#tw: panic attack and child injury | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toast-on-dandelioms · 3 months

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🕷️Just Another Neglected Story🕷️

[previous] - Part 4.1 - [next]

Any names that you find familiar, in this part, were taken (with permission) from the fanart made by @the-broken-truth, while some changes like description of what's happening were made by me then modified by my beta reader, my bbg, Jamie.

tw: Joker, angst/no comfort, small description of injuries, small description/mention of a panic attack (I am unsure if it was that, please tell me if I am wrong).

Weeks passed with you still being Spider and a 'normal' teenager at the same time. But some changes and new things happened in these weeks.

You got visited by Superman almost daily, or nightly since he always visited when you were patrolling at night. You never questioned how he knew where to find you, you didn't want to think about it and just let him follow you during your nightly patrols.

He also helped you train while using all of your strength because you usually held back in fear of hurting people, so his tips helped a lot considering that he also had the same problem before.

Furthermore, now that you started to help with small problems around Gotham, like small thefts and gang problems, those problems started to slowly stop, giving you more time to train with Superman and help around the community.

You still didn't join the Bats or even the Justice League whenever Superman tried to propose it, you just didn't want to fight big shots like Joker or other super villains.

You liked doing small things and loved seeing the change it brought from you helping.

Just defeating super villains won't reward you with a pie from the nice old lady after helping her move her things in the apartment and give her groceries if she can't go to the supermarket, or getting drawings of little kids after you help them go home safely.

You also scored candies whenever the moms had them, which made you incredibly happy because they always had the candies you loved.

So you were happy, especially since Alfred never mentioned your breakdown after that night and kept on the usual routine of leaving your food on the desk in your room so you wouldn't have to come down to the kitchen.

You did notice him acting a bit weird but you pushed those thoughts aside since you didn't really notice anything weird happening around the Manor so you thought he was just nervous for something Bruce did.

You gave him too much trust and sooner than later you will regret doing that.

But something did change around the Manor, you just didn't notice because you started to walk on the ceiling, without shoes or Alfred would kill you, to avoid annoying encounters with anyone in the house, even if listening to music while on the ceiling was a bit difficult but you’re managing.

Well, Alfred knew that if he walked to Bruce and told him about you and what you felt he would've been ignored, especially since Bruce barely remembers that you even exist in the Manor and that you're a member of the family.

And even if Bruce did remember that you exist he would be annoyed, especially since he clearly hated your mother and was only paying the child support because he had to, especially since your mother threatened to take him to court if he wouldn't pay when he first got the news.

Talking to any of the batkids would've also been useless, because he also knew that no one in the Manor remembers you, especially now that you could walk on walls no one could even see you.

He couldn't count how many times he almost got a heart attack whenever he could see you on the ceiling, just hanging out or doing your homework, even though he still didn't understand how you could work without gravity making everything fall.

So he decided to do it in small steps, starting with leaving photos of you around the house in places where everyone sees them.

He put almost every picture that he owns of you, like you at a dance recital as the lead dancer or you at a science fair to which you won first place with an invention of yours.

One thing Alfred knew by putting your photos was that every person would notice how in all your photos you were alone and how your face never showed any emotion.

He knew it was small but he couldn't wait anymore, he needed to take action now or before you decided to leave for the Kent family, he couldn't let you go after he heard you talk about Clark and Conner while he made food in the kitchen.

He just hoped it wasn't too late for you, especially with your break down. He hoped you could still let someone in after all these years of being alone.

He did try his best but he was only a butler and he couldn't change someone's view of another person if that view was filled with hatred.

And you never noticed thanks to your walking on the ceiling or walls, moreover, you couldn't care less if they actually noticed you now. You were finally moving on and having a new start thanks to Spider.

But now it's not the time to think of Alfred's attempt of getting you acknowledged by the family, you were getting busier thanks to all the work as Spider, school and also dance classes.

You also kept on using yourself as a test subject, just to check the process of the spider DNA that's now in your DNA and seeing if anything changed or you had some mysterious new powers, taking videos to record the process of your evolution with the now Spider DNA in your body.

One thing you acquired after a while was invisibility, or camouflage as you called it since invisibility sounded magical and you didn't want it to sound like you were a kid.

How you found out you could use it was not a good experience.

You were in the kitchen with Alfred, just hanging out with him while he cooked when Damian suddenly entered the room to ask Alfred for some food for a new pet that he adopted.

In your panic at the sheer thought of Damian seeing you and hurting you like he did in the past made you freeze up, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes that he would just disappear from existence. Praying to every god you could recall that Damian wouldn't find you, you tried to not breathe too loudly so he wouldn’t hear you.

After a few minutes of paranoia passed and you didn't hear anything around you, you slowly opened your eyes and saw Damian still waiting for Alfred to give him the food for a cat he adopted and completely ignoring you.

You were still scared he would see you so you stayed silent and waited patiently, albeit apprehensively, for him to go away before actually making a sound, which was a loud sigh of restrained relief as air poured back into your lungs. Somehow you hadn't noticed that you'd been holding your breath the whole time. Strange.

You slowly got down from the counter you were sitting on and walked up to Alfred, confused as to why the old man wasn't looking at you and instead was looking at the ceiling before softly calling out his name.

You got even more confused and slightly worried when he got scared since you were standing right in front of him but he, for some reason, couldn't see you.

After a bit of Alfred trying to explain that he couldn't actually see you and you not understanding why, you finally managed to make yourself visible.

You quickly went to work at the corporation to take a few tests to see what happened and didn't see anything with those tests but after a few days of trying to understand what happened and how you could make it happen again, you managed to go invisible on command.

It took a bit but you managed to do it, which got extremely useful to sneak into the kitchen when you need to get some snacks in the middle of the night so that Alfred doesn't catch you on the wall eating chips at 3 am.

Plus thanks to that time you found out that your eyes glow in the dark, which was a bit weird since the spider that bit you wasn't a bioluminescent one but you figured it was your own DNA that changed some things.

In the time following that discovery and training with Clark, you slowly started to join him in solo missions for the Justice League, but made sure to tell him that you didn't want to partner up with another person except him.

And you made sure that he knew you weren't an official member of the Justice League or of the Young Justice League, you just joined him so you wouldn't get rusty since Gotham is still filled with crime but fighting with teens or men who just swing a crowbar or knife is not really challenging.

You didn't want anyone except Clark to join those solo missions, not because you were scared of hurting another person since you learned to control your strength thanks to him and got pretty good with your spider senses.

You just hated being around people you didn't know or trust, especially if they were a member of the Wayne family, you absolutely detested them.

You refused to look at them and especially talk to them even though you had the voice modulator.

One of the many reasons you used the voice modulator was to not get recognised but also because you hated your own voice and the voice modulator helped when talking to lost kids or just kids in general.

You never told anyone why you hate your voice, you just refused to talk one day and learned asl to communicate with people and also used notes if people didn't know asl.

The mask was like a hearing aid, it changed your voice and helped you use it more so you could talk sometimes.

As time passed, the birdies (basically all of Bruce's kids, you just called them all bird to show how much you didn't care about them) kept on trying to talk to you and showing up where you were when you were patrolling.

You had a list of most annoying to less annoying since you couldn't really do much about them, especially since Clark forbade you to throw another one of them off a roof if they got too close to your liking or just breathed wrong.

They never sustained grave injuries since you always threw them to another building or a dumpster, or to Superman if he was around.

Most of the time in a dumpster to make yourself smile since you would take a photo then swing away before they could do anything, but they started to pose whenever you would take a photo, making you annoyed and ruining your fun.

The most annoying was Dick, with how persistent he was even if he was stuck on a wall thanks to your webs when he got too close or made you uncomfortable by continuing to call you nicknames that he would use with Damian and Tim.

You hated how he would just laugh and call you his little sibling, especially since he would never call you that if you didn't have a mask on and you felt that it was unfair that he suddenly cared about you just because of the mask.

It made you feel like you were getting ignored and forgotten once again but this time to a version of you that he likes while the one behind the mask is always getting ignored.

Just like at the Manor, the real you will never be appreciated and accepted with love.

The second most annoying in the list is Tim, it was gonna be Damian but Tim took second place with how creepy he is around you and how he knows too much of what you do.

Like, you knew he's the one who knows everything about every hero and villain since you saw him work on the bat-computer while you were stealing a few grappling hooks for your web shooters since they broke. (You were invisible and you got lucky that Cassandra wasn't there or she would've found you immediately.)

But seeing him open a folder and watching how many videos and photos he has of you in the bat-computer, like when you were fighting some gang members or when you were helping some nice old lady crossing the street.

If anyone else showed you their collection of you doing badass or just normal stuff while you were a vigilante then you would've felt impressed and very honored because you never thought someone would actually go out their way to be a fan of you.

But seeing Tim, someone you still had some respect for, having so many files, especially from when you first started and hit so many walls while swinging around made you weirded out and somehow violated, especially with how concentrated he was while staring at the videos.

Seeing that folder and all the information he had on you made you lose all the respect you still had for the boy.

Another thing he did was that, whenever you met him while patrolling or eating a few hot dogs with your favorite guy, he would always talk of things you did like he was there and creeped you out so much that you had to restrain yourself from throwing him off a roof or wherever you two were.

Most of the time you just tased him and went your way, paying the hotdog guy a little extra so he wouldn't stop selling you hot dogs.

You're also starting to think that hot dog guy is using you for the tips since you always tip him 50$ or more to stay silent and let you grab more hot dogs from him.

Third annoying but still so annoying that you want to punch his face is Damian. Mostly because he treats you like you're his older sibling.

Like he respects you and looks up to you. But you knew it was because of the mask since you also knew that if you ever took off the mask in front of him he would try to kill you.

You have to be supervised by Clark and even Jon since your only solution to get rid of Damian when he’s around you is throwing him off a roof without worrying about not using your super strength.

You hated the kid and didn't really hide it but he never said anything about it since he thought you two were bonding and you acting like you hate him is normal.

You wanted to tase him when he dared to call you his older sibling in Arabic, hating the look on his face that had so much adoration and admiration for you since it actually made him look like a normal teen.

(You learned some Arabic to get close to Damian when you found out where he was from when you were young)

Like he didn't create so many scars on your arms and legs with his sword and those batarangs. Like he didn’t make you so afraid of the Manor that Alfred had to assure you that he wouldn’t hurt you or you would get a panic attack by getting near the Manor.

Least annoying but still annoying is Jason Todd. You hate that mask he wears because you can't see his face and know what he’s really thinking about, and especially how he acts like you two are two old friends who meet up everyday.

You hate how he pats you on the head when you're distracted, since the spider sense doesn't really deem him a threat for you, and manages to evade your attempts to kick him away or throw him off a roof, laughing whenever you try to do so.

Like you two were just playing and you weren't angry at him and wanting to throw something at him but couldn't.

So your one solution was ignoring him and walking to the side of the building so he wouldn't reach you since he couldn't walk on walls like you.

Which did make you smug whenever he complained about it on the roof of the same building, finding it funny when he acted all offended when he understood you were smug by how you were acting even if your mask didn’t show your face.

Yea you and Jason did get along sometimes, most of the time if you were having a nice day and if he was the first one you would meet of the birds.

You had a decent relationship with Jason, yes you did have fun sometimes but you wouldn't call him a friend or even your brother.

Plus you never forgot about the years he would ignore you and especially when he punched you in the eye and didn't even apologize decently.

Or how he would complain about how terrible of a father Bruce is, or how annoying Dick is to anyone else while you would just stand there, completely ignored since he was probably talking to someone else or to himself.

And acted like he was the only one who's life was 'ruined' when Bruce got in his life when he's still loved even after everything he's done.

Even though he's still remembered every Christmas and given big gifts that means that the person who bought them thought of him, and birthday while no one even remembered you had a birthday and you always celebrated it with a cupcake or some friends.

So you preferred to ignore him or you would punch his skull if he tried to complain one more time about Batman and his death.

Not like Cassandra, Duke and Stephanie were any better.

Cassandra was annoying because of how silent she was. You always managed to see her but you knew she wanted you to see her.

Plus, 'hanging out' with her was just you doing your usual stuff while she followed since you couldn't push her away like the others.

And fighting wasn't in the option since she could kick your ass with just a hand and without moving, so you just ignored her, even though your spider sense was always going crazy when she was around since she was a walking threat.

Even five minutes with her would give you the worst headaches that you had to ask her to stand very far or you wouldn't be able to even walk around without wanting to puke.

You hated her because she was taken in by Bruce like you but instead of being hated because of her upbringing, she got accepted with open arms and he always loved her.

What did she have that you didn't?! Why does she get all the attention and love you always wished for while you're getting forgotten and hated?!

You saw her getting accepted, getting all the love you always wished for, seeing your father going to her dance recitals while he didn't even bother to even acknowledge that you do the same sport as her but in a different and smaller dance studio since you couldn't afford to go to the one Cassandra goes because of how expensive even one lesson was.

Stephanie was another person you hated. You knew of her past, you used the bat-computer whenever no one was in the batcave when you managed to control the invisibility.

You knew about what her dad did. You understood her reasoning to become a vigilante. You didn't hate her for her past, god you didn't even care who her father was.

You just hated her because of how loved she was by everyone. She was like Cassandra but once again, all the love was going towards the two and it never even touched you.

You did try to bond with her when you arrived at the Manor but she did look like she wanted to be everywhere but not with you.

Even when you only talked about things you knew she loved, it still wasn't enough for her. She still avoided you and preferred to spend time with either Barbara, Dick or Tim.

And after a bit you gave up and let her live her life without you in her way since she clearly didn't care about you.

The worst part was that everyone prefers Spider than you, since she also keeps trying to hang out with you when you're patrolling or spending time with kids and teens.

Or getting beat during a game of basketball since you sucked at that game and the teens you played with would tease you which made you laugh since you liked spending time with people the same age as you.

But it would be ruined when she would show up, wanting to play too even though she would just play with you and make it obvious she wanted to make you win.

Which ruined the game entirely for you and always made you leave after a bit with the excuse of being busy as a vigilante, which made the teens and also Stephanie confused.

Duke was the only one of them that you knew tried to hang out with you when you weren't Spider. That's why he was one of the ones you hang out with most if he came to see you while you were patrolling.

He came when you were almost 15, you didn't remember how old you were but you knew he was one of the ones who actually paid attention to you.

But after a while, all his duties as Signal, as a high schooler and as one of Bruce's kids made him too busy for him to spend time with you, to which he explained whenever he was late for something you two planned to do.

And you understood, you cheered for him from the back and always smiled at him whenever he was with you as Signal, even if he couldn't see it. And he did tell you the best places to get food during patrols so you liked him for that, but you remained loyal to the hot dog guy.

But then there was Bruce, acting like he was the savior from his kids that kept annoying you even though he wasn't any better than any of his kids, he was one of the worst in terms of how annoying he was.

He was starting to compete with Dick for the first spot on your list, which you didn't like since you just wanted to be alone, or with Duke and Jason.

Like he would keep on calling you kid and other nicknames you heard him give to his sons over the years, which made you sick because it reminded you of when you were little and that your biggest wish was to also get a nickname like your brothers and sisters and spend time with him as your father even if he never paid any actual attention to you.

But what you hated most was how he always smiled softly at you, even when you tried to kick him away and he would just grab your ankle like it was nothing, like you were his favorite child. Like he didn't tell you that he would never be a father to you when you gave him a father's day card when you were 12 and trying to bond with him.

Looking at you with so much love and adoration, making you disgusted since he was the same man who once looked at you with disgust and hatred just for entering his office because you needed his signature for something.

The same man who clearly told you to not expect him to treat you like his child since you weren't. You were just an annoying kid who had to come to his house since no one else wanted to take you in.

You wanted to puke whenever he looked with love, refusing to forget about everything he did just because you were a child of someone he hated.

You understood why Bruce hated your mother, you couldn't force everyone to like what you like, but you still didn't understand why he had to ruin your life by keeping you with him.

He could have sent you to a foster home, he could have sent you to boarding school all your life so he could never see the face of the one he hates. But he didn't.

No, he decided to accept you in his home and ruined your life, making you miserable by keeping you there and then basically neglecting you and forgetting you even exist.

You wanted to puke whenever he looked at you with love when you were Spider, you had to take so many showers and had to scrub your skin so hard it turned red by how hard you tried to wash away his touch whenever he managed to actually touch you on either the shoulders or head.

You found comfort in Clark since he never forced you to interact with the Robins and Batman and understood why you hated them since you explained to him who you were but didn't tell him everything.

He did annoy you whenever he tried to suggest you to come with him to Metropolis even after you explained that you couldn't just move to another city right in the middle of the school year.

Moreover you were still a minor and you would need Bruce's consent, which you refused to ask since you refused to acknowledge that he was supposed to be your legal guardian.

Plus you always had fun with his kids when they were around since they would throw you in the air and catch you, making you laugh like crazy since their throw was like making you fly for like 2 minutes before catching you.

Conner was more fun to be around because he understood what you were going through since he also had problems with Superman when the kryptonian refused to accept the clone as his son.

Plus he always made the best jokes and made you laugh whenever you would have a bad day after seeing your legal guardian and his kids having a fun outing together while you were at the Manor since they didn't even remember you existed.

Or when you had a bad dance practice and almost destroyed your pointe shoes with your strength because you thought you weren't good enough to be a ballet dancer which spiraled to thinking that because of you not being good at dancing then you weren't good enough to be recognised by your legal guardian and his family.

He was more like an older brother than Dick, Jason and Tim ever were for you. And you didn't even care, you loved him as a brother and loved hanging out with him.

Jon was nice but he was also friends with Damian and you didn't really spend that much time with him because of that. You were scared Damian would be with him and you didn't want to see the evil spawn.

But the times you did hang out with him were nice, he always brought cake that his grandparents made and shared it with you while you listened to him talk about whatever he wanted.

He was fun and very nice but you weren't used to hanging around a small teen who actually wanted to be with you and actively seeked you out for your attention.

You were more used to a small teen who would glare at you and attack you if you dared do anything, even just breathing in his direction, the scars on your arms and back proved that.

But you never said anything to Jon about what his best friend did to you, you didn't want Jon to feel like he had to choose between two sides.

And you knew he would choose Damian's side, no one ever chose your side. You knew no one would even dare to be by your side.

Well after a while of going to missions with Clark and him letting you do most of the work as training with his close by to make sure you wouldn't get hurt, you were finally going on a relatively simple mission with Conner and unfortunately with Jason.

You knew Conner didn't want him there but he probably got Batman to convince Clark and him, so you didn't say anything to him about Jason being there and just stayed by his side while you were in the small ship.

The whole ride was spent in silence, only stopped whenever Conner would check the coordinates or by the sound of you fixing the web shooters to make sure they wouldn't go haywire when you were fighting.

