Locksmith are with the Shiketsu students.  Petal Princess and Lady Luminous are with the other students, and my brother and his student are hooking up with them.  Everyone’s accounted for.”

Boost-Rush tapped the side of his helmet.  “Getting data from the security feed…whatever it is, it’s coming up on us.  It’s managed to evade or disable our entire security system.”

“Any chance it’s a false alarm?” Fujii asked.  The rubberized Hero wasn’t joking.  It was a genuine statement.  “Nobody should know the students are here.”

“No one was supposed to know the first time either,” Aizawa snapped.  “Don’t let your guard down.”  Bakugo had to give the hobo credit.  Even in his mid-fifties, he still looked more than ready to kick anyone’s ass who trifled with his “kids.”

“Not a chance,” Mahoro said. “Hatsume and Shield designed all of it. But if it’s not an attack on them, it’s an attack on us Rookies.”

Either way, it wasn’t good.

There was a rustling in the grass of the tree line and suddenly, something emerged.  At first, he didn’t see anything, until he looked down.

“What the fuck?”

It was a… dog?  A Shiba Inu, if he was any judge.  

“What the fuck?”

Not just a dog, he realized. A dog wearing clothes.  It had on a dog-version of a Shiketsu uniform, complete with a peaked cap that its ears were poking through, and a backpack.

“What the fuck?”

The dog looked around and seemed to smile.  There was a strange, human intelligence to his eyes.  Eyes that finally fell on Bakugo, the other teachers, and the Rookies.

“Hi!” the dog said. “I’m Hachi Inuzaki from Shiketsu! Sorry I missed the bus!  It took me forever to get here!”

Katsuki felt like someone had just punched him in the face.  Aizawa, Fujii, and the Rookies were equally dumbfounded.

“What,” he said, “and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?”

[jessipalooza]

Ghost Town

The city of Gilneas was a ghost town, more so since the destruction of Undercity. The large gates still stood, but they stooped and hunched like an old man, moss tangling down as a beard. Pockets of missing stone and piles of rubble made passing by those gates relatively easy, and once a path was found - overgrown as they all were - it led to the rise of a hill. Beyond that hill, was a tangle of twisted streets of cobblestone, dilapidated buildings of 3 or so stories, a tremendous church - all the makings of a city that once stood proud. 

Not any longer.

Through the maze-like streets, eerie breezes swept dried leaves and yellows scraps of paper. Shutters that had been left open or fallen open and had not yet rotted off banged gently against the sides of the buildings as though cheering the parade of crinkling debris. Rats scurried down the alley ways, looking for anything and everything they might be able to pick clean and carry back to their nests. 

All of these sounds blended together as a death rattle of the city itself. It was a sad reminder of what had been before: lively chatter between neighbors and shopkeepers, groans of cart wheels rolling by, clopping of horse hooves, and the drumming of thousands and thousands of footsteps.

Now there were no footsteps, but that did not mean there were no people. 

Wrapped in leathers of deep blue, brown, and brass, a lithe figure of a woman traversed the shadowed alleyways. Each step was so silent that even the gentle scratching of rats was enough to drown it out. Through the maze, she went without so much as a breath escaping the cloth mask that covered her from the nose down. She was as much a ghost - perhaps better called a spectre - as the rest of the city. Every so often, she stopped, looked up and down the main streets, and listened. A few seconds passed and she continued.

Further through the city she went until her fel-tainted eyes snapped onto the third floor of a particular building. There was nothing tremendous that caused the building to stand out from the others. The outside wood was distressed, the glass windows shattered, the door broken in. Spider webs clung to the crooked awning and with each leaf-led breeze, the building wheezed and creaked. 

And as the clouds shifted, so did a shadow in the top left window.

Three beats of a heart and the woman of shadows pressed forward. She crossed the uneven cobblestone street and looked to the rotted door, crashed to the side. A scrap of paper remained attached to the door with a rusted nail, and below that were three separate marks: vicious cuts, driven deep into the wood with splinters in their wake. Worgen.

But the woman did not care about such a thing. Not truly. Her attention passed over the scars of curses past and turned to the floor. Wooden floors, split furniture with molded wood, stray leaves, rat droppings, and dusty rugs.

And a trail of footprints. 

Within each footprint, the woman stepped to leave her own presence unknown. The gate was wide, the boots large. It was a man, perhaps a foot taller than her. But she knew that much. She knew it was a human man. She knew his name was Lindon Deltane. She knew he was in his late fifties. She knew he was a thief and an attempted murderer.

Up the stairs she crawled, silent and steady. She had done this perhaps a hundred times before. Perhaps more. She had been alive longer than a century and most of those years were soaked in blood - some deserving, some not. This time, it was not justice that brought her to this abandoned house, not her own at least. The man had wronged someone and she was here to right that misstep as a price for her own goal. She wanted information. In exchange, there would be blood. She was fine with that. It was a fair trade.

The top stair groaned; the woman stopped. She waited with a deep and silent breath. Outside, the breeze whistled through the alleys and rattled the shutters. Inside, the building was still. Framed portraits stared down at her, some tattered and others clawed. The men and women judged her as an intruder, as an assassin. She did not care. Without so much as a glance to the ghosts of the Gilneans past, she pressed onward.

Around the corner. Down the hall. The door at the end was opened a crack and in the low light of the moon-lit room, there was a shimmer near the ground. A thread. No. A trap. An easy trap, at least. Slow and easy, she opened the door and stepped high over the thread to cross the threshold of what used to be a master bedroom above a little shop. 

The room smelled of mildew and tobacco. A chandelier had fallen and been dragged to one corner, leaving behind scratches in the wood floor. Half of the furniture was covered in grey, moth-eaten sheets as though the owners expected to return, rather than be eaten alive or cursed. A closet door lay ajar, but no clothing was left. There were sheets on the four-poster bed, however, and on top of them was Lindon Deltane.

The thief slumbered with one hand behind his head and the other on his stomach, clutching a knife. A large rifle lay against the side table, on top of which was a plate of half-eaten rations that included cheese, bread, and salted meat. On the floor were two bottles of whiskey and a jug of water. No doubt he had been moving from building to building, waiting out his time in Gilneas before moving on. One did not steal from a thousands-year old elf that specializes in information, much less attempt to kill one of his descendants - not without biding time at a few different locations to throw off the scent. 

Unfortunately for Lindon Deltane, he did not do a good enough job, and the stink of his misdeeds clung to him too strongly to shake. 

The woman crept towards the bed and pulled from her side the dagger that was her constant companion. It would be easy. A quick slice across the neck, a search for the artifact, and then she would be on her way. There was no need to even hesitate. There was no guilt to be had, no second thoughts. She brought the blade down to the man’s neck.

And at that very moment, Lindon Deltane’s eyes opened. 

It happened so quickly. He brought up his knife and she met it with her dagger, sacrificing his neck to save her own. The two short blades clashed together with a shriek of steel and the woman was able to glimpse the strength of the man and know that it was far more than her own. So when he pulled back his free hand for a punch, she tugged herself back. He caught her mask and ripped it free, taking the hood with it. 

A long braid of bright orange hair tumbled out and Esme Sunshard wasted no time with witty remarks. She shifted back a step and flung her dagger as soon as she saw Lindon Deltane reach for that rifle. The blade sank into his hand and into the wooden butt of the weapon. To the man’s credit, he did not so much as grunt and still brought the weapon up, dropping his knife in favor of the trigger. 

Esme barely had enough time to duck before the rifle shot with a thunderous blast. What was left of the window was blown off the hinges, glass showering onto the abandoned street below. The rifle was cocked, a second shot at the ready, but Esme was too quick. The second shot missed, leaving a hole in the rotted floor where she had been, and she was grabbing one of the decorate wood columns of the bed. Using momentum, she swung herself around and drove her feet into the side of the man’s head.

The two of them tumbled, but Esme’s roll was controlled and she popped up to one knee with ease, her sword drawn. 

Lindon Deltane was less graceful, but surprisingly fast for his size and age - for a human. Even with graying brown hair and matching gray streaks in his beard, he moved like he was in the prime of his life. Still, he was no match for Esme’s speed. 

Before Esme could get too confident, she felt the heat. It was a familiar heat; it radiated off of Lindon Deltane and carried with it the scent of burning wood and the chemical tang of magic.

“Shit,” she muttered - right before scrambling to the side. 

As she moved, she felt the flames lick at her legs and smelled singed hair. It was too close for comfort, but she did not have time to turn to see where the flames had landed. Neither did she have time to thank Faervell for fire-proofing her leather armor. Another blast chased her to the other side of the room and back over to the bed. Flames crackled as they engulfed the brittle wood, and Esme’s only saving grace was the mildew and humidity that stopped the fire from spreading as quickly as it might have otherwise. 

She had to stop him, and stop him she did. Nearly every day she sparred with a felmancer. There was no difference to her between green fire and red fire. So there was no hesitation from her to roll over the bed, raise her sword, and swing it down to sever the outstretched hands of Lindon Deltane. 

The thief cried out in agony as his limbs tumbled to the ground with heavy thuds. Blood began to flow freely - as free as the curses that spilled from his lips, thick with the accent of Redridge. Just where Quineven had said he lived. 

“You bitch! You blood elf bitch!”

Winded from the short fight and aware of the heat closing in as the fire began to crawl up the walls, Esme stood and jabbed the point of her sword against Lindon’s throat. “I do not suppose you are going to tell me where the artifact is.”

Hatred and desperation emanated from the man’s blue eyes. Even as his stumps bled, he spat at her feet. The saliva was speckled red.

“I thought not,” Esme answered cooly. She plunged her sword through his throat, and it drew out a gag and a choke from the man. By the time she drew her sword back, he was dead in the mind. The body was another story, as it twitched - and would for another few minutes, or until the fires claimed it.

Sliding the flat of her blade across her thighs to rid it of human blood, she took in just how much of the room was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Smoke began to fill her nose and mouth, so the first thing she did was grab hold of the mask that had been torn from her to start with. Haphazardly, she threw the hood back on and tucked the mask up to her nose. It did little to help with smoke, but a little was better than nothing. 

“Where the fuck is this artifact,” she muttered to herself. In such a silent city, the crack of fire and the crumble of wood was deafening. She could barely hear herself, but it did not matter. She had to move and think fast. 

Under the bed, in the dressers. She searched for whatever an artifact could possibly look like. Quineven had described it as hand held and silver, but for all she knew, it could be in a box or a sack. 

“Or a pocket.”

Esme turned and knelt beside the body of Lindon as a final twitch ran down one leg. Without care, she stuck her hands into his pockets - vest and then pants. Her fingertips graced both a gnomish knife and a pocket watch. With an irritable sigh, she shoved him away and began to stand until the realization hit her.

Faervell had kept crystals in something that looked like a pocket watch. Black with a green gem on front. It was enchanted, and he had told her in a night’s drunken slur, “It’s perfect. Small and powerful. Nobody will get to these crystals but me. And you, my darling, if ever you want…”

Hurriedly, she jabbed her hand back into the pocket and grabbed the pocket watch. It was larger than what she was accustomed to with a rune engraved on the front. It was also silver. That was good enough for her. 

Stashing the object down the front of her leathers, she turned and hurried out of the room. As though bidding her farewell, the beam above the doorway crashed down behind her and nearly sent her tumbling forward. Coughing away the smoke, she took the stairs two at a time and spared a glance up to the ceiling as she hurried past. Fire burned through the floor, creating glowing cracks within the wood. Had it not been so dangerous and a tell-tale sign of the building collapsing, she might even stay and look at it to admire the beauty. 

