#the rare Reverse Crosspost

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’. 

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him. 

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left. 

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap. 

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room.  Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you. 

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself. 

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously. 

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you. 

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him. 

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling. 

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs. 

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand. 

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come. 

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it. 

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamite agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamite’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children. 

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body. 

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment. 

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing. 

Mirio. 

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home. 

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.” 

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose. 

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.” 

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.” 

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed. 

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return. 

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day. 

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm. 

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. 

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours. 

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.” 

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times. 

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go. 

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers. 

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized. 

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too. 

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face. 

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight. 

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day. 

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have. 

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit. 

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life. 

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist. 

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed. 

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer. 

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head. 

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is. 

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

[kenjakusbrainstem]

Defenseless (Mahito x Reader)

Contains: Rape, body horror, multiple limbs, Mahito's hand cock (as mentioned in my other fics).

Hello! Day 15 of Kinktober: Noncon. For the amount of Mahito dub/noncon that I do write, this was kinda difficult. I tried to make sure it was different than the other Mahito stuff I've done, don't want things to seem too samey. I wanted to try something new, which is why I took a scene with my oc and changed it. Hopefully it still reads well despite being plucked out of that plot. Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twt at kenjakusbrain. Comment or rb if you have any thoughts or want to hear more about my AU, perhaps I'll post some of it after kinktober.

The school was supposed to be a safe place, one where there were plenty of people around to keep students safe. Especially at a Goodwill Event, when the teachers from multiple schools were there on the same campus. This year's Goodwill Event had been a disaster thus far. You’d gotten separated from your classmates and decided to simply search for low level cursed spirits to exorcise when the strange veil lowered. 

Despite the supposed safety, you knew something was wrong when you attempted to reach out to your classmates via cellphone but were unable. With Yuuta overseas you normally paired up with Inumaki, your technique’s meshing fairly well. It was helpful to nearly any sorcerer to be paired with you though, as your ability was to use reversed cursed technique on others. Your weapon proficiency didn’t usually matter, but since this was supposed to be a friendly battle, you only had your wits and two daggers you weren’t fully comfortable with to protect yourself. 

While you were confident in your ability to exorcise some low level curses, the uncertainty of what was going on had you on edge. 

Slowly you crept toward a part of the campus people rarely went to, you neared the path to the Tomb of the Star Corridor, assuming that there would be some form of guard there. As you made it to the edge of the wooded area near the stairs, you were shocked to find the end of the barrier. It seemed whatever was going on had nothing to do with Tengen. 

It made sense to you that whatever the strange barrier was, that is where the trouble had to be. It wouldn’t hurt to hide or at least find someone of authority to alert. 

You met surprisingly little resistance as you burst through the veil, heading over toward the only building you could see. If you remembered correctly, it was a warehouse that the school used to store cursed objects. Looking around, you didn’t see any guards, so you slowly approached the building before slipping in through the door quietly. 

Inside wasn’t what you expected to see, two horribly transfigured humans laid on the floor of the storage room. You froze, hands immediately flying to your daggers as you looked around. It seemed like it was just you and the transfigured humans. Remembering the work of the Patchwork curse, you were on edge. 

Kneeling next to one of the bodies, you attempted to use your technique to assist them in some way. Focusing all of your energy into the palms of your hands, you attempted to restore the assistant that was still moving. Unexpectedly, right before your eyes you watched as the assistant slowly morphed back, his skin returning to a normal shade. You checked the pulse and to your surprise it was faint.

This changed things, unfortunately you felt drained, not expecting to exert that much energy. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to get the assistant back to your teachers soon.

“Oh what do we have here? Did you do this?” A playful voice filled the room. You looked up, shocked to hear another person when you could have swore the room was empty moments ago.

There was no doubt in your mind who it was when he stepped closer, stitches visible on his face, barely obscured by his long blue hair. The curse had an excited look on his face, like he’d just discovered a new toy to play with. As you both looked at the man that used to be transfigured in front of you, you thought to yourself that this was the only time you would have rather been too late to save someone.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, standing upright. Your hands gripped your daggers but with the energy you just used, you couldn’t help but feel exhausted. Still you weren’t going to back down, that wasn’t what a sorcerer would do.

The curse laughed, taking a step toward you. You couldn’t help but step back, but you miscalculated, tripping over the other transfigured human on the ground and stumbling onto your back. The move was a grave mistake, you felt yourself getting dizzy as your head cracked against the floor.

“You managed to change one of my toys back! That’s so strange, if you came with me I wouldn’t have to worry about them breaking so easily. Say, doesn’t that sound fun?” The curse sounded much more excitable than you expected. You hadn’t expected him to speak with the enthusiasm of a child.

The dizziness in your head made it hard to fully comprehend what he was talking about. When he said toys did he mean the assistants? Confusion mixed with fear in your mind to create panic, though your hands gripped your weapons tightly even on the ground, you were somehow less confident than normal in your ability to protect yourself.

You didn’t have the chance to find your voice, because he was on top of you in a flash. The curse was much faster than you had expected. He didn’t touch you immediately, instead choosing to cage you in. For some reason this scared you more, knowing enough about him to know that his abilities functioned through touch. What could he have planned if not killing you right away.

“I’m not allowed to kill any students, but if I hit you hard enough you should forget most of this,” His words didn’t match the tone he was using. The curse sounded like he was discussing a fun pass time he was unable to partake in, not murder. Even though he hadn’t said much, you didn’t want to listen any longer. The pain in your head was already making your head throb, something about trying to understand the curse just made it throb worse. 

You held up your weapons, ready to strike if he moved any closer. Or you thought you were. Before you knew it your hands were empty, daggers ripped from them by a limb protruding from his back that you somehow hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

“Now since you can negate my abilities on others, I wonder what you can do to yourself,” The curse thought aloud, hands reaching for your face. You quickly moved your arms up to protect yourself, not that you could do much. 

As you felt his hands grasp your forearms, you knew you needed to act quickly. Your skin felt like it was boiling hot where his hands touched, as if the skin could slough off onto the ground or be reshaped like playdoh. Though you were exhausted, you pushed all of your remaining energy into your arms. Even with your best attempt at keeping yourself safe, you could feel his power was much stronger than yours.

“Fascinating! No one’s ever been able to resist Idle Transfiguration before! I wish I could take you back with me, you’re exactly what he’s looking for in a sorcerer,” He rambled as he spoke, a look of amazement in his eyes. He was clearly excited, but you had no idea who or what he was talking about. 

It was hard for you to focus, though you’d stopped his attack it felt like something was seriously wrong with your arms. In the dim light of the warehouse it was so hard to tell though. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you were stopped by a pair of unexpected lips on yours. The kiss, if you could call it that, full of tongue and teeth. His tongue slipped into your mouth even though you tried to close it. Everything about him was so overwhelming and strange, you’d never felt a kiss so terrifying before.

You tried to lift your arms in an attempt to push him away, but you could barely move them an inch without pain shooting up your body. You had put all of your remaining energy into trying to block his attack, and it hadn’t even been able to stop it. Groaning at the pain in your arms, you wanted nothing more than for him to leave or knock you out. Pulling away from the kiss, he giggled at what you were sure must have been a horrified look on your face.

“You’re getting me so excited just thinking about it. Say will you stay quiet for me so I can try something? I really think you’d be perfect for one of his experiments,” His words made your blood run cold. They sounded so threatening, and who exactly was he talking about? As far as you knew, this curse operated alone, so to have him actively referencing a partner of sorts was alarming.

Without warning the curse flipped your skirt up, exposing your panties to him. You tried to wiggle away, but it was no use, you were on the floor nearly pushed up completely against the wall. The only way out was through him and that wasn’t happening without help.

You watched in fear as the hand in front of you changed shape and size, taking the form of an erect cock. How hard did you hit your head, exactly? You didn’t remember anyone saying that he could manipulate his body into different shapes, but you also just might not have been paying attention. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that, you attempted to close your legs, but you felt two hands wrap around your ankles. 

“Even at a time like this you’re trying to fight back? What a good little sorcerer you are,” The mocking tone in his voice made you angry. You felt the blunt head of the cock rubbing against your pussy through your panties, as if he were teasing you instead of torturing. You lifted your hips to try and get away from him, but the hands around your ankles pulled you closer.

The sudden jerking movement made you hit your head on the ground again, vision blacking out for a moment. Through the haze of fighting to stay conscious, you felt a hot, stretching pain as he entered you. Forcing your eyes open, you were met with the mischievous patchwork grin staring at you, he looked like he had just played a harmless prank on you. Like he wasn’t violating you.

The curse’s movement inside you was slow at first, filling you up carefully as if he were measuring your insides. You could feel the head of his cock pressing up against your cervix, a shiver running down your spine at being filled completely. No human would be able to do this, the strange image of just how large the cock inside you was filling your mind. 

You watched his smile grow wider as he slowly pulled out of you. It almost felt pleasurable, the way the thick cock felt inside of you. That is until you felt the stretch of the head against your entrance. The curse paused, not pulling all the way out of you yet. For a moment you thought he was finished, but that thought was only able to linger in your mind for a few seconds before he slammed his cock back into you.

The curse’s thrusts had gone from soft exploration to a violent attack, each one coming right after the other. You choked, having trouble even breathing as you felt the head of his cock slamming up against your cervix. The pain of being fucked so hard by something far too big made you feel sick, but the way his cock rubbed up against your walls felt good. If each thrust didn’t make you want to cry, you could have at least pretended to enjoy it.

His pace increased, the speed he was fucking into you made it impossible to try and get away. You didn’t even have time to think between thrusts. Trying to make it bearable, you attempted to focus on the drag of his cock inside you, it did feel good, the way you could feel the veins against your walls. It wasn’t enough though, you couldn’t take your mind off of the pain.

As quickly as it started though, he froze inside of you. Something had caused him to stop and you had no idea what it was. Was someone here to save you? Had you been found? Part of you didn’t want to be found like this, no one needed to see just how weak you had been.

The curse rammed his cock into your cervix again, pressing in and not moving away. 