You finally landed in the spot where you were supposed to start your mission, near the villain's lair, if you could call it that since it was an unused bunker a group of cultists found and are now living there, which made you get down eagerly since you wanted to finally do a mission without Clark's supervision.

But your excitement immediately died when you saw Stephanie waiting for you there, making you let out a loud string of curses.

And yes, you did ignore the message on your phone from Clark that said 'language' and just walked past Stephanie and Jason, just wanting to get the mission done and go home with Conner.

Plus he did promise you his grandmother's best pie if you finished the mission and you could not pass up the opportunity of getting another slice of that delicious pie.

As you walked up to the lair with Conner, you patted him on the back before standing in front of the door as Stephanie tried to open it by picking the lock. You waited exactly 10 seconds for Stephanie to unlock the door before pushing her away, kicking the door down with your strength since she was taking too long for your liking.

You didn't even care if they were watching, you just glared at them all in silence for a few seconds before they were able to hear you say.

"Stay here and you two don't follow me, Conner don't try anything or I will tell Clark"

Then, right in front of them you became invisible before walking off, the only sound they could hear were of your sneakers walking down the metallic stairs.

(Switch Pov to Stephanie)

Stephanie knew she wasn't the best person. She knew of her father's evil doings and she knew she wasn't the best Robin or the best vigilante.

But when she saw Spider, she thought that they were perfect. They were always helping people and never too busy for everyone.

She, at first, didn't even know who Spider is because of how busy she was with her life and her vigilante job. But when she saw Tim researching them, she was amazed.

She knew there were other vigilantes in the city, it was a big city but she didn't know about a vigilante who didn't fight big villains like the others.

She saw Spider helping old ladies, stopping small gangs from forming by helping the teens and just being an image for the people to rely on.

She knew Bruce stopped high grade villains like Joker or others but Spider, Spider was different.

They didn't fight Joker, no they just fought the criminals who would bother people that couldn't do anything to stop them.

She admired the vigilante and wanted to be friends with them, maybe one day she could convince them to join her and her family at the Manor.

But what she didn't understand even though she craved to know was why they hated her. Why they hated her and the rest of her family.

She tried so much, she craved their validation so much that she trained so hard and tried so many times to interact with them.

But she would keep on getting ignored or she wouldn't be able to follow them by the speed of them swinging or when they walk on walls to avoid her.

She cried so many nights at the thought of her idol, the one person she wanted, no craved validation would hate her so much when she can't even remember or know why they hate her so much.

But when she heard of Jason joining Spider for their first mission, she was so jealous that she used the bat-computer to check where Spider's mission was supposed to be and followed them in another ship.

She wanted to show to her idol how brave she was, so maybe they will praise her and laugh like when they're with Conner, Clark and Jon.

Plus she wanted to wipe Jason's smirk off his face since he kept on bragging about going to a mission with Spider for days and how he was the favorite since compared to the rest of them, he was the one who Spider stayed the longest before leaving or throwing him off the roof.

But all her excitement and hope died the minute she heard Spider curse when they saw her, her head slowly lowering as she tried not to cry.

And when Spider told them to stay there, god she wanted to protest but strangely Jason held her back and just told her to hack in the security system to watch Spider with the cameras.

She didn't understand why she couldn't follow Spider to help them but did as Jason told her to, watching all the cameras with him and seeing henchmen getting knocked out or tased by Spider even though they weren't visible.

Plus she found it hilarious when a goon got knocked out by a flying metal tray and the others just stood there confused before also getting knocked out by a taser or a punch then getting tied up on a wall or floor.

As she watched the security feed, she noticed that Spider entered the boss's sanctuary, filled with small and useless artifacts that the Justice League used to trace the villain so they could capture him and stop him before he tried to grow his cult or summon some demon.

She kept watching and trying to find a camera inside the sanctuary, starting to get annoyed and also panicking a little because if she couldn't see anything in the sanctuary then she couldn't call for backup if something went wrong, especially by how far Spider was, and even if they were going to help them, it would take too long.

She kept on switching cameras and trying to hack into anything that was electronic, getting more frustrated as time passed since she could see the villain approaching the sanctuary with someone next to him, making her confused since he wasn't supposed to have partners that helped him.

She managed to switch a camera in time to see Joker next to the villain, the blood in her face draining as she stared at the clown on her screen in silence, her eyes wide like bugs and no sound could be heard from all three of the teens.

She went back to where Spider was and noticed a camera was on, to which Stephanie immediately tried to warn them by moving the camera a bit but it was too late and both villains entered the sanctuary and closed the door so Spider wouldn't be able to leave without getting noticed by the cultist and the clown.

She watched the feed without moving any part of her body in terror that if she even moved then the two villains would notice Spider and do something horrible to them.

She gasped when she saw Joker suddenly pulling out a gun and pointing it at where Spider was supposed to be, not managing to hear what he was saying since the cameras were old and didn't register any sounds, plus his psycho-smile made it difficult for her to read his lips so she couldn't even use that to her advantage.

As Stephanie kept watching, not noticing that she was holding her breath by how focused she was on Joker then cursed loudly when she saw the screen turn black, throwing the tablet in anger as she got up, making signs for Jason and Conner to follow as she ran into the lair.

She quickly jumped over any henchmen on the ground, needing to get to Spider immediately and save them.

She had to help. She had to stop that psychopath from hurting them. She needed to protect them.

As she ran, her vision was starting to get blurry by the tears threatening to fall as she ran. As she ran, she suddenly got blocked by the metal door that was blocking her from saving Spider.

She immediately called Conner, wanting to use his strength to open the door but unfortunately he couldn't even throw a decent punch that could leave a dent on it.

Even after a few tries Conner didn't do anything so she started to try to open it by using the panel next to the door, her frustration already growing by how useless he was.

So Stephanie sent Conner outside to call Superman and Batman while she and Jason tried to open the door as they waited for the two heroes to arrive.

As the three of them waited for Batman and Superman to come, Jason and Stephanie saw something coming out the door that made their blood cold.

Some form of gas kept on coming out the door and the only thing they were able to hear were some noises of something or someone getting hit and coughing.

Stephanie did smell the gas, trying to pinpoint what the gas was but she couldn't recognise it since the only thing she could detect was that it had a sweet smell, which was nothing like all the gasses she ever smelled before.

The only thing she knew is that the gas wasn't the usual gas Joker uses on his victims since she wasn't laughing or having a maniacal smile but she still couldn't pinpoint what the gas was.

Stephanie stayed silent, trying not to show how terrified she was while Jason was trying to kick down the door while yelling curses directed at Joker.

Conner was outside the lair to use the ship and communicate with Batman and Superman, knowing they were both on different missions and he couldn't fly to both of them to ask for help, especially since he found out that he couldn't even fly, making him even more desperate for them to come.

As they waited Stephanie tried to make Jason stop punching the door when she saw his knuckles bleed, not wanting another one of her siblings get hurt because of her incompetence before looking at the door.

The blood drained from her face, her knees giving up on her and making her fall to the ground as she heard a scream, the cold metal floor the only thing she could feel at the moment.

She knew the scream couldn't be of Joker. He heard him yell before and this scream wasn't his. She hoped for every god as she tried to hack the panel of the door, even though she already tried before, with a bit of difficulty, her vision starting to blur as tears started to fall and her hands trembling as she was trying to ignore the multiple screams she kept hearing.

She couldn't let Spider get hurt, she should've been there to help them. They didn't deserve the pain and hurt she and almost all of the Robins went through because of Joker.

She stopped when she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder, the realization that she was just messing up the wires and making it even more difficult for the door to be opened when she looked at her hands tangled in between the wires.

She looked up at the man and visibly relaxed, completely giving out on the floor as Jason helped her by cutting the wires tangled in her hands while Batman examined what was happening as Conner explained what he knew, Superman next to him and waiting for Batman to give orders since he knew that if he acted irrationally then Spider would be in danger.

(Switch to Bruce's POV)

Bruce knew he wasn't a good person and a hero like Clark and Diana, that's why he called himself a vigilante since heroes save people and stop criminals but he couldn't save everyone.

Sometimes he was too late and he couldn't save someone innocent that unfortunately crossed ways with a villain or a gang.

Another thing Bruce knew was that he wasn't the best father because he let his kids get hurt by going on patrols with him as a vigilante, not thinking about what could happen to them if they fought someone too strong or if he suddenly decided to make them stop being a vigilante by saying that it was to protect them, which made everyone sneak out to be a vigilante.

He had to bury his children too early because of vigilantism and couldn't help his son when he was being trained by the League of Assassins.

But when he saw Spider for the first time, seeing a child that looked no older than 14, maybe 15, made him think that maybe, maybe he could help this one become the best version of themselves.

And if he was good enough, he could be a father again and get another child saved from the darkness and evil that surrounds Gotham.

Even if the only evil Spider saw was him and his family.

One thing he hated was that he couldn't understand why Spider absolutely loathed him and everyone of the vigilantes who live or have lived under his roof.

He couldn't understand why and even after checking every mission he ever did that included helping kids/teens in Gotham, nothing gave him a lead as to why Spider hated him.

And the worst thing was that Spider decided, out of all the heroes and vigilantes in the world, and especially in the Justice League, to trust and get close to Clark.

To Clark! His enemy! He was supposed to be the one teaching Spider to control their strength! He was supposed to be the one laughing with them while eating hot dogs and sharing funny stories of stupid people they say during patrol.

(He knows about it thanks to a small camera he put on Clark’s costume after he found out that he and Spider got close)

He didn't trust letting them go on a mission even if Clark told him that they could and that they were ready.

He thought it was too early and that they weren't trained to fight villains like he and the others fight everyday, especially with Conner since he wasn't perfectly trained so he managed to convince Clark, with much manipulation and guilt tripping, to let Jason come with them if there was trouble.

He didn't know Stephanie would also be there, especially since he didn't talk about it in the batcave about the mission but he already guessed that Jason bragged about going so she also went to also see her idol, knowing about her obsession with Spider to which he didn't say anything but encourage it with his own obsession towards the arachnid vigilante.

Not that he minded, two of his kids were better than none and Spider needed all the protection necessary even if the mission was one of the easiest possible. Especially since he chose it as a way to make sure Spider wouldn't be in actual danger.

But the moment he got a message from Conner explaining that Spider was in danger because of Joker, someone who wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, made his world crumble as he ran to where his jet was, needing to get there as soon as possible.

He couldn't let another person, no he couldn't let Spider get hurt or worse, killed, by the clown bastard.

He needed to save them, he needed to stop that fucking clown and he couldn't let Clark beat him to it. He knew that if he was the first one to save them, to help them then they would trust him more.

He couldn't lose that huge advantage to Clark or it would be impossible to even be able to get Spider to trust him or any of his kids. Which was already difficult but he saw them being more comfortable with Duke and Jason.

He arrived almost 3 seconds before Clark did, even though the kryptonian made his presence known since he made a crater at his landing and looked extremely infuriated as he walked towards Conner.

Bruce was already next to the boy and listening to his explanation on what happened, his usual frown that always made him seem annoyed with everything since he didn't want to show that he was scared.

He listened to superboy as he explained what happened in detail as they walked in the lair, a small smile appearing on his face whenever he saw henchmen and cultists knocked out and all tied up in Spider's web.

As they walked he noticed Conner and Clark weren't flying even if the space was big enough for them to even float, so he approached the boy, knowing it couldn't be Clark since the kryptonian was flying just two seconds ago, to see if he had anything on him and saw a familiar glowing green stuck to the boy's shirt.

He quickly grabbed it and put it in a container to block its effect since he knew it was kryptonite, the result showing on both kryptonians because they now could fly again.

He showed the container containing the kryptonite when both Supers looked at him "it was on Superboy's shirt, not sure who put it on him" he explained, now confused but especially enraged to who dared to interfere with the mission and put Spider in danger.

When they arrived at the door he saw something that made him frown more but also worried. He saw Stephanie continuing to tangle her hands in the wires of the panel next to the door, probably trying to open it but he saw her shaking and sobbing, making him understand that the girl was too focused on trying to save the vigilante inside the room that she couldn't focus on the task she was doing.

He then turned to Jason and saw him kicking the door and punching it, small dents on it to show how much strength he was putting in it and his bloody knuckles showing for how long he was doing that.

Bruce quickly checked on Stephanie and Jason before telling Superman to get rid of the door, the silence around them being too suspicious and dangerous since almost 2 minutes before they arrived both Stephanie, Conner and Jason could hear screaming from inside the room.

Dividers were made by @cafekitsune so please check them out because they do amazing stuff.

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outoftheseine · 2 years

Text

- JOEL MILLER FIC RECS -

(most of these fics are age-gap romance. some fics have mature content (+18) so minors please respect the authors and do not interact). also please beware of the canon trigger warnings (violence, language, guns, death, blood etc.))

part 2 | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

one thing i am missing • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @joelscruff (fluff, smut)

to do the right thing • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @pedgeitopascal (very angsty, tw: abortion and ppd, childbirth)

if the door wasn't shut • joel miller x platonic!reader

↳ by @heartpascal (very angsty)

joel miller x feral!fem!reader

↳ by @ohraicodoll (angst, lots of blood, sometimes gore, reader has a given nickname, smut)

if he wanted to • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @sl-ut (angsty, tw: mentions of suicide and sa, drug use)

twenty years later • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @yelena-bellova (angst)

weakness • joel miller x fem!reader part two

↳ by @pedgeitopascal (fluff, little angst, smut)

the stable girl • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @guess-my-next-obsession (mature, angst, fluff)

friendly fire • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (angst, smut)

uneven odds • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @theetherealbloom (angst, fluff, smut, anxiety)

burning in a hopeless dream • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @tightjeansjavi (angst, implied smut)

ONE-SHOTS/BLURBS

from love and life • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bubbles-for-all-of-us (child birth, fluff)

adjustments • joel miller x fem!teacher!reader

by @softlyspector (fluff, smut, mentions of dead loved ones, tw: mentions of suicide)

kiss it better • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @morningbluebell (mostly fluff)

why can't i breathe? • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @oliviajdjarin (fluff, flustered joel)

no time to die • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @davosmymaster (very angsty, hurt/comfort, chef's kiss, so good)

she's a gun • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @cowgurrrl (fluff)

darlin' • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @charnelhouse (angst, tw: sexual assault and mentions of suicide, smut, hurt/comfort)

alone and foresaken • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @chelseasdagger (smut, very good smut actually)

once again in your arms • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @foli-vora (angst, tw: loss of a child, fluff)

too late • joel miller x reader

↳ by @alloftheimagines (angst, injuries, hurt/comfort)

don't let me drown • joel miller x reader

↳ by @alloftheimagines (angst, hurt/comfort, tw: drowning, some nudity but nothing explicit)

nightmares • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @youlightmeupfinn (tw: panic attacks, nightmare, hurt/comfort)

saving • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @youlightmeupfinn (angst, hurt/comfort, joel being an asshole)

a house in nebraska • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @highdramas (angsty, heavy feeling of nostalgia, mentions of sexual interactions)

spring breeze • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @thedgeoftheuniverse (fluff, hurt/comfort)

for you, anything • joel miller x reader

↳ by @mellowsaturns (fluff, sick!reader, domesticty)

perfectly wrong • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @psychedelic-ink (enemies to lovers, smut)

domesticty looks good on you • joel miller x reader

↳ by @girlscull (sooo fluffy)

ghosts of his past • joel miller x reader

↳ by @lol-im-done (very angsty, made me cry)

soft touches • joel miller x reader

↳ by @theeoriginals (fluff, hurt/comfort)

close call • joel miller x reader

↳ by @rogueonestan (hurt/comfort, angst)

first kill • joel miller x reader

↳ by @alloftheimagines (angst, hurt/comfort)

illusory light • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @lavendertales (angst, injuries, fluff)

playing house • joel miller x reader

↳ by @me-and-your-husband (some angst, smut)

try to love me, honey please • joel miller x reader

↳ by @peterhollandkait (hurt/comfort, angst, sad and soft joel, mentions of blood and death)

confused warmth • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @rise-my-angel (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut)

soft spot • joel miller x gn!reader

↳ by @orangevtae (very fluffy, some hurt/comfort, sunshine x grumpy)

love in the time of cordyceps • joel millet x fem! reader

↳ by @sameheart-sameblood (angst, fluff, mentions of blood)

one bed • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @frannyzooey (good old one bed trope, explicit)

sleeping bag • joel miller x reader

↳ by @quin-ns (very fluffy)

lavender haze • joel miller x pregnant!fem!reader

↳ by @forever-rogue (soo fluffy, made my heart flutter)

intent • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @forever-rogue (angst, joel is an asshole, fluff)

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buddierecs · 3 months

Text

slow burn buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

tell me about despair by: hattalove "the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic." word count: 148k important tags: ptsd, therapy, trauma, heavy angst, friends to lovers, pining, getting together ripples all the way down by: iriswests "christopher partakes in some parent trapping" word count: 57k important tags: mutual ping, parent trapping, jealous!buddie, miscommunication don't worry baby (everything will turn out alright) by: woodchoc_magnum "buck and eddie are falling in love, and it's obvious to everyone but them." word count: 63k important tags: friends to lovers, team as family, fluff, angst, mutual pining overcome by: orphan_account "set post season 5A, where buck is alone, and angry, and exhausted, but mostly terrified that everyone he loves is slowly slipping away from him." word count: 53k important tags: TW: past child abuse, alcoholism, past suicide attempt, insecure!evan buckley, hurt!evan buckley, panic attacks, mental breakdown, eventual happy ending, mutual pining, sharing a bed, eddie diaz takes care of evan buckley standing on the brink of emptiness by: woodchoc_magnum "in which eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with buck; and buck is dating taylor, taking care of eddie and christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything." word count: 70k important tags: ptsd, injury recovery, pining, pre-relationship, getting together, angst

'cause we belong together now by: smilingbuckley "on a call, buck and eddie meet an adorable little girl that they fall in love with and want to adopt. the only problem? they're not together romantically..." word count: 68k important tags: fake dating, marriage of convenience, adoption, pining, fluff, soft!buddie, friends to lovers for a holiday (and forevermore) by: wikiangela "eddie's sick of personal, intrusive questions about his love life whenever he visits his family, so he starts bringing buck for the holidays as his (fake) boyfriend. he only wants to shut them up, and doesn't expect that the small crush he has on his best friend could actually turn into something more.." word count: 94k important tags: fake dating, sharing a bed, pre-relationship, idiots to lovers, soft!buddie, oblivious, fluff, angst, eventual smut i've got your back by: sammyunhinged "a very slow burn fic chronicling the progress of buck and eddie's relationship, buck's parenting journey, and eddie learning to accept himself, in which buck gets injured in an accident and he moves in with Eddie and Christopher." word count: 109k important tags: idiots to lovers, falling in love, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, cuddling, getting together, eventual smut the pain will leave you once it's done teaching you by: fruitsdoesnotknow "when daniel buckley lives a little longer, evan Buckley dies a little more. and this is how eddie diaz saves him, a little later on." word count: 43k important tags: angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, mutual pining, found family, grief there's an ache in you (put there by the ache in me) by: goforeddie "the buddie couple therapy fic where, following the events of eddie getting shot, both him and buck are forced by the department to go through mandatory couple therapy." word count: 50k important tags: couples therapy, ptsd, post s4e14, pre-relationship, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, nightmares, fluff and angst, sharing a bed every single things to come (has turned into ashes) by: imdarlenescousin "eddie starts dating, makes some friends, makes some realizations, and makes a serious offer." word count: 66k important tags: friends to fiances, demisexual!eddie diaz, mental health issues, pining,

heart of flowers/heart of gold by elvensorceress "after nearly losing each other, buck and eddie find their way to each other and their family’s happily ever after." word count: 144k important tags: season 4, friends to lovers, mutual pining, evan buckley takes care of eddie diaz, demisexual!eddie diaz, gun shot wounds hold steady, hold steady by: thetalee "after eddie's bombshell announcement on christmas, buck runs away and finds himself back on his first day on the job. a time-travel fix-it fic of sorts, ft. a stranger that totally just wants to help, honest." word count: 172k important tags: time travel, time loops, supernatural elements au, shannon diaz lives, hurt!evan buckley, temporary character death

explicit slow burn buddie fics :)

#buck x eddie #buck x eddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 abc #911 show #911 fandom #buddie fics #buddie fic rec #911 fic rec #evan buck buckley #buddie fanfics #buck x eddie fanfics #buddie recs #buddie recommendations

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 1 year

Text

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Cigarette Burns

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: near-death experience, trauma from abusive mother, DESCRIPTION OF BURNS

—————

When my time comes around. Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down

The cold is an enemy to fear more than infected or regular people in this kind of world. You could be in a remote area with no one for hundreds of miles, but the cold is always there. It doesn’t hide or wait for you to call it out, it attacks harshly and violently with no forgiveness. If you don’t have warm enough clothes, shelter, or fire you’re not surviving the night out with Mother Nature. It feels like thousands of needles stabbing into your skin repeatedly, or a numbing sensation that fills your body with panic when you can’t move your limbs. The cold could feel like you are melting it scorching your skin as it brings you to the sweet release of death. Cold isn’t a friend to any it went for everyone and everything, and only walked away knowing that you weren’t going to get back up.