Out the door, she flew and down the road she continued. Once she was a safe distance away, she turned to watch as flames clamored out the window and the building itself shuttered and crumbled away. She knew what would happen. The fire would cling to the next building and continue on until it rained or found more stone than wood. It would continue long after Esme was gone, on her way to Quineven with his request in hand. 

Gilneas should thank her. With one murder, she left the city with more life than when she came.

----------

@pyrar

[namorres]

GIVE ME YOUR WORD  ∞  ELIJAH MIKAELSON 

1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10

wc  |  3.3k

warnings  |  none yet

summary  |  anastacia ward is a mercenary, brought back from the dead and out to hold up her end of a crooked deal. never did she think she’d have to kill the one man she ever had the chance to love, but if it brought an end to her debt, she’d have no choice.

notes: this is the introduction! this story is an x oc, but i promise it’s still good :) alsoooo, since this is the first chapter, ‘lijah won’t be in it too much. but stick w me and i promise it’ll get fun ;)

masterlist

“You have one job,” he said, risen from his seat, fingers steepled on his desk as he looked her dead in the eye, challenging her will to deny him. “I suggest you do it.”

She nodded, a hard line in place of her mouth and narrowed eyes looking over her employer. He was giving her no choice, giving her no chance to say no. She had no option – she was going to go through with this job; it did not matter who she hurt, who she killed, who she broke. Even if it meant herself.

Standing from her seat, she let out a sigh and looked down at the file folder that lay at the lip of his desk, papers starting to fall out of the edge. She could see words, edges of pictures printed out, but those were all in her peripheral. Her focus remained on the words written in scrawled pen across the tab.

“You have the time you need to get it done,” he looked at her before sitting down, fixing his tie and deciding to no longer give her any attention. “I expect reports. You know the consequences.”

She watched him for a moment, wishing she could lunge across the desk and slash his throat, or perhaps tear his heart from his chest. Or, maybe, she could spray his blood all over the walls and send his head to his lovely wife. But she couldn’t – he would take everything from her and he'd spare no mercy while he did it. Pinching the corner of the folder in her fingers, she dragged it off the desk and into her arms. A growl left her chest, a chuckle resonated from him in response, and she turned on her heel, walking out of the office.

                                                          ∞

The streets of New Orleans crawled with every type of character there was – the tourists who had no idea what they were in store for, the tourists who came back every year because they knew exactly what to expect; there were the locals, eccentric in their own ways and trying to get through their day, and then the overly-eclectic locals who embraced the culture perhaps too much. Underneath all of the humanity, the culture, though, lay the true heart of New Orleans.

The supernatural reigned the streets, especially in the French Quarter, where battles for control were always waging, just out of sight of the humans. Vampires against werewolves against witches, all fighting for something that was truly unachievable – total kingship. The witches held magic in their hands, the werewolves strength, and the vampires immortality. Alongside their aging advantage, they held the numbers required to keep their grasp strong on the Quarter – feedings and turnings every other weekend, vigilantes wanting to start up new regimes that would give them the key to the city.

Witches fought for the same thing, repulsed by creatures made from their own magic. The two factions squabbled and squashed each other at every turn, going to every length possible to ensure the eradication of the other. Werewolves, though, well – if they fought for anything, they fought an already lost battle. No werewolf survived the streets of the Quarter; the enemy of the enemy is the friend was an honored rule. Witches and vampires alike detested the sight of the “mongrels,” wanting nothing more than to see them dead or banished. Preferably extinct, but they would take whatever they could get their hands on.

It was what truly made her almost pity New Orleans – the naïvity of the residents who lacked supernatural powers, the envy that drove the witches to madness and the anger that drove the vampires to their downfall. They all were so blinded by their own wants and needs they didn’t seem to care that someone new could walk in at any moment, didn’t seem to care that if an ally was taken down, it would mean sure doom. Selfishness was blinding. And the roots of NOLA had no shortage of it.

But, due to this, she could pit the city against itself, use the Quarter’s neverending feuds to her advantage to make this kill quick and clean. But it would take time, and it would take misplaced trust and it would take bloodshed. She was willing – she was no stranger to such tactics. But the deeper she got into this, the harder it was going to be for her to get out of it. Her target was not someone she was unknown to, her target was not someone unknown to her.

Her employer had been well aware of what he was doing whenever he’d assigned the mission to her. He knew that she had a history here in this beautiful city, knew that she’d do anything to at least come back here again. So, as was his fashion, he exploited that. He’d called her a couple weeks prior, asked her if she was interested in a hit in NOLA, to which she very promptly said, “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t until she’d gotten to his office in New York that he explained everything that went with coming back to a place she once called home. “Your target is not going to be easy to get rid of, but I can guarantee that doing this will,” he raised a brow, watching the breath in her chest catch, “bring a quick end to your debt.”

It didn’t take much more convincing – she would do this if it meant freedom. Then he slid the file over, and she no longer felt so indifferent. He’d told her that it was a powerful target, an Original, and doing something of this magnitude would surely be in her benefit. He always reiterated things, just to reinforce her mind that it was worth it.

Her thumb scraped over the indented cardstock, a sigh leaving her chest whenever she’d finally taken in what she was going to do. Her target was a Mikaelson, the eldest living brother, for that matter. She would have preferred anyone else, but that wasn’t going to do with her employer – he wanted to raise hell and he would stop at nothing to do it, especially if it meant killing off the Mikaelson’s, one by one, starting at the top.

This mission was sure to be her downfall, for she knew far too much about the man to just waltz in and plunge the only thing that could kill him in his chest. Her greatest fear, though, was how much he knew about her. Elijah would not let this happen, he would not go quietly.

Elijah... this had been the first she’d thought of him, his face, his legacy, in decades. She knew of his characteristics – knew his tactics. He was ruthless, ready to spill whatever blood necessary in order to keep those he loved safe, even if it meant his own. Noble, always keeping his word when given, never breaking a promise. But he had a flaw, one she was once intimately familiar with – his ability to love. He loved deeply, and he did not let go. No matter the time, no matter the danger that came from it, he stayed true until she inevitably met her end.

Elijah Mikaelson’s curse was that he usually took a seat at the head of her death, always the reason innocent blood was shed. And it never failed to leave the man heartbroken.

This one fault, one crack in his defense, would be his downfall. And if she were smart, she would use it to her advantage, she would not get connected, and she would find no shame in it. This was her job – kill, or lose everything you hold dear, including your immortal life. She could not lose that. Not after so much time.

                                                         ∞

Taking in a deep breath, she walked into an apartment building, climbing the stairs without words to the receptionist. Third floor, fifth apartment, her text had read. The thud of her heels echoed against the stone floor, the warm and humid air nipping at her skin and begging her to regret wearing an all black jacket and jeans. She counted in her head as she passed the third, then the fourth, then stopped at the fifth door. Knocking three times, she waited, staring down at her feet and wondering just who might answer the door.

To no surprise at all, an elderly woman was the one to open it, staring up at her with a kind smile, “Why, hello!”

Swallowing and suppressing a satiric grin, she leaned forward and looked the older woman in the eye, “You’re going to invite me in. I will stay here until I tell you otherwise. Nobody else will be allowed in. You will not ask questions, you will not worry about me coming in late. You’ll make a spare key, and give it to me, and only me. Do you understand?”

The woman stared blankly for a moment, then a smile stretched across her face, “Oh, deary, it’s much too hot for you to be out there! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Ms…” she paused, offering a kind smile.

“You may call me Ruth,” the woman, Ruth, nodded, waddling to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Ms. Ruth.” Tucking her hands in her pockets, she looked around the quaint room, noticing the crosses that lined the walls, as well as the distinct lack of pictures of family. She scoffed to herself – of course.

“In case of unforeseen circumstances, any humans that come of assistance to the company will be killed. It ensures the safety of the company,” or so her boss would say. It was always the elderly with no connections to the outside world. Easiest to get rid of, already knocking on deaths door with one foot in the grave.

She called out and asked about a room for her to stay in, to which Ms. Ruth explained that there was a room down the hall that hadn’t been used. She didn’t actually have any luggage, but she figured she wouldn’t need any – she was always given enough cash to buy herself temporary clothing to build an identity off of. Yet, for some reason, she felt having a different personality here would be pointless. If she was going to be home, she would make it feel like being home.

                                                         ∞

It had been a few hours since she’d arrived in New Orleans, already having scouted out nearby clothing stores and picked from their shelves. She was aiming for comfort, for familiarity if she could find it. But she hadn’t left the same strip the complex resided on, knowing that if she ventured too far into town, it was sure that someone would recognize her face; that was another can of worms that she would rather leave sealed tight.

The room she’d be staying in was something remnant of a partially put-together guest room, a bed and a dresser and a bedside table just to fill the space. She wondered if Ruth had someone that had passed already, and perhaps they had lived here together, and they’d had friends. But knowing that Ms. Ruth was likely the best candidate to house her, she figured whomever the elderly woman had was long gone, and any connections she had were long lost.

She stood from the bed in her room, fingertips grazing the front corner of the file folder. Throwing a glance toward the mirror, a smirk passed through her features – she finally felt like her. A tee that fit, no leather to shroud her in the shadows, and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. It reminded her of the days when she didn’t have a contract looming over her head, when things weren’t a matter of life and death. Carding fingers through her short, dark hair, she let out a sigh, looking away from her own reflection. It wasn’t often she got to see it, and it wasn’t often she cared to see what she’d become, either.

She walked to the doorframe, sparing one last glance toward the folder, then flipped off the lights. Walking down the hall, she called out, “Ms. Ruth?”

“Yes, dear?” The elderly woman sat on her chair, knitting something that had no distinct pattern. It was laughable, the cliché that sat in front of the mercenary.

“Do you happen to know where the Mikaelson compound is from here?” She had kneeled down at the chair’s side, talking to Ruth with a soft voice and a sweet smile. Regardless of the compulsion, she wasn’t going to be rude or torturous to the woman – the same could not be said about her hired-gun-counterparts, but she could hardly turn off the politeness switch.

“Oh, of course! It’s two rights and a left!” Ruth was excited to tell her, it seemed, her brown eyes lighting up and her feet wiggling against the carpet. “I used to pass it all the time! The palm trees are quite the sight, if I must say!”

She smiled, thanking Ms. Ruth with a kiss on the cheek and promising to be back soon. Ruth was very quick to go back to her knitting, calling that dinner would be on the stove for her when she got home. By the time she was at the door, Ruth had already gone back to her knitting, laughing at something on her game show. Another grin, softer, traced her lips – this woman was just… adorable.

As she stepped out into the cool evening air, that familiar feeling pooled in her stomach. It had come about when she was called into the office, when she was talked to about having to not compromise the mission, and then again whenever she saw the name on the file folder. She hadn’t needed it – her employer knew that much. “A formality,” he pressed, “humor me.”

That folder was sitting on the bed in the room Ms. Ruth had so kindly let her stay in, yet to be opened.

Her eyes flicked to each sign she passed, each restaurant and bar, each clothing store and witch’s craft. The familiar buzz of life filled her veins, and she found that a small smile had made it to her face, joy invading her senses and boosting the dull mood that had made itself a home in her mind. If someone ran into her, she only offered an apology, and if there were laughter, it was likely contagious. Anger, aggression, it felt like it had been lifted from the air the minute the sun went down, too many people here worried about having fun rather than confrontation.