“It seems I’ve gotta go now, the veil is gone, you’re so much fun though I hate to leave you like this. Next time I catch you, I’ll finish this. Don’t miss me too much, cutie!” As soon as he was finished speaking, he ripped his cock from you. You felt something inside you tear with the violent motion. His hands left your ankles, though you wanted to get up and fight him, you were unable to do nothing more than curl in on yourself. 

You watched through teary eyes as he picked something up. Had he been carrying something when you first encountered him? Your brain was too scrambled to remember any details. 

“Oh right, you’ve seen me! Don’t want you remembering too much,” He giggled to himself, again his speech making you think of a child. 

He stepped over you, his shoes right in front of your face. You didn’t have time to register the sharp kick to your temple as you felt consciousness leave you.

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Love That Grows From Violence, Chap 2

The second chapter of Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan is up on AO3! (It was since yesterday, too, but I guess I’ll crosspost everything here anyway.

The first chapter (the prologue) is here on Tumbles.

~5100 words; read on AO3 instead.

******************************

Kirkwall, one year after the Exalted Council...

Varric handed Tamaris a set of keys. “All right, here it is. Home sweet home.”

Tamaris stared blankly at the mansion. It was… frankly, it was huge. And fancy. Two gold-plated Orlesian lion statuettes flanked the front door, which was carved with an elaborate pattern of fleur-de-lis. The windows were made of elaborate stained glass that would make a Chantry sister envious, and she was fairly certain that the front door handle was made of gold. The outdoor fixtures alone must have cost a fortune, and she hadn’t even seen the interior of the house yet. 

She shot Varric an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours. Your name is on the deed and everything.” He folded his arms. “I’ve kind of been waiting to see your face when you saw it.” 

“Well, I hope my total sense of bemusement isn’t a disappointment,” she said. Honestly, she didn’t know how Varric expected her to live in this place. She was used to aravels and tents, for fuck’s sake. Moving to Skyhold had been a stretch for her, and Skyhold at least was a functional fortress as well as being a huge grand castle.

This mansion, on the other hand, looked totally frivolous. Tamaris could only hope that it was less gaudy on the inside than the outside. 

She hefted her travelling pack onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. She took one step into the house and stopped dead in disbelief. 

The floor was shiny rose marble with gold veins, and the wallpaper was cream silk with gold stripes. As Tamaris slowly made her way through the foyer into the main room, she wrinkled her nose; the fireplace, the staircase bannister, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling: all of it was gold.

She unceremoniously dropped her pack on the floor. “Varric, you’re not serious,” she complained. 

He laughed again. “Trust me, Cuddles, this is restrained for an Orlesian mansion in Hightown. Orlesians who settle here think they need to remind us that they’re not from here. As if we could ever forget.” He patted the fireplace. “Don’t worry, you can get it all redone. Tear out the floors, maybe put in some sod so you can pretend you’re in a forest or something?”

Tamaris snorted. “Should I set up a ritual circle too, for the evil Dalish child sacrifices that I perform every other week?”

“You could,” Varric said wryly. “Just don’t tell our Captain of the Guard. She tends to get a little antsy about blood magic here. Well, we all do, really.”

Tamaris looked at him. He was smiling, but it only now just occurred to her how she must sound. 

She sighed. “Varric, I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful bitch. This is… I mean, you gave me a fucking house. This is really nice of you. Even if it’s the gaudiest house in Thedas.”

He snorted a laugh, and Tamaris gave him a rare smile. “I mean it. This is really kind. Thank you.” 

He waved her off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m used to moody elves, remember?” 

“Right, right,” Tamaris said dryly. “Hawke’s husband and all that. Hey, you said her mansion was in Hightown too, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Her uncle lives in it now, though. Hawke is off hunting slavers with Fenris or whatever it is that he’s doing.” 

Tamaris nodded in acknowledgement, then looked idly around at the vaulted ceilings. Shit, this house was big. And empty. 

Oh, there was furniture, sure: a big ugly carved dining table with matching chairs and a writing desk in this room, and some plush velvet sofas in the study to the left. But the house still felt so… empty. It was going to be so quiet living here all by herself. After spending the better part of the year doing contract work with Bull and the Chargers, Tamaris couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the impending quiet. 

“So,” Varric said. “Do you want to hear the updates on the wolf hunt now, or do you want to settle in first?”

Solas. Her gut twisted unpleasantly, like the feeling of stepping into a pothole that you didn’t realize was there. 

“Sure, let’s hear it,” she said. She rifled around in her bag with her mechanical left hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Rivaini rum. “Fancy a drink?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll wait until it’s past noon.”

She shrugged and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Suit yourself.” She took three big gulps, then shoved the cork back into the bottle and plopped down in one of the padded dining chairs. “All right, let’s hear it. I don’t suppose we’ve actually been lucky enough to find him.”

“Not yet,” Varric said. “A couple interesting leads, though. You actually got back just in time. Rhys and Evangeline are on their way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Should be arriving in the next day or two.”

Tamaris blinked. “Rhys and Evangeline? But I thought Cassandra needed them.”

“She does,” Varric said. “Their work at the Tranquil sanctuary has been going pretty smoothly so far. But they recently had someone staying with them who, uh, might be interesting for you to meet.”

That’s cryptic, Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.” 

Varric leaned casually against the fireplace. “An elf with Dalish tattoos,” he said. “Only he says he isn’t Dalish. And he says he knows Solas.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, from… before.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows shot up. Then she folded her arms. “Uh-huh. And we don’t think he’s full of shit because…?”

“Tranquil don’t lie,” Varric said. “He told Cassandra about Solas before they reversed his Tranquility.” 

Tamaris narrowed her eyes appraisingly. Then she straightened. “Hang on. You said… Are Rhys and Evangeline are bringing him here?”

Varric nodded, and Tamaris stared at him. “Varric, that’s insane. Solas definitely has spies in Kirkwall. This is the last place in Thedas that someone who knew Solas from before should be coming.” 

Varric grimaced. “Well… Cassandra wanted you to go to the sanctuary instead. But we, uh, had some trouble getting in touch with you…”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead guiltily. Going off to mindlessly do a bunch of contracts with Bull and his company had been a selfish move, and Tamaris knew it. But the whole Exalted Council incident had been just… so much fucking bullshit, with the qunari attack and the Shattered Library and the crossroads and Solas. 

Fucking Solas. Fucking Fen’Harel. 

A year later, the truth still chafed. Tamaris had always known there were things he wasn’t telling her, and it had always grated at her nerves. Even during the moments when he was at his sweetest, it had always felt like there was some undercurrent of subtext behind his affectionate words. But Tamaris had never imagined that his lies were so spectacular.

Only by omission, he’d said, but in Tamaris’s opinion, that only made it worse. That he’d been so careful to omit things — so careful to stick to the truth without telling the most important parts of it…

She could feel her ears getting hot with anger. Varric stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “Rhys and Evangeline are used to travelling incognito, and apparently the mystery elf is too. No reason to think they won’t make it here safe and sound.”

She took another gulp of rum, then placed the bottle back on the table. “Fine. A mysterious former friend of Solas’s is coming to pay me a visit. Anything else?”

Varric eyed her warily, then sat in a chair beside her. “How about a hand of wicked grace?”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t have to coddle me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Varric said. “I’m trying to avoid Bran, really. You’re doing me a favour by showing up here so early in the day.” He pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and began shuffling them. 

She scoffed and propped her dirty bare feet up on the pristine table. “All right, since I’m doing you a favour.” They played wicked grace for a couple of hours, and by the time Varric finally got up to leave, Tamaris was nicely buzzed. 

She lazily followed Varric to the door. “Can I swing by your office later? See how tightly the Viscount of Kirkwall runs his ship?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He opened the door and smirked up at her. “Or tomorrow, or whenever.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were ashamed of my drunken ass.”

“Not ashamed,” Varric said. “Just a little concerned, that’s all.”

She shrugged. There was no point denying that she wasn’t really okay. “I’m probably not the most stabilizing influence for a newly de-Tranquilized mage at the moment,” she said baldly.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Varric said. “You’ll be good for him, probably. You’ve got a knack for this kind of thing.”

“What, dealing with hysterical people?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said. 

Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Lucky me.”

“Let me know if you want to talk,” Varric said casually. “That’s all I’m saying.”

She shrugged again. “I probably won’t,” she replied. “If you want to hit me with a stick Bull-style, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “Hey, I should have asked — this arm’s doing okay by you, huh?” He tapped her mechanical arm.  

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said. “The lyrium powers it perfectly.” She flexed her arm and fingers to demonstrate. “I wrote Dagna a couple months ago to thank her, but you should let Bianca know it works almost as well as my real hand.”

Varric smiled. “I will. See you later.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Hey, I should have said. It’s, uh. It’s good to have you back.”

Tamaris managed a smile. “Thanks. It’s… well, it’s good to see you.”

He nodded understandingly, then gave her a little salute before taking his leave. Tamaris tottered back inside of her gaudy house, then toppled onto one of the big fat couches and fell fast asleep. 

When she woke up a few hours later, it was with a raging headache, a stomach cramping from hunger, and a very dry mouth. She gulped down some water, then strapped a couple of daggers to her belt and put on her cloak. She pulled up the hood — more to shelter her pounding eyes from the lingering rays of the early evening sun than to hide her identity. She didn’t much care if anyone knew she was in Kirkwall, especially since she’d been out of the loop all this time and had no interesting contacts here aside from Varric. If Solas’s spies wanted to give him the useless information that she was here, they could fucking feel free. 

Even so, she wasn’t particularly keen to be spoken to. So instead of leaving through the front door, she made her way up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left. 

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively when she opened the door; the bedroom decor was a Free Marcher style instead of Orlesian, and way more simple and plain than the rest of the house. Varric must have set this bedroom up just for her. 

She smiled faintly, then headed for the window and pushed it open. After a careful peek into the alley to discern that no one was looking, she slipped out of the window and quickly climbed up the brick wall to the roof. 