Kansas winters were easier than Wyoming. Having a building to hide and be sheltered from, though run down with limited heat. You became resourceful, the puddle of blankets pushed right next to the heater waiting for the sputters and rattling as the heat flowed through it to get you through the night. The heater right beside the window allows you to gaze up into the sky connecting the stars to create paintings in the inky darkness. You are surprised how much was coming from the heater. It was never on for this long maybe a minute max but it was flowing steadily through.

“Honey?” The airiness of your mother’s voice threw you in a whirlwind not expecting the softness coming from the usual snarl and venom. “Come to bed with Mommy. Aren’t you so cold?” She stands at the doorway to her room holding her hand out as you push yourself up from the makeshift bed of blankets.

“But you don’t like me in your room.” You whisper out to her. It was one of the many things she ordered you to never touch. But her room was the biggest, she didn’t want you stealing anything as she puts it. She gives a soft smile still holding out her hand.

“Come on…daddy and I are waiting for you.” She says and you freeze. Your dad? But you never knew him, he left long before you were even born. A thing she constantly reminds and blames you for.

Ruining my fucking life….I should never have slept with that bastard…should have gotten rid of you the second I found out I was pregnant….bastard child along with a bastard father.

You always wondered what he’d be like, probably kind and strong, someone who would wipe your tears away when you were sad and make you smile from the jokes he would tell. To protect you from your bullies…to keep you safe from your mother. You wished he stayed so he’d take you away and it would be the two of you. But you never expressed those things. You tried asking about your father when you were very young but it only led to her screaming at you, how you were an ungrateful brat, after everything she’s done you wanted to think about being with your father. The guilt she held over your head like a toy twisting and molding it to have her be the perfect mother and you the horrible daughter.

Maybe you are a bad daughter…

Your father didn’t want you and she could have abandoned you too but didn’t. Was it love? You don’t think you knew what love is, whether platonically or romantically so those thoughts died. The idea of a father seemed like a fading thought, the idea seemed unrealistic like it was impossible to exist. Staring at the bedroom door that held your mother…and father waiting for you. To protect you…to love you.

“Come on kid!” A voice yells and your eyes snap open seeing Joel above you. Your body instantly shakes and you feel so cold and the striking pain in your shoulder and neck. It isn’t just the lack of body temperature that is painful each shiver and quake causes your body to ache and that produces more pain in your shoulder. Everything is fuzzy and dim your head feels like a dead weight as it almost lolls back if the man didn’t grab your neck to keep you stable. “Keep your eyes open. You’re alright,” He says before he yells over his shoulder, “Ellie where are those damn blankets!”

“I got them!” A young voice yells out and you see the girl holding a crap ton of blankets that she could barely see where she is walking. Another large shiver racks through your body an instinctive groan of pain as Joel looks over seeing your outerwear is off, your coat, socks, and boots are soaked in snow. The single layer of the long-sleeve shirt was still bleeding heavily and you weren’t even wearing gloves. Your fingers and parts of your face were bright red but he was glad to not see any signs of frostbite but mild symptoms of frostnip. The thick line across your throat from the cable made the flesh raw and irritated. He felt cemented in place trying to think of the next best step but he could only see his little girl in his arms when he had to carry you inside when you passed out from the pain and cold.

“Joel move, find the suture kit, and then get something warm for her drink. Tommy washcloths and gets some wood to start a fire. Ellie watch him.” Maria moves the older man aside before giving her son to the younger girl as she takes over the survival and motherly instincts coming out taking complete control of the situation. Your body practically vibrates from the cold and Maria moves closer you try to pull away but your shoulder makes you wince.

“You’re alright I need to take off your shirt so we can check your wounds. You have something under this?” Her voice is warm and comforting and she could see fear in your eyes surprising her used to sharp and cold ones. After gaining more sense of consciousness and understanding of the situation you were in you nod and she helps you sit up the blankets covering part of your stomach and your legs. Tommy returns with the washcloths and Joel with the suture kit before they return to their second task. Her hands move to your shirt and you stiffen and she waits noticing the uneven rhythm of your breathing before helping take off your shirt. Left in a slightly bloody tank top the shirt now clutched between your hands as you hear Maria’s sharp inhale. The noise drew the attention of the two adults just finishing their duties and the young girl.

Ellie had entered the kitchen with the baby to keep their view away from that finding the man standing there frozen unsure what to make, you couldn’t have coffee it could mess with your heart, and alcohol was out of the question. Joel had seen your aversion to the amber liquid. He hadn’t noticed the tightness in his chest and the ringing in his ears until Ellie grabbed his arm pulling him out of his state of panic.

“Joel..” The girl pulls him from his thoughts as he looks at his surrogate daughter, “You alright?” He wasn’t sure where this sudden state of panic came from. He had watched you ride out after one of the horses, himself and Tommy following after entering the storm urgency in them knowing you had no idea what was out there and you were defenseless. They had heard the large bang that sent fear through both brothers before the horses appeared without the rider. Joel headed off where they came from while Tommy wrangled the creatures. He had arrived just before it was too late seeing you being choked by a raider quickly shooting the one that was suffocating you seeing the damage you committed to the other raider. You had almost attacked him the fear and adrenaline probably overdosing your veins seeing the cold affecting you and the speckles of blood on your face.

It was that same fear in your eyes that he’d seen before. The years ago when Ellie had been kidnapped he was too late to rescue her from losing her innocence as she killed her captor, but the same fear that night all those years ago as his little girl clutched his arms as the life faded from her. He saw that same fear in your eyes and it sent him into a panic like he was reliving a horrid memory where he just kept failing. The nightmares he couldn’t remember when he woke up though he didn’t have them as often but when you came into his life they seemed to return. You are harsher and ruthless, everything he was during the beginning of the end of the world but you were only a kid. Tainted with the basics of childhood and thrust into the hate and death of the world. There are many things he wanted to know; how did you end up in Wyoming from Kansas, did you lose your parents during your travels, he wanted to know everything that there was about you. This draw and connection he didn’t think he’d feel. You are blunt, crude, aggressive, and an annoyance to him but here he stood panicking over you.

Why?

“I don’t think we have anything…to um..drink.” He says forcing himself to take a shaky inhale to calm his rapid heartbeat. Ellie seems to sense the panic and see the softness in the man’s eyes. Despite it being about a year in Jackson Joel was still a recluse, sure he helped around the community being a contractor in his past but he wasn’t one to make friends. He spoke in short phrases, grunts, and nods when people talked to him. It reminded her of someone she knew. He only really cracked a smile or told those dumb jokes around his brother or Ellie, and sometimes Maria. But you are here and she saw the softness as he held you in his arms bringing you inside or when he spoke to you before he was sent off into the kitchen. Ellie moves through the kitchen opening a cabinet reaching into the far back feeling the bag of treats she has hidden pulling out the bag of chocolatey goodness then to a fridge pulling out some milk. She puts the objects in Joel’s hands as he looks at them confused.

Ellie points at the chocolate and the milk, “Put that in there and heat it up, it’s good. It’s called-” “I know what hot chocolate is.” Joel grunts surprised to see the candy it looks handmade as he gets to work. He remembers a time when he made these during Christmas with small marshmallows and using candy canes to stir, even on rainy days watching a movie, or during sick days knowing they always warmed up Sarah making her feel better from whatever illness was affecting her. It was domestic and normal standing over the stove watching the milk heat up as he stirred the broken pieces of chocolate to melt once warm enough pouring it into a mug. He enters the room with the younger girl and his nephew and hears Maria’s sudden inhale and panic rises in him.

“What is it?” Tommy asks heading towards his wife stopping and his eyes widen taken over by shock. Joel was more panicked and Ellie was curious about what was going on as she and Joel took in what was shocking Maria and Tommy. They all noticed the scars that litter your arms, they expected something from someone who protected themselves out in this fucked up world. But they were crude the scars probably worse than the injury with the suture work you likely performed on yourself, but that wasn’t the scar and injury that had caught Maria’s attention and soon drew all theirs as Ellie tried understanding what a group of scars on your arms were.

“What is that?” Ellie questions the dot-shaped scars and Joel feels a sickness fill his stomach, “Are those burns?” She says that the adults in the room who did live in a normal world at one point recognize the scars that could only be caused by an object that was used by frequently stressed-filled parents with sticks of nicotine.

“Ellie take Liam upstairs. Now.” Joel’s voice is harsh and the teen tries to protest but with the look Joel gives her she doesn’t dare to defy taking the young baby upstairs the door to her room closing. Tommy stands up holding a fist to his mouth trying to hold in his rage.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Tommy spits the anger thick in his voice “Tommy.” Joel gives a warning tone to his younger brother.

“It’s fucking cigarette burns Joel. Christ,” Tommy wipes his hands down his face, “Those have to be years old.” You frown at Tommy's pacing vibrating with frustration and rage. The younger Miller seems to have noticed your look bending down to your level, “I’m not mad at you kid it’s just…you didn’t deserve this whoever did this to you.” You look away from the male using part of the shirt to cover your arms the small burns covered your forearms but the damage was already done they had seen it. Maria starts grabbing the needle and thread but you try stopping her.

“I can do it,” You look ashamed seeing their pity in their faces, “I don’t need your help.” Maria shakes her head.

“Just let me do this for you or we’re getting the doctor.” She places the final offer but you’re trying to pull your shirt back on biting your lip to stop the groan of pain and the once-clotted blood begins free-flowing. Joel curses grabbing one of the washcloths and presses it to your shoulder.

“Stop it! I don’t need your help!” You yell trying to pull away but it only creates more pain for you. “Stop it kid. You can’t see the full extension of it and your previous work isn’t a good show of trust,” Joel says and you glare up at him.

“Please kid, you’ve been bleeding for a while.” Tommy pleads and the rational side that wishes to live wins out but the more pissed off side doesn’t go down easy.

“I don’t want you here.” You say and Tommy sighs but if that was what got you to comply he gets up heading towards the stairs. You look over at Joel who hasn’t moved, “You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.” You hiss and for a second you feel guilty seeing his concern reveal slight hurt before it’s quickly covered by the mean expression constantly on his face. Joel nods stiffly moving out of the living room past his brother the door to his room slamming shut while Tommy makes his way to Ellie’s room to see his son.

The living room is quiet except for the occasional grunt of pain from you when the needle pierces through your skin and a murmur of apologies from Maria. Holding one of the washcloths to wipe away stray blood that spills Maria sits behind you as you sit sideways on the couch. Your gaze is drawn to the falling snow from the window in the living room counting the flakes that made contact with the glass.

“You know you should talk about it.” Maria speaks up and she watches your shoulders stiffen at her words before she continues, “You had us worried when Tommy and Joel watched you rush after that horse.” It’s quiet and she isn’t even sure if you heard what she said.

“We only want what’s best for you and seeing these kinds of injuries on your body. I worry Tommy worries, Ellie worries, even Joel. Especially Joel.” She says and a mixture of a scoff and laugh comes from you.

“What do you know what’s best for me…you’ve kept me here for your safety.” You say, “If you wanted to you could have killed me already so no one would find this place.” It was true if this had been any situation and you had stumbled upon them you would have been six feet under by now, but they met you, they came to the cabin, they decided to bring you back and help you. You could have bled out in that cabin if they had left when you told them to.

“And we didn’t because we are trying to bring back a sense of normalcy here. If we just killed people left and right we would be no better than those raiders after you,” Maria says and you hiss slightly from the needle entering your flesh. “In case you hadn’t noticed everyone in this building cares about you. And no matter how much you curse or say you don’t need our help. Deep down there’s a part of you that wants to let us in to ask for help.”

Maria lets silence fill the two of you as she continues her sewing and you don’t seem to even flinch at the pain. “It’s my fault anyway.” You say and Maria glances over your shoulder seeing you grip the bloody washcloth between your hands.

“I got myself in that mess and I found out what happened….I fucked around and I found out.” Your voice was thick tracing each burn on your arms with your eyes each ranging from light scar tissue from how long it's been others just as old darken from how long the butt of the stick pressed into your flesh. The young screams still echo in your ears as your arm was held to the table when it first happened just to get hit for crying. You learned quickly to not cry when she gave you that punishment.

“And who said it was your fault cause those don’t look like just a one-time occurrence.” Maria presses wanting to hear a name or someone. She prays whoever did this was long dead or suffering a horrible life. You felt a tightness in your throat at the question. You can still smell the nicotine and liquor on her breath the harsh grip of her nails breaking the skin with her warnings.

“Tell anyone and you’re going to wish you were never born.”

She isn’t here she couldn’t do anything. As much as you knew she was long gone Kansas City was running wild with infected from what Ellie described in her journeys.

“My..my mom.” It was so quiet you are certain she didn’t hear you but she did. She pauses the needle held in her hand as she looks at the profile of you. “It wasn’t her fault. She acts out when she’s mad. We were low on ration cards and I had gotten in trouble with Fedra.” It was a ramble of excuses that Maria knew did excuse burning your child. Maria’s silence makes you stop.

“Just…don’t tell them. I can feel your pity eating away.” You say and the older woman frowns she does feel bad for you. No child should have ever been treated like that and she was certain some of these other injuries may have been the cause of your mother.

“And your father,” She finally speaks up as she ties off the last stitch moving to clean the rest of the blood with the cloth, “He didn’t try to stop her?”

“A man that I’ve never met can’t really help ya know.” You say dryly. You wish he was there. Maybe he would have stopped it all, taken you away, and been the dad you’ve only seen in stories and dreams. But he wasn’t. Did that make him worse than her, he left a woman pregnant in a world that was ending around you all. Wrapping your shoulder in the bandage and briefly covering your neck she pulls back beginning to collect the items for the suture kit and bloody washcloths.

“Thank you.” You say and Maria looks back seeing you still not facing her and a small grin grows on her face. It was progress, slow progress but progress. More than a one-sided conversation though not a lighthearted one and a ‘thank you’ not some nod or even forced. Genuine.

“Just be careful with your shoulder.” She says before she heads upstairs to collect her husband and son from the event-filled night. When both Miller brothers, Maria and Ellie return downstairs to head out but also check in on you just catching a glimpse of you retreating to your room. The living room was back in order the suture kit was all packed up the bloody washcloths and your shirt was thrown away. Maria reassured the three of them you were alright and Ellie was a bit upset wanting to see you but retreated back to her room to sleep. Joel looks over at the mug still full resting on the table his gesture of help is forgotten and it makes his chest ache slightly.

“She’s gonna be alright?” Tommy says while fixing his grip on his sleeping son, the three adults had seen the scars and burns, and how you acted to them and towards people explained a lot.

“It was a pretty deep cut and her neck was raw as hell but other than that she’s alright,” Maria explains but Joel could see she was hiding something. There was a look on her face something she knew but she didn’t tell him even Tommy.

“And the burns,” Tommy whispers not wanting to speak up on it around his son even though he was fast asleep and too young to remember. Joel watches Maria as she pauses before fixing her coat.

“She wouldn’t tell me how she got them.” Liar. He could spot the lie as clear as day. But why was she covering for you? Joel nods and with nothing more to say the small family of three left to return to their home as Joel moves to the living room. Your coat hung on the hooks and your shoes and socks were piled neatly in the corner despite him ripping them off you in a panic. It’s as if you were never injured and sewed back together on the couch. Your features for such a young girl held such tiredness and stress even as you bled out. No fear though. Not a moment where you were afraid of dying just wanting this moment of weakness to go. A weight in his gut from the circumstances of today, thousands of scenarios running through his head, what if he and Tommy were too late for the raiders? What if your injuries were too severe for them to help you?

Stop it, Joel.

He shakes his head looking at the couch and your words ring back at him,

“You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.”

Pulling back like he was burned he returns to his room pushing away the insecurities and questions. The still-filled mug remains on the table the only thing holding the memories of what occurred tonight.

#the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller #joel miller x teen!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x teen!reader #ellie williams x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x reader

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str8rat · 1 month

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What if IN STARS AND TIME was like FEAR AND HUNGER?

So i've spent the last hour frantically researching phobias for this shit lmao, don't expect any of the phobias i've picked to be canon for Fear and Hunger. Anyways this is a whole ass au and i'm planning to make an entire world setting from this fever mix. Esentially it's gonna be In stars and time kind of plot, with the party going through the house to defeat the king, but the Universe is not as kind to them. if it was ever kind in the canon. all of the characters will be devastated and traumatized or fucked up in different ways, and i'm planning to explain it all below- well, explain Siffrin for now. Even though I have everyone else already scribbled down, i still need to draw their fucked up sprites :> LETS GO

~ ~ ~

Siffrin; Autophobia ( fear of being abandoned, alone, ignored )

Effects; Half-blind ( left eye )

Info;

TW; SELF HARM, SUICIDE [ Canon-typical ]

Traveler from the Island North of Vaugarde. Lost his left eye protecting Bonnie, a child the party came across on their way to Dormont. Siffrin is a short, forgetful person, which has been travelling for the entirety of his life. He met the party by chance, saving Isabeau from a Sadness, as the man parted with the rest of the party briefly in order to gather firewood.