It felt good to be here, if she were honest, even if she had to make sure she didn’t see anyone she might’ve known. She would be sad to leave again. But after she had done what she was here to do, staying here would likely get her killed, however ironic it was, and that was just not a favorable outcome.

Rounding the corner, she peered across the street. She gazed upon an elegant architectural sight – one of the biggest, and likely oldest, buildings in town – the Mikaelson compound. Trees lined the balconies, the bricks newly painted and vibrant in the nighttime glow of the city. The windows were numerous, the lights of countless rooms shining through them. A faint smile graced her lips before it faded, her gaze darting to the balcony as a door opened.

Ducking behind a post, her eyes narrowed as she tried her best to see the figure that stepped out. It was a man, hands tucked in his pockets and clad in a suit. Blinking, her mouth fell agape, a quick breath swifting through her lungs. Elijah stood on the balcony, looking out over the French Quarter. The longer he stood, the more she could focus on him – the glow on his cheekbones, the clench of his jaw as he thought, his downcast eyes narrowing without focusing on anything. When his mouth began to move, she took a breath and focused as much as she could, listening in to what he was saying.

“You are blinded by this, Niklaus,” his voice was muddled, but clear enough that she could make it out amongst the chatter of the crowd around her.

“Forgive me, brother, but I don’t recall asking for your insight,” his younger brother bit, joining him on the balcony. Her eyes shifted to him, wearing something that was exactly the opposite of his brother. A relaxed henley, a pair of black pants, necklace hanging from his neck and the same yellow and purple glow on his face. His eyes shifted across the crowd, too, not looking in any particular direction.

“You must realize this is not the way to go about getting what you want,” Elijah still had not looked at him, the two keeping their focus on the streets below. The elder of the two breathed out a sigh, eyes closing temporarily before they opened again, “Striking fear into those you love will never fail to do more harm than good. You must know this, Niklaus.” He turned to his brother, leaning against the railing beside him with a forearm.

Niklaus growled, “Do not lecture me on what to do with my family, Elijah! You do not seem to understand that I know what I’m doing, and I never asked for your help, nor do I need it.” His stare was rock solid as he looked down upon his brother, near chest-to-chest.

As Elijah breathed in to speak, her focus was interrupted by an abrupt collision. Looking to her right, a drunken man donning a rather ridiculous-looking fleur-de-lis hat giggled. He was standing against the wall behind her, mumbling out an apology and then pushing off the wall to make his way once more. But instead of even getting the ground to take a step, he fell forward, and without second thought, she raced to catch him against her chest.

Not a single person paid attention to the small scene, and she groaned when she felt a wet pool against her shoulder. Looking over his heap of helplessness, she spotted a bar a few feet away that would likely find a way to nurse him back to sobriety, and quickly took him in, leaving him at a table and calling to the bartender that he needed a water. When she stepped out, her senses were muddled and it took her a second to find where the Mikaelson brothers had been standing.

Leaning against another pole, just enough to peer around it but not enough to be obvious, her gaze locked on the balcony, only to see that Niklaus stood alone. His jaw clenched and his hands gripped the railing so tight his knuckles were white. Words had been exchanged in her brief absence, and her curiosity nipped at the edges of her mind. There was a moment of pause, where he just looked out about the town, made no movement. Then he pulled in a quick breath and slammed his hand against the railing.

She flinched at the loud impact that rang through her ears, her mistake having been listening too closely. Drawing in a breath, she swallowed and shook her head, looking back up at where he’d been standing. Expecting to see him staring out over the city, like he had been, her heart got caught in her throat when she realized that they were making eye contact. There was no mistaking that he was looking at her, no mistaking that he’d seen her.

“Ana,” he muttered, just barely audible to her, but enough to make fear spark in her veins. Her jaw clenched, and in a blink, she’d disappeared into an alleyway a few feet away from where she’d been standing. She could still peer out to see the hybrid leaning on the railing, eyes trained on her previous position.

She fought against the heaving breath in her chest, wanting to quell the sudden adrenaline spike. She needed to play ghost, and that was too close of a call – anything like that would likely get her found out before she was ready, before she’d gotten the information she needed.

That wouldn’t work.

She followed his figure as he pushed himself off the balcony rail, taking one last look across the French Quarter street, then disappearing into the Compound. A breath of relief left her, and she closed her eyes with a shake of her head. Klaus had seen her, yes, but she needed to focus on what she’d heard before that – what Klaus was doing that pissed Elijah off the way it did.

This was going to take longer than her employer was likely anticipating, and if she were honest with herself, the longer she could postpone the inevitable, the better.

[thatgoddamnwizard]

✘ Why did you deliberately meet my gaze the day we met?

My muse has to tell nothing but the truth for 10 asks.

Ask them funny questions, get personal, query about the people around them or pester them for their deepest darkest secrets - go wild! Include ✘ with the asks!

My subconscious and I had a long, unpleasant chat about that once. He’s kind of an asshole, my subconscious, real good at telling it like it is whether I like it or not. Also he’s a better dresser than me, all kind of suave and put together. The jerk.

Anyway, it went a bit like this.

_______________________________________________________

I often say I had a grueling week because, well, I often do, but this week set a new standard definition for the word. It started out normally enough– whatever the hell that means in my case– but then quickly escalated when someone that I had been investigating decided he didn’t like being investigated. 

Things happened. There were a bunch of goons with tire irons, fists, boots, and a ready-to-fire paralysis spell, some angry vampires hellbent on vengeance, a lot of blood and bruises, a concussion, and a few episodes of not-so-blissful unconsciousness.

Oh, and Marcone. There was a lot of Marcone in this mess, which of course cranked my surly wizard factor up to eleven.

We’d escaped the vampires by hook or by crook, got trapped in a snowstorm in the middle of the wilderness, took shelter in a cave. All of that gets told elsewhere. My point here is that I fell asleep in that cave, utterly spent, battered and scarred, and my magic was still suppressed by the remains of the thorn manacles that we hadn’t been able to completely remove from my wrists.

I came to awareness standing in darkness, not the moonlight-dappled darkness of the cave we were in, with its coarse, uneven floor and looming walls and damp, musty scent, but someplace smooth and flat and endless, featureless, but for the pale luminance spilling on the floor in a circle ahead of me. A simple folding chair stood in the circle of light, and a man sat in the chair, his arms folded across his chest, eyebrow raised as he studied me with his dark, glittering eyes. He was something akin to a mirror image of me, except he was dressed all in dark, custom-fitted clothes, sported a well-trimmed beard, and didn’t look like he’d just gone ten rounds with the Hulk. He wore the same black leather duster that I wore, though he wore it better. The jerk.

“It’s about damn time,” said my doppelganger. “We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.” I wasn’t in the mood. “We really, really don’t.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “The fact that you really, really don’t want to talk about something is usually an indicator that you really, really need to, Harry.” 

“Don’t care,” I said. “Tired. Good night.” I turned to start walking into the darkened space around us, hoping that it would lead to peaceful oblivion and then maybe something resembling a normal dream (at least as far as these things go for me), but in the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of me.

“Can’t let you walk away from this, man,” he said. “It’s too important. You need to work some things out here. There’s too much at stake, and you need to understand why you’re doing what you’re doing or you’re going to end up somebody’s dinner. Or somebody’s pet. Or both.”

That rankled. I wasn’t particularly one to psychoanalyze myself, to dig up all sorts of hidden reasons why I do the things that I do. Yeah, I’ll question my motivations, if I’m doing things for the right reasons, if what I’m doing is right or wrong. But psychobabble isn’t really my thing. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Because deep, quality introspection is so important when you’re trying to stop a supernatural gang war from breaking out in Chicago.”

“Hell’s bells,” my subconscious grumbled, passing his hand over his face in a gesture of sublime irritation. “Look. You’re dreaming. I’m your friggin’ subconscious. That means you’re a captive audience here until you wake up, and that’s probably not going to be for a while, considering the state of your physical body. You can go running off into any dream you like, but I’ll be hounding you the whole way. So make it easy on us both and sit down, shut up, and listen.” He pointed to the circle of light, where a second chair had appeared, situated across from the first one, as if by magic. Abracadabra.

And just like that, I was sitting across from him in the chair, mirroring his body language, arms folded across our chests, legs crossed at our knees, scowls on our faces. “Fine,” I said. “Talk.”

My double regarded me for a few seconds, and then pointed to his left. I looked and saw Marcone, leaning against my desk and looking at a battered, bloodied figure that sat on the floor, propped against the wall. I did a double-take. The bloodied figure was me. Wow, those guys had really done a number on me. Marcone was cool and collected as ever, regarding me with a level of composure that belied the pain he must have been in after weathering his own attack.

“Yeah?” I said. “So?”

My double sighed. “Marcone is attacked, and the first person he goes to see about it is you. Despite the fact that you have, on multiple occasions, told him where he could stuff his job offer.”

“He’s relentless like that. But so am I.”

“So why did you decide to work with him this time?”

I glared at my doppelganger. “Because,” I said, then paused. “Because I’m trying to prevent a goddamned supernatural gang war, for Christ’s sake.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “So you decided to team up with one of the players in that up-and-coming blockbuster.”

“I didn’t– I’m not– I’m not teaming up with him,” I protested. “We’re not bosom buddies. We just–”

“Why did you let yourself get drawn into a soulgaze with him?” 

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “What? I didn’t let myself–”

“You let yourself. You’ve been habitually avoiding eye contact with people since you were old enough to know what it could do. You tempted fate. You did it because you wanted to see him for who and what he was. Why’d you do it? Of all the people, all the enemies you’ve encountered, why’d you do that with him?”

I didn’t really like where this was going. “He was a threat. I wanted to take his measure. See what I was dealing with.”

“And?”

“There’s no ‘and.’ Just that.”

“Bullshit.”

I sighed. “Okay, oh wise and stylish guru. What else is there?”

He smiled. “You saw something in him, before you ever locked eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like you. Drive, determination, the ability to be an ice-cold bastard when the situation called for it. You weren’t just taking the measure of an enemy. You were taking the measure of a potential ally and friend.” Then the bastard winked at me, actually winked. “You also thought he was kind of hot.”

The sounds that came out of my mouth sounded more like a choking Ringraith than anything human. “I what?!”

“You heard me.”

“I did not!”

“Did so.”

“Did not!”

“You really did.”

“Okay.” I stood up and kicked the chair away hard enough to knock it over. “This conversation is over. I’m not gonna sit here and talk about my latent sexual tendencies with my freaking subconscious. Especially in regards to Marcone.”

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. There are more important things to talk about here. But you really ought to look into that. It’s not healthy to repress. It’s the twenty-first century, man. It’s okay.”

I glared at him and repressed.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you should trust the guy. But I’m saying that you’ve seen him like few other have. You’ve seen sides to his story that he doesn’t let anyone get a peek at, and he let you see them. Deliberately. He has a vested interest in keeping the city free of unchecked bloodshed and violence. War’s bad for his kind of business. You can be sure he’s on your side as far as all that.”

“Marcone’s on the side of Marcone,” I mumbled.

“Yeah. You’re right. You two just happen to have the same goals at the moment– minimizing the death and destruction that you’re both going to be ears-deep in if you don’t work together to prevent it from happening in the first place.”

I didn’t say anything. My double glanced to one side, then back to me. “We don’t have much time left. I’ve just got one more thing to say.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you really think Ariana and her vampire mod squad are the only allies this new player has?”