Once she was on the roof, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air was fresher up here, and the openness of the sky was frankly a relief. From up here, she could clearly see the shifting shades of the sky as the sun started to set, and she could almost pretend that she was on the shores of Hercinia admiring the sky instead of on the roof of a noisy city.

She drew another deep lungful of air, then began making her way to the Lowtown market via the rooftops. She made it to the market unnoticed and bought herself enough food for three days, then returned to her house using back alleys so no one would talk to her, and the furtive journey was challenging enough with the added weight of her bags to distract her from her headache. 

Once she’d returned to her house, she immediately went back up to the roof with her indulgent supper of fish and chips. She spent the next little while on the roof watching the sun sink down behind the squat buildings of Lowtown. When it started getting dark and her thoughts started darkening to match, she moved over to the edge of the roof so she could watch the people below instead of the sky above. 

She dangled her feet carelessly over the edge of the roof; no one ever looked up, so no one would see her anyway. She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a slender joint and a matchbook, then lit the joint and took a deep drag. 

The sweet-and-bitter smoke filled her mouth, and she held it for a few leisurely seconds before releasing it to the cool evening air. And as usual in the evenings when she had nothing else to do, she started mulling over her mistakes and failings of the past. 

First and foremost, as always, was Solas. Was there anything she could have done to stop him when they’d been together? Should she have realized sooner that he was from an earlier age? Solas wasn't the only concern, though; the news about the qunari’s activities on the Tevinter coastline were frankly alarming, and Tamaris couldn't help but wonder if she should have foreseen that as well. She and her companions might have stopped the Viddasala from killing the leadership of Thedas during the Exalted Council a year ago, but had they really achieved anything if the qunari were attacking Tevinter so aggressively now? 

Another huge concern was where the fuck the Grey Wardens were. Tamaris had thought she was doing the right thing by sending them to Weisshaupt until Corypheus was gone, but there had been no word of them since then, and their silence made her wonder whether sending them away had been a good idea after all. Solas certainly approved of her action, but in truth, Tamaris had never been clear on exactly why he’d approved. Even now, after what he’d told her about the Evanuris and the Veil, she still didn’t understand why he got so irate about the Grey Wardens.

Solas, she thought moodily. Her thoughts cycled back to wondering if she should have foreseen his betrayal during the time that they’d been lovers. She smoked her joint slowly and mulled over her gloomy thoughts, and all the while she was watching the streets below for anything strange. 

It wasn’t until late that night that something caught her eye: a pair of figures, one tall and slim and the other shorter and a bit more broad. They were cloaked and moving quietly along Hightown’s largely silent streets, but not sticking to the shadows. 

Humans, she thought. Only humans walked around at night with that much confidence. But these humans were being quiet and subtle, so they didn’t want to be noticed. 

She peered more carefully at them, and that’s when she noticed the signature style of the shorter figure’s gauntlets. A Templar, she thought, and she relaxed slightly. It must be Rhys and Evangeline. But where was their former Tranquil companion, then? 

She narrowed her eyes and scanned the streets; no one else was around. Curious now, Tamaris waited until the two cloaked people were closer – not so close that they were under her, but close enough that they could hear her. 

She let out a low whistle, and the cloaked figures looked up sharply; sure enough, it was Rhys and Evangeline. 

Rhys smiled at her, and Evangeline visibly relaxed. “Lady Lavellan,” she called out quietly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Skulking, obviously,” Tamaris replied. “Nobody ever looks up.”

“You’re right,” a man’s voice said behind her. “They don’t.” 

Tamaris was on her feet with a dagger in hand before he finished speaking. But even before she could turn around to face him, a spill of goosebumps was rippling down her neck. The voice was unfamiliar to her, but the accent… 

It was like Solas’s accent. Not exactly the same, but close enough to Solas’s smooth lilt that it gave her a chill of recognition.

The former Tranquil, she thought tensely. She eyed the stranger in silence for a moment. He was a tall elf, barefoot and cloaked and apparently unarmed, and he was leaning languidly against one of the chimneys with a smirk lifting the corners of his lips. 

“It’s all right,” Rhys called from the ground below. “He’s with us.”

“You don’t say,” Tamaris retorted. 

The former Tranquil’s smirk widened slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow before restoring her dagger to the sheath at her hip. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I’ve decided not to gut you on the spot for sneaking up on me.”

“Very gracious of you,” he said with a little half-bow. 

She eyed him suspiciously. His words were polite enough, but his tone was faintly mocking. 

She pursed her lips, then started toward the side of the roof that led back to the bedroom window. “Come on, then,” she said to the strange elf. “If you’re bringing trouble to my doorstep, I might as well roll with it.” She swung down from the edge of the roof and back into the window, then made her way through the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following her.

He was, of course; if he was nimble enough to sneak up on her via the roof, he was nimble enough to follow her back through the window. He chuckled as he followed her out of the bedroom. “And what a doorstep it is,” he said. “A fan of gold, are you?”

She scoffed and traipsed down the stairs. “Hardly. This house was a gift from a dwarf with an overdeveloped sense of humour.” 

“My kind of dwarf,” the elf said.

She shot him an odd look, then paused in surprise at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just realized something odd about his appearance. He had vallaslin branching across his cheekbones and his forehead, but it wasn’t the marks on his face that surprised her per se; it was the lack of a particular kind of mark. 

He didn’t have a scar on his forehead from the Templars’ lyrium brand. But Varric had said he was a Tranquil…? 

He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Let me just…” She nodded at the front door, then went to open it for Evangeline and Rhys.

She stood back to let them in, then gestured at the dining table with its padded chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but we should get going,” Rhys said. 

“Yes,” Evangeline agreed. “We don’t want to linger in Kirkwall for too long. And Lady Cassandra requires our services.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “But — wait, you just got here. I don’t think Cassandra would begrudge you a night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Evangeline said. “But we are anxious to return to our duties as well. For now, Rhys remains the only mage at the sanctuary who can safely guide the spirits through the Veil. We can’t cure any more Tranquil until he has returned.”

Rhys let out a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m hardly the fulcrum of this whole operation,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be so modest, cher,” Evangeline said firmly. “In any case, we should be going.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “Hang on. You’re not going to explain anything to me before you go? For example: who the fuck is he, exactly?” She jerked her thumb at the raven-haired elf, who had availed himself of one of the dining table chairs.

He gave her a charming smile. “I was wondering when you’d remember I was here. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. There’s something quite powerful about being forgotten, under the right circumstances.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at this cryptic remark, and Rhys smacked his forehead. “Maker, I’m sorry, Tamaris. This is Felassan. He came from — well, the whole story will probably be more coherent if you hear it from him, which is why we accompanied him here, obviously.”

She eyed Rhys skeptically. “And his whole story is good enough that you’re willing to leave him with me, even though he’s only been cured for…” She trailed off, then turned to Felassan. “How long have you been, um, back to yourself?”

He looked at Rhys. “It’s been, what? Three months?”

“That’s right,” Rhys said. “About three months.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “It only takes three months for former Tranquil to become stable?”

“Oh, I’m not stable,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I can be quite volatile, unfortunately.”

Tamaris stared at him. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. 

Evangeline answered her unspoken question. “That’s true, unfortunately. Felassan is still getting… adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Tamaris said warily. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” Felassan said, “that she had to neutralize me several times during our journey here. Not that I hold it against you,” he said pleasantly to Evangeline. “It’s been interesting, in fact. I never had a chance to see a Templar in action before.”

Evangeline nodded politely to him, but Tamaris wrinkled her nose in confusion. How was that possible? He’d been made Tranquil. He had to have seen a Templar in action before.  

She didn’t have time to ask, however; Rhys and Evangeline were already making their way back to the door. She hurried after them. “So — so he’s… he’s supposed to just stay here with me, then.”

“That’s what Cassandra wanted, yes,” Rhys said.

Tamaris sighed. At least Rhys had the courtesy to sound apologetic. “And if he gets volatile? I suppose she was confident that I could just… handle it.”

“She was very confident,” Evangeline said. 

Rhys smiled faintly. “I believe her words were something along the lines of ‘Tamaris has a special talent for highly charged situations such as this.’”

“Of course,” she muttered. “Well… I suppose I should thank you for bringing him here.”

“I think it will be worth your while, once you hear what he has to say,” Rhys said earnestly. “There’s a good reason we didn’t just send you a report.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “If you say so. Well, travel safe.”

Rhys gave her a little salute and Evangeline bowed her head politely, and they took their leave. Tamaris sighed, then locked the door and returned to the dining table.

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his chair and idly twirling a short length of wood in his fingers. Tamaris folded her arms and eyed him. “It sounds like I’m in for a good story, hm? Or a long one, at least.”

He quirked a brow. “I suppose that depends. Do you enjoy hearing tales of Fen’Harel?”

Fen’Harel. Fucking Solas, she thought bitterly. “I enjoy it as much as I enjoy lancing a boil,” she said snidely. “It’s distasteful but necessary, especially given… you know, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture meant to encompass the entire world. 

His ever-present smirk widened into a broad smile, and he let out a burbling laugh. “I think you and I will get along just fine, then.”

His laughter was knowing and playful at the same time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the sound of it or not. She pursed her lips, then turned toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something.” 

“I’ll join you,” he said, and he rose from the chair and tucked the piece of wood back inside of his cloak. 

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself. I thought you’d be tired, though. It’s a long way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “A long and perilous journey, fraught with bandits and poor weather and the odd Tevinter refugee. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris said. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an apple, then tossed it to him.

He caught it deftly. “I mean that I was brought here to speak with you about our… mutual friend. I assumed you would have questions.” 

I suspect you have questions. Felassan’s words were almost an echo of the ones that Solas had greeted her with a year ago, and the memory made her curl her lip. 

He lifted one dark eyebrow, and Tamaris carefully smoothed out her expression. “I would rather talk about you,” she said. “Like why you don’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on your face, for example. Does the Tranquility cure involve removing that scar?”

He smiled slowly. “They mentioned that you were blunt. They weren’t wrong.”