After reaching Dormont, Siffrin makes a wish to the Favor Tree, and quickly finds out the consequences of his actions. He gets stuck in a time loop, forced to re-live the gruesome, painful deaths and horrifying experiences he and his party go through as they venture up the floors of the House. His sanity quickly deteriorates, though it remains more intact than that of Loop, a self-proclaimed star whom he encounters under the Favor Tree after his first death—being crushed by a giant boulder.

Due to him not having his right eye, his depth perception is fucked, and he often bumps into things. After getting imprisoned in the loops, he becomes more anxious, desperate to escape the loop cycle, even going as far as slitting his own throat in order to save time. He also doesn't shy away from self harm, adorning his wrists in "stars", as he calls them- prickling his skin with his own dagger.

He realizes that even after he loops, the scars of his horrible deaths remain on his body, and eventually, his arms and thighs are all covered in "stars", those particular scars being of his own making. Counting the loops, one star for one loop. May become manic when in distress, or have panic attacks. Is incredibly touch starved and desperate for physical affection, but never got around to revealing that fact to his party on his own, leaving him feeling floaty and unreal. Like a ghost of his former self.

Those are just a couple of the effects of the loops. In the end, Siffrin just doesn't want to part with his companions, his friends, his family- wanting them with him so much, to the point of him unknowingly trapping himself in a time loop.

~ ~ ~

Sooo overall Siffrin's backstory/info isn't that different from canon, because he was already going through some tough shit as it was ._. so I just kind of added more mental implications to it, as well as that fun little headcanon of his body keeping scars of his past deaths/injuries. So that's fun. also i mostly focused on the other members of the party as well, since they don't exactly have a lot of angst or trauma ( not as much as siffrin at least ), so in this au all of them are traumatized or psychologically damaged!!!! YAY!!!

ANYWAYS! Who's gonna be next?? i don't fucking know, but i'll probably upload them tomorrow alongside a description explaining just how fucked they are :>

#in stars and time #art #cute #isat siffrin #digital art #isat #in stars and time siffrin #isat loop #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #isat odile #isat bonnie #isat au #isat spoilers #artists on tumblr #fear and hunger #fear and hunger au

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platrom · 9 months

Text

One Last Chance.

Midoriya x F! Reader, Bakugou x F! Reader (partially/eventually)

WORD COUNT: 20.7k words

NOTE: Here is the ending to OLT. What do you all think? Please leave me some comments!!

If you guys would like to see side stories to this or have some questions, please send some asks! My inbox is always open. And if you have any other story ideas, please request as well.

TW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, flashback scenes, hospital setting, mentions of prior and current injuries, death, talk about perceptions of death, mentions of suicide attempt/suicide, fluff, therapy, Bakugou has undergone therapy, childhood best friends, toxic friendships, unrequited love, happy ending, the voice leaves, a new voice appears (is personified), reader has a panic attack in a fancy restaurant, reader and Shoto are friends, Bakugou has genuine friends, the reader is loved, kind of ambiguous parts in the ending (must read first part to understand it), reader confronts Midoriya, reader kisses Bakugou

THIS STORY MUST BE READ WITH THE FIRST PART— IT IS NOT A STAND ALONE.

PART 1 / PART 2 (HERE)/IMPORTANT ASK

BAKUGOU OBSERVED your shaken figure as it faded into the distance, head hung low and fists clenched in agony. When you first pulled away from him and continued onward, your feet tapped lightly against every slab of concrete you trekked on, until after a few yards your brisk walk bursted into a hurried sprint. Nobody nor anything was spared a second glance as you fled from his presence.

Candidly, he couldn’t blame you. Bakugou had overstepped your boundaries and attempted to plow through the brick walls you had built around yourself for the sake of your welfare. He understood how you felt and how overwhelming such an invasion of privacy was, notably with his straightforward approach. Bakugou was notorious for diving headfirst into situations, but that didn’t mean it was invariably appropriate.

For instance, now.

Howbeit, he didn’t know what else to do. Bakugou may have gone through years of therapy and anger management courses (thanks to that spiky-haired idiot), but that didn’t mean he knew how to confront everyone about their personal endeavors.

Tackling his own issues differed from helping others address theirs. He had friends, family, and a therapist to talk him through his problems and conjure solutions with. Even his fellow colleagues wouldn’t mind lending a comforting shoulder for Bakugou to lean on; the people around him had read countless books on how to support loved ones who were struggling.

Bakugou had a support system that took years to discover, expand, and wholeheartedly trust. With thousands of hours of therapy under his belt, he was blessed with tools to aid him in the gloomiest and sunniest of days, with or without his therapist by his side.

In comparison, you were not armed with the same lessons and techniques as he was.

Not yet, at least.

Bakugou wanted to change that.

For all of his years of friendship with you, he analyzed your growth and development as a person: how you went from an adorable and frivolous child who was insouciant to the prying eyes of others into a beauteous, percipient young lady who shied away from any unforgiving glares. He remembered how decades ago you, him, and Deku would tussle around in your childhood playground’s decrepit sandbox playing Heroes.

Bakugou had invented the game when you and Deku had been laying against one of the thick blue poles that held up a patent yellow slide incised by impetuous teenagers that lurked around the park at the perturbing time of midnight. To his dismay, despite being in front of you both, none of you batted an eyelash at him. He wasn’t even aware of what you two were discussing, but all he cognized was that the ongoing chatter between you and the freckled nerd was irritating him and he wanted your attention instanter.

Looking back, Bakugou could admit that it was an impulsive suggestion and injudicious decision. In contrast to what any other sensible child or person would have done, as soon as the words ‘Let’s play heroes, Deku and (Name)!’ escaped Bakugou’s lips, the green-haired idiot accepted the request instantly, so eager to please Katsuki. On the other hand, you simply watched in silence as Bakugou beamed in pride with his hands on his hips and Deku enthusiastically pumped his arms in the air, jumping and squealing in both anticipation and delight.

Years after, Bakugou eventually understood why you sat quietly that day and made no move to even consider rejecting the idea. Exactly like Midoriya, you shadowed Bakugou’s footsteps and obliged to his every whim. Yet, unlike Deku, you didn’t quite concur with his exclamations even inside your head and heart. Cleverly, you chose to keep your mouth shut and follow in step because it caused you less trouble than if you voiced your opinion.

That didn’t exactly mean you always emulated that similar action and thought process. There were at times you spoke against Bakugou when you knew you would be reprimanded the least or experience little to no consequences.

Bakugou couldn’t deny that he didn’t enjoy those quirks of yours: your fight, your spunk— your tactical and logical thinking. They all were your qualities that Bakugou internally commended you for.

As children, whenever you three played Heroes, Bakugou forced you to take the role of the damsel in distress. Due to your bestowed position as a distressed maiden, the ash blond referred to you as “Princess” often, both during and outside the game. With every fictional mission the two boys conjured, they intended to save you from villains (which happened to be figurines of heroes with a small piece of dark cloth draped over it).

When Bakugou wanted to impress you (and spite the green-haired bastard), after he and the nerd rescued you, he would hoist you off your feet and carry you bridal style, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. Boastfully and vaingloriously, he would exclaim to the other boy with a smug grin, “This is how a real princess should be treated, Deku!”

The young boy would stare in awe, analyzing how Bakugou kept a firm grip on you and refused to let you take a step on your own, despite your occasional protests.

And the times when a small giggle would be heard near Katsuki’s chest, widened vermillion eyes would snap to your face and watch as you grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, glowing, and filled with adoration. Your ridiculously sweet and unfaltering smile never failed to make his chest puff out in pride, cheeks warm in fluster, and heart pound faster.

Katsuki craved to see that expression on your face again.

He yearned to be the one who flipped your entire world upside down and set you anew. Like a festering disease, that ardent desire plagued his heart. It urged Bakugou to be the hero in your life and pillar of strength- the one you were able to lean on for stability when your walls of welfare began to crumble and crash.

When you were merely arm’s reach away, at times in that freckled-dork’s arms, an unremitting voice rung remorselessly in his ears, imploring for him to pull you into his chest and conceal you from the world, to cradle your supple face between his callused palms and tenderly stroke your cheek in hopes his actions could describe an ounce of his perennial love for you. The vexatious voice begged Bakugou to press his lips against yours to convey all the unspoken emotions he could not fathom formulating into lucid and complete sentences.

Katsuki wanted all of the pieces of you: brain, body, and soul.

In bed, during the hours of dusk until dawn, Bakugou’s mind conjured vivid imaginations of a domestic life with you. In many of the scenarios, Katsuki would already be at home in the spacious kitchen, preparing dinner for you both before you returned after a strenuous day at work. Whatever meal he was cooking didn’t matter; you would love his cooking anyway.

He would be so absorbed with cooking that he wouldn’t hear the sound of the door lock clicking open, or the rustling of your clothes as you stripped off your coat. Your lethargic steps would fall on deaf ears as you snuck behind Katsuki, the corner of your lips curling in satisfaction and glee at the aromatic fragrance wafting throughout the house and at the sight of him cooking, no less in the apron you had gifted him for Christmas at the start of his hero career. The apron was black and had the words “THE BOMB” splayed across his chest in thick, white cursive.

Without hesitation, you would pounce onto Bakugou and smush your face into his back, wrapping your arms around his waist. He would quietly hum as you sighed and relaxed into his cozy warmth, mumbling a word of greeting.

After, small bits of chatter would be exchanged between you two until your voices died down and a comforting silence would permeate your shared home.

Eventually, when Bakugou would feel your eyelashes flutter shut as you fruitlessly essayed to stay awake and on your toes, he would lightly smack the top of your head with a wooden spoon and chide you to get your oil-stained arms off his apron and shower before he finished dinner.

The dopey grin that would spread across your adorable face would leave butterflies flittering in his stomach and blood rushing to the tips of his ears. When you noticed his bashful expression, you would raise your calves and wrap your arms around Bakugou’s neck to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, before escaping his clutches as he processed your actions.

Irritatingly, he would wave a wooden spoon in the air menacingly at your retreating figure, screaming, “You shitty woman, if you’re going to kiss me, do it properly!”

Katsuki Bakugou was a selfish man; he knew that just as well as anybody else. All of his life, he took everything he could and prospered with whatever resources he had. Everything he did was done in his favor, to his advantage. The cost of his actions and behavior was never significant to him. Even presently, as a hero, he didn‘t bat an eye to his brash language on television or crass attitude. He never spared a second thought about what he did or was going to do.

Until now, when your life, your fate, was placed directly into the palm of his destructive, blood-shedding hands.

If he pursued the direction of which you ran and found you, what would happen to the two of you? To him? To you?

What were the rewards and the risks? Would possibly risking your life be worth it? If push came to shove and you threatened your life, could he save you?

His quirk wasn’t built for the typical rescue training; Bakugou was trained to ward off villains and allow the official rescue heroes do their work. He could handle the battle— the blood, the deafening blasts and shards of glass and slabs of concrete that would fly at him, the blazing ache in his muscles, the adrenaline from fighting and the reality of his eventual, impeding death.

Yet, he wasn’t created to dive into the murky and freezing cold water of the ocean and pull civilians from the bottom. Bakugou Katsuki, Dynamight, wasn’t the one who was meant to lift fissured buildings off of civilians to allow them to escape.

Of course, Bakugou could blow things up. Though, was it really the smartest for him to possibly detonate an already ticking time bomb?

Perhaps, he wasn’t the man for this rescue. But there was somebody else who he knew was.

Bakugou whipped out his phone, scrolling past hundreds of unobtrusive contacts, most lacking a personalized profile picture. Swipe after swipe, blurs of gray passed his vision before his eyes caught the name of a man he would never willingly speak to, not even for work.

You were an exception.

Always and forever.

Tapping the telephone icon with hasty fingers, Katsuki lifted the device up to his ear and began to trace your footsteps.

In his wildest dreams, never did he picture himself dialing one of his biggest rivals over a girl he loved for decades— over a girl they loved for decades— since as long as he could remember.

A confused voice answered on the other end. “Kacchan?”

“Deku,” Bakugou sighed, teeth gritting and fists clenched.

Hopefully, the world would reward him for not being selfish this once.

“I need your damn help.”

For the first time.

Contrary to popular belief, there were countless disparate ideas and thoughts of what death was like. For numerous individuals, it was foreseen as a riveting and transfixing experience. On the other hand, many voiced death to be an ongoing horror that terrorized them in the back of their minds. The twisted thoughts would trickle past the cracks of the mind, seeping into the limelight of their thoughts.

Certainly, there were opinions that fell between the lines and even strayed far from the common and classic perceptions of such an inevitable fate all would face.

Though, you had a rather specific conclusion about death.

Your declaration was that it was quite dull; banal even, considering everything to your vision (more so lack of it) was pitch black, akin to as if you had your eyelids shut— just permanently.

To be fair, you were dead. What did you expect? No one wanted to see the eyes of a rotting corpse, so it made sense that they would shut them.

You prayed your body was being prepared for your funeral. If they even found it, deep down below the surface of the ocean’s beguiling, glossy droplets of liquid transparency that lured innocent strangers to explore what was another’s liquid death.

Your death would also explain why you were frozen like a corpse. Your mouth remained clamp shut, your limbs stayed in place no matter how much you fruitlessly shrieked at your brain to move the lifeless limbs, and every inch of your body felt stone cold despite that if you were alive, warm blood would be flowing through your veins to keep you functioning.

However, there was one minor issue that made you question your predicament and if you were truly dead— you could still hear. What you were able to hear in the oblivion of black that surrounded you was debatable, but it vaguely reminded you of muffled chatter, similar to if cotton stuffed your ears.

Perhaps, if you focused enough you could distinguish the words, possibly even the syllables in hopes of discovering whether or not you had truly met death face-to-face.

All you had to do was listen- stay silent. Just like a dead person. You were dead. You could do just that with ease.

So, you let your conscious fade into the abyss of surrounding black, let the hold you had on the remnants of your soul slide lower and lower, the tight grip of your finger slipping so only the tips of them could reach the sole part of you that held you inside your body— your prison. You let the comfort of your humanity rest and the blaring silence of death deafen your ears.

Unexpectedly, the small, high-pitched voice of a child is what you hear first whose words die at the end of their sentence.

“If you need help, you can just ask for it.”

You want to ask who they are and what they’re talking about, and you try— you pull your dangling humanity closer and repeat the questions like a mantra until you’re screaming them, but they never exit your throat.

When your soul slips from your fingers again, the child remains quiet. Light footsteps begin to echo in the abyss of darkness, faintly reminding you of the days you used to spend in your room listening to rain splattering against your window, the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen splitting as they made contact with the clear surface.

This all seems like a sick, cruel joke from the universe.

Was this the voice messing with you?

Was the voice that haunted you still here with you, even in the after life?

But it didn’t sound the same.

That ominous voice in your head was your own voice. It had the exact same pitch, the same quirky pronunciations you had, even down to the accent. Possibly at first, it had been the voice of others and the words that were spat at you were theirs.

To begin, they were theirs; their crude thoughts, their deleterious words, their abhorrent statements and opinions.

Not yours, not at all.

Those noxious words laced with the deadliest of poisonous toxins gradually infiltrated your mind, the traces of their presence faint. As time passed, the once small stains became vast and covered the expanse of your once kind thoughts, turning each present one bitterer from the last. Once upon a time, the voice in your head was the voice of others.

Until it became yours.

In contrast, the speaker in the pit of eternal darkness had a voice of a naive young girl whose heart was just as pure and innocent as it was when the day she was born. It was filled with glee and utmost care, one that most lost to their greed for coin and success. Genuine people— those who constantly gave back and assisted others out of the goodness of their heart had long gone extinct, or were an endangered species. Those who got ahold of these rare beings either sunk their canines into their flesh for a finishing blow or kept them safe under their thumb, a primordial part of them vocalizing their need to keep someone so precious in the safety of their arms.

The girl moved closer to you.

“The attempt to escape pain is what creates more pain. At least, that’s what my parents tell me.”

That voice . . . It was once yours. The little girl who was speaking to you was you, or the shell of who you once were.

Although the memories of your childhood had lost their precision of detail overtime and existence as the years trudged by, you had always considered them the apex of the years you spent alive. The naivety of being a child and the blanket of being sheltered protected you from the corruption of the real world was a sensation you missed dearly.

“Instead of trying to avoid your troubles and problems, they say to resolve them so nobody gets hurt anymore!”

Your recollection of this particular encounter as a child was not the most prominent, as the once vivid and animated details of that day slowly evanesced from your brain with time.

The interaction had occurred nearly two decades ago in the commonly favored season of saccharine spring in Japan, when the sun’s rays gently kissed your skin and the soft gusts of wind weaved through your hair and brushed it back. You were there solely because the mothers in the city of Musutafu always met up during the spring to gossip about their husbands and children and revel in the scenery of blossoming Sakura flowers that swayed gingerly in the wind from their delicate stems that connected to the branches.

It hadn’t been the first time your mother had dragged you to an event like this with the enticing promise that you would be able to make new friends; that had been the deal-breaker for you. Hence, it had led you to the park funded by the richest of the local heroes and civilians.

The place could only be described in one word: perfect. Gossip from the mothers of the town declared it was kept in pristine condition by countless gardeners who would sweat over every blade of grass they sliced. The shrubbery was luscious, vibrant, and full of life. One would say it was just as youthful as the children that roamed every acre of the greenery.

The mothers had stationed themself near the entrance of the park, where the benches that were bolted into the ground to set down the dishes, snacks, and desserts they brought for everyone to snack on. Further in was the actual playground, which contained the children of the many attending mothers.

After kindly asking your mother for permission to go to the playground by yourself, you waltzed your way over.

That was where the interaction began.

You weren’t sure how you even noticed this peculiar person— nothing about them stood out. Not their hair, not their eyes, not their face.

Absolutely nothing differentiated from the rest.

That much you remembered.

Maybe it was a stroke of luck that brought you to them, that fate decided to pull your strings together and wrap a knot around you both for a moment.

They had been sobbing uncontrollably, their arms hugging their knees and small hiccups of desperate gulps of fresh air had reached your unsuspecting ears.

It was odd how out of all the children there, you were the only one who could hear their muffled cries of pain.

The background, your surroundings, the calls of the other children to return to their side as they watched you step towards the outcast was all a haze to you. You couldn’t recognize or process anything other than the child that sat alone in tears.

It was a complete blur from there.