“What do you mean?”

The world was fading around me, and I could feel myself getting dragged reluctantly towards the waking world, but I heard him say, as if from a great distance: “Where’d he get the hellhound?”

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 26: On The Job

Chapters: 26/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Have My Favorite Corn Recipe, Seriously It’s Really Good, Oh Yeah A Major Crime Was Committed, Remember That? Summary: No really, it’s a very good recipe, you should all try it out.

“So, what you're telling me,” You said between bites of dried stockfish. “Is that this goddess, your sister, was around for like, three thousand years, and was apparently a favorite of the entire army. You have those little bits of fresco painting to show me. But in the span of like, a few decades, everyone had forgotten her?”

“Or, at least, refused to speak of her, yes.” Loki said, passing a plate of buttered, dark bread your way.

It was just the two of you this time, in a little room beside the kitchens. You could hear the cooks working on the other side of the wall.

“I'm a bit leery to show you the frescoes just yet.' Loki said. “They're extremely unpleasant, and frankly, embarrassing. I brought several bits of the paintings that came afterwards, and those are much nicer. For one thing, I'm in them.”

You smiled indulgently. “That's the important part, right? Just how much stuff did you grab on your way out?”

“Oh, quite a bit.” Loki waved his fork on the air. “Practically everything I passed by, actually. I have quite a bit of room, though I admit, I stretched things a bit. Transporting living things that way is rather difficult.”

“Living things?”

“Leynarodd. The pegasus, a few others. Certain objects I thought would come in handy later, such as Gungnir. A few books, a few artworks. All artifacts now.”

You scooped lingonberry preserves onto a little cup of skyr. “But the point I was making was, there are plenty of your people that are old enough to remember her. So how come nobody ever said anything? Why were there no precautions taken to prevent her return?”

“From what we've been able to put together, Hela did have many supporters, despite her murderous tendencies. She embodied the endpoint of all that Asgard valued, the culmination of the 'noble warrior culture'. When our father decided to change his tactics to more peaceful means, there was, initially, a split in support. The commoners supported Odin; it seems they were a bit weary of being sent off to die in endless wars, no matter how much honor it brought their families. The nobles supported Hela, as they were loathe to let go of even an ounce of their power, no matter the consequences.

Then, apparently, Hela did some things that lost her all support. Brunnhilde says she attempted a coup, and murdered everyone in the palace as she went-hundreds of people, including many of her noble supporters. Heimdall remembers, and has hinted that she did something even worse, but he will not talk about it, no matter what we do.

And that's how most of the older Asgardians are. Those who are old enough to remember will not speak of it. Those who were there went about erasing her name and hiding her from sight, as if it would somehow make her wither away into nothing. We can't force them to talk, not yet. The people are traumatized after all this. Some of them saw their lives destroyed twice by her. We will simply have to wait until someone is ready.”

Loki grabbed a small bunch of grapes, and split them between you.

“As for precautions, well, I don't know exactly why Father failed so badly there. But he always did seem to have a blind spot when it came to his children.” Loki snorted quietly. “Specifically, the left side. The more I think about it the more it makes sense that he reacted so severely to Thor and myself when we displayed a lack of concern for the lives of others. He must have seen her, growing within us. He must have been terrified that we would take the same path, that all of his children would share the same fate...”

He slammed his fist on the table, suddenly angry. You jumped.

“All he had to do was say one thing about it, and all of this could have been avoided! He didn't even have to tell me, if it came down to it. He could have told Thor, and Thor would have told me! That's probably why he didn't. After Hela, he probably couldn't bring himself to trust even in his own children. But all of this, literally everything happened because he just wouldn't tell us what he needed to!”

His moods were still mercurial as ever. You might not ever get used to it, but you'd better try. You reached out and took the hand he had slammed down. He blinked in surprise, all anger draining from his face. He uncurled his fingers just enough for you to dip yours into his palm.

“Forgive me.” He said quietly. “That was unbecoming.”

“This is a part of my job too, isn't it?” You asked. “To help out with this kind of thing?”

“Technically, yes. Council is a part of the job description. I hesitate to foist that burden entirely off onto you however. I am...difficult at times, and you are not without your own traumas.”

“That's true, but you've dealt with them pretty well so far.” You pointed out.

“I have, considering how many of them involve hitting me in the face.” He chuckled at your mumbled apology. “I am not worried about it. And you have nothing to fear either. My fury could burn the very stars, and I would still never raise a hand to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you weren't the type. You seem above that kind of thing.”

“Do I?” He asked, sounding pleased. “Though if a woman were to come at me with a sword, I would not just stand there and get stabbed. We've no shortage of ladies with swords in Asgard, and then there is Freya, of course...”

“Yeah? The book said she was a fertility goddess?”

“Hmph. That book was kinder to her than it was to me, but it was still incorrect. Oh, she and her brother are connected to fertility, of course. Freyr is the fertility of the tilled earth, that is well kept and fruitful. Freya is the fertility of the battlefield. Blood makes the grass grow, and she reaps a crop of the dead.”

“Uh...poetic?”

“I'm saying she is a battle goddess as well. Associations with war and combat are also overwhelmingly common among Aesir. The twins make a particularly effective pair; while Freyr is no pacifist, he also dislikes violence for its own sake. However, so great is his connection to life, that the life-bringers, that is to say, women, can never come to harm in his presence. That works out very well for Freya, who relishes battle as much as any Asgardian, and can lead her armies to battle without the slightest fear when her brother is around. She doesn't show much fear when he isn't around either.”

“But isn't that how Hela was?” You asked.

“Oh no, not at all. Freya loves battle, not slaughter. She does not bring combat to those who are not involved with it, she accepts surrender, she knows mercy. Hela would kill anybody, and once she started, she wouldn't stop until the last drop pf blood was spilled. She didn't spare anyone. She intended to murder every soul in Asgard, and was on her way to doing so when I brought the ship to liberate them.”

“You did that too?” You asked. Why wasn't he still king? “You know, for a guy who attacked my planet, you sure are some hero.”

Loki preened. “I take my responsibilities to Asgard very seriously. Not always in a straightforward or officially sanctioned way, granted, but sometimes a more obfuscated method is necessary. Sometimes, you have to trick people into doing things that are good for them. And sometimes, that makes you seem like a villain. And sometimes, you think you know how to do something that would be good for everyone, but it turns out you were a bit...overzealous in your efforts, and perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all. And that can make you a villain as well.

Well, what I'm trying to say is that, both my brother and I have done decidedly villainous things, for reasons we felt were right. So it stands to reason, that we might both be capable of heroic things as well. And while I have not yet shown your planet anything but that villainous face, it is very likely that I eventually will.”

“Oh. Does that mean you've changed your mind about us? Most people think you kinda hate us.”

“I do not hate you.” He shrugged. “Nor your people. I don't think much of humanity, that's true. It's rather hard to, considering your relative briefness. Your constant moving and changing also makes it difficult to keep up, so why bother? Individuals, perhaps, but humanity as a whole? I'm not really interested. However...” He said, acknowledging your scowl with a tilt of the head. “Asgard is now Midgard. And so, to protect Asgard, I must also stand for Midgard. I will protect your mad planet, and you along with it.”

Heat washed across your cheeks. “That's, uh, quite a declaration.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, both ruminating over what Loki had just said. It ran over and over in your head, keeping your face hot. He would protect you, eh? Your whole world. Sure, he'd said it was for Asgard, but he'd made it sound so personal.

And the more magic you learned, the more you could help. If aliens invaded, you could teleport them into space! If robots attacked, you could...teleport them into space! Hey, it was fine to be a one-trick pony, if that one trick always worked.

“So, uh, what do we do next?” You asked. There were comfortable silences, and there were uncomfortable silences. This was beginning to feel like the latter, and you didn't want him to regret what he had said.

“The most important and prolific duty of royalty.” He stated gravely. “Paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Paperwork.” He repeated. “Endless paperwork. That's what royalty is. Beneath all palaces, luxuries, and power, is a foundation of paperwork. I hope your eyes do not tire easily, because I want you to aid me with it. It will help you to understand the people a bit more.”

It made some kind of sense. Knowing what the people needed, or what they considered important enough to contact their most important people about, could tell you a lot about their values.

A small commotion could be heard rising from the kitchen next door; a great deal of laughter, complaints, and exclamations.

“What's that all about?” You wondered.

“Shall we investigate?”

                                                                      *****

The entire kitchen staff was gathered around a crate, chattering. A tired porter leaned against a chopping table, demolishing some kind of drink.

“The suppliers must have found something unusual this time.” Loki said. “They are mostly wondering what it is, and how they can prepare it.”

“Lemmie see.” You said. “If it's an Earth food, I might know what it is.”

Loki raised his voice over the din, requesting one of the strange foods be handed over for inspection. A green oblong, tightly wrapped in leaves, was presented to you.

You took a single look and burst out laughing in delight. “That's just corn!” You exclaimed.

“You're certain?” He asked. “I've had corn before, you know. It's tiny and yellow.”

“I'm not playing a prank or anything, look.” You stripped back the husks, causing several of the kitchen staff to move back in surprise at the sudden, rubbery sound. You proudly showed everyone the milky white and yellow kernels underneath.

“This grows all around where I live. Miles and miles of it. This is some particularly good stuff. Cook it right, and you will have something fantastic!”

The cook asked something. Loki answered with what you had just said, and the cook asked something else.

“She wants to know how you suggest it be prepared.” Loki said, not bothering to mask his own curiosity.

“Oh boy. Okay, so you take off these outer husks, okay? Put them in the compost, feed them to the animals, whatever. These inner husks you just pull down, but don't tear off. Now you get the silk off, these little strings, you see? That part can get messy. You can compost those too.”

The entire group watched you closely, as Loki translated your instructions, but you were so used to doing this that you could get the silk off in just a few passes.

“Now that you've got the corn clean, and there's no worms or fungus, you can just rub a little butter all over the kernels. Then you pull these husks back up around the corn to hold the moisture in. Cook this just like it is on really high heat, for about half an hour. Once that's done, pull the rest of the husks off, rub on more butter, sprinkle over a bit of salt and pepper, and it's done! It's really, really good that way, and you can cut off the kernels after that, or just eat it right off the cob, if your teeth are good.”

Some of the staff began stripping husks, while the cook thanked you for the information.

“Now, this is sweet corn, and it's only available for a month or so, probably less here in Iceland. Otherwise, you can sometimes find frozen cobs, and canned or frozen kernels. There's also harder, dryer corn, some for popping, and some for grinding into cornmeal. You can make different things from that.”

“I'm looking forward to dinner now.” Loki said, as you headed back to his rooms. “If your taste in corn is anything like your taste in baking, I've much to anticipate.”

“You're very sweet. I got good at that because it was a precious resource during the, uh...Well, the dent corn would keep, but the sweet corn wouldn't. So we ate it in big batches, and we all got pretty good at cooking it. The butter was pretty rare though. Only a few local cows made it through.”

“I see...Does it bother you to eat it?” Loki asked.

“Oh no, not at all. It was one of the only good times in that whole year. Properly cooked corn is amazing, and it was one of the few times I wasn't hungry.”

Loki patted your shoulder gently. “You won't have to worry about that again.”

You felt full.

                                                                         ******

“So why is it that the request for more concrete gets priority over the request for more tile grout?” You asked.