Tamaris huffed, then opened the enchanted icebox and pulled out some hard Fereldan cheese. “Uh-huh. What else did they tell you about me?”

Felassan leaned back against the counter. “They said you can be aloof, sarcastic, and hard to crack. That you get things done through force of will more than charm.” His smile widened slightly. “They said that you allowed Empress Celene to be assassinated at the Winter Palace, and that you helped Briala to become the true power behind the throne.” 

Tamaris shrugged. “They weren’t wrong about any of that.”

Felassan nodded and idly rolled the apple between his palms. “They also say that you are far more compassionate than you seem, and that you and Fen’Harel were lovers.”

She paused in her cutting of the cheese and gave him a hard look, but his expression was pleasantly neutral. He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. “I don’t blame you,” he said through his full mouth. “He’s undeniably compelling.”

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then continued cutting the cheese. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you have a scar on your forehead?”

Felassan made an apologetic face. “If you were hoping to talk about something other than Fen’Harel, I’m afraid you’re taking the wrong tack.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

He idly flicked the side of his half-eaten apple. “I mean that it wasn’t that delightful Templar order that made me Tranquil,” he said. “It was him.”

Tamaris went still. “It… what?”

He looked up from the apple and met her eyes, and her belly jolted. For the first time since they’d met, his expression was utterly serious. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter in his strange amethyst-coloured eyes.

“Fen’Harel made me Tranquil,” Felassan said.

She stared breathlessly at him. Solas had made him Tranquil? No. No, that... it couldn’t be true. Solas abhorred the idea of Tranquility. He’d initially thought all the people of her time were Tranquil, and his horror at this misguided impression had fuelled his original plans to bring the Veil down on all of them. There was no way Solas would have done something so terrible to someone.

But Felassan looked so serious, and he had no reason to lie to her. And Solas had told her that he would see his plans to fruition, by any means necessary… 

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't tell if it was because of agitation or disgust or fear. She swallowed hard. “Felassan, I am so sorry,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”

His expression went slack for a moment. Then some of his usual humour returned to his face. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“Glad I’m still capable of surprising people sometimes,” she said. “Do you want a drink or not?”

He chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. She carefully placed his impromptu meal of cheese and bread on a plate, then picked up a bottle of cider and headed back to the main room with the dining table. “So, Felassan. That’s a strange name. Who decided to call you a slow arrow?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he said wryly.

She raised her eyebrows and set the food on the table before taking a seat. “Why would you call yourself that?”

He sat in the chair beside her and studied her quietly for a moment, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?” 

“This is truly what you want to talk about?” he asked. 

She wilted in exasperation. “Cassandra might not have told you this, but I hate small talk. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know. If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so.”

A smile lit his face again, and Tamaris idly noted that he was quite handsome. His hair was as black as her own unruly waves, and probably about half as long if he were to unbind it from its leather wrap. A few faint wrinkles creased his tawny skin, giving the impression that he was maybe ten to fifteen years older than her, but his dimpled smile held a boyish sense of mischief. And then there were his unusual and luminous violet eyes. 

She dropped his gaze and started peeling the wax seal off of the bottle of cider. “So? Are you going to tell me about your name or not?” 

“I wouldn't dare to turn down my gracious hostess’s request,” he said. “But I have to warn you, our dear friend Fen’Harel plays into the tale.”

Of course he does, Tamaris thought bitterly. It seemed like she could barely talk to anyone about anything these days without Solas coming up somehow.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle of cider, then took a gulp of the tart-and-sweet booze before offering it to him. “All right. Let’s hear it. Tell me about fucking Fen’Harel.”

[heroofthreefaces]

(I'm going to start making public posts on Patreon* on the same kind of behind-the-scenes stuff I've been posting here over the years, and crosspost them here. Of course since the Patreon account is new I'm starting out with the basics, stuff readers here already know.)

The header on each of the pages states updates at The Hero of Three Faces are "usually daily about 19:00 US Central, with annual summer hiatus." My website coding mostly arrested in 1997 so I can't change the header without editing the HTML file for every single page in the current continuity, which is about sixteen hundred pages. However, before there got to be too many pages to make a universal change like that, one year I made it a summer break project to add code to every file to place a banner image atop the page, in order to be able to make new, transitory announcements appear on every page without editing every page. I don't often need to make such announcements and usually the banner only has an obscure quotation from one of the cartoons which changes every week on Thursday or Friday.

For the first few months of the Three Faces 2020-2021 season (a "season" runs from August 17th until, if I and/or the buffer hold up, May 21), the banner carried a disclaimer that updates were not to be expected daily this season as they had been for the last several years; and they haven't been. Last season updating daily had begun approaching chore levels of anxiety after a few years and I'm not going to tolerate having Three Faces become a chore to me. A few weeks ago I decided the "usually" in the header covered that possibility (really that's what it had been placed there to do) sufficiently for anyone who hadn't seen the announcement yet, and I removed the banner announcement. "Rarely seven but rarely none in a week" is only a reversion to Three Faces' original update schedule back in 2007 when hosted at Webcomicsnation.com, while Arthur, King of Time and Space was still my daily webcomic, before Three Faces was moved to a subdirectory on AKOTAS' site. The “recent updates” thumbnails on the index page are always the most recent seven days' updates (EDIT except during summer hiatus when the thumbnails are other reruns related to the front page rerun).

The "about 19:00" has got more flexible recently also. I put "about 19:00" in the header because I usually draw for the day on my breaks at work, and when I'd get home from the office then I'd update (my personal laptop doesn't get internet access in the office and my site coding skills do not extend to the scheduling of automatic updates). Then the pandemic and work-from-home started, and update time loosened up. These days the earliest I might feel constitutes "about 19:00" is around 16:00, if I'm done drawing by then. The latest I might update Three Faces has always been about 22:00 because, if I'm not updating from the buffer and if I haven't got a new script for the day by that time, then I'm not going to have a script before I'm too sleepy to draw. EDIT Except even if I do get a script together and start drawing before 22:00 it can take till 23:00 or 24:00 to finish drawing.

* Master of unintentional alliteration!

[greyias]

FIC: Dance with the Devil (3/7)

Title: Dance with the Devil Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Angst, H/C, Action Synopsis: They might have escaped, but things still aren’t okay. Warnings: See Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Crossposted to AO3

He awoke to the familiar antiseptic burn of kolto gently being applied to the raw wound on his side. He jolted upwards, but a firm hand to his shoulder kept him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” came an aggrieved whisper.

He focused on the direction of this voice, his bleary vision resolving itself into far more concern than ever needed to be etched onto that freckled face. His body was a curious mix of tingling numbness, arcing pain, and aching bruises. The soft hum of starship engines zipping through hyperspace let him know they had escaped the planet. He focused past all of that on the worried face of his rescuer, who paused in her ministrations. He started to reach out to try and brush the frown away, but his hand was firmly pushed down.

“Please don’t move. I still need to finish with this one on your side.” Her eyes dropped to the liberal amount of kolto she was preparing. “I’m sorry if I hurt you… I’m afraid my skills at a healer aren’t very adequate.”

“S’okay,” he whispered. His throat was still dry, so it came out more raspy than he intended.

Seeing as the rusty quality of his voice only made her brows knit together in even more concern, he wasn’t about to mention that even the lightest touch on the wound she was attempting to address was going to cause pain. If he had his wits about him, he could have tried to enter a meditative state to take away the worst of the sting, but his thoughts felt sluggish. A used stimpack sat on the tray she had laid out her medical supplies on, and the green label indicated it was the pain reliever that they kept in all of the emergency medkits. Ah, that explained it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, catching his look, “I just wanted you to be comfortable. I know you don’t like them, but you were just in so much pain…”

He wasn’t sure if her contrition or her emotional distress at his wounded state was worse, but either way the guilt winding through him twisted his insides almost as much as the ragged hole in his side. He wrapped his fingers around the arm trying to hold him in place, catching her eye. “Thank you.”

Her brow smoothed a little, which helped ease some of his own guilt. Now only if he didn’t sound like he was croaking every time he tried to speak, that’d be great.  

 “I’ll get you something to drink soon,” she promised, “but I really have to dress your side first.”

He briefly wondered if she was using some sort of Force mind reading trick, or if perhaps he was just doing a really poor job at disguising his thoughts. He glanced past her stricken face, taking in the brightly lit interior of the Defender’s medbay. The once state-of-the-art medical facilities had been neglected over five years of disuse after the ship’s medic had disappeared into the Outer Rim. The facilities didn’t get turned on much these days as the ship usually sat docked out behind the Alliance’s military hangar, and Grey had authorized them to remove some of the pieces that had been needed for the medbay on Odessen at the time. A status chart beeped lazily overhead, displaying the vitals of the bed’s current occupant.

He felt the brush of cold, recirculated air rush over his chest. The tattered, bloody remains of his shirt had been tossed unceremoniously into the medical waste bin. A flash of red revealed that his jacket had been carefully hung up in the corner, although it still showed signs of three days worth of dirt and grime from being discarded on the floor. The bulky, bronze armor that Grey usually wore sat underneath it in a much less gracefully arranged pile. A gentle push to his shoulders drew his attention back to her as she tried to prevent him from moving any further.

“Lay back down,” she instructed gently. “I’m almost finished, I promise.”

She had stripped down to the form-fitting undershirt that she wore under her armor, although the bright blue material had seen better days. Patches of it were blackened and charred in spots, and was splattered with bright splotches of red. A sudden tightness wrapped around his chest, and he would have bolted upright had she not firmly pushed him back down.

“You’re hurt—”

“Theron, please—”

“Why haven’t you—”

“Theron,” she said more forcefully, a pleading note breaking through her normally composed tone, “it’s not my blood.”

“But—”

“You really need to let me finish dressing this wound,” she sounded so tired, almost borderline desperate.

He blinked several times, vision swimming slightly as he finally relented and laid back on the hard surface of the medical bed. As she tried to pull her hand away, he found that he couldn’t tell his fingers to let go, squeezing them tightly as her stricken face blurred in and out of focus. The panic was harder to swallow, as the bright flash of color was nearly impossible to ignore now that he’d noticed it. Memories of the tense fight and subsequent escape started to filter back in, of purple lightning arcing over her and a blood red lightsaber cleaving through the air. He felt a return squeeze on his fingers, as she gently ran her other hand through his hair.