“Forever doesn’t exist, that’s why you should apologize before it’s too late!”

Why am I remembering this now?

Tears fell that day.

When have they not?

Unspoken words lingered in the air, thick and heavy on your tongue.

How many days have been like that? How many days have I lived like them?

Your mind answers for itself.

In the past, you had labeled them minor inconveniences. They didn’t matter to you.

They were minor inconveniences, you tried to convince yourself like so many times before.

Were the tears you shed over so many lost ones just minor?

Would you just toss them away?

Would you belittle the memories of one of your former closest elementary friends, years of friendship washed away in the downpour due to a nasty little rumor spread about you? Erase the little drawings and cards they made for you, each one describing how you would be by each other’s side forever?

Would you forget about the best friend that got away, the one that was forced to move away at the end of your primary years? The walk around the field, the stories you both wrote together, the secrets you entrusted with one another— were you going to toss that all away?

Would you forget about the one who you worked vigorously to build a friendship with when everyone was forced to split ways in junior high? Did you really think so little of the late night conversations, the occasional but rather spontaneous (and sometimes one-sided) heart-to-hearts, the long hours spent chatting away, learning about a love that stemmed deeper than the plants whose roots dipped beneath the soil under your feet? What about when they had chosen to push you out of their lives— manipulating you to keep you attached?

Would you be willing to forget when the empire you had fought endlessly to build and protect collapsed on you after quakes so powerful the once granite walls fissured and crumbled right above your head when you were at your weakest?

Would the scars that remained from the knives that were stabbed into your back, your chest, your heart, finally heal? Would the nasty and discolored marks fade from your skin like water slipping down a drain?

Would you forget about your family? The ones who raised you, who were by your side, near your side, even when it felt like they were miles away?

Would you forget about those who loved you unconditionally— for every one of your flaws, mistakes, and imperfections? The loyal ones who stood close enough to catch you if you fell, even when you didn’t deserve it. Even when you took them for granted.

What about Izuku and Katsuki? The ones that at one point in your life or another, meant the world to you?

Could you erase the memory of Katsuki’s passionate carmine eyes, irises the colors of the ripest of strawberries in the patch, filled with unspoken emotions that only the most observant and attentive of people could detect? The number of fingers on your hands could not come close to totaling the indefinite amount of days you spent staring into his eyes, (e/c) piercing through the thin panes of glass behind his eyes that sheltered his heart and soul, learning lessons that words could not formulate, that he would never dare let leave his mouth.

Would those minuscule yet intimate moments with the blond escape you at last?

Ironically, your calmest and most content moments resided with the boy from your childhood who always claimed one day he would be the greatest hero in the world. These tranquil times didn’t stem from your days as kids in primary school or pre-teens in middle school, but rather when you both were studying at UA.

Unbeknownst to Midoriya and nearly the entirety of Class A, Bakugou would constantly sneak you into his room late at night when neither of you could sleep or only wanted to bask in the the other’s presence. He always grumbled and complained about the unruly times you chose to sneak out of your room and how dangerous it was for you to risk injuring yourself just to see him, but every time you countered his argument with a simple smile and a “I missed you” before proceeding to hug him tightly.

The first few times you told Bakugou this, audible explosions began to crackle from his palms and immediately he shoved you off of him (after wiping his sweaty hands on his pants) and barked curses at you. Eventually, he welcomed you silently with open arms.

During those quiet nights, you both would lay on his bed, limbs intertwined. At first, you and Katsuki sat at a distance, until he began to lay down on his bed and hissed at you to follow suit. Then, you made the first move to cuddle Bakugou after he called you over because of a nightmare— the rest was history from there.

Brushing fingertips was your first taste of intimacy with Bakugou, until he gained the courage to hold your hand. Afterwards came the long hugs. Then, those hugs transformed into Bakugou pulling your head to rest on his bicep. Next came intertwined legs and gentle caresses. And the cherry on top was when his walls finally came down and he allowed you to be his rock, the shoulder he cried on when his studies and hero work caught up to him and left him doubled over in hopelessness, desperate to put himself back together.

But what about Izuku?

What about the boy you spent practically every year of your life with, the man that plagued your mind in the early hours of dawn and the late hours of dusk?

Were you ready to remove him forever? Were you truly ready to give up on the one you loved fearlessly for all those years, even in the face of adversity?

For ages, Midoriya was your beacon of hope. When the world felt like it was caving in, when you shoved everyone out and suffered in solitude, he stood unwavering and unrelenting to listen to your command; he defied your expectations and exceeded them.

Though, good things cannot survive for eternities.

At one point Izuku Midoriya, the one who claimed your heart long ago, slowly began to fade right in front of your eyes. He prioritized his work— he made saving others the reason why he breathed.

When that realization dawned upon you and you understood that he would never fawn at you the same way you did with him, you drowned yourself.

It felt like death.

You didn’t want to think about this anymore.

I want the pain to finally end.

It was pointless to clutch onto the minuscule semblance of mortality you had left before you completely rested in the grave. If you accepted the hand the reaper held out to you, sleep would be eternal.

That’s what I always wanted, right? So take it. It’s not like I ever had anything to lose. Whatever I once owned will never be mine again.

Succumbing was always easy. Succumbing to desires always rewarded you, albeit only temporarily. It was simpler that way— to fall under the umbrella of constantly accepting demands.

“Let go.”

You did; you drank every night until you were blackout drunk.

“Hide.”

You did. You pushed everyone away and isolated yourself.

“Suffer.”

You did. You never sought out help when your thoughts became too grim and dreary to bare alone.

“End it.”

You did. You jumped off the cliff and into the ocean.

“Accept it.”

Slowly, you were.

Slowly, you let your thoughts disintegrate into the dark, emptying your mind of coherency. Of rationality, of humanity.

That lifeless feeling of iciness within you traveled across the expanse of your body until you wholeheartedly believed you had always been a glacier of ice and not once a living being.

Like a sinking boulder, you slipped from consciousness to never resurface.

And like a gentle kiss, a speck of warmth formed on your skin before disappearing.

“Please don’t leave me, (Name). I love you.”

“Don’t do that again, idiot.”

The voice is warm like apple cider on a winter day, mixed with a twinge of sweet, sugary cinnamon that permeates the expanse of your tongue. It feels so welcoming, so safe despite the harshness lingering in the undertones of the voice— akin to if a thick and heavy spoonful of honey coated your tongue like syrup flowing off a stack of fluffy and golden-brown pancakes. You craved to have the sugary sap reach the back of your mouth and slide down your throat before it saturated your system with the sticky sweetness.

A tepid and sweaty hand enveloped yours, coarse callouses sheltering the dry and peeling skin of your knuckles from the bitter cold breeze blown from the air conditioning.

More words fall deaf on your ears as the strings of consciousness tie themselves back together in effort to push you out of your drowning slumber. The soothing and homely voice continues to repeat broken and fractured phrases that you try to reach, pushing yourself out of the sinister hold of the tendrils.

Enraged by your defiant behavior, the obsidian tentacles wrap themselves around the tied strings and tug harshly in an attempt to tear you apart, to send you back to where the worst of your melancholy and despondent thoughts resided.

“Come back, don’t leave me here!” the voice cried. “You and I, we’re both the same. Wherever I go, you come with. We are one.”

Were you the same as that evil voice that had plagued your mind like a virus, worming its way into your bloodstream in hopes of controlling your body and fatally killing you?

Would you ever do that to someone?

You’d like to think not.

“You better not leave me behind. You need to be there when I become number one.”

There was that familiar voice again— it was so warm. It felt like hugging a toasty bag of freshly baked bread in the chilly morning, or sitting down on your couch with a steaming cup of hot cocoa on a rainy day, slowly sipping at the aromatic and creamy chocolate that made your stomach squeal in pleasure and delight.

You craved to feel like this forever.

With the threat of betrayal, the tendrils furiously tightened their bruising grip on your limbs, unwilling to part ways with you.

“I was there for you when nobody ever was! I stuck by your side when you isolated yourself and had nobody— when everyone ignored you!” the voice reminded you, enraged by your defiance.

Why couldn’t you just submit to it?

But weren’t you the one that caused it? If it wasn’t for you, would I really be here now?

The idea is a sudden one that sends you reeling, heart pumping and sweat beading at the top of your head. The once cozy heat that flooded your body boils, burning hotter than the fiery and explosive stars above. An audible sizzling sound can be heard where the tendrils meet your skin.

“You better fight back, damn nerd. Everyone’s been waiting for you out here— they dropped everything to come see you.”

Everyone? Your classmates and friends?

But weren’t they the ones who knew of your suffering and still refused to extend a helping hand to you?

“They all come and go, you know that. Why would you go back to them? Don’t go back on the promise you made. Just for Midoriya, remember?”

Promise? Midoriya?

Your mind was too muddled to comprehend the voice’s words.

“That dumb Deku is here too. He’s worried sick about you, wouldn’t stop blubbering like an idiot the minute he saw me.”

The sight of emerald eyes filled with tears flashes through the darkness of your mind, a blur of a murky white, lifeless black, and a faded green.

You should react— you should feel something. Anything.

But you don’t.

The imagery fades as fast as it arrives, leaving you to reside with the black of your mind. There’s no fluttering of butterflies or red rose petals swirling in the air out of the corner of your eyes. The thought of Midoriya doesn’t warm you further— it only leaves you colder than before.

In the pit of death, it’s just you and the last of your humanity.

“He never liked you anyway. You never mattered. You knew that, didn’t you?”

A meek part of you wants to disagree, argue that he had to have appreciated you at least in the slightest to have stuck around you for as long as he did. But the majority of you solemnly nods in agreement, aware of the countless times where you blindly reached out to Izuku Midoriya.

He simply tolerated you because you constantly suffocated him with your presence. Midoriya never had a mean bone in his body, he would never speak up if someone was a nuisance to him.

“Yes!” the voice hissed, delighted. Slowly but surely, you were falling prey to its hold; to the negativity it had spread wide throughout your mind.

It was only a matter of time before you succumbed.

“Wake up, (Name). Please.”

It isn’t worth it, is it?

“I know I haven’t been the best, but I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Just please, please don’t leave me.”

The warm voice cracks, its words quivering, and there’s a shaky intake of breath. It sounds pained.

“You caused that pain.”

You did, didn’t you?

“Just let it all go,” the voice sung. “Come with me and it’ll all go away. Everyone will be okay. You will be okay.”

You should.

You know you should.

You know you should finally let go. You’d lost everything. You’d lost your life and were trapped in this bottomless pit of black.

If you just let go, you could be free.

“Then do it. Stop listening. Ignore it all. Let me take over.”

There’s words that are being spoken to you from the voice beside you, some louder and intenser than the last, but you block them out. You ignore and let the ferocious tendrils wrap around you and pull you down.

The thin string that holds you together snaps.

And finally, finally, it all stops. The noise, the voices, the thoughts, the feelings, the aches and pains.

At last, it’s all over, you tell yourself.

But do you really believe it?

You would never know.

You don’t think you’ve seen this many people crowded into a single hospital room.

For you, no less.

All of the former Class A students from your years in high school have flooded your room, some of them even stuck in the doorway. From Grape Juice to Creati, the space is absolutely cramped.

Beside your bed are mountain-high piles of gifts and letters from your friends as well as others who could not attend in time for the visiting hours. Without a doubt, some of those presents contained articles of lavish and luxurious gifts you could only afford in the wildest of your dreams if you had the money of a top pro-hero. (Money that these heroes had, considering some had been born into wealthy families while others had become filthy rich after making bold headlines as heroes in the media.)

Not to mention, all their attention had been focused entirely on you since the moment you awoke.

Uraraka had been the first to pounce on you, spewing words that flew past her mouth with such vigor and rush that you could not keep up. Like a koala, she clung to you— arms wrapped around your neck in a vice and warm grip as she sobbed uncontrollably into your shoulder. Tsuyu had pried her off apologetically, but you merely continued to stare in a daze, the countless medications that they had pumped through your blood still in effect.

One by one, each visitor came up to your bedside and sat down beside you to speak while the others watched. Each interaction differed from the last.

Mina had buried your head into the crook of her necks as she brokenly whispered words of endearment and utmost adoration into your ear, rubbing your back softly as salty tears spilled from her eyes and onto the pillow behind you. Eventually, Mina clasped your face between her hands and grinned through tears at the sight of your face between her hands, further cementing the fact that you were alive and still with her.

After a couple more shared moments with some of the others, Todoroki had stepped up to you with an indecipherable expression painted onto his features before sitting down and opening his arms in a silent offer of a hug. You lifted yourself up and leaned into his hold and he held you delicately like glass, murmuring a gentle “I’m so sorry” and “Thank you for not leaving us.”

Once Todoroki left your side, Momo immediately took his place and buried your head into her chest. At that point, your eyes had begun to sting in response to the endless tears your friends had shed and you were sure they were just as red as Momo’s bloodshot ones.

After Yaomomo came Eijiro Kirishima, your personal golden retriever.

He had lunged at you, scooping you into his arms. Squeezing you tightly, Kirishima could not help but sob into the crook of your neck, shaking while doing so. Apologetic words were whispered brokenly, his voice cracking and changing pitch every syllable.

For someone so sturdy, so stable, you never thought the unbreakable Red Riot could crumble quite so easily.

At the hands of your own, no less.

Finally, the tears began to flow from your eyes, overpowering the dam that stubbornly refused to budge whenever it splintered. Wrapping your arms around Kirishima’s back, you clutch on for dear life, crying into his shoulder.

You almost died.

You did die.

The horror of your situation finally settles.

Your behavior and actions, it really did matter. It affected others, not only yourself. If these people were barely holding it together from seeing you now, alive and safe in a hospital, how would they have reacted if you did indeed die?

If the voice had truly beaten the odds, what would have happened to those around you?

You’re glad, you conclude, that you’ll never know and they’ll never really experience it either.

Death may conclude your story, but it doesn’t end theirs. You just close the book of their life and stop reading their story.

Glancing up from Kirishima’s quivering shoulders, you inspect the body language of everyone there. Some are hunched over, hands clasped over their mouths with tears staining their face. Others comfort each other, tenderly rubbing their backs.

However, there’s one person in particular that catches your eye.

He broods alone in the back, carmine eyes staring daggers into the ground. Dressed in his infamous black skull t-shirt and black sweatpants, his ash-blond hair stands out like a sore thumb.

You know that hunched figure like the back of your hand, even despite his immense growth over the years.

“Bakugou?”

It’s a quiet croak, a frightened whisper. But like the hawk he is, his head whips up, eyes widened in surprise.

And it is then, you see the true damage you’ve caused.

The rims of his eyes are a soft red, like the powdery light red of blush. Below his eyelashes lay streaks of fallen tears, their traces as evident as a bear’s footprints in still snow. His eyebrows are pulled together, wrinkling the space between his glassy eyes. It’s uncanny seeing Bakugou showing an emotion besides anger or neutrality, especially one akin to despair.

You’ve never seen such a hopeless expression visible on his face before.

You’re a monster.

For doing that to someone like him, you know you are.

Kirishima raises his head up and gives a small grin, glancing back at his companion. “Bakugou’s been here since you arrived at the hospital. He was the first person to contact us all about . . . this.”

You wince, pursing your lips at his not-so-subtle tiptoeing around your attempt. He means no harm, but the sting is just as intense at the reminder of your breakdown.

He moves off you and motions Katsuki to move towards your side, patting the blond on the back as he trudged over.

His steps are hesitant and slow— like a zookeeper approaching a wounded, rabid animal. Vermillion eyes inspect the tears that cling onto your eyelashes, the trembling at the corner of your lips, and the shallow intakes and exhales of breath from your throat.

The air between you is thick, but no matter how tense, you open your arms for Bakugou, staring at him teary eyed. He hovers above you, unsure of closing the distance between you both.

“Please?” Your arms tremble mid-air, and the tears on your face stream down faster. You don’t look decent— no one would look their best in such a weak, raw, and vulnerable moment, but you don’t care.

You don’t care because you know surviving is worth so much more than a presentable exterior.

Bakugou swallows thickly before moving into your embrace. His warmth contrasts the iciness in your bones and brings the blood rushing to the rest of your body. Your heart pounds rapidly and your lungs expand further and further, desperate to inhale all of Bakugou Katsuki in.

You stay like that for a few moments before he breaks the silence. “You idiot.”

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“If you need help, you better ask for it next time.”

And then, a small bit of warmth blossoms in your cheeks.

“Yeah, I know.”

MIDORIYA IS FRAGILE.

Midoriya is weak.

No matter how much time had passed and no matter how strong he became, he would always be that same helpless kid he once was. It was an innate part of him— Defenseless Deku would always be the child that existed in the corners of the Number One, Symbol of Peace Pro-Hero Deku’s mind.

Those thin, shaking arms and glassy, red-rimmed eyes all sewn onto a young boy would always be the reflection of Midoriya whenever he stared at the mirror.

Years of scars, fractured bones, and matured features would always fail at hiding the truth about the soul that lived within the body of the greatest hero in all of Japan’s history.

It’s something that lingered in his mind at the late hours of dusk and early hours of dawn— the harrowing truth about the Symbol of Peace.

How could one man be so strong, so powerful, yet be so weak, helpless, and vulnerable?

The thought bounced in his mind as he sat tiredly in the rickety chair of the hospital after receiving a panicked, cryptic worried message from Kacchan.

“‘She was tired. Bleak— dull. She wasn’t herself. She needs our help.’”

His words floated in Midoriya’s head, crashing into the sides of his mind once they resurfaced ashore, only to slip from the sandy outskirts of the beach and back into the rippling waves of the ocean.

“‘She needs you, Izuku.’”

(Name), his (Name), was in danger. You needed help- his help.

He wondered why Kacchan hadn’t just followed you himself. He had always loved you, long before Midoriya even did (or knew he did, for that matter). Midoriya had always known that.

Why didn’t he just play hero as he always would (just like when they were kids and Bakugou always wanted to be the one to only rescue you), and take all the glory for himself? It would end as it always did in those Hollywood films— the hero would save the girl and get her, and they would live happily ever after.

Isn’t that what Kacchan wanted? To live happily ever after with you?

At least, that’s what Midoriya had always concluded whenever his thoughts would trail back to the rather confusing relationship between you and his biggest rival.

Kacchan had always held a soft spot for you. Although the brashness of his actions and pointed words would’ve pierced anyone (like they soon did with him), those icicles simply melted before they could touch the surface of your skin.

And at first, that love was platonic (he believes, but Midoriya is unsure. He may have been able to read Kacchan like a book after years of knowing him, but he could never grasp his concept of romantic and platonic love. He didn’t know him like that.)

Gradually, however, it blossomed into something deeper than just a friendship. In the soil of his greatest rival’s heart, the roots of that love penetrated the layers of dirt before it overtook his heart and became something much stronger than either of them could have fathomed.