“Tiling is for decoration or waterproofing, and usually only in certain rooms of a building. Concrete has wider applications, and on the tighter budget and time frame we're currently working in, we need to get as much done as possible. So the tile grout will have to wait until winter.”

“What do we do in winter, anyway? I assume the snow is too high for construction.”

“The snow does get very high. Most of the construction workers either work on the interiors of buildings, or they practice their other skills. Winter will be the time when the painters go back to work, the jewelers and smiths go back to full time, the textilers can get a great deal done. Once the construction is done, all those people will go back to their regular jobs. That will be several years though. You and I will be able to pass the hours with study, and of course, ever more paper work.”

He stacked the materials requests neatly in their 'approved' or 'rejected' piles, all of the edges perfectly even.

“Now we have...Ugh, another one of these.” He snorted, annoyed.

“What? What's the deal?”

“The Vinnalings request that I meet with their daughter. I wonder if they mean the widow, or the one who is still practically a child?” Loki said sourly, laying the paper down on the rejected pile. “I'm sure they are both perfectly nice, but I'm not interested in playing favorites among the noble families right now. I'm certainly not interested in being wed to some noble I don't even really know.”

“Is that what it's about?”

“Yes.” His sigh was closer to a groan. “It is irritating. I long ago tired of parents who use their children for political maneuvering. I suppose I won't be able to avoid it forever, but I'm avoiding it for now. And even when I feel ready, I certainly won't be marrying someone who is still in mourning for her husband, nor someone who is still a literal child! Maybe I can't expect love, but I can at least demand someone I can get along with.”

“That's...really sad.” You said, slightly distressed. He sounded so resigned to it. Fear of a loveless, arranged marriage must have been hanging over his head for centuries.

“That's royalty. Part of it. We all dream of a love match, but we know that's tremendously rare. Knowing that it's one more thing my father got to have, that I will not is just so...Well, I've accepted it, I just expected that it would happen to Thor first. I don't know how many of these he gets, but I know they come across my desk far too often.”

“Then ignore them. You're building a kingdom right now, and I think it would be obvious you don't have time for this.” You suggested.

“Oh? Is that official advice?” Loki teased.

“Yup. Look, not to pass judgment on a culture I know very little about, but you guys are way too advanced for something as barbaric as forced marriages. Most of this 'primitive' planet did away with that many years ago.”

Loki quirked a dark, perfect eyebrow. “That is very judgmental. However, I agree with you. And so does Thor, and so did my father. He began phasing such things out a short time before he married my mother, which was probably the driving force behind it. I continued his work during the time I was king, and Thor has expressed his intention to do the same. Thor...also has his reasons. Well, the tradition has only really continued among the noble families.”

“I've never known anyone who was in a miserable relationship, who could also work as effectively as they could when they were in a happy one, or even alone. You have to be as effective as you possibly can be, right? And, you know, if you keep putting it off in favor of building up the city, maybe you and the king can get more laws prohibiting it in place, and neither of you will have to worry about it.”

Loki chuckled. “It's very cute when you try to be conniving. You're so blunt about it. Like an eager child.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed. “I'm trying here!”

“I know you are, and your concern for my future happiness is appreciated. It will likely be many more years before this city is anywhere near done, with all the hurdles we must leap. Look at this one; a request for more supplies for the horses. What do you think?”

“Do it.” You said quickly. “Buildings don't need to eat, and they won't die under bad conditions either.”

“Agreed.” Loki said. “Good to know we are in accordance on that as well.”

“What kind of hurdles are you talking about anyway? Enough housing for everybody, right?”

“Yes, and adapting to the extreme weather of Earth, the unfamiliar flora and fauna. The culture shock from outside, the culture war from inside. Convincing humanity that we have a place here, convincing Asgardians that we must find a place here. The inevitable consequences of humans and Asgardians intermingling. The rebuilding of our technology, our prosperity. Learning the technology of Earth. Preserving our culture without rejecting outside influence. Adapting our culture as to not cause undue conflict. Not isolating ourselves entirely. How to relate to the incredible diversity of humankind.”

“Geez.”

“Those are all big picture items, that will likely take several human generations to achieve. But we will achieve them. We must. Your presence here with speed some of this along, I believe. When the people see your accomplishments, see that you are not the primitive savage that some Asgardians fear humans are, then they will learn to accept. Your coming here was most fortuitous.”

You snorted. “What's fortuitous? You spirited me away!”

“Are you still angry?” He asked.

“...No. I'm okay now. I just hope I can live up to all the faith you've put in me.”

Loki shuffled through a few more papers. “That's the thing about advice. If I feel you are very wrong about something, I can just ignore you.”

“Rude.” You mumbled. Loki smirked, but the expression faltered as he looked over the next paper. “What? What is it? Another date request?”

“The trial will be conducted in two weeks.” Loki said. “Both you and I are to be there to give testimony.”

You shivered. “Oh.” You really, really wanted to get all of that behind you, but you also really didn't want to be in that murderer's presence ever again. Loki placed his hand on your arm.

“Do not fear. He is powerless now. This will be the last time anyone ever has to see him. He will go to prison, and he will be forgotten. You will never have to waste a thought on him after this.”

You knew you would though.

[veliseraptor]

2018 Fanfiction Round-Up

Total Year-Long Wordcount: According to my spreadsheet, it’s 523,355 words, which does also include some essay writing and original fiction but is by and large fic.

This year I wrote and posted: Roughly, 119 fics? This is not, probably, a correct calculation, as it probably includes multiple chapters of Life in Reverse/Halfway House as separate fics, and the entirety of like the restless sea (not all of which I wrote this year), but I don’t feel like doing more math. It’s almost 12 pages on Tumblr.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? A little less than last year, but on the other hand...idk, I don’t tend to think about my year in terms of how much fic I’m writing while I’m in the middle of it. Honestly if I did I’d probably be a happier person who was less often like “OH NO I’M NOT WRITING ENOUGH.” That’s what’s nice about this meme - it really provides me with perspective.

So, like, technically I wrote less than I did last year, and that is not surprising considering the shape my life took this year (job meltdown, new job, three weeks of bedbug crisis), but...I still wrote a lot, especially with all of that considered, and wrote a lot better, I think.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? WELL I DIDN’T SEE MYSELF COMING BACK TO DOCTRINE OF LABYRINTHS IN FORCE BUT HERE I AM WITH FIVE NEW WIPS

What’s your own favorite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest? Man, I don’t know. There are a number of things that I’m pleased that I did for different reasons? Like, Will to Live feels like an accomplishment. But do I count finishing Life in Reverse for this year? Or the fact that I think Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains remains one of the better written things I’m putting out (also possibly the best title)?

Maybe I’ll settle with it’s the season of possible miracle cures because that fic has been six years in the making and I finally got Steve and Loki married and it was the sappiest thing ever and I stand by it. Also I made myself emotional while I was writing it, which is usually a good sign.

OH NO ACTUALLY how could I forget? I think it’s the enemy of my enemy. I’ve missed writing Clint and Loki, and that fic was so fun to write, and now I want a whole AU of it. I’m like. Deep into a second chapter and have no idea where it’s going but I’m going with it.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I sure did write a lot of second person. I feel like that doesn’t count as a risk per se, though, because every case where I did it...I did it because it felt like the story needed to be in that point of view? I mean, I wrestled with off to the races trying to write it in third person limited like usual and it just...really wanted to be in second person. So basically - does it count as a risk if it wasn’t something I chose to do?

Otherwise...I feel like I’m not a very adventurous writer most of the time. It’s one of the things I don’t love about myself as a writer.

From my past year of writing, what was….

My most popular story of this year: Cutting out Life in Reverse and Halfway House, as fics that are ongoing and skew the scale significantly (especially the former): based on hits it was escalated almost to an art. Based on kudos, Reckless Self-Endangerment, and based on bookmarks the same. That...actually really surprises me.

Most fun story to write: Probably Will to Live. That fic...took me totally off guard and just - spilled out of me. It was a joy to write from basically start to finish, and other than a plot hole hiccup that was resolved with some invaluable beta help, really just...came together almost on its own. And it was, truly, so many things mashed together that I’m into. I haven’t ever written that much Thor POV, I don’t think, and that really caught me by surprise as far as how much I enjoyed it, too.

Story with the single sexiest moment: I feel like...hm. I’m not sure. I guess it depends on whether we’re going with “conventionally sexy” or “shit I shouldn’t be into this sexy” because those are two different answers. But I do feel like the sex in An Ever Expanding Circle is definitely up there.

Most “Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: I’m still pretty sure nothing I do will ever live up to the bar set by The Vivisection Mambo, but...escalated almost to an art probably is up there. I mean, it was definitely the story where I was most “holy shit what am I doing” while I was writing it. Though making love with his ego was also pretty damn dark and also...had a much more downer ending than I was originally planning.

Actually, though, I feel like the worst is probably One Wrong Turn because of the set up (Remember This Cold AU) and where I went with it as far as breaking everyone involved (except, as usual, the Grandmaster).

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: uhhhhh. I always have a hard time with this question, because I don’t really know what it means? My perceptions of characters tend to shape how I write a fic, not so much the other way around. I guess maybe - oh, no, I’ve got it. It’s only one part in one story, but writing Shuri in Breathing Room gave me a better understanding of her character, I think, than I have before. Which is mostly down to @portraitoftheoddity​, so I don’t know if I can actually take credit for that.

Hardest story to write: God. So many stories are hard to write in so many ways. always ready for a war again was definitely a challenge, as writing stories from a different character POV usually are. I struggled a bizarre and moderately hilarious amount with how fluffy the wedding fic ended up getting; I thought I might be going too far. (That’s such a me thought to have.)

Oh - writing like 500 words of Mildmay’s POV was absolutely one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my writing career. And I’m going to keep doing it. Whoops.

Biggest Disappointment: Myself, for the fact that despite having 41 pages written, I’ve only managed to successfully post two chapters of Tear My Castle Down.

Biggest Surprise: Other than stumbling and falling face first back into writing for Doctrine of Labyrinths as a fandom? Possibly writing Crimson Peak fanfiction. I didn’t see that happening. Otherwise...the number of new kinks I wrote for reason of Frostmaster definitely caught me off guard.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: I feel like everything I wrote for Loki/Grandmaster this year could be called “unintentionally telling.” It’s like...if you’ve been following me for the last few years, this might not have been something you were aware of, but hoo boy has it been there.