“I’m all right,” she said, although the calm in her voice sounded forced to his ears. “Please relax and let me help you.”

Her grip on his fingers was like a lifeline, something to ground himself to and focus on. He took in a deep breath and let it out, the blind panic bleeding away as he soaked in whatever measure of calm she had managed to summon for his benefit. “Sorry, I… guess I’m not thinking clearly.”

Her composed facade slipped as she frowned, but her fingers continued to card through his hair. “You’ve had a long couple of days, but I’m here now. It’s going to be okay.”

A small measure of serenity flowed through him, carrying the rest of his anxiety away. Even with his thoughts muddled, he still found that a little odd. He was never this calm, even normally. “Are you being a sneaky Jedi right now?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly. “It’s just a small Force suggestion. Do you forgive me?”

If Theron had the wherewithal he might have laughed at the solemn look of contrition on her face. She took herself so seriously sometimes, even on such minor things. If their positions had been reversed, he would have also tried to find some way to calm her down before she had seriously injured herself. He gave the fingers holding his a small squeeze. “I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Good.” One corner of her mouth quirked up into a sad smile. “Now, I need to finish dressing that wound. It’s… it’s bad, Theron.”

He swallowed, the motion agitating his dry and scratchy throat. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

That ghost of a smile disappeared. “Theron…”

He ignored her and closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers tightened around hers, and he drew on the sense of calm she was projecting to push past his muddled thoughts. In his mind’s eye, he could see the pain from his wound, a raw, pulsing darkness that tried to pull him under like a singularity sucking in all light. It was almost too much for Ngani Zho’s old technique. As he attempted to acknowledge the pain, it was only her anchor-like hold on him that kept him from getting swept away in the sensation and dragged away.

It took far longer than it should’ve, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead by the time he opened his eyes to see her watching him with naked concern. The bright flare of pain had dulled to a constant, heavy pressure, and the raw sensation had faded to the back of his mind.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said hoarsely.

“How often do you do that?” she asked, voice still quiet.

“Whenever I need to.”

“Pain tells us our limits.” She pursed her lips together. “It can be dangerous if you push yourself too much.”

“I know my limits,” he said, “would be dead otherwise.”

She didn’t look like she really believed him, and he might have been more insulted if he wasn’t still drawing on the measure of calm she was still projecting. It was possible her disbelief stemmed from whatever state she had found him in. Theron had yet to look in a mirror to inspect exactly how he looked after his time in Dirai’s questionable care.

He released his tight grip on her fingers, and after a moment’s hesitation she withdrew and returned to the kolto she had prepared. This time he hardly even flinched as she finished cleaning the wound and gently applying the kolto to it. Without having to fight him, the process went by much quicker, and she finished securing the bandage without any fuss.

“Thank you.” Her voice was still quiet, but he could still clearly hear the undercurrent of concern. “The bruising is quite extensive too, but the scans indicate they’re mostly on the surface. I can apply some more kolto to them, but you’ll have to sit up for that.”

From the look on her face, he was fairly certain that was the last thing she really wanted for him. She was probably afraid he’d try to bolt or something.

“You’re the doctor.” He tried to summon a smile, but it may have come out as a grimace. “Whatever you think is best.”

“I wish I were one.” Frustration began to leak into her overly calm tone. “Then I might actually have a kolto tank to submerge you in right now. Or at least some healing techniques I could apply to someone other than myself.”

“It was a joke.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t find any of this amusing!”

“Hey, I…” He reached out to grasp her hand, but she jerked away and moved out of his range. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes flashed, a very rare undercurrent of anger actually surfacing. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Look, I’m sorry you had to come in like that. I really was trying to get out on my—”

“That’s your concern? That you’re embarrassed you had to be rescued?”

This was a side to his sweet little Jedi that he had never seen, and Theron shrank back to his cot as she began to pace the small medbay. “No?”

“You missed your check in three days ago without giving any details of what you were doing. Three days — and I was the closest one in range. What if Lana hadn’t thought to ask me to look in on you?”

“I would’ve figured out something—”

“No, you wouldn’t have!” Her cheeks flamed red as she whirled on him. Usually he found it cute, but this time it was different. She was angry, legitimately angry. At him. “We had to carry you out of there as it was—you would have died, Theron.”

“I’m…” The word “sorry” caught in his throat, a tightness that had nothing to do with his myriad of injuries building in his chest. He started to leverage himself up, not wanting to be laying down for this. “I’m okay.”

“What are you—no, lay back down!” And like that the anger bled away as she rushed back over, trying to get him settled back into the bed. “Please, you need to rest.”

“But you’re…”

She closed her eyes, heaving in a deep calming breath before slowly letting it out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

Now that she was back in his range, he tentatively reached out and brushed his thumb across her cheek, watching as the angry red tinge faded. “You’re allowed to.”

“No, you are injured. It’s inappropriate for me to lash out.”

“I can take it.”

Her eyes snapped open, fixing on him with a disapproving expression. “You have had enough of ‘taking it’ over the past few days as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this,” she murmured, “it was bad enough when I—”

She cut herself off with a lurch, lips pressing together in a thin line so tightly some of the color started to fade. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the rest of the statement, brows knitting together and eyes screwing shut as she forced herself to be quiet. For a long few moments the silence stretched on, before she traced the shell of her ear with her thumb. A gesture meant just for him, and her silent signal that she wanted to say something, but didn’t want the unwanted visitor in her head to hear the sentiment.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, especially as of late. And Theron had come to loathe it.

Back when he had first arrived on Odessen, whenever they had started to move into a serious discussion she would clam up like this. He’d understood, of everyone on base at time he had really understood. Even Teeseven, with all of their shared history, hadn’t been privy to her broken confession on Yavin IV where she’d revealed her deepest fear of being overtaken again by the evil presence now taking up residence in her mind. Back then, it had been just that — a long dormant fear reawakened when the former Sith Emperor had been unleashed back on the galaxy by Theron’s ancestor. That fear had morphed into a never-ending waking nightmare after her and Valkorion’s confrontation in the Spire had led him to take up residence in her mind.

Theron had wanted to talk to her about it, but she would shut down the moment it came up. It wasn’t until they’d returned to the Endless Swamp with Havoc Squad that he’d finally gotten some insight when she’d quietly informed him of when Valkorion had tried to take advantage of Lana being placed in mortal peril to force Grey to accept some of his power. The fact that she had still refused, even with potentially Lana’s life on the line, had haunted her. When she had looked at him after her quiet confession, wide blue eyes shining in the darkness, she hadn’t needed to fill in the rest of the blanks. It didn’t take a genius to make the connection to their renewed relationship and what might happen if that choice came up again, but with Theron.

And then Valkorion had seemingly vanished, left them to their own devices and for the first time in five years they could talk. It was slow going, as she had lingering doubts about truly being free of him. But as time wore on without any sign of the hated ghost, she had started to open up to Theron again like she had before Zakuul had ripped her away.

They had been approaching something normal, maybe even happy—when Valkorion had come back. Or rather, revealed that he had never left. Theron had seen it the moment it happened. He and Lana had been reviewing the positive outcomes of her defeat of Arcann, when something in the air seemed to shift. She had been listening dutifully a moment before, a hint of a smile forming at the good news, and then he blinked and all of the color drained from her face. That expression of naked panic he’d only witnessed once outside of the temple on Yavin IV, when she had first heard the voice of her tormenter years after she had thought him gone. Just a momentary slip before a practiced neutral expression slid back in. It had been just as quick this time as well, so much so that Lana hadn’t even picked up on it. But Theron had seen, and he knew.

Just like that, all of their progress came to a screeching halt, and even began shuffling backwards. She had let the chinks in her amor show, stopped worrying about showing how much she cared and now the devil standing in between them knew all of her weak points. Although Theron had a sneaking suspicion that Valkorion had already guessed a few. Had likely been watching from the shadows of her mind during their most private and intimate moments from the start.

“Sorry,” she murmured before gathering herself together again, “what I meant is that you have been through an ordeal. I do not wish to add to it.”

“Talk to me,” he almost said, but the words wouldn’t quite form on his tongue. He almost preferred the anger to this deceptive calm she was hiding behind. Not that he liked the anger — especially when directed his way — but at least it was real. Unlike that mask of the perfect Jedi she showed to the world. She was so much more than that, and yet day by day, moment by moment, he watched a little more of the real her disappear. Like grains of sand slipping between his fingers, he couldn’t hold on no matter how hard he tried.

“Let me grab some more kolto,” she whispered.

They had been making so much progress, but Theron was still so out of his depth with this sort of thing. He watched her shuffle around the medbay, somehow feeling just as helpless as if he were still strapped to that table back on Skeressa. He knew he should have said something, but the clarity and measure of calm had started to fade away and the distant pain he’d pushed to the back of his consciousness started to creep back in. The analgesic effect of the kolto was starting to kick in, but he would have needed to be submerged in a tank to keep the pain at bay completely. And as it crept back up, the words he needed to say slipped away like everything else.

She began to administer much smaller batches of kolto to various cuts, scratches and bruises in silence. He meant to close his eyes, give her the impression of some privacy since she didn’t want to talk, but he couldn’t help but watch the way her hands moved. Usually so deft and certain, each movement now marked with hesitation and uncertainty. No matter how much she tried to hide behind her mask of calm, it was blindingly obvious to him that she was anything but. Tension hung thick in the silence, just one more thing separating them.

“How long until we get back to Odessen?” It was the only thing he could think of asking that was a safe subject. Usually he would crack a joke to relieve the tension, but seeing how his last one was received it didn’t seem like a good option.

“Five days.” She glanced down at him, neutral expression slipping for a moment.

“It took me almost two weeks to get here.”

“Guss says he knows of a shortcut.”