Kacchan would deny it all, though. Even to Midoriya.

Distinctly, Midoriya recalled watching Bakugou walk off to your dorm when you both were in your second year at U.A. He hadn’t thought much of it then (as it wasn’t until months afterwards did he begin to suspect Bakugou’s true feelings for you), but it became a frequent sight as the weeks passed.

In due time, Midoriya realized that Bakugou had been meeting up with you more than just those moments he saw Kacchan heading to your dorm room.

A polite voice snapped Midoriya from his spiraling thoughts.

“Mr. Midoriya, you are free to see (Last Name) (First Name).”

He gave a kind smile, bowing his head before he rose. Mindlessly, he walked down the hall until he found your room number the nurse gave.

Your room is secluded off into the end of the hall, beside nothing but a sterile white wall. It’s lonely out here— there are no people or gifts waiting outside the patient’s doors; just sterile, white walls and tiles.

You don’t belong here.

When Midoriya entered your room, the sight of your still body laying unceremoniously on the thin white bedding of the hospital greeted him. Not even a paper blanket had been thrown on you.

An IV drip is lodged into one of your arms, with wires of other sorts filling out the rest of the space on your forearms. Your hair is tangled and matted together by the salty water that once absorbed your body whole. There are fresh, pink cuts laying all over your body, no doubt sterilized by alcohol.

The scene reminded Midoriya of the many times he had landed himself in the hospital critically injured and on the verge of death.

You shouldn’t be in his place.

Never should you be in his place.

He loved you too much to stand seeing you so injured. You were a support hero— you stayed in the background to make the heroes of the public stronger. You belonged in an office where you would be safe and protected. Midoriya made sure of that when he requested you work for him.

But he let this happen.

It’s an unfortunate truth he doesn’t want to accept.

Midoriya knew about your feelings the whole time. He had seen the lovesick, dazed expressions you gave him. He saw the way you would grin happily after each passing interaction with him, how your eyes would light up whenever he stepped in the same room as you.

He knew because he would do all the same for you.

Every time he stepped into the office, his eyes would search for any semblance of you. It had always been like that.

He had always sought out for you, even as kids.

That’s why as he got older and realized the grasp you had on him, Midoriya attempted to flee his emotions. The longer he was around you, the deeper he spiraled in his endless pit of love for you. Butterflies would erupt every second he thought of you— they covered every inch of his being until he became a colorful mess of emotions.

And as he neared the number one spot, he realized the danger that came with such feelings. He would place a target on both your backs. Any villain looking for revenge against him would find you first as a means to get to him. And if they did— if they hurt you— he would have shattered

He would shatter.

That’s why he fled from your life: to protect you.

And himself.

Selfish Izuku.

But he failed to realize the affect it had on you. He never cared to look back and see how you took his sudden disappearance.

Look where that got you both, he tells himself.

You, in a hospital bed barely alive and him, guilty and torn apart at the seams.

Izuku Midoriya may be a hero, but he is a villain all the same.

Whether or not you’re aware of it, he is the villain in your story.

But he is— and that is enough to send the strongest man alive sprinting out of your hospital room and into the night, far away from you, his emotions, and the reality of your lives. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he soars in the air, pouncing from rooftop to rooftop.

The world will always remind Izuku Midoriya that while your worlds were meant to meet, they were meant to collide together and cause destruction.

He just never meant to damage yours as much as he did.

But Midoriya is weak. He is as fragile and helpless as they come, even if he is trapped in the body of the most powerful and capable being known to man.

The cruel universe continued to laugh at him, bathing gloriously in his misery.

Dumb little boy, it condescendingly cooed.

Helpless Izuku, it reminded him.

And he let it torment him, as he always had. Because while he may be the closest thing to God, even he cannot defy fate.

The world doesn’t welcome you with open arms after you’re discharged from the hospital.

When you step outside of the hospital doors, the weather isn’t warm and sunny with a gentle breeze that kisses your skin in those Hollywood movies. The ends of your clothes and hair don’t flutter majestically in the wind. Birds don’t swoop down and tweet enthusiastically at you, hopping to inch near you. There aren’t people happily chattering as they trek down the sidewalks and kids squealing as they sprint freely across the street.

Instead, it’s a sweltering kind of heat that causes sweat to form in every crevice of your body; it’s the kind that burns your skin the moment you step outside, tearing apart your dry, AC-adapted skin. Hair sticks to your face at unflattering angles and your wrinkled clothes are impossibly uncomfortable with every step you take. The polyester of your shirt rubs uncomfortably against the cuts and bruises located all around your body, making you wince. Animals and critters skitter away into the shade in hopes of cooling down. There are no pedestrians on the street or giddy kids. All you can see and hear are cars honking at each other, angry drivers, and speeding motorcycles.

Life is hideous, unfortunate, and cruel. Life is reality. Life is the truth and the truth was never meant to be kind or forgiving. It was meant to kick you off your high horse and humble yourself. It was meant to remind you no matter the strength you possessed, no matter how perfect you were perceived, you would always have to bow your head to the hand above. It was meant to teach you to never bite the hand that feeds you, or else dire consequences will come from those who are disobedient.

And you disobeyed it. You defied fate. You chose your own death, against the death the world had planned for you. You sunk your canines into the hand of life and tore its fingers off, letting the blood spurt over your face.

Now, you are paying for it by living through misery.

Before and after death.

Always and forever.

“Pathetic,” the voice whispered. “How pathetic, (Name). You can’t do anything right, can you?”

A sleek black cars rolls to the curb and a tinted window is rolled down. Ash-blond spikes stick out of the window and you are met with Bakugou’s gleaming eyes.

“You getting in, Princess?”

He sticks a thumb behind him, signaling for you to go to the back. Nodding your head, you step into the back of the vehicle and shut the door behind you, buckling your seatbelt.

You’re right, you agreed with the voice, I can’t do anything right.

Beside Bakugou in the driver’s seat is Todoroki, who sends you a charming smile when he looks back at you. Bakugou turns over as well.

“Hello, (Name).”

You softened at the sight of his body’s tension melting under your gaze. “Hi, Shoto. How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

A bright laugh escapes you— it’s abrupt and loud— the kind that makes you roll around in your bed rethinking your every choice at the crack of dawn.

Yet, somehow for the first time in months, nearly years, you feel a little bit lighter.

The world seems a little brighter.

The voice boils in rage.

“Aren’t you just a charmer, Todoroki?” your hand waves teasingly as you press your head to the glass, swooning to the side. “I always knew your were my Prince Charming waiting to sweep me off my feet!”

Bakugou sucks air through his teeth, huffing loudly. Shoto’s eyes twinkle in amusement as he peers over at Katsuki, his eyes crinkling as his smile grows wider and the pearls of his teeth begin to show.

“If you have something to say Bakugou, you should communicate with us,” Todoroki stated matter-of-factly, glancing behind him before reversing out of his spot. “We’re friends, after all.”

Bakugou scowls, rolling his eyes before turning back and staring at you from the dash mirror. “You got all your stuff, (Name)?”

You nodded, watching as he turned to look off into the distance.

Bakugou had changed drastically from the teenager he once was in UA and even though you saw his development each year, never did you focus on each of his features as he matured.

Your mind wanders to the memories stored of the nights you continuously spent with Bakugou, drinking in his features. The images of the moonlight glowing on his skin like a gentle kiss from a loving mother. The slight curl of his eyelashes, always so long and full that the girls in middle school would jealously whisper over how pretty he was. The deep carmine of his eyes that resembled the reddest of apples, so shiny and perfectly polished that even the fruit trees strewn across Japan enviously would turn away, swaying their branches in the opposite direction just to look away from his breathtaking features.

Those features remained as an adult. Though, the only difference between younger Bakugou and your current one were their builds. Katsuki was taller, bulkier, and somehow even leaner to the point every angle of him appeared sharp. His jawline, the outline of his shoulders, his calf muscles, and everything inbetween. You had gotten accustomed to hearing the fangirls and fanboys of Dynamight ramble about his striking appearance, but you never noticed it properly until this moment.

He’s healthier.

Happier, too.

The once permanent scowl on his face has toned down to a stoic expression and his eyes seem purer than they ever had been before. His soul is kinder, his intentions are gentler. It’s evident with the way he interacts with the world around him, how his touch is less sudden and rough.

You’re glad to see him flourishing in life.

He deserves nothing but the best.

“You don’t,” the voice sneered.

A catchy tune permeates the air and you snap back to the present to find Shoto fiddling with the radio. Slender fingers twisted the black knob back and forth, lingering on each different station for only a moment before moving onto the next.

Shoto cleared his throat. “Are there any radio stations you both like?”

Bakugou shook his head. “I only listen to music from my phone.” He tilts his head back to look at you, cocking an eyebrow.

“Not really,” you tugged at your shirt, trying to distract yourself. “I’m kinda like Bakugou.”

Todoroki lets go of the knob and returns both hands to the steering wheel. “Well, I suggest one of you pull out your phone because we have a long way to go.”

His head bobs in Katsuki’s direction and Bakugou whips out his phone.

Quizzically, you peer at the two. Raising an eyebrow, you reiterate, “. . . A long way to go? My home isn’t that far from the general hospital. It’s not more than 10 minutes driving.”

Immediately, you look outside, reading the names of the streets that pass by. Street names you’ve never heard before pass by and you are met with unfamiliar roads and scenery. Instead of the usual shrubs you’re used to walking by, there are blossoming trees on every corner. This part of the city is far nicer than what you’re used to.

They aren’t taking you home.

“Hope you like animals, princess,” Bakugou chuckled, patting Shoto on the shoulder.

“Road-trip,” Shoto said in the most monotone voice possible.

You gulp.

Geez, maybe I shouldn’t have gotten in this car in the first place.

You grumble, pulling your legs to your chest.

Bakugou cackles loudly and Todoroki emits a small chuckle.

You crack a grin and close your eyes. The voice fumes.

Your smile brightens.

Life gradually begins to slow down as the months pass.

Time doesn’t go as fast, memories don’t escape your mind as much, and moments seem to last long enough to engrave themselves into you. No longer do you live life through your eyes as a spectator in your own body, but as an actual human being present in the moment.

In short, you’re recovering.

At least, that’s what your therapist says. Your friends too.

Not everyday is perfect. You’re not productive every morning, afternoon, or night. Sometimes, you can get out of bed with ease and settle into the little routine you’ve built for yourself. You can wake up, make your bed, change your clothes, wash your face, perform a skincare routine, make breakfast and commence with the day. You might be productive the whole days and run errands, make phone calls, book appointments, and catch up with friends and family. In other instances, your day is much more mundane. You lounge on the couch, hangout with friends, or treat yourself to some nice takeout or a nice walk to that local cafe or bakery. You end the day with a nice movie and popcorn, and even desert if you’re feeling something sweet. Then, you go to bed and the process repeats.

Other times, it feels impossible to even crack your eyes open. You can’t bring yourself to break through the state of slumber. All you can pray for are for those black tendrils to pull you back under into a dreamless world to distract you from reality. Getting out of bed is nearly impossible; it requires hours of coaxing yourself, frustrated tears, frantic thoughts, and maybe a pair of helping hands. The distance from your bed to your bathroom is infinite and the idea of even picking up your toothbrush has you collapsing on the spot. The tears bleed from your eyes and pile onto the sink and your pained sobs echo throughout the halls. The water of the shower is too much and you have to just sit there and wallow until a nagging feeling, a sliver of an authoritative voice reminds you there are bills to pay and there is a life to live. The day is filled with long hours of work and unrest and agony, but it only takes one text to guarantee a pair of warm arms will pick up the pieces of your pain when you get home.

Those days are the hardest, but you’ve survived each one. That in its own is a feat that you’re reminded of everyday you stare in the mirror. You imagine the faces of those who remain with you today whenever the thought dwells and you continue on.

Guilt sparks in your chest when you think of all of those who had suffered in the way you had but received no support and were left to suffer. Your heart cracks, but you know you must do this.

If not for you, for them. For those who were not as fortunate. You will live to tell the tale they could not.

You will remember them in life while they are remembered in death.

Your therapist says trial and error is how you succeed in life. Learning from mistakes is how you grow into someone greater than you were before.

To conclude each session, she reminds you consistency is key. Each time you tell her, “‘Frankly, that’s the hardest part about recovery.’”

It’s hard to be consistent because nothing is consistent in your life. Nothing is consistent in life. The world is ever-changing. Everyday, the Earth spins and something changes around you. A child grows a year older. A baby is born. A loved one is lost. Life dies. Life is reborn. Love blossoms and love dies. A new creation is discovered while another is destroyed. A heart is broken while another is mended.

Someone changes. And at one point in time, you were that person who changed.

Without a beat, she sends you that wistful smile of hers and that one sentence that leads you snorting out of her office.

“‘You like to surprise the world, (Name).’”

For the longest time you had thought she was going mad listening to you, but you eat your words now.

“Did you love him?”

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

Slender fingers wrap around the end of the teaspoon, digging the head into the cup of sugar. Another few reach for the China teacup placed in the middle of the table, gently moving it forward to meet the now full spoon of sugar. The grains of white tumble out of the rounded metal and into the warm water, sinking to the bottom until the same spoon hits the water and stirs them around, dissolving them.

The fresh cup of tea is handed to you.

“Who?” The ceramic’s temperature is a favorable kind of warm— the type that spreads from your fingertips into the rest of your body until you’ve melted in a comfortable pile of goo that brings a content feeling swelling in your chest.

The tea is even warmer, steam hitting your face as you go to sip it. The liquid slips past your lips and over your tongue, coating every crevice of your mouth. The hints of mint and Jasmine blend perfectly with each other, the sweet floral balances out the spice of the mentha.

It reminds you of him.

“Don’t be coy, (Name). You know who I’m talking about.” You want to decline her assertion— to argue that her generality is misleading and she should specify who the man she suspects you have fallen in love with is. But this lady is one you have known for your whole life, one who you believe may just know better than all the rest despite your drastic differences. She was always there to keep you in check between reality and fiction.

Finally, you look up.

Astute and inquisitive eyes the color of carmine align with yours. Mitsuki grins slyly, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “There’s those pretty eyes. Glad to see you’re still in tact, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fragile, Mitsuki. And you’re starting to sound like Katsuki.”

The woman’s eyes soften at the sound of her son’s name and crinkle at the edges in thought. “He got his language from me, y’know. I was the one who called you all those sweet things when you were young. I mean, you were just the cutest little girl!” She wears an adoring smile on her face as she gazes at you with so much motherly love that you can only fidget under her gaze, lowering your eyes in embarrassment.

You never got used to the fireball known as Mitsuki Bakugou, nor her affections. From your earliest days, you could recall the way she would just coddle you. Whenever her son seemed to be talking your ear off or you were overwhelmed, she would simply pluck you out of Bakugou’s reach and walk away from his vicinity, cradling you in her arms cooing quietly at you. No matter how much he would protest, Mitsuki would be your getaway from any situation you couldn’t seem to defuse yourself.

On the weekends, she would take you out shopping with her as if you were her own kin, doting on you like a second mother. She would buy you clothes, books, get you icecream and take you out to eat. Your parents liked to joke that she was their own free babysitter, to which she would always exclaim that you would always be the daughter she never had.

As you got older, that powerful kind of love Mitsuki possessed was one you saw less and less of. That growing rift between you and her son was greater than ever, and the chances you had of seeing her was minimal, minus the outings she would frequently invite your folks to. Even then, she would always be mingling with the crowd.

Sometimes, you wondered if she was there with you through your hardest years would your life have turned out differently. It’s a thought to entertain, but the consequences of misery and despair flare at the idea.

You push the concept down whenever it pops up.

She continues.

“Katsuki simply followed suit. He’s my boy, after all.”

“Your own personal carbon copy,” you agree, stroking the intricately painted patterns of the fine China. The thought of Mitsuki’s question lingers in your head, prodding at a hidden part of your mind you had tucked away for ages now.

The topic of Izuku Midoriya was one you stopped entertaining after the night at the cliff. You had ripped it from the forefront of your mind, shoved it deep inside a metal vault, locked it shut, and tossed the key away.

The relationship between you both was messy— it was a lack of communication, a tangled mess of emotions and one-sided care. The bubble of your affections was filled with mistreatment, betrayal, selfishness, and greed. It was take, take, take from Midoriya and give, give, give from you. It wasn’t healthy for you nor Midoriya.

After you had opened the can of worms that was the man you once loved with your therapist, it wasn’t possible for you to ever see him in the same light. You could never stare at Midoriya with that blindly lovestruck gaze through those rose-tinted lenses. All that flashed before your eyes at the mere mention of him was the horror, sympathy, and guilt that swirled in her eyes as she listened to you. The shaky hug she had given you made you quiver in your shoes and the tears that fell from her eyes made your own slip past your hold.

That was the first time you had seen her professional facade break.

The thought that even the most experienced and knowledgeable of people in the world breaking at the seams from your supposed love story sickened you to your core.

“Was it that obvious?” Truthfully, you’re curious. Did everyone around you know how you used to feel about him? Were your affections for him that palpable?

“Very,” she nods, bringing the cup to her lips once again. “None of us saw it at first when you were kids. Not Inko, myself, or your family.”

Mitsuki sets the cup down, leaning her head on her hand. “But as you all grew up, we all realized that whenever you were with Izuku, you lit up in a way none of us had ever seen before. It was puppy love in our eyes, so we didn’t think much of it at first.”

A noncommittal hum leaves your throat and you inspect Mitsuki as she speaks.

“I mean, you were obvious. It was sweet,” Mitsuki laughs, the vermillion irises of her eyes shining in glee. Suddenly, she placed a finger to her cheek in thought. “Have you spoken to him as of late, (Name)?”

“Midoriya?” you blink, surprised. She doesn’t know, (Name). Stay calm.

You shake your head before going to down the rest of your tea. Mitsuki waved her hand in the air, her face morphing into an indecipherable expression.

“The brat told me about how worried the both of them were over you when you were still in the hospital,” she begins, and she looks down, lowering her voice. “He . . . He was scared.”

You still.

“Scared?” you parrot. “Why? He’s seen worse, hasn’t he?”

The eyebrows of Mitsuki’s face furrow and she sets her teacup down, clasping her hands together. It’s as if the air around you stills and time begins to freeze, pausing the orbiting of Earth itself.

Mitsuki hesitates. “He called me in tears when he was waiting for you to wake up— he was terrified. And when your heartbeat flatlined?” Mitsuki shakes her head. “He couldn’t hold himself together anymore. That Todoroki kid and Kirishima had to take him outside to console him.”

She stares at you, smiling sadly. “The last time he was that petrified was when he was a child, (Name).” A small exhale leaves her lips. “If he lost you that day, he would have lost everything.”

“Huh?” you sweat-drop. “Katsuki has a lot going for him in life, Mitsuki. I don’t think my . . . disappearance would be the end of him.”