Favorite Opening Line(s):

Loki had a smile like an air raid siren: attention grabbing and screaming danger. (untitled)

His first memory was a silver mask with rectangles for eyes and mouth, looking down at him. “Attempt four-hundred and thirty-two,” it said, “success.” (how you gaze upon my bones)

When it was over, when all was said and done, the dust settled, the universe rebuilt, Steve walked away. (blackbird singing in the dead of night)

Away from Allerdale Hall, Lucille felt as though she’d disappear. (we too (three) could be glorious)

You were born with two names. (always ready for a war again)

Favorite Line(s) from Anywhere:

1. Loki slipped in and out of consciousness, clinging to life. Held back from the edge like he was a ship at anchor, wood groaning at the pull of the rope. He could almost see death, a reef where the waves broke, that he could break himself on. (your blood like ice)

2. The Void was not empty, as everyone had thought. The Void was full of monsters. One of them found Loki, and plucked his body out of space, and forced him back to life. He mended Loki’s fragmented consciousness with all the gentleness of a carpenter hammering together pieces of wood, and when he was a rough approximation of whole the being who had found him told him who he was, and what he wanted. (the years after the fall)

3. He pressed the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left. The gesture felt familiar, and yet when he actually did it, strange. Someone else’s hands. Someone else’s lungs. (down to the bone)

4. Loki’s stomach sank. He recognized the feeling. It was the one that meant he was about to do something stupid because of Thor. He hadn’t felt it in a while, and he didn’t appreciate its return. (Captive Audience)

5. Your people bleed names. Names torn away by force, broken lineage, and even when you’re free the names you get aren’t really yours. I am N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu, you said, and thought you were taking your birthright, but it wasn’t yours. You’re too much Erik Stevens, too much Killmonger, too much American. You don’t belong here. (always ready for a war again)

6. The Grandmaster did not just make his point (I own you, everything you are is mine to do with as I please). He hammered it home, wrote it in Loki’s flesh, crucified him with it. He pulled Loki apart, cooed over him and promised to put him back together only to break him down further into smaller and smaller pieces, and it occurred to Loki that up until now the Grandmaster had been merciful. (it’s a mean world that I’ve known)

7. As it was, even with the windows open he was still trapped within the confines of his skull - a far deadlier snare than even the cruelest jailor could devise. (Stitching)

8. “Getting yourself killed doesn’t prove anything,” Thor said, finally. Loki snorted.

“Wouldn’t it, though?” He said, eyebrows raised. “Everyone loves a good self-sacrifice. I wrote a whole play about it.”

Thor’s expression spasmed again. Still not amused. “I would rather have a living brother than a dead hero.” (Reckless Self-Endangerment)

9. In the winter, she thought distantly, they should go to the Alps. There, the snow would come down clean. (we too (three) could be glorious)

10. “I wonder,” he said, “if hounds hunt wolves with such alacrity, for envy of their freedom.” (Will to Live)

11. Loki's nostrils flared. "You say we," he said, "but I am not a participant in this. And you still do not understand. There is no making this better. This is what it is. My pain is part of its design, its purpose. And even if it were not, even if you somehow could prevent the binding from hurting me at all - it would still be a binding. You still own me. Coat that in honey as you will, but that will never be anything but wormwood." (Tear My Castle Down)

12. Thor. Even thinking the name was like a wound, so he held it there, letting it dig in. Could he, he would open his chest and carve Thor’s name on every one of his ribs. (half a league onward)

Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:

The scene from making love with his ego where the Grandmaster loses his temper with Loki and flexes those cosmic powers.

The Steve/Loki wedding from it’s the season of possible miracle cures.

Thor and Loki cuddling in we don’t know where tomorrow ends or drown my woes in a lake of fire.

Any part of the Steve/Loki/Thor smut from An Ever Expanding Circle.

The scene from I am frail, be you forgiven with Loki holding Thor’s hands, one on his heart and one on his neck.

Fic-writing goals for 2019:

Well, last year I said my goal for 2018 was finishing Life in Reverse so I’d be like “goal for 2019: finishing Halfway House!” but that is just plain not realistic. So, uh, on the more realistic front:

write and finish the next Remember This Cold plot-fic

be less scared of self indulgence

write less fic and more original fiction

get another essay published on Tor.com

try to chill out and remember that if you take breaks it doesn’t mean you’re worthless

[eurydice-khthonios]

There was an animosity that persisted between them in the days following the encounter at the library. There was ice in the air between them. It didn’t go unnoticed, the cold anger aimed at Eosphorus and the distaste aimed towards Asra. There was some questioning of course, towards Asra. None from the other courtiers, none from the Count. There was no need, it was of little importance. Though for fate, it always kept forcing them together.

Asra’s very presence was a point of contention and the latest reason for Eos’ newly stoked ruthlessness in her duties. It was the reminder of Hyperion, not the man himself. Though his words in the library would’ve been more than enough to earn her ire by themselves. The fact that Hyperion was part of her life, again, and tainted it even beyond the grave was infuriating. She’d made something of herself in Vesuvia’s court. She’d become important all on her own! Yet here he always was, always in someone’s spotlight taking her opportunities away from her. Hyperion always had the last laugh.

They’d had a few arguments on Hyperion. She stood by her stance of how selfish Hyperion was, that he could never truly love someone as much as he loved himself. Asra spoke differently on him.

Eos knew well enough that no one knew Hyperion like she did.

“You can give and give and give, and there’ll always be someone who never gives back.”  

There’d been moments where they’d been forced to interact. The courtiers worked close with the progress of the plague. Vulgora with the eradication of the red beetles, Volta detected plague in food and people. Valdemar… Dissected. Eosphorus meanwhile handled the public. Specifically ‘ensuring’ that water was clean, and public baths were running.

She did not do a great job at that. Though it was hard, the plague infected everything. The best she could do was ensure that nothing was falling apart and let the virus take its course.

It was such thankless work. Always people demanding more.

“The water is filled with beetles and plague!” “The aqueducts are filling with red water!” “We can’t keep drinking this!”

At least these people had something to drink. Could they not be grateful for that?

In the moments where Asra and Eos were forced to work together, there seemed to be moments where Asra wanted to speak of things that did not include snide remarks that could be dismissed and on topic comments. The first syllable of Hyperion’s name built up in his throat before he forced it away. He would raise his hand to almost touch her shoulder, to gain her attention. Moments where they were left alone filled with a silence that anticipated something from him yet left unsatisfied. It was forming into an annoying itch in her mind.

That did not always colour their interactions. When they could both remain on topic, there turned out to be far more workarounds to her usual method of using the system as a diversion than she’d anticipated. Though Asra, by all means, was supposed to be working with every other ‘honored guest’ to cure the plague he always found some time to poke holes in her solutions. In the end, they only saw each other during her meetings with concerned citizens and when Lucio decided to hold banquets to check on the progress of the cure.

The banquets always glowed with golden light, and the smell of rich food and delicacies from other lands that ladden the long table they all sat at. The courtiers sitting on either side of the table nearest to Lucio. Surrounding him like a hoard of the red beetles that now plagued Vesuvia’s waterways and food stores. On the opposing end from Count Lucio, sat his wife the Countess Nadia. From there, other guests filtered in and found their own seats among them.

Asra sat nearest to the courtiers, forced to sit across from Eosphorus. A glare aimed at Lucio and Eosphorus both scarcely hidden. She knew not what Lucio had done, but with a glance towards him at the corner of her eye, she could still understand the animosity. When it came to Lucio, one either lusted after him or despised him. Sometimes it was both; That’s when it got really interesting.

The conversation at dinner largely consisted of the search for the cure. Lucio was getting worse and worse by the day, or hour more like. His hair becoming greasier, the red more and more obvious. It was becoming disturbing to be around him for some. The servants tried to limit contact for fear of catching the plague. Eosphorus herself wasn’t so sure if The Devil’s bargain would keep her from catching it either, it certainly hadn’t saved Lucio. Rather, a deal was the cause of it.

The conversation remained largely on the plague. It made for unappetizing dinner conversation. Eos taking more to pushing around various items about her plate. In truth, she got sick of this. She had it better than most, but she’d rather not eat herself silly to the point of being overstuffed. This was not of some feign or shallow ‘I am far too rich and aware of my superiority to possibly eat this way’ behaviour. She merely liked the idea of moving after a meal.

There was a discussion between Asra, Doctor Devorak, and The Count. About their progress. Admittedly the conversation was largely lead by Devorak as he talked on his theories, about how the plague could be blood or black bile based. Leeches, to Lucio’s chagrin, were his main method of a cure attempt.

Eos speared a piece of meat, marinated in one kind of sauce or another, and began to lift it to her mouth. Eyes glancing up.

A flash of red came across her vision, a beetle crawling its way into the cup seated in front of Asra. Without looking at it he reached for it, bringing it up to his mouth. The beetle just barely peeking up over the rim.

If that insect bit him, or worse, if he swallowed it. He’d be infected with the plague, with no deals with magical beings to prolong his life. He’d die. That would be the last person to link her and her brother.

Fate’s weave had been torn apart, the course that lives should’ve gone on had been diverted from their original paths. Despite that, there was something inside of Eos. Reminiscent of the young magician that should have of lived in Vesuvia for years in her aunt’s old shop, who kept her hair in a ponytail for as long as possible before brushing and redoing it and preferred old clothes to expensive furs and silk. An Eos that might have been, but wasn’t.

She lunged forward, hand extended to close over the cup and bring it down. Her knuckles brushed against his lips, just barely managing to shoot her hand into the space between his mouth and the cup before slamming it down. The wine inside spilled up over the edges, wetting her palm and the beetle crawled out between her fingers. She snatched it, holding it between her thumb and index finger.

Asra was staring at her. It could’ve been so easy to let him get bitten, to end the itch that he was. To end the last reminder of Hyperion.

She pushed away from the table, crushing the beetle in her fist.

“Volta, Vulgora, check for others. Where there’s one there’s more.” Volta jumped at the chance to investigate further the feast that had been set before them, and Vulgora seemed more than ready to crush any other bugs that happened to be hiding among it all. The table erupted in conversation and panic as Eos left. The remains of the beetle sticking to her hand and cloak billowing behind her. She had to wash her hand, had to boil it. She would not allow herself to end up like Lucio had.

She headed for her office. The best place to barricade herself in until she dealt with this mess. She slid down the door once she had it locked, holding her wrist in her other hand.

There was something inside of her that responded to the feel of Asra’s lips brushing against her knuckles, to the look in his eyes as she slammed the cup down and crushed the red beetle. Something that should’ve begun in different circumstances a long time ago, but was only growing now.

There was something disconnected in her mind, and it worried her.

[dilldaydreamer-blog]

It’s all Fin and Games Until...

((Discord RP where Pembrooke talks to Elliot @undertakinggraveshift about Fin @orangetrails and then it turns into a full confessional.  With mentions of Sam @ashandvoodoo the Felt and the funeral home, how Elliot got his scars from Snow @theuniverseisher and a bit of PI complaining about MK @rexscelestus ))

Ambaaargh Pembrooke sets a tray of goodies along with two cups of tea down as he slides over to Elliot.  "Good afternoooon.  I hope you are doing well today? Feeling better?"  There may have been a tiny twinge of nervousness in his voice, the one he usually gets when he's obviously getting ready to talk about something but is doing the pleasantries first. He had wanted to speak to Elliot sooner, but between his morail catching the flu and studying for the exam to get him his coroner's license, it felt like the most inappropriate time.

Cloneclone And if Death didn't know his friend enough to pick up on that, what sort of moirail would he be? "I'm feeling worlds better." Death leaned in, nuzzling Pembrooke as the inspector settled in next to him. "You though? It sounds like you've caught the case of something worrisome." He pressed as he took up a cup.

Ambaaargh Ah, right to the heart of things as per usual.  Pem swallows as he does to hold tight to his mental script he had been working on all day.  "I admit there has been a few things that came up that I wanted to talk with you on. Since they're a bit of a sensitive nature, and well...you mean everything to me so I want to make sure you are aware.  Lest it turn into some awkward thing down the road."

Cloneclone The cup went back down, as this sounded really serious. Last thing he wanted to do was to be mid sip when Pembrooke mentioned he was pregnant. ...Not that he could be. Er. Death assumed at the very least? Last big news was the mentioning of Jude, but that wasn't really sensitive in nature. Was it death related? Well, no need to dwell on things when Pembrooke was going to tell him. Death reached out and took Pembrooke's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Take your time if you need, it's alright. I'm here."