A smart remark formed on his lips, but he let it go. It still wasn’t the time. “Don’t push the engines too much on my account.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to deny it, but she just shook her head ever so slightly. “Hutt Space isn’t a good place get stranded.”

“Thought the worms owed you a favor or ten.”

She shot him a chastising look, probably for his choice of words more than anything. “We are even at this point.”

“Pity. I wouldn’t mind taking a long rest stop at your swanky little sky palace.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have shown you that.”

“But it has such a nice view.”

“Perhaps, but as far as I’m concerned, the further we are from Skeressa, the better.” He couldn’t fault her there. It was kind of a dump. Although its lack of a thriving tourism industry probably didn’t factor into her reasoning much. “Those people were involved in some very dark things.”

It was true. He’d heard the rumors of disappearances while looking into Arcann’s whereabouts, and the grisly remains that sometimes were found much, much later. All of the beggars and urchins had learned to stay far away from that dirty alleyway and stretch of road — the snippets of horror stories he’d been told had been tucked away in the back of his mind during his captivity. Devils came in all shapes and sizes, and those on Skeressa were made of flesh and bone. Theron wasn’t the only “guest” to grace that warehouse, but apparently he had been one of the luckier ones. Probably because he’d been part of Dirai’s little pet project to try and get Valkorion’s attention.

“The Force is not meant to be twisted like that,” she said quietly. “That corruption seeped into everything they touched.”

Her fingers subconsciously drifted to his forehead, gently tousling his hair. He leaned into the touch, that same sense of soothing calm seeming to emanate from just her soft caress. His thoughts were starting to drift off when the gentle motion suddenly paused, and when he looked up her expression had darkened into a familiar scowl.

Distantly Theron heard a pounding, and it took several long moments before he realized it was the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. It was the same scowl that would sometimes appear at the mention of Vaylin, or more often the throne controlling the Eternal Fleet. Or when Koth or Senya mentioned some Zakuulan tradition that had been started within the past three centuries. While Valkorion’s favorite subject to butt in on was often himself, sometimes he’d interrupt in the middle of something mundane like breakfast, ruining perfectly good cups of caffa and appetites all around. One time he’d decided to chime in while both of them had been in flagrante delicto. (Theron had responded rather poorly to that incident in particular.) If their relationship was a dance, then the devil that haunted her was constantly cutting in. There was no escape from it, unless he decided to just stay away completely and leave her to the mercy of the mad ramblings of the monster in her head. 

As frustrated and angry as it made him, there was no way that was going to happen. He’d already lost her for five years. He’d fight to his last breath before he let someone rip her away again — even if that person was a manipulative incorporeal world devourer with serious boundary issues.

Theron wasn’t stupid, he knew what this thing between them was — knew what the strange tightness in his chest really meant when she looked at him like he was the only person in the galaxy. He’d seen others around him fall prey to it time and time again, but he had always assumed it was one of those things that happened to other people. It had snuck up on him, slowly dragging him under the more time they spent together. He had almost said those three words to her, the ones he had never spoken nor heard ever in his life. They had been building up for months but kept catching in his throat at the last possible moment. It had been what he’d meant to say before she had gone off to face Arcann above Odessen, but came out as “be careful” instead. 

He had meant to try again, had wanted to find a private moment after their debrief so he could force the proper words out. Maybe then the tightness building in his chest would finally loosen up whenever he looked her way. But then Valkorion had returned—and the time for speaking openly and honestly had passed. If she didn’t feel she could express her feelings without fear of them being twisted on her, what would him sharing those words do other than make things that much worse? So he shoved them away, back to the farthest reaches of his mind. Because if he couldn’t say them aloud, then he had no right to even think them.

Whatever Valkorion had to say was apparently not drawn out, as her scowl soon smoothed back into a neutral expression. She let out a long breath, fingers began moving again, absently brushing through Theron’s hair, but her eyes remain fixed on some far point in the room.

“So what did the creepy lecherous Force ghost have to say this time?”

She didn’t startle exactly, but his question took her off guard as her expression slipped into mild apprehension, but she still didn’t meet his eye. “Do not worry about it.”

The tightness in his chest began building again, the real words and emotions he needed to say getting stuck in his throat like they always did. He could have let it go, but he found himself reaching up and laying a hand on her arm instead. “I worry.”

They weren’t the right words, his voice low and rough as he forced them out anyway. Her eyes squinted, forehead wrinkling as she tried to suppress her reaction. When she pressed her mouth into a thin line, he couldn’t help himself, and gave her arm a soft, supportive squeeze. That was apparently all it took to break her resolve as she leaned down and brushed her lips against his softly before lightly resting her forehead against his.

He didn’t have the Force, and he couldn’t project a sense of calm or support for her in return. All he could do was lean into her as much as his awkward, uncomfortable position allowed on the small cot, and keep his hold on her arm to let her know that he was there. It was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. For this small quiet moment, it seemed to be enough.

[fox-in-the-stars]

This manga knows how to sweet-talk me

One of the things I love about Akatsuki no Yona is that it seems like often, when I find myself afraid that some tired bullshit is about to happen, it somehow gets averted or mitigated.

My classic example is the time Yona tells Hak that she wants to protect him, and he tells her she shouldn't say something like that --- not because of toxic "the guy should be the protector and to reverse that threatens his masculinity" bullshit (which I was afraid of and primed to expect), but because it's distractingly hot when she does that.

Also there's a scene soon after Zeno joins up where he says to Hak that the dragon warriors are basically replaceable (Please don't poke there!  I have scars!  And people are not replaceable!), and Hak says that of course they're all irreplaceable.  (Sigh of relief...)

(Note, a weakness I have as a fic writer is that I don't really get Hak like I should or wish I did, but I have noted this as a character trait that you can rely on him to be awesome given setups like that.)

Then, at least twice now, some problematic villain-associated trope has come up, only to be met with a timely reminder that one of our heroes matches the same description.

I just re-read "Young Leaves in the Wind"*, and I didn't catch this one the first time, but when they get the intel that Yona was kidnapped by a large, dark-skinned man, I was like "Sure, of course she was."  So 9-year-old Hak finds someone who meets that description, grabs the suspect --- and finds that he grabbed Geun-tae.

The first time I twigged on it was in the Xing arc, when the dragon warriors have their run-in with Yotaka.  He starts the whole thing by grilling Kija about his beauty regimen and grousing when the answer is "nothing special," bringing up the old bullshit trope about goodness being associated with not just beauty but effortless beauty --- and then Jae-ha hands over his skin cream, reminding us that one of our heroes also puts a lot of effort into his appearance.  (So if anything along that line puts Yotaka in villain territory, it isn't vanity in itself but his readiness to resent a complete stranger over it, which seems fair enough.)

Nobody's perfect, mind.  The time the rare chubby, mature woman turned out to be evil --- yeah, I'm still salty about that one.  But very often this manga does know how to sweet-talk me.

*To combat my “canon-shy”-ness I've been trying to re-read a chapter of the manga every day and it's going well.  I've gotten in the habit of doing it in the evening before bed.

(crossposted from Dreamwidth)

[cutecats2017]