Mitsuki shakes her head with a solemn smile, the low curl of her lips hinting at a secret unbeknownst to you. “You just don’t know how much you mean to my boy, (Name).”

She sighs. “I wish he would just tell you already. But I suppose now isn’t this time, is it?”

Mitsuki stands from her position, moving over to pat your head affectionally before leaving the kitchen.

A small part of you claws at your throat, screeching at you to stop her fading figure. It itches at you, desperate to scratch at the surface of your curiosity.

What does Katsuki need to tell me? And why won’t he?

“Curiosity killed the cat, (Name),” the voice giggles in glee. “You don’t want to meet that same end again, do you?”

A booming voice cuts through the clouds in the sky, sending you falling back to the ground.

“You ready to go?”

Leaning against the frame of the hall in all his glory is Katsuki Bakugou, dressed nicer than you’ve ever seen him. He’s wearing a fitted black polo from a brand far too expensive for you to name off the top of your head and a pair of tailored khaki pants. Placed on his right wrist is a black Vacheron Constantin watch with intricate carvings and stones within the clock that looks far too expensive for you to even fathom purchasing or even browsing through.

Like a moth to a flame, Mitsuki steps over to her son, fussing over him like a mother bird with her chick. She huffs as she adjusts the collar of his shirt accordingly, and he groans as his mother who was nearly a foot shorter than him pranced around and fixed his appearance.

The sight was heartwarming, sending a wave of nostalgia through you.

“You expect to go out with (Name) looking like that? I raised you better than this, Katsuki! You’re the son of a fashion designer!” Mitsuki scolds, combing out his hair.

He grumbles, swatting her hand away. “You hag—! I look fine!”

The bickering between the two continues, both of them going back and forth. She swats at his shoulder, even going as far to beat him with her slipper.

Bakugou takes each hit, not moving to fight back. You know he could stop her if he wanted. After all, he was the second strongest hero of Japan and pure muscle. No woman or man stood a chance against him.

Though, when you see Bakugou wince as his mom smacks him for the nth time, you’re left thinking that maybe Mitsuki might be the exception to the rule.

The thought bubbles a giggle in your throat that leaves you chortling to the point of tears. It’s a sound that hasn’t escaped you in ages.

Your chest feels full. Your body feels warm— not the restricting kind, but the comforting one.

They both turn to the sound, their expressions softening as you doubled over in joy. You look up and find Bakugou’s eyes swirling with an emotion that sends your heart fluttering and a brighter grin growing on your face against your will.

The expression reminds you of one you always stared at Midoriya with.

Could it be . . . ?

Heat spreads across your body and your heart skips a beat.

“No one could ever love you, (Name). No one ever will. You’re unlovable,” the voice smirked. “Foolish little (Name). Lovestruck already for another man you’ll never get? How humiliating.”

You recoil back into your timid shell, causing Mitsuki to give Katsuki a look.

The look.

It shouts at him, “Go comfort (Name)! How else are you going to win her heart?”

The one Katsuki returns barks, “What do you think I was going to do?! You’re bothering me, hag!”

Mitsuki rolls her eyes before slapping his shoulder with a huff. “Well, you better go now Romeo, or else I’ll whisk her away from you first!”

He breaks eye contact first, rolling his eyes as he nears towards your hunched figure. From the lowering of your head, he suspects your eyes are trained on the table in front of you. Though, his vision is obscured by the hair that falls in front of your eyes that he so desperately desires to tuck behind your ear.

Be selfish, his mind screamed. Take what you want the most.

But for you, he swore to never bite the hand you fed him from. He would always be grateful for the attention, affection, and care you gave him. You were always so generous with him and the twerp.

Perhaps this time, he would become the hand that did not feed you, but pampered you. Loved you. Took care of you. He would prove that he was not a man greater than the world when he was on his knees beside you. You were his equal, his other half.

He would treat you better than Midoriya ever did. While the Symbol of Peace was blessed with countless chances to end as yours, to take off running with you into a never-ending fairytale, he always left you to eat dust and dirt. Even when Bakugou sacrificed the one chance he had for Midoriya, he refused to atone for his sins. Instead, he only ran further.

This time, Bakugou would not wait for the world to give him a chance. He would create his one last chance with you.

He would love you right. Properly, fully, and unconditionally.

Unlike Midoriya.

A calloused hand gently pushes a few strands behind your ear before cupping the side of your face, bringing your eyes back into focus. Rough palms lovingly caress the apple of your cheeks and instinctively you lean into their hold.

From their touch alone, you know who this is.

Kneeling beside you is Katsuki Bakugou in all his glory, vermillion eyes and all trained on your face. Delicately, you move your hand to wrap around his wrist, giving him a small grin at his delicate behavior. It reminded you of the nights you spent back at UA together.

The syrupy feeling in your chest swirls faster.

A sudden flick smacks your forehead and instinctively you grab your head, face morphing into a glare. “You done prancing with your head in the clouds? We got a reservation to meet.”

You playfully scoff, standing up. “You can’t be nice for once, can you Katsuki?”

He laughed. “Never, Princess.”

The two of you head towards the front door, hugging Mitsuki as you leave. As you both enter Bakugou’s car, she waves you off with a “stay safe name! And protect her Katsuki!”

“We will, Mitsuki!” you shouted, waving. Bakugou grumbles and affectionately, you ruffle his hair. “He says he will, too!”

Mitsuki emits a hearty laugh as she walks back inside the comforts of her own home.

“So where are we headed to eat?” you trace the end of your dress, twirling the loose fabric. “You said to dress nicer than normal, but I’m not too sure what to expect with you pro-heroes.“

Bakugou snorts. “What makes you say that, sweetheart?”

You side-eye Bakugou, cocking an eyebrow. “Take a wild guess.”

“Half-N’-Half took you to one of those rich restaurants in Tokyo?” Bakugou doesn’t even glance over. He’s right and he knows it.

As always.

You grimace, melting into your seat. “I wish I could have evaporated into thin air the moment I stepped inside.”

The occurrence had happened not even a week ago. Only hours before you were meant to hangout with Todoroki, he had sent you an ominous text to simply dress well. When he picked you up, all he would tell you was that you both were attending somewhere nice to dine for the night. And as clueless as ever, you assumed it would be a slightly more upscale restaurant than you both typically frequented.

But boy, were you wrong.

The restaurant was at least fifteen stories tall with clear panes of glass covering every inch of each wall. Chandeliers covered each foot of the high rise ceilings and the floors were glassy, gargantuan tiles that were a pale color of hessonite. The furniture in the establishment were expensive— mulberry silk, plush cushions, bocote wood and all.

The patrons appeared to be just as wealthy, if not more. Dressed in the finest of suits and dresses, adorned with flashy and gauzy jewelry, each and every one of them burned brighter than last.

Shoto too, fit right in. Elegant and classy, they all gawked at the Number Three Pro-Hero.

And you, in comparison to them, stood out like a sore thumb. Meek, humble, and intimidated. You could hear their whispers about you, that night. But you chose to suck down your raging emotions to enjoy the night and tasty dishes.

Well, for as long as you could.

“Was the food good? Shit like that is either hit or miss,” Bakugou commented as he took a right turn, peeking at the GPS set up in the car. “We’re almost there.”

You nod, watching as the once filled roads of the highway cleared into empty streets of residential neighborhoods. “The food was fantastic, but the portions wouldn’t have even fed an infant. I don’t think I’d ever go back, though.”

“Why not?”

You blink, scratching at the skin of your arm to distract yourself from Bakugou’s question. Maybe, just maybe he would ignore your silence—

He repeats his question, opting to now stare at you. You shrink further back into your seat.

There’s no point in lying now, is there?

“I kind of freaked out,” you admit, leaning against the window. The glass is cool against your skin and you let your eyes close momentarily. “I was thrown into an unknown environment and I could feel all their eyes on me. They weren’t trying to hide the fact that they were talking about me.”

You kicked off your heels, sitting your legs up on the seat. “Halfway through, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I told Shoto I had a call to take and nearly sprinted outside to get some fresh air.” You open your eyes, looking at the dashboard in front of you. “It’s humiliating to think about it now, but I left for nearly an hour trying to calm myself down. I must’ve looked insane to anyone walking by.”

The imagery of you sitting on your bottom in front of a Michelin star restaurant with your head in your hands breathing erratically and on the verge of tears made you cringe at the idea. You definitely got some dirty looks, even if no one approached you.

Timidly, you peered at Bakugou. His expression was blank and his lips formed no response.

Your heart constricts itself in your chest.

I should’ve kept my mouth shut, you chastise, curling deeper into yourself. Dread filled your stomach. Why did I even open my mouth?

“Why did you?” the voice taunts. “Everything is easier when you just stay quiet.”

Tears bud at the corner of your eyes and you curl deeper into yourself, focusing on the scenery flying by outside.

Despite the two of you entering residential roads, the area looks familiar. The quiet streets eventually delve into a busy intersection filled with grocery stores and small businesses. The scene looks familiar, but you can’t quite place your finger on it.

“Stupid, little (Name),” the voice coos patronizingly. You grit your teeth. The dread that once resided in your stomach transforms into a festering anger that dribbles into your bloodstream, spreading like pure poison.

The voice beams, spinning circles around your mind eagerly. “Didn’t we go over this last time, (Name)? I’m always right. You’re always wrong. That’s just how it is. That’s life.”

That’s not true— you’re nothing but a filthy liar! you seeth, digging your nails into your skin. I believed you and look where I am—

The thought freezes you. As soon as it comes, it dies. You can hear the voice giggling in delight. Horror creeps into your chest. You tremble in return.

I thought I was getting better. That hopelessness you thought left your system months ago seeps into your bones, attempting to crack the wall of sanity you had spent months building. I thought I was supposed to be healing.

The mantra that rung repeatedly in your head that evening at your office plays again, mimicking that dull little tune. I can’t, I can’t, I—

“We’re here,” Bakugou turns off the ignition of the car. Swiveling your head, you are met with carmine irises and narrowed eyes inspecting your features.

You gulp.

Choke it down, (Name). You’re ruining it for him. Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re okay. You’re fine. You’ll be okay. Just get out. Just leave. It’s only a few more hours and then you can kiss the bed goodnight and never wake up again.

Finally, when you turn to see where you arrived, your heart plummets.

To your side lay swaying blades of grass, swinging to the current of the evening breeze. They dance in the wind, luring the unknown to enter their arcane kingdom. In between the luscious planes of evergreen grass is a dirt road, soiled with muddy tracks from those who had come before you two.

The idea that some of those tracks could have been yours sends you reeling.

I can’t do this. This has to be some sick joke the universe is playing on me. A nightmare.

Suddenly, Bakugou is in front of your door, unlocking it for you. No words are said, except for the calloused hand he has laid out for you. You can’t see his eyes, but you’re sure he must think you’re insane.

If he didn’t before, he surely did now.

Just get the night over with, (Name). It can’t be that bad, right? You’re just overthinking it. It’s not that big of a deal.

“You’re too naive,” the voice sings. Slowly, the inky tendrils of despair emerged from the crevices of your mind, circling your brain. Latching onto any expanse of mind, they pulled and pushed. “You’re hopeless. Why do you even try? You failed once. You’re nothing. You’re worthless.”

I’m not worthless, you argue back, taking Bakugou’s hand. He’s saying something that you can’t pick up, but you don’t care enough to. Rage bubbled beneath your skin. I’ve made it this far. I survived. I can do this.

Storming off, you walk on the trail. Each step you take is filled with fury and steam, gallons upon gallons of boiling emotions that you can’t wait to scream into the night.

When you walk along the curves, twists, and turns of the trail, you don’t picture the nights you spent running up the path with Midoriya. You don’t envision locks of green rooted with black bouncing with each step, galaxies of freckles or the craters you call dimples. Those stupidly bright red shoes the color of maraschino cherries aren’t what form in your mind as you stare at the ground, watching one foot go in front of the other.

Instead, those memories are replaced with the days you spent drinking yourself into oblivion, desperate to drown your sorrows. Flashes and flickers of empty beer bottles strewn across patches of damp, crushed and curled grass play in your head. The sight of filthy and grimy white tiles and a pair of shoes dragging themselves repeat in your head like a broken tape, the beep of a scanner continuously breaks each train of coherent thought that attempts to enter your head.

“‘Would that be all?’”

Thousands of voices ask, some more feminine, some more masculine, some exactly in-between or strewn off into the left or right. Their faces are blurs and unrecognizable blends, obtuse and acute shapes. Their noses are thin, thick, long, short, stout, round, curved up or down, broken or centered perfectly. Their faces are long, round, slender, puffy, soft, rough, bony, or chubby. It’s angles and curves, proportions and disproportions. There’s marks— dots, lines, squiggles, blobs— imperfections in their eyes, but they’re just shapes in yours. Their strands of hair are slicked back, falling forward, parted down the middle, sides, sticking up, down, left and right, or to the side. Their eyes come in different shapes— circles, ovals, diamonds, almonds, pistachios. The outlines are round, big, small, sharp, soft, thin, delicate, tough.

There’s billions of them.

But you never cared enough to truly study their features, instead opting to let a hum and snatch the alcohol from the counter, disappearing in the night.

Now, you wonder if you had cared to stare them in the eyes for a moment longer, to peer past the veil of darkness before your eyes, would you have been saved? Would you have been stopped in your tracks, staring at glistening eyes filled with life, youth, and humanity, disturbed at your disgusting, reckless behavior?

“No one could have saved you,” the voice reminds. “No one can save you. No one will save you.”

Your blood boils and the sense of reconciliation shatters, leaving you sourer than before. Frustrated, you stomp faster, ignoring Bakugou.

The only thing audible is the blood pumping in your veins, the angered huffs from your mouths, and the stomping of your heels against the trail. Each step causes the ends of your shoes to stick further into the soil, making each motion more exerting than last. At the rate you storm up the path, sooner or later fate will bring you down on your knees to kiss the dirt.

With every few feet, the soil beneath your feet hardens. The layers become dryer, returning every step with enough abrupt force to keep you resurfaced. No longer do the pebbles littering the ground sink in; instead, they slide with the specks of dirt, tumbling up and down with the breeze of the wind. You ascend further and further, rise higher and higher. No longer do you fall to your surroundings.

Instead, you rise above them.

“Just like the waves,” the voice beams. “But this time, will you fall below them?”

Time seems to slow to a stop, and you are brought back to reality, frozen in your tracks.

The sea sings its song, the one it always has— the lullaby that sailors fall asleep to and creatures far below the surface awaken for. Each wave crashes against the rocks littered around the cliff wall, the impact of every hit resonating in the air. The droplets of salty water fly high into the air, dropping as fast as they bounced from the cold stone.

The once comforting noises of the deep blue haunt you, seeping into your ears and drowning your heart.

“Don’t step too close to the edge, or you’ll fall off, Princess.”

A sudden warmth blooms on your wrist and when you turn your head, your gaze meets Bakugou’s. Carmine meets (e/c), the two melting into the other.

He wears a cocky grin, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks forced, dare you say, nothing like the bright and deadly grin that adorns his face on the battlefield or when he jokes with friends.

You want to ask, “Are you okay?” But your mouth is glued shut and your body is too heavy to move, so you opt to stand in silence with your wrist in his rough palms, allowing the heat of him to bleed into the coldness of you.

“You’re missing the main attraction, sweetheart,” Bakugou nods his head to the side and your gaze follows suit.

Laying a few feet away from you is a picturesque picnic, straight out of any girl’s Pinterest board. There’s a large black blanket laid out with fairy lights spread all around it, lighting up a pathway for you to enter its soft kingdom. Plates of pastries, fruits, and different foods rest around each inch, goading you to come and take a bite. There’s a wooden basket woven to create the finest pattern, a heart, centered in the middle filled with ice and two bottles of what you believe are champagne and wine.

Your stomach lurches and the tea you had earlier churns in delight to make a reappearance from your gut. You swallow thickly.

“Wow,” is all you manage, but you see the corners of Bakugou’s lips turn just a little bit higher at the words. He doesn’t seem to notice your inner turmoil.

“Did you really think he would? After he hid the fact that he knew you were suffering all this time?”

You answer with memories of going out with friends, with him distracting you from your crumbling life after you escaped the hospital. The voice scoffs at each one and with every noise of disappointment, you hole yourself further and further into your mind.

Bakugou gently tugs you forward, leading you to the picnic. Moving to the side, he guides you to sit down, to which you curl your legs into your side. Carefully walking around the fairy lights, he takes a seat, crossing his legs.

The air between the two of you is tense, awkward. None of you make the first move to speak or eat. You just sit in silence with your hands in your lap, fiddling with your fingers. Never once do you dare to peer up and see how Bakugou reacts to the feel of the room.

Selfish.

He makes the move to pick up a piece of food, and you follow suit by grabbing some mochi. At least that would keep you busy.

Bits of conversation fall between you two, but no sparks fly. It’s lifeless and dull— the fireworks that once blew up beside you two now blew up between the two of you, creating a rift greater than the Nile River.

The mochi is soft as it is sticky, refusing to tear from its body. Though, when it finally breaks, it resists your teeth as you chew it slowly, fighting to keep itself whole. The doughy inside burst into your mouth, sweetening your tastebuds.

Though, the saccharine goodness does little to cancel out the bitterness in your heart and the sourness on your tongue.

“You should see the water. Looks gorgeous when you’re up close,” Bakugou sets down a piece of strawberry cake he had bitten through, nearly halfway done. Rising from his position, he extends a hand to you, goading you to follow in his steps. You mindlessly take the bait, allowing him to drag you like a little girl with her dolls.

Each step closer is painstaking. A nasty feeling latches itself onto your mind, eating through the walls of your sanity. Long, thick, silver drills press into the cement, chomping with all its might to destroy the structure.

“Isn’t it just nostalgic?” the voice prances, jumping back and forth in ecstasy. “You and me, just like from day one.”

You wonder if the glass shards from the broken beer bottles remained spread across the plains of grass, nestled deep between each patch of blades. Had others whom trekked these hills let the glass crunch beneath their feet, shattering the sticky, translucent material? Did they ever consider the story behind the pile of broken bottles, wondering if a soul was suffering the way you were? Or did they merely scoff at the sight, commenting about how reckless others were at the sight of haphazardly tossed glasses with the image of a group of teenagers drinking and giggling into the night?

Did they treat it kindly, lifting each individual piece and storing it to toss away? Or did they kick it to the side with a huff, stepping around any other messes nearby?

Would they have believed a soul if they told the story about a woman drowning in her own agony, her own lovesick foolery? Would they have empathized with the lost soul tethered together by a vile voice, haunting her every living moment?

Would they have listened to the soul beneath their shoes and the sky above their heads sing the tale of misery?

“Would you believe them?”

No, you answer, now peering at the water that soared to the edge of the cliff. I wouldn’t have even listened.