Ambaaargh He nods, then takes a sip of his own tea. Best to wet the palate before this talk...and not at all because it gave him a few extra seconds of stalling. "Well, as you know there was a brief stint of grey magic where I suppose I was a bit ah...vampiric in appetite? And the particular reaction to blood?"  He expected Elliot would be aware considering how the inspector just about tried to make out with Elliot during a nosebleed.  Of course then again that was around when Elliot caught the flu so perhaps his memory was hazy.  "For a while there the White Queen also got affected by grey magic to be a full and proper vampire. Which was! Well exciting because well! Vampires!  And she had offered to bite people...myself included since a while back we made a bit of a joking pact that if any of us got vampired by grey magic we'd opt to bite the others for ah...science..." Ok this was going a bit off-track but Pembrooke was ready to steer it back on course soon.

Cloneclone Death had... some ideas as to what might have happened with the information given, but didn't interject with them so far. If anything did happen with the White Queen, well that was between her and Pembrooke. Though... he was a little concerned, especially if her... magic? Programming? Caused him to do something he didn't want to do. ...Actually... Now he was just wary that was the case and... Death wasn't sure what to do if that happened. He wasn't a fighter. But in this case, he would learn! Slowly Death nodded, squeezing Pembrooke's hand again. I will dismantle the matriarchy for you.

Ambaaargh He runs his thumb across Elliot's hand. "Things got a bit tangled up. Because for a moment there it was going to be myself and Jude bitten.  Possibly Ace. Then possibly the White King. Then the door was opened to just about anyone which then meant Fin showed interest.  Then suddenly things all got muddled and it didn't happen at all?  And well..."  Pembrooke inhales. Alright you can do this.  "Well it ended up with Fin and I talking and ending up meeting up with one another where ah...well we kind of bit each other. And ah...made out quite a bit. A lot. And stuff. And ah..."  He could feel his cheeks getting a bit flushed as it suddenly was getting hard to look Elliot in the eyes.  "...I know you warned me to be cautious, and I do agree that yes...mobsters. Dangerous.  But I'd be lying if I didn't say there was sort of a warm feeling there.  I well, really like him.  In a worried state considering the lines in the sand.  But I cannot deny there is feelings there?"

Cloneclone Mhmm, mhmm. Elliott nodded, not too much, but to show he was indeed listening... and then paused. ...And remained like such for the rest of Pembrooke's story. If it had been anyone else, anyone else. Okay, maybe not Snowman or Scratch, and definitely not the White King, but anyone else! Death would have tutted Pembrooke and told him it was fine. He was his moirail, not his matesprite... feelings aside, he was sitting in one quadrant, not all. Pembrooke could do as he wished! But... but Fin? There were so many. Of course it was Fin though, it wasn't like Death was ignorant, he'd seen the man pining. But WHY though?! He was married. A crueler part of him bubbled over, mentally sneering over how of course the shark was trying to dig its teeth into everything, being loyal isn't exactly what Fin was known for, but Death was weakly trying to put that back in pandora's box and slip it into the closet. BUT ALSO, WHY?! Fin was livid, LIVID when Death's MISTAKE landed him in jail. What did Fin think could happen being interested in an actual cop? Did he think Pembrooke would just overlook things like Death had been made to? Death forgot to breath, and when he did, it was a sharp inhale that was held all over again. Unfortunately, Pembrooke was left in awkward silence.

Ambaaargh The awkward silence was there, which surely must be a sign he should keep talking if the awkward banter part of Pembrooke's nervousness was anything to go by.  He runs his fingers through his hair. "I mean...I realize a lot of it is...silly.  He's married. He's a mobster.  A married mobster.  And I...well I know that there is likely no real chance for anything to ever work. Not in the way I always dreamed it would be for a matesprit.  It has all the warning signs of...bad idea.  But it is also hard to just...turn off the feelings."  the tone of his voice sounds almost frustrated.  "That said, you are my morail. Your opinion matters to me and you mean so much to me...and you were the one to advice caution so I didn't want it to feel like I was doing anything behind your back."

Cloneclone And then, of course, the sudden elephant in the room Death was disregarding. Pembrooke had feelings back? Death didn't... see that coming. God, he should have said something. "Shhh." Death hushed Pembrooke softly, placing both hands over Pembrooke's. Again he didn't speak, instead closing his eyes to think. And think. And try to think. And fail to think. What did he say in response to that? He bowed his head instead, taking in another sharp breath to try and ease the negative feelings trying to bubble up. Anger, fear, hurt, sadness, regret. A few more could probably fit into the shitty bouquet he was making himself there. Hands fidgeted with Pembrooke's. Wow though. He hated Fin, Death found suddenly. He disliked him ever since the beginning of... well, his situation with the mobster. But fine. That's what happens when he's not good at a job they've made him do. Mess with mobsters and something is bound to happen. Many things, actually. But it was different now, now it wasn't Death, now it was Pembrooke Fin was messing with, and that was a problem. How dare he, how dare he. But what was Death to do? Death inhaled sharply and bit his lip, taking another quick breath soon after. "I'm sorry."

Ambaaargh There was a few emotions crossing the inspector's face.  Concern, confusion, worry...though he remained silent as Elliot sat there quietly.   Had he done something wrong? Admittedly he was never fully certain what the etiquette of quadrants were on some regards. Shoot...he should have said something earlier...maybe he was supposed to have gotten like a blessing first?  Hnnn... At Elliot's apology, Pembrooke blinks in confusion.  Why was he apologizing?

"I...if anyone should be apologizing it should be me? I don't see any reason you need to apologize Elliot."

Cloneclone "I should have said something sooner, but I didn't. Because I'm cowardly. Gods, I'm so cowardly. I've kept so much from you out of fear, nd half the time I try to convince myself it's to keep you safe, but I think in the end I'm just worried about getting hurt. Which, silly, really. I can't die, so--" Death released Pembrooke finally, cutting himself off. No, no. Stop. How did he even begin explaining to Pembrooke? Amir didn't even know everything, but he knew enough about Fin. Amir was the one who found him after after all, and dealt with Fin personally. First by the law, second by... however it was Amir handled things off the clock. Death never actually found out, but Fin wasn't a problem after that. Should he just spill his guts to Pembrooke? Pem already knew about him being a reaper...

"I didn't quit... because I couldn't afford the funeral home. Things were fine. I've had money, I've always had money. I--" God, where Pembrooke came in with a script, Elliott sure didn't. This was a mess. "I warned you because, lord. Fin, Fin stabbed me." Just bluntly put it. "I was working on a body, the poor man was such a mess. I know how he died, of course I know how he died, and not just because of who I am. I was supposed to keep quiet about it. You don't just work a funeral home so close to a group of gangsters and get away without getting your hands dirty somehow. I was supposed to hide the evidence but Amir stopped by unexpected, before I could, and found the evidence of Fin being involved. And when he finally got out of prison he paid me a visit and-- I should have told you. I'm so, so sorry I didn't. I was just... if he was mad over a mistake, I could only imagine how he'd react over ruining a friendship. I didn't think it would go something further. But what does he think now?? That if you ever found anything on him, you'd ignore it?? I'm not even a cop and he was mad at me, what does he think he'll get from this?? I'm so sorry Pembrooke..." Death kept his head down, holding his face in his hands.

Ambaaargh This was....well it wasn't what he had expected to come of this conversation.  Not even in the top fifty.  The inspector’s head gives that twitch from side to side as he tries to keep up and process everything that is being said to him as Elliot pours his heart out.  It was just...Fin stabbed him? Elliot did work for the mob? Did Amir know?  Oh no...what have you done Pembrooke. You just made everything ten times more worse and complicated and... "I..." there is a false start as words fail to come out of his mouth.  Just...a feeling of overwhelming guilt and confusion taking place. Chances are anger may make its appearance later though jury was out if it was going to fall on Fin's shoulders or his own.  Likely his own.  Maybe.  Right now though, there was just the overwhelming distress of seeing Elliot so distressed, that Pembrooke instinctively put a hand on his morail's knee.  "I...Elliot it's alright. I'm...I'm so sorry. Please. It'll be alright...I...oh frog I'm so sorry.  I've made such a mess of things..."

Cloneclone And then Pembrooke started backpedaling. Death laughed at that... sort of. He gave a noise that was caught in the crossroads of a cry and a laugh, some miserable mirth as he ground a palm beneath his glasses, rubbing at tears. "My we're just a mess. Look at us." His stomach still twisted in knots to thing Pembrooke had done anything with Fin. Again, he could do what he wanted but. It was like something had crawled under his skin and was struggling to get comfortable.  "You didn't know, I should have told you. I'm so sorry you're moirails with a coward- it was selfish of me. I didn't think things would get so far. And-- I mean, you warned me about Sam but didn't tell me to stop, how was I to tell you to stop with Fin? ...Did Sam do something with you?" Death sat up straight suddenly, sobering up.

Ambaaargh "No...no you're not a coward." he shakes his head.  "You're just....well as you said. You're a funeral home that had the misfortune of being next to a criminal organization. Your own brother was roped into that organization...that is not an easy spot to be in and I can't even say I would have been different should situations been reversed."  Pembrooke bites his lip, torn between trying to comfort Elliot and his own internal screaming over being the cause of this.  Had he ignored the cues? Perhaps he should have been more aware of things?

The question about Sam however hits him by surprise, causing him to pause dumbfounded.  "Uh...pardon?  Not that I'm aware of?  Sam was...quite cordial? Liked my cat.  I mean...him being very close to Diamond Droog has me a bit concerned...but he's never done anything to me directly?"  Pembrooke shakes his head as he runs his hands through his hair.  "I'm really truly sorry Elliot. Had I know...and this isn't saying this your doing...but I swear I would have not...the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I'm so sorry."

It was only now that it was starting to sink in, the parts of Elliot's conversation about what Fin did.  In a way it felt like the carpet had been pulled out from under himself, torn between the perception he had built from his own experiences and memories...clashing with this sudden new information and narrative.   Had this been just...a deception? But...the brief tenderness seemed so genuine?  Part of him wanted to confront Fin right then and now, but what if that reflected back to Elliot.  The sudden realization that Elliot could be in danger only added to the confusing miasma in the inspector's mind.(edited)

Cloneclone Elliott eased now that Pembrooke explained everything with Sam was still pleasantries. He wasn't looking forward to the day that changed... if that would change. So far everything was... cordial. Arrests still happened, rules were still enforced, but it was like some weird... 'okay you're just doing your job'. Save for the times things got extremely personal, such as the situation with Fin. It'll end, eventually, but Death could wait for that time. Closing his eyes, Death took a breath then leaned in, curling his arms around Pembrooke to hold tightly. "I feared telling you my involvement. I'm sorry for lying to you. I didn't want to get involved, I never wanted to. I told them no at first, I... made the mistake of... telling Snowman no, that I would tell the authorities on her. And that is how I got my scars. She had sewn my mouth shut and... She's kept me quiet since then. Until now. ...I guess while I'm word vomiting I might as well lay out every single thing that can damn me." If the train wreck was going to happen, Death might as well let it keep going.

Ambaaargh As if able to read the thoughts in the air, Pembrooke held Elliot closely.  "If it is any help, I expect that Sam and I know where our respective stances are.  If it was to ever come to things, I don't think he would take personal offense...and I would not either...I think."  he sighs, not quite as confident as he would like. Just moments ago he would have been able to say the same about Fin.  The conversation he had had with the mobster seemed genuine on the understanding of their respective lives...but maybe that was just a facade.