Apologies for the lengthy post, just want to make sure that I am documenting adequately: I have been with Healthy Paws since early 2013 for my first dog and have since added another dog to my policy. The dogs are still young, quite healthy, and have only been covered by Healthy Paws for the most routine and run-of-the-mill problems. I could afford deductibles and cover preventative care, including regular teeth cleanings at a low-cost clinic without problem. As such, I remained faithful in Healthy Paws's services to think I could afford caring for a cat, and I adopted a young sweet rescue in January of 2017, signing him up for insurance shortly thereafter. In late April of 2017, my cat Baxter (just celebrating his one year birthday) was diagnosed with a rare auto-immune disorder, juvenile-onset gingivostomatitis, which means his gums are allergic to what is otherwise ordinary plaque build-up on his teeth. This results in painful sores as well as inflammation throughout the body and other general symptoms like fatigue and low appetite. The doctor informed me that it was 'going to be a long road to treatment,' and despite the devastating news, I was confident that at least my sweet pet's costs would be covered. In early May I saw a dental specialist to discuss forms of treatment--there are usually two approaches, the first for extreme cases and the second for cases caught early: 1) full dental extractions to remove the source of allergic reaction (plaque) or 2) partial extractions, paired with home care (daily brushing, oral rinses, and water additives) AND regular (as in, every 3 months) professional dental cleanings. Having discussed Baxter's options, the specialist advised beginning with the less aggressive option. Young cats, especially, have been known to make a full recovery if owners are diligent with their treatments. Before agreeing to the second option, which will involve more costs but could potentially save his teeth and lead to a longer and better quality of life, I called Healthy Paws to double-check that Baxter would be covered and was assured that he would be. Because the roots of the condition are not well known, I also contacted my rescue to see if they had any information about Baxter's early life that could be illuminating and was told that his brother was just diagnosed with the same disease and that it was likely a mix of environmental and hereditary factors because they were both rescued under-nourished and in a squalid, hording home. This is where the problems started. When I received my statement of coverage post operation, it excluded dental cleanings which, when done with full service (and not by dental assistants as in low cost facilities), costs nearly 600 dollars. This means that I would be expected to shoulder this cost every few months on top of the deductibles for other components of his treatment. Had I known Healthy Paws would make this arbitrary exclusion, I would have delayed immediate treatment to consider several options, including 1) taking him for cleanings at a low-cost vet more regularly or 2) simply doing full mouth extractions. Assuming that Healthy Paws excluded Baxter from coverage for his teeth cleaning because they saw they item line but weren't aware that it should be included in treatment, I again contacted Healthy Paws. I was told I could have my vet submit additional paperwork explaining that Baxter's conditions necessitated cleanings as treatment, which I did. After several weeks of prodding, I finally received a very puzzling response: "Healthy Paws has done extensive research on gingivalstomatitis in cats in regards to treatment. According to many veterinary dental specialists including Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine states there is only 2 ways to treat gingivalstomatitis which include medical management and surgical management....Healthy Paws is able to cover any medications and / or extractions of the teeth however we are unable to extend coverage for any dental cleanings." They provided a link: http://ift.tt/2tXbuIB At this point, I was shocked because their example of "extensive research" was not a scientific article but a generalized and brief overview (indeed, the first that pops up on google search). I argued, then, that common sense would suggest that 'Medical management' which 'consists of using drugs to suppress the immune system' is only a reduction of inflammation, and does not target the source of the inflammation (plaque). Further, medical management is largely considered a supplement to, or more precisely, a component of cleaning and homecare. I assumed that the Cornell website did not include this aspect (cleaning/scaling) because it is exceedingly obvious and I am not over-exaggerating when I write that EVERY single subsequent website affirms that dental cleaning should be considered an essential aspect of treatment. To me the fact that they will cover medications and/or extractions means that they recognize the condition and that its causes are not merely dental hygiene but stem deeper, and the absence of coverage for dental cleaning was just a misunderstanding that needed clarification. In my response to Healthy Paws, I provided quotes and links to ten other sources, showing a clear and overwhelming consensus on dental cleaning as treatment: it is an essential first order response and, when combined with homecare and inflammation reducing medicine, has been known to reverse the condition, especially when concerning early diagnosis in a young cat. I then decided to reach out to the vet quoted in the Cornell webpage. Her response confirmed my suspicions: "I believe your insurance company needs to rely more heavily on published scientific literature rather than quotes from an article that was written years ago by a laymen. The quote above is true, but it is just a soundbite from a very complicated topic. Regular dental cleaning ARE a part of bacterial control for early or mild treatment of gingivostomatits. They are a tool in the armamentarium for treating this disease. Please feel free to forward this message to your insurance company." Having taken away their only source that excludes cleaning as a form of treatment, I then argued that the burden of proof rested with Health Paws to prove definitively that dental cleaning is NOT a form of treatment for stomatitis. After calling multiple times and asking for a follow up, I received an email on June 21st that I would hear back from a manager within a week. A month passed, and my subsequent emails went unanswered. I would call in and ask to speak to a manager to be told that they were working on my case and would call me within a day or two. They did not. In the meantime, I took Baxter to follow-up visits at the vet and was told that he is showing remarkable improvement (Baxter is so patient with his daily teeth brushings and scrubbings) and we agreed to hold off on a further decision on treatment until a response from the insurance. At this point, my vet was extremely frustrated with Healthy Paws as well. Only after threatening legal actions did I receive a response. Based on phone calls and emails from Healthy Paws, the operating assumption was that all forms of treatment for my cat's condition would be covered, as Healthy Paws 1) confirmed on the phone that he would be covered; 2) admitted evidence from my vet that cleaning is treatment; 3) responded by refuting this evidence with a (weak) counter-argument that dental cleaning is not a form of treatment. From my perspective, it is only after being unable to prove that cleaning is not treatment that Healthy Paws decided to backpedal on their previous approach and impose a blanket prohibition: "We do not cover dental cleaning for any policy holders as a form of treatment or preventative." The fact that this was only communicating AFTER lengthy exchanges indicates that they have not done 'extensive research' and that, seemingly, they are making up their policy as they go. Their actions go against the companies fundamental ethos and brand: 1) effective customer service and 2) transparency of coverage: "If your cat or kitten needs treatment for any accident or illness (except pre-existing conditions), you're covered. It's that simple. One Plan. Four Paws. All Covered™!" It is, apparently, not that simple. Healthy Paws is de facto pressuring me to pursue the most aggressive form of treatment (dental extractions) which goes against their claim to provide 'alternate treatment.' I understand, of course, that cleaning isn't alternate treatment in the sense of a chiropractic or acupuncture therapy, but this representation of their coverage indicates that they will not discriminate and self-select forms of legitimately recognized treatment. As their website says, "the perfect solution for one pet’s health, may or may not be the perfect solution for another. It depends completely on the situation and on the pet." All the documentation I provided confirms not only that regular dental cleaning is considered a legitimate form of treatment for stomatitis. Instead, they are now claiming that "It would be discrimination to cover the dental cleaning for Baxter and not for other pets." However, Healthy Paws would not be discriminatory in covering Baxter's treatment--rather, they are currently being discriminatory against animals with juvenile-onset gingivostomatits because their autoimmune disorder happens to manifest symptoms in their mouth. Healthy Paws needs to recognize that dental cleaning for animals with this condition, insofar as it removes what is ordinary plaque in order to overcome inflammation, does not serve the same function as dental cleaning for other animals and they should accept all forms of recognized treatment for this disease when provided proper documentation from a doctor. Attached are photographs documenting his improvement. This improvement, which has included increased activity, more regular eating, and beneficial weight gain, cannot be maintained without regular dental cleanings until all inflammation is gone. I am going for another check-up in two days and may have to opt for full dental extractions, despite his improvements. I will, however, continue the fight even if it will never benefit my dear Baxter so that other animals and their human companions don't have to go through this anxiety at the hands of Healthy Paws. If you have suffered similar treatment at the hands of Healthy Paws, please contact me. I am filing a complaint with the insurance commission and will be considering further legal action. http://ift.tt/2vlr2cF via /r/cats

[kenjakusbrainstem]

Flushed (Geto Suguru x Yuuta Okkotsu)

Contains: Omorashi, teacher/student relationship, AU.

HEAR ME OUT, I love this ship so much and I can't believe my AU for them has been condensed to a single paragraph in a piss fic. For real though I've always been anxious about posting this ship and I love them, hopefully this reaches the handful of other people that ship okkusugu. Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name, shared to twitter as kenjakusbrain. Comment or rb if you enjoy!

It had been a long day for Yuuta, what had started as early morning on-location training with Geto, had turned into an impromptu chase for a loose cursed spirit. They’d been out for hours, which wasn’t new to them as two Special Grade sorcerers, but the cursed spirit had kept them on their toes. As the sun started to set, they waited on the edge of a service road for an assistant to come pick them up.

They had been training together more ever since Yuuta’s second promotion to Special Grade, Gojo keeping more responsibility over the other students. Once he’d gained full control over Rika and begun using his own abilities, it was decided that Geto would train with Yuuta when he wasn’t teaching the 3rd year class. 

It was an arrangement the two of them would come to find quite comfortable. They had originally bonded over Yuuta’s trauma, Geto wanting nothing more than to reach out and help someone that was as lost as he had been during his youth. After months of working side by side, a strange relationship had formed between the two of them. 

Yuuta had first developed quite the crush on his mentor, fully taking to heart all the comfort that was offered before he realized that he was probably getting more comfort than Geto was meaning to give. Yuuta was no stranger to projecting his feelings onto others, and Geto was the first person since Rika that had made him feel so safe and appreciated. Just when he had decided to try and keep his emotions in check, an incident happened that caused Yuuta to act on his feelings. He couldn’t remember much, having blacked out for the majority of the event, but Yuuta vividly remembered Geto carrying him to the infirmary, waiting by his side while Shoko tended to the others that were unable to use Reverse Curse Technique. The memory of kissing Geto, and Geto kissing him back was burned into his mind. After that their relationship was something that the two of them knew needed to be kept quiet, though it was more of an open secret, as they spent the majority of their time together.

Working together was just another facet of their blossoming relationship, however strange it was. They relished in the feeling of having someone to fight side-by-side with that was on the same level, also in having someone to patch each other's wounds. It was like they had known one another forever and not just the few months Yuuta had been involved in Jujutsu Society.

One thing Yuuta hadn’t expected upon deepening his relationship with Geto, was how teasing the man was. He’d seen him interact with Gojo many times, but the way they teased one another wasn’t quite the same as the way Geto teased Yuuta. Geto very rarely pressed the physical boundaries of their relationship, choosing to allow Yuuta the ability to determine how fast or slow things went. 

Yet it seemed he found some kind of enjoyment in making Yuuta flustered. From an offhand comment in front of his classmates, to teasing him while he was away with Gojo, Geto loved to see Yuuta flushed. It didn’t help that Yuuta was so reactive, it didn’t take much effort from Geto to get a rise out of the teen.

Yuuta leaned against a tree near the road they waited on, actively chasing a curse all day had made him happy just to lean up against something. The car couldn’t get there soon enough as far as he was concerned. He watched as Geto checked his phone, arm outstretched closer to the road in an attempt to get more service. 

He’d dropped their location to a nearby assistant, but was hoping that he wouldn’t lose service while they waited. Yuuta wasn’t sure why he was so worried, as long as they didn’t go anywhere, he didn’t need the service. 

“How long was the wait again?” Yuuta asked, he hated to sound like he was whining, but he was a little embarrassed already. Crossing his legs as he stood he tried to focus on the swaying of Geto’s long hair as he walked about in front of him.

Pacing along the edge of the road, Geto turned his head to observe Yuuta. It was something he did often, trying to discern what he was thinking before Yuuta ever said anything. Yuuta reminded him so much of himself, if he wore his heart on his sleeve that is. They both put others before themselves, which Geto thought made for a good couple as they were always checking in on each other. He knew Yuuta didn’t like to complain, so that he’d asked again made Geto wonder if he had gotten injured.

“Should be about 15 more minutes if there aren't any delays. Is everything okay, Yuuta? You didn’t get hurt back there and not mention it again did you?” Geto asked, meeting Yuuta’s question with one of his own. Yuuta had hidden injuries before, to the point of passing out after missions with him on more than one occasion. Not that geto minded having to carry him, but it was scary to see someone he cared for pushed to exhaustion.

Glancing back at his phone, Geto noted that 15 minutes should be about right before he slipped it into the back pocket of his uniform as he walked over to the tree Yuuta had leaned up against.

Yuuta shook his head, he wasn’t injured but his bladder was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He was far too embarrassed to bring it up to Geto though, he could almost hear Geto’s voice in his ear telling him that it wouldn’t be much longer till they got back and he could go then.

Geto rested his forearm above Yuuta’s head on the tree, effectively trapping him against it. Geto loomed over the teen, their closeness forcing Yuuta to crane his neck up just to look into Geto’s eyes. The proximity made a light blush form on Yuuta’s cheeks, he was always flustered by just how small Geto made him feel.