The salty liquid crashes against the boulders, flooding every crevice until the dips overflowed, spilling back into the ocean. Algae resurfaces with every wave, creeping further upon the cliff. Different creatures slip from the holes, desperate to escape the vicious cycle of life and Mother Nature.

Some drown, some drift off into the abyss of black, and others survive. It’s as beautiful as it’s painful and horrific.

Life is cruel. Life is unfair. Life is unforgiving.

Life is a rose— deceptively gorgeous with its bright lights, warm skies, cool breezes and pretty organisms. But with every creation comes its thorns— its threats and consequences for such beauty.

Life is you. You are life.

You are living.

Your throat constricts and your fists clench.

The sky is no longer a melting pot of warmth. There are no hues of burgundy, honey, or marmalade. All that lingers in its tracks are the sinister obsidian, with streaks of berry blue and a deep indigo that looks nearly the same as the vantablack that permeates the entirety of the atmosphere surrounding you. It is freezing cold and frigid.

The twinkles of fluorescence in the air are the only symbol of warmth left, but they are just as cold as the world around you is. They never lit up in the cozy tones of color. They were overshadowed, for they thawed under that gentle glow it emitted.

Static trickles into your ears, blocking out the noise of your surroundings. The control of your own body slips from between your fingertips, tipping into the ocean below. The sight of the world around you blurs and finally, you are rendered helpless.

Bile comes up instantly.

The world seems to nearly tip over as you hurl, coughing up all the liquids and food that had once churned within your stomach. Thick, corded arms wrap around your waist, stabilizing you and soothing your pained body.

Choked coughs escape your throat as you are forced to expel all the contents of your stomach, burning your throat. A tang of bitterness is heavy on your tongue and your mouth is impossibly dry. Grabbing at your throat, you perform a poor hand motion of drinking and instantly Bakugou hands you a glass.

It’s clear— it looks close enough to water. You down it.

It’s sweet, bubbly, and nothing like water. Once again, you vomit. It rushes back through your nose and out of your mouth, leaving you shuddering in place. A surprised “Shit!” leaves Bakugou’s mouth and he tugs you to him, rubbing your back with those large calloused palms of his.

You cough, inhaling every bit of air. “You— god— you gave me champagne?”

Bakugou hissed. “I didn’t realize that we didn’t have water— I was trying to help!”

It burns, stings. Your throat is on fire, your chest is constricting on itself and your heart is pounding. The heat of Bakugou only adds to the coldness of your skin, the iciness that seeped from your insides to your skin. Your eyes demand to fall shut, the lids drooping with every breath. The world feels dead around you, your head is heavy, and you are limp.

You are dead. You are a dead man trapped in a living body.

Bakugou shifts. “Are you . . . okay? Fuck— that’s a dumb question but—”

The thumping of Bakugou’s heart brings your eyes to shut. “I thought I was. Yanno, I thought I was recovering and all that. I was making progress. That’s what everyone said.”

A warm finger slides under your eye, brushing the puffy skin gently. “But?”

“I guess I didn’t. Or I did and I fell backwards. Took one step forward and six steps back.” You push your head further into his chest in a poor attempt to allow the exhaustion of your body to seep into the heat and disappear. “Lately, it feels like I’m back to before the hospital. I don’t reach for the beer like I did before, but that misery and hopelessness still lingers within me.”

Does it ever go away? you want to ask. Do I ever heal?

Nobody can answer. Time can only tell. Life can only smile.

You glance up at Bakugou and watch as his face contorts into a confused expression, lost at your words. A sad smile graces your lips. “You know, it was here where it all happened. I don’t think you even knew— I don’t even know how you knew about this spot— but I guess that’s what I get. I mean, it’s what I get for not telling you the entire truth, I guess. The world likes to make people pay for their actions, huh?”

Bakugou remains silent.

“I hate this place. It reminds me of him.” You both are aware of who you’re referring to. “We found it together. When we were kids in UA. Maybe even before, I don’t really remember.”

Bakugou shifts the two of you so you’re both laying down, inching away from the cliff and back to the cloth. He brings his hand to your back, rubbing soft circles and figure eights. You bury your head into his chest, words muffled by his shirt.

“There’s so many memories here. Good and bad. And I kept coming back all this time to relieve them because of him. But he never cared. It’s stupid now— I can’t believe I never saw it. I was holding onto something that had died long ago and I was dying because of it. I think I’m dead now, anyway. I don’t feel alive.”

You choke on your words. “I want it to all go away, Katsuki,” you say plaintively like a child, clutching his shirt. “Please.”

The waves smash against the cliff and you curl closer to him. He’s warm, so impossibly warm, but you can’t seem to seek equilibrium and match temperatures.

The noise won’t be drowned out.

Stop, please. Stop, stop, stop.

“I can’t save you,” he begins.

Your heart falters in your chest. The dam in your eyes splinters, the wood that held the water behind your eyes begging to flood.

“‘M a hero, but some battles aren’t meant to be fought by all.”

You whimper.

“I can try to help you, (Name), but no one can save you. You have to want to get better to heal. It’s not going to be easy and you won’t be alone, but you have to be willing to hold yourself together. We can only support you, but you have to be the change you want to happen.”

He tilts your head to him, pointer finger under your chin. The soft carmine bleeds into the blurry (e/c). “I know you can do it. You’re strong and you flourish even when everyone around you tells you you can’t. You’ve outdone the best of the best in your fields.”

You sniffle. “That was once. Hatsume just made a dumb mistake.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re capable, (Name). But you need to trust and believe in yourself. It’s hard; I know. But you’ve gotta if you want to move on.”

Your lip quivers. “Did— did you know?”

His eyebrow raises.

“About Midoriya?”

His face falls into a neutral expression and you swallow thickly. He nods.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“If I did, would you have listened? I think you knew but refused to accept it.”

You sigh, wiping your eyes. “I guess that’s true.”

Silence settles before he breaks it.

“(Name).”

You look at him and watch as he hesitates, looking away from your eyes before speaking.

“I—”

The words fade into the steady sloshing of the water, drowning into the night.

“Don’t give me that look.”

Kind, cerulean eyes follow the twitch of your fingers as you twirl the ends of your hair between your fingertips, until you let it fall back to its original spot.

She lets out an amused hum, spinning her machina fountain pen between the area where her thumb and pointer finger connected. The expensive pen had a pointed tip with edges sharper than the tip of a freshly-shaven knife, curving beautifully into a fine line. The body of it was a gooey, deep decadent chocolate brown mixed with a tint of crimson and carmine that left a particular shine when placed into the light. Thin strips of white and a blush, baby pink spilled onto the body, twisting and curving until it wrapped around the top of the pen.

Wealthy people, you shiver.

“If you continue to burn holes into the pen, it might as well explode.” She tosses the pen up for good measure, showcasing a number of spins before it slips right between her middle and index finger, securely settling it in a perfect pencil hold. “My late husband bought it for me.“

Your heart twists. “Oh.”

She chuckles, lowering her gaze to the pen held in her right hand. “He always spoiled me with lavish gifts. I was so frugal and stingy when I was younger, but he wanted nothing but the greatest for me. Everything I own now is all from him.”

A thin glaze coats her eyes, the pale sapphire flooding into a deep, engulfing azul. The flecks of silver seem to brighten against the cerulean tint, the blacks of her pupils tracing the intricate lines carefully. Long sections of white hair fall around her face, covering nothing more than the corners of her eyes and the highest end of her cheekbones.

“Is that your quirk?” The question jolts her out of her mind, eyebrows furrowing at your directness. You swallow, peeking at the window to protect your mind from her piercing eyes. “You’re young— or at least you look like it. Your husband passed away. Your quirk must stop you from aging, right? Because you don’t look older than 26 at most.”

There’s shifting in front of you, but your eyes refuse to look back ahead. Embarrassment burns in your cheeks and the fear of overstepping swirls within your gut.

“You should have stayed quiet,” the voice reprimands. “You’re so dumb, (Name).”

I was so dumb, why did I say that? She probably hates me now. She’s going to kick me out and I’m going to be stuck here forever and it won’t stop and—

“You’re more observant than you let on. But you also like to avoid confrontation, don’t you?” It’s not condescending or patronizing; it’s a factual statement— the truth. There’s no tone other than neutrality and genuinity. “That’s why you’re here today. A bit earlier than I expected you to come around, but you did nevertheless.”

Your lips purse. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She picks up the clipboard, flipping through some pages. “You weren’t completely honest about your past when we first began chatting, were you?”

The silence that lingers answers her question.

“Why not?”

You sigh. She smiles.

“I just . . . didn’t want to.”

“You’re not a burden, (Name),” her hand grabs the delicate pen and begins to trace unintelligible shapes onto the paper. “I understand why you closed yourself off. I read your file, you know. Spoke to Dynamight and Deku about you.”

You still.

What?

The knife of dread, fear, and panic slices it’s way into your heart, carefully tracing the outline of your aorta, atriums, and ventricles. The pointed tips glides over each ridge, caressing the soft tissue and flirting with the idea of piercing its way inside, only to send blood spurting everywhere and leave you cold inside out, once again.

She continues. “They both care for you a lot, in their own ways of course. Deku is much more vocal about his concern, but Dynamight is the silent, brooding type. He expresses his concern through his actions and behavior.”

She spoke to them? To him? Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?

Why didn’t Bakugou tell me?

“Yeah,” you breathe out, averting your eyes to the window outside. Your heart palpitates inside your chest. “That, uhm, really sounds like them.”

The sky is a bright blue today, with not a single cloud in sight. Buildings decorate the slopes of blue, with light shades of gray and dark shades of a hybrid of obsidian black and white.

“What a shame,” the voice pouts. “The view is obstructed. Wasn’t it just so lovely?”

The collar of your shirt is suddenly a tad bit too high, too tight, and suffocating. It clings to your throat, wrapping its fuzzy tendrils around the base, before slowly gliding across the expanse of your skin.

“Doesn’t it just remind you of those beautiful waters? The one near the cliffs, you know. Don’t you just want to go for a swim?” the voice purrs. “I, for one, think it sounds refreshing.”

The tentacles speed their movements, rushing their efforts to close their tendrils around your throat. The inky black swallows your throat, leaking into your lungs. Faster, they move. Tighter, they squeeze. Together, they suffocate you.

“It’s not fun when you’ve gone right back, y’know. Takes the fun out of your misery. Now, you’re all lifeless like a doll. You have no hero to save you. Just what will you do, (Name)?”

The sight in front of your eyes fades from a lovely sky and high rise buildings to a murky, endless bank of water screaming at you to fall below. Like a siren’s call, the kelp sings to you by teasingly waving its green body, luring you down below.

Sweat pools on your forehead, threatening to drip down your neck and onto your shirt. You can see it all now.

You remember it all now— vividly.

The beer. The cliff. The staff worker. The evening sky, the water, the spray of the salty sea, the stabs of the grass. The incessant nagging of the voice— the reminder of him, everything about him and how little you meant to him.

It all washes over you like a tide, overflowing with the means of drowning you to snap you back to reality.

“‘Wake up!’” it screams.

“—(Name)?”

Virdescent eyes bore into yours, pupils dilating as they continue to hold your gaze. The flecks of obsidian and rim of a deep, mysterious amethyst capture your attention.

The kelp twirls.

“(Name)?” A gentle, unnatural hand places itself upon your shoulder. The aroma of distilled rose water permeates your nostrils. “(Name), are you okay?”

The toxic green melts, burning through to reveal a set of pure, bright ruby red eyes.

The sky glimmers.

You blink.

She grins.

He doesn’t react.

You don’t know if that’s good or bad, really.

But the words continue to tumble.

“I— I loved him. That’s what hurts, Katsuki. I loved this man who returned an unobtainable love and I was too blind to see it.”

How foolish am I? How stupid do I have to be to not have seen this further?

“How stupid are you, (Name)?” the voice parrots.

It hurts. You’re tired. Everything is dark. The sky, the grass, your vision, your mind, your thoughts.

The stars in the sky are so faint, so dull. You miss their shine.

You miss the bright lens that were placed above your eyes, lighting up the sky.

Slowly, your world crumbled. Now, it was tumbling, shattering into millions of pieces.

Your chest tightens, and it feels as if you are back in the office, curled into a ball on the verge of suffocation.

You can remember the warm traces of tears spilling from your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. If you close your eyes, it feels as if you’re there, in those stuffy office clothes with the haphazardly thrown stacks of papers and splayed out tools, shattered pieces of glass, and a throbbing heart.

You’re dying. Lifeless. Hopeless.

I just want it all to end, please, please, please—

Warm hands snap you out of your thoughts. Large, calloused hands cup your face, tracing the dull tips of its fingers along the outline of your jaw, thumbs circling comfortingly under the bags of your eyes.

It’s cozy and loving, like warm cider on a chilly autumn day. Your heart pounds in your chest in excitement. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and an older, kinder voice whispers at you to simply open your eyes.

When you feel the tickling of hair against your head, your eyes flutter open. A warm head bumps against yours, resting itself in the very center of your forehead, as if it fit there. The remedial hands of warmth continue their trek of tracing the outline of your features, encapturing your face in their hold.

Boring into your eyes are Katsuki’s, in all their cherry red glory.

“Bakugou . . . ?”

A hint of doubt flickers across his features. The corners of his eyes crease, and the middle of his brows furrow.

“You’re a cruel monster, (Name).”

“Always hated when you called me that, y’know,” is all he replies with.

He’s close.

“Too close,” the voice reiterates.

Despite the warmth radiating from Katsuki, goosebumps erupt on your skin like a volcano’s molten lava bursting through the surface to cover the earth’s surface in its flames.

Is it from the cold?

“No,” a foreign voice answers.

Red eyes flit to your lips and a shaky exhale leaves your nose.

Is it anticipation?

“Yes,” it responds again.

“Lean in,” it goads. “Give in. Don’t hold back.”

“You’ll hurt him, just like you hurt yourself,” the voice chimes. Your heart plunges into your stomach

The quiet lull of the other voice drowns out the terrors of the voice. “Be his. Just for tonight, let him have you.”

“Okay,” you breathe. The doubt and hesistance leaves you.

He press his lips against yours.

The kiss is a warm caress, one that lets warmth blossom on your own. It’s soft but so sweet, so gooey like maple syrup dripping down your throat. A tinge of cinnamon bleeds into your mouth and the smell of caramel floods your nose.

You pull away first, but Bakugou’s hand keeps your head touching his, staring into the other’s eyes.

Am I going to hurt him? Is this fair to him? Am I using him?

“You’re a horrible person, (Name),” the voice says. You want to agree.

The foreign voice speaks up. “Listen, (Name). Stay quiet and listen, please.”

“I know you still love him.”

His voice breaks and you feel your heart follow.

No, I don’t. You want to answer.

“But how much of that is true?”

You’re not sure.

“I know how much he matters to you. Izuku matters to me too.”

You want to cry.

“But I won’t give up on you. I never have and never will. Not— not unles you want me to. I won’t chase you if you don’t want me to. But if you’re willing to have me, even just for a bit to let me love you whole, I’ll stay.”

“Katsuki,” your voice breaks. The tears flow. Calloused fingers rub off the tears.

“He may have been your first love, but I intend to be your last.”

You panic. “But what if it takes too long? What if I take too long to lose feelings and you have to try again to make me fall in love with you?”

A warmth envelops you. “As long as you want me, I’ll work as hard for as long as I have in this life to be your final love.”

The heat is familiar and gentle; it doesn’t set your skin aflame, but instead adds a slight increase with every second, adjusting you.

It’s accommodating and loving.

It feels like home.

“It’s him, isn’t it? It always was.”

I was just too blind to see it.

The new voice whispers, “He could never hold it against you; he would always forgive you. All he wants and needs is you. Remember what Mitsuki said? You’re his everything.”

And he is the same to me.

——————————-——————————————

Midoriya is kind.

“Are you sure that’s all you want to order?” A large, scarred hand settles itself upon your smaller one, rubbing the area of your wrist with slow, gentle strokes.

Midoriya is kind in the way that he would help an elderly lady cross the street with her hand wrapped around his arm, guiding her safely to the other side. He is kind that when a child cried in the middle of the sidewalk all alone, he would approach them with nothing but a gentle smile on his face and kneel down to their height, offering his help.

Midoriya Izuku is a good man with a big heart and a bright smile. He is the sickly saccharine type of person— a man who despite being made of hard muscle, is truly all marshmallow and gumdrops.

He is a glorious man who chose to devote his life to saving the world— but that in itself is what made him so utterly selfish.

“He loves you, (Name).” the soft voice whispers. “Do you know that?”

His love is not enough for me to stay any longer.

“I ordered a whole bowl of pasta, Midoriya. I think that’s more than enough,” you grin, sliding your arm out of his grasp. He pouts like a kicked puppy who was just scolded by their own for eating one too many dog treats.

Maybe long ago, your heart would have squeezed at the expression. Now, no butterflies erupt in your stomach. No heat spreads to your neck and to the tips of your cheeks. All that churns in your stomach is the acidic sips of a mocktail you had and the glass of water you downed before going to meet Midoriya.

“You know, you can still call me Izuku,” Midoriya begins, retracting his hand from your side of the table. You dig your fork into the pasta, swirling it around in the plate. “I’m still your Izuku, right?”

What am I supposed to say to that?

You peer up, watching as his emerald irises swim with a fondness and intimacy you could only picture thousands of women would die to see Izuku Midoriya, Japan’s greatest hero, to gaze at them with.

But to you, it is meaningless.

“Do you pity him?” the gentle voice asks. “Do you pity yourself for how blindly you behaved as him, too?”

In front of you, you hear a group of girls squeal, “Oh my gosh, it’s Pro-Hero Deku!”

A big bite of pasta with a pointed smile is all you offer Midoriya as he turns to face the approaching group of gals murmuring in excitement, asking to take photos.

At least the pasta is good.

——————————-——————————————

“Say it,” the voice utters.

The city lights at the ripe time of midnight are a beautiful sight, filling the world with a plethora of icy and earthy tones. Giggly couples stumble down the street, hand in hand, high off of joy and young love. Teenagers skate down the sidewalks, hollering profanities and excited cheers into the night sky.

The whole world is bright and alive around you, despite the pit of black surrounding it.

“Will you let this moment slip? After all you’ve gone through?”

Midoriya’s hand once again reaches for yours, scarred fingers entangling themselves with yours. The pupils in the greens of his eyes seem to shrink as your palms make contact, and a faint blush sprouts on his cheeks.

In the moonlight, Midoriya Izuku is alive.

He is glowing brightly in the light of the city, with his unruly mess of curls draping over the tops of his eyes.

But beside him, you stand in the darkness of his shadows. In the presence of the Symbol of Peace, Izuku Midoriya, you are nothing more than the spirit that he is championed to destroy.

Once again, you are nothing more than a lost soul falling into the hands of death.

“Is that all you will ever be? Will you let all of your hard work dwindle to waste? Will