Trying to make sense of things right now was proving too much a hurdle...this was definitely a need a few days to emotionally parse situation. Instead, Pembrooke focuses on petting Elliot's hair reassuringly. "I.." the mention of his scars and how they came to be suddenly pulls Pembrooke right out of his priority to comfort as he makes such a face.  How dare she...any regrets Pembrooke had about his decision behind the sniper gun were suddenly cast into outer space.  Which probably isn't all that good considering all that happened and the lives potentially lost because...Pembrooke pushes those thoughts aside and hugs Elliot tightly as he buries his face into Elliot's shoulder.  "It's alright. I understand why, and I don't blame you.  That's what mobs do...they force people into things they don't want to do and then use the guilt to keep them quiet and going.  A nasty cycle and I'm so sorry you were caught up in it.  I'm just...I love you Elliot. So much.  And that isn't going to change anytime soon if ever I promise."

Cloneclone "I'm sorry for not just... telling you. Everything. After dropping the reaper knowledge on you, I... I don't know why I thought just everything would be too much." Elliott inhaled deeply, though this time it succeeded in easing him as he sagged in Pembrooke's arms. ...Getting that all off his chest felt good actually. "...I don't have any more secre--" Fuck yes he does. The unmarked graves. Uhg, he was tense all over again. Elliott thumped his face into Pembrooke's chest and made such a noise into it. A frustrated, long, drawn out groan. "If I tell you enough terrible things, you won't feel bad anymore. This is my ploy all along." He mumbled, which bless Pembrooke if he heard any of that through his chest. Death could almost laugh about this, not because he was amused... well, some sick part of him was amused, but so much was happening at once that he wasn't sure what to do other than make a helpless sound of humor.

Ambaaargh He didn't quite get that, but the tension in Elliot's body told him that perhaps this was enough heartfelt confessions for now.  With a gentle shhhhh...he pats Elliot's back as he rocked him.  "It'll be alright.  Whatever it is, you don't have to tell me now. Or ever...but I promise no matter what I'm going to love you either way."  A soft kiss to the forehead as he pulls Elliot into his lap to cuddle. "Well sort it all out. Bit by bit. I don't blame you at all for not telling me.  Those are some rather intense secrets...I can fully understand the fear behind them.  Like I said, I honestly cannot say I would have done differently if I was in your shoes. For all my good cop antics...I can be quite the jitterbug.  And I mean...even if I didn't expect the outcome that it brought...I did shoot the Universe. Twice now."  Another kiss.  "We're just...an awkward pair aren't we."

Cloneclone Bless Pembrooke and his understanding. Death couldn't ask for a more understanding moirail. He understood polyamory could exist in every quadrant, but he couldn't possibly see anyone touching Pembrooke's place. "Two awkward peas in a pod. I wouldn't want any other diamond shaped pea in my pod though." Death settled comfortably in Pembrooke's lap, leaning fully against him. They should have had this talk in bed. "... Could make it lucky number three though. Heh. ...What do we do now?"

Ambaaargh Pembrooke tilts his head in thought.  This was well, a lot to process.  A whole lot. Chances were high he was going to have a few emotional bumps here and there as some of it registered even.  But none of that would do much good tonight, so better to just focus on the positives. He cuddles Elliot close. "Well I was thinking we could put these dishes away, and snuggle into bed.  And cuddle a bit like the two peas in the pod we are."  There is a concerned expression.  "I will have to figure out what to do in regards with Fin...how to feel about that.  I won't lie in that it may take some time though, I'd rather not do something drastic and I definitely don't want him to get the impression you had anything to do with it.  But also...I won't lie that this is a lot to sink in right now.  Bit numb in the head." A kiss to the cheek.  "As for the rest, we'll sort it out as we go.  New things learned, but it doesn't mean they need immediate reactions or solutions.  We can tackle them bit by bit as you feel comfortable. Together." He squeezes his hand.  "That said I'm now retroactively declaring my second shot to Snowman was payback for what she did to you.  ....Maybe.  Doesn't feel like quite enough  really. May have to try one more shot another time..." Shifty eyes look left and right with a playful smirk.

Cloneclone "Mmm..." All reasonable concerns. All concerns Elliott had, which really put a boot break on him saying anything. At least it was finally off his chest, and hopefully he could stop drowning in misery over watching the two speak. There was still a concern that that was selfish but Death shook those thoughts away. He was stabbed. He was fully allowed to be concerned! "That sounds like a siren song I would fall into." Little kisses were accepted, and little kisses were given, before Elliott pulled himself from the warmth of Pembrooke's lap. A tea cup was briefly snatched to swallow its contents before he cleared his throat after, finally collecting himself. May the power of tea strengthen him! "I understand this won't be easy... and I do not judge any struggles you'll have. ...Especially any thoughts to go a third time on Snowman, ahah. Oh that sounded terribly malicious." He took up the tray, "But I will also be with you, forever."

Ambaaargh Pembrooke takes a few moments to wrap up uneaten sandwiches to put them in the fridge, before finishing his own tea to set the cup into the sink.  Undoing his tie, he flinches a moment as right...that. "I...should probably mention that when I said Fin bit me, he did leave a bit of a...eh...mark."  He swallows, suddenly feeling a lot more guilty about that now.  "I.  Hmm. Maybe I can get it touched up, glamor wise....I don't know..." Thinking was starting to get difficult, so much to take in.  "It will work out though, I promise.  May not be easy, but it'll work out." A speech as much for yourself as it was for Elliot really. Sliding into bed with nightclothes on, there is a moment of thought.  "Perhaps I should focus less on the shooting aspect and back to the law.  Just hoo, been shooting so many monarchs recently.  But nnn...probably best not to let violence solve that problem in the end.  Did I tell you that the Black King showed up to the Romance Book Club?"

Cloneclone The dishes would be washed later, Death wouldn't be one of those roommates, but he was too busy trying to usher the scene to bed to work on cleaning up a mess. He pulled a face at the mentioning of a mark, but did his best to hide it from Pembrooke. Instead turning about to bump his head against Pem's shoulder. "I'm not going to hold it against you. If it was anyone else... I wouldn't mind and... you didn't know. It would be cruel to think less of you over something you couldn't have known. " He slithered into bed after Pembrooke, taking up the position of straddling the inspector's lap to dote on him once again. "I don't think I understand, Romance Book Club?"

Ambaaargh There were many times Pembrooke wondered how he got so lucky with having the greatest morail in all the city if not the universe...this was one of them. A soft murmur of appreciation is given as he once again tries to warm up his chilly Elliot with cuddles.  A good part of him still felt guilt, but....Elliot was right.  Had he known the severity of Elliot's motivation for concern he likely would have tried to keep a distance from the start. Instead of well... ...he'd deal with things as it came.  Not something to rip a bandaid off by any measure, especially considering his own feelings.  Instead he smirks and gives a chuckle. "Oh. Yes.  So...a while back I was talking with ah...Slick's son. Karkat. About how it would be great to start a Romance Club.  Meet at the library and talk about subjects and literature of romance in a non-mocking environment. Sort of a pleasant hobby."  He leans his head against Elliot as he speaks.  "So I got some time rented at the library to use one of their meeting rooms. Set it up...left open invitations to everyone...when of all the random people to show up...was him.  Glamoured...almost didn't put two and two together but then...well.  Awkward doesn't even begin to describe it.  I...think he knows I was the one in the fog...when...yeah..."

Cloneclone Hands slipped up Pembrooke's shirt, slipping around him in a hug to splay his fingers out and plague the poor prospit with chilly digits. "You are remarkably talented in getting to know everyone, regardless of their walk of life. An absolute inspiration. Ahem, but I will contain my desires to swoon over your people skills. ...To uh, that which is a concern. Is he... trying to get you alone? Is he going to hurt you?" Death frowned, squeezing Pembrooke, "I don't know how to explain to him that was needed, but all is well now? He has to see there's some connection, yes?"

Ambaaargh Even when he knows it's coming, and even though it has happened many nights before, there is that slight shiver as the cold fingers spread out to steal the inspector's body heat.  His own personal heat vampire it would seem. Acceptable. "Mmm...I don't think so? There was a brief bit where he may have had a chance.  I do get the feeling his attendance was because of a genuine interest in the club.  Which...sounds odd in a way.  But then again there were members of both gangs there as well so...mm. Sort of a neutral ground meeting of sorts."  Hands reach around Elliot to move up in a similar fashion.  "I confess all things considered who was in attendance, he held himself together quite admirably.  I'm still uncertain me not mentioning the fact of who he was was a good strategy or not."

At this point, Pembrooke had begun to lean on it being a good call. A fight would have likely broken out...innocent people could have been hurt and there wasn't even...well truth be there wasn't any actual evidence to arrest him outside of existing still?  Which...well Snowman was still in the city despite that.  Ugh...the legality of it all was already more than you wanted to think about.  Time to focus on nibbling Elliot's neck,

Cloneclone "...Be careful, okay?" Death kept a frown. He may know when his friend would pass, it clearly wasn't anytime soon because he was certain he wouldn't be able to hide that from Pembrooke if it was supposed to be tomorrow. However, pain wasn't a thing Death could predict, and pain was still something Pembrooke could very much go through. "You're a very delicious target to everything royal. Just as much as you seem to target everything royal ahah-  yeek!" Speaking of delicious, Death wiggled at the nibbles.

Ambaaargh A a pause in the nibbles as he gives a nod in agreement.  "It's true. I am delicious.  But I will do my best to be careful.  Right now it is a he knows that I know that he knows round we go scenario.  But...I expect the fact that he didn't destroy me on sight and his posts indicate a fair amount of happy romance...that I've got a little bit of grace."  He'd add something about it not being the case had Snowman actually died but then again there wouldn't have been any of them around to worry about it had that happened. "All in all...a thing to be concerned. But in a way par for the course.  For now...I should kiss you. We should rest...and tomorrow will...well it'll come and we'll take it one day at a time. "  a pause.  "That said...I'm going to hold the right to request that if Sam does stab me one day, even if it is non-personal and just business. That...hmm....actually I'm not sure if I would feel right saying that's a dealbreaker.  Maybe I'll just hold off on that judgement until I get stabbed by someone. See how I feel."

Cloneclone "Give him suggestions for good romance movies. 'Pretty Lady' is a good one. Or 'Friends with Benefits'." At the mentioning of kissing, and leaving worries for tomorrow, Death pressed against Pembrooke to push him backwards before shifting, letting Pembrooke settle beneath him comfortably before Death used him as the comfortable mattress, imported straight from Prospit he was. Death stretched and grunted, before pecking the inspector with kisses. "If anyone were to harm you, regardless of reason, I can assure I would avoid them at all costs and be most miffed... I truly hope it's never Die but... I've come to realize that may not be a choice I have."

Ambaaargh "I can promise I'll do what I can do not have that come to be....er...occasional online bumping of heads notwithstanding.  I...would rather not cause any friction to what may already be a delicately balanced relationship."  There is that slow burning worry in his mind though, now that he was realizing that the Felt likely did have Elliot under their thumb.  Would his decision to leave upset them? Is he now in danger? Neither faction of mobsters were necessarily known for charity or mercy versus making an example.  Pembrooke squeezes Elliot tightly for a second before returning to a more comfortable hug.

"I personally am aiming to keep my stab count to none.  Been holding a record for it so far, don't plan to quit yet!" he grins, brushing errant bangs from his morail's face.  "I love you."