“I’m okay, it’s just been a crazy day,” Yuuta said, trying to brush off any sense that he was uncomfortable. Looking into Geto’s eyes this closely made him feel weak in the knees, as if he already didn’t feel the need to squeeze his thighs together. Yuuta squirmed, pressing his back harder against the tree trunk as he tried to convince himself that he was alright more than he was trying to convince Geto.

Bringing a hand up to Yuuta’s chin, Geto tilted the teen’s face so that he was looking up with more than just his eyes. Geto leaned down, their lips only an inch apart now, breaths mingling causing the hair to stand up on the back of both their necks.

“Can I kiss you? We have some time to ourselves,” Geto whispered against Yuuta’s lips. While Yuuta was waiting to go to the bathroom, it seems Geto had been wanting something else. 

Instead of responding, Yuuta closed the gap between them. Their lips brushing in a series of soft kisses. Geto’s tongue sneaking out to trace the seam in Yuuta’s lips, asking for entrance but not pushing. Shyly, Yuuta opened his mouth just enough to brush his tongue against Geto’s. Yuuta had to push down the urge to shove his tongue into Geto’s mouth, he always enjoyed the way Geto let him kiss without abandon.

Yuuta didn’t want to get too carried away, no matter how good it felt he couldn’t fully focus with the pressure in his bladder. Squirming against Geto’s large body, Yuuta fought between the desire to kiss Geto harder and shy away.

Geto’s hand slowly slid down from Yuuta’s chin, fingers gently pressing into his chest on their way down to Yuuta’s abdomen. The touch remained a gentle caress until a shiver ran through Yuuta’s body. As if he could sense the reason for Yuuta’s constant squirming, Geto applied pressure to the teen’s stomach.

A sharp gasp left Yuuta’s lips as he bit down on the tongue in his mouth. The pain didn’t deter Geto, his palm keeping steady pressure and his tongue licking at the teen’s now closed lips.

“You’ve been squirming for the last hour, and you haven’t asked to go relieve yourself all day. Were you going to try and make it until we got back?” Geto said, voice teasing. This wasn’t the first time Yuuta had tried to hold his bladder for fear of inconveniencing those around him. It worked out well for Geto, who loved how embarrassed Yuuta got when he needed to go.

Yuuta shoved his head into the crook of Geto’s neck. His full bladder aching from the outside pressure, he could feel tears prick the corners of his eyes as he tried to keep from wetting himself. 

The hand that was on the tree above Yuuta now rubbed his back, stroking up and down his spine as he shivered in Geto’s arms. The soothing motion made tears fall from Yuuta’s eyes faster, wetting Geto’s sleeve.

“Yuuta, darling, you don’t have to keep everything inside, it’s okay to just let it go. You can make a mess and I’ll take care of it for you,” Geto whispered, his lips brushing up against Yuuta’s ear.

Geto pressed his hand harder into Yuuta’s stomach, wanting to see how quickly Yuuta would fall apart for him. This wasn’t something they did often, but there was something about how stressed Yuuta got that made Geto just want to take care of him.

Yuuta grasped at Geto’s hips, crossing his legs to try anything he could to keep his composure. Geto’s soft words made him want to let go, his bladder ached.

Just as Yuuta thought that it might be okay, that Geto might have a change of clothes stashed somewhere, he heard a familiar sound of a car approaching. It seemed Geto’s 15 minute estimation was wrong.

Geto’s hand quickly left Yuuta’s stomach, a flush forming on his own face at the realization that they’d almost been caught. Pressing a quick kiss to Yuuta’s cheek Geto pulled away, an apologetic look on his face. He wasn’t sure what had come over him so suddenly to try and tease Yuuta with so little time. 

“I’m sorry Yuuta, you can hold it for me, right?” Geto asked, wanting to give him the room to say no and disappear into the woods if need be. As cute as Yuuta looked when he was teased, Geto didn’t want to take advantage of their positions and take things too far.

Yuuta brought his hands to his face, wiping away as much evidence of his crying that he could. He realized Geto was asking him if he wanted to go now or to wait, even if the question didn’t seem like it. Yuuta didn’t hesitate to nod his head, however he wasn’t sure if it was his desire to please his partner or the fact that he enjoyed it when Geto teased him about his bladder.

The car stopped behind them, door quickly slamming as the sound of rushed shoes on gravel broke through their quiet moment. Geto turned around, his hand sneaking behind Yuuta to rest on the small of his back, urging him forward as they walked the few yards back toward the road.

Ijichi stood there, head bowed in apology as Geto opened the back passenger seat door for Yuuta to climb in. As he shut it, Geto walked over to Ijichi for a moment.

“I’m so sorry it took so long, I got here so quickly I fear I may have violated several traffic laws on the way,” Ijichi apologized, his words making a small laugh form in Geto’s throat. He’d always found the younger assistant very reliable, this was no exception even if he had some trouble locating them. 

Geto often felt bad for Ijichi but he really did appreciate the work all the assistants put in.

“Nonsense, we’re fine! Though it has been quite a long day and I know Yuuta isn’t feeling well. So if there is any way we could speed up the drive back that would be appreciated,” Geto said, he knew the odds of their being a quicker way back were slim, but he did still want what would be easier on Yuuta. It didn’t matter if he lied about how or why Yuuta wasn’t feeling well, it wasn’t like Ijichi needed to know exactly what was going on.

Nodding in understanding, Ijichi quickly made his way back to the driver’s side door, Geto following behind him to get into the backseat with Yuuta. 

Before Geto even had a chance to put on his seatbelt, Yuuta was glued to his side. The teen sitting in the middle seat with his sword sitting upright in the seat next to him. It wasn’t uncommon for Yuuta to choose the seat next to him even if it made sense for him to be elsewhere, especially since the kiss they shared moved their relationship forward, but this was noticeably different. 

Geto reached in between them, bucking himself in before situating himself in the already moving vehicle. It seemed Ijichi had taken him seriously about returning quickly. Stretching his arm out, Geto situated himself so that his arm was now draped over Yuuta’s shoulder, the teen pressed up against his side with his head resting on Geto’s chest.

It was a normal position for them, especially when Yuuta was stressed about something or just needed some time to rest. Not usually something others would see though, Geto thought as he looked in the rearview mirror to see if Ijichi was watching them. To his pleasant surprise, he saw that the mirror was facing the other side of the backseat, it was turned much further than usual. 

The thought of being so close to Yuuta after teasing him so much made Geto want to try again. He knew Yuuta would try his best to stay quiet, and he couldn’t help but want to see that adorable flushed face looking back up at him.

The arm around Yuuta’s shoulders held him tightly against his body, while Geto’s other arm sneakily crept onto Yuuta’s stomach. Geto could feel him squirming already, likely fully aware of the situation he’d gotten himself into by cozying up to Geto.

The pressure Geto applied was much lighter than when they had been alone, but it was more than enough for Yuuta. A barely audible whine left the teen’s throat, Geto only able to hear it because Yuuta was pressed so tightly against him. 

Yuuta’s bladder wouldn’t be able to take more direct attention, it was already achingly full. It also didn’t help how worked up he was from having Geto’s hands all over him, Yuuta was sure that if he wasn’t so focused on not wetting himself, he would be begging Geto to touch his cock. 

Squeezing his thighs together again Yuuta tried to think of anything other than the way Geto’s fingers felt pressing into his bladder. He gripped Geto’s thigh hard, trying to communicate how difficult this was without saying anything.

Geto’s hand on his stomach applied more pressure, now moving in small circles as if he were trying to soothe the full organ. It was anything other than soothing, Yuuta’s nails digging into Geto’s leg while tears sprung up in his eyes once more. He knew he was going to have to stop the car soon, looking out the window he could tell that despite Ijichi’s quick driving they still hadn’t made it too far from the woods they’d been picked up in.

Looking up, Yuuta wasn’t surprised to see Geto’s face so close and so intently watching him. The hungry look in Geto’s eyes told him that the moment they were alone he’d be kissed within an inch of his life.

A bump in the road brought them both out of their lustful stupor, the force causing Geto’s fingers to jam further into Yuuta’s bladder than he intended. Yuuta felt the dam crack within himself, a small wet spot forming on his pants as some piss dribbled out unintentionally.

“C-can we pull over?” Yuuta asked quietly before he could even stop to think about it. His question hadn’t been directed at Ijichi, but at Geto. His face flushed from embarrassment and lust, tears now fully falling from his eyes. 

Geto blinked a few times, frozen by the breathtakingly adorable sight before him. Then he realized Yuuta actually couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Ijichi, stop the car. Yuuta needs to use the restroom,” Geto said, his voice loud and stern, leaving no room for questions.

Ijichi jumped, before pulling over on the side of the road. It wasn’t like Geto to be so commanding of him, he wasn’t as rude as Gojo. Fortunately, while they had made it back to the highway, they were still on a long stretch of forested road.

“We will be right back,” Geto assured the shocked assistant as he opened his door as soon as they stopped, dragging Yuuta out his side of the car.

The two sorcerers quickly disappeared behind the thick foliage, Geto wasting no time pushing Yuuta up against a tree before pressing a deep kiss to his trembling lips. Yuuta couldn’t wait, he didn’t need any more teasing, as Geto’s lips touched his he felt the dam inside him break and a warm stream trickle down his leg. 

Yuuta kissed Geto back, pressing his tongue into Geto’s mouth as he tried to feel some kind of control in this situation. Geto let Yuuta dominate the kiss, his hands firmly on Yuuta’s hips trying to keep the teen from trembling so much. 

As Geto pulled away, Yuuta’s trembling started to subside. He looked up at Geto, a shy smile on his face before he realized that he was going to have to get back in the car.

“Don’t worry, I have a change of clothes for you. I wouldn’t embarrass you like that especially when I know you tried so hard to hold it in for me,” Geto reassured him as soon as he saw the panicked look set in on Yuuta’s face. Pressing a kiss to his cheek as he summoned the inventory curse to obtain the bag with spare clothing. “No one will even be able to tell anything happened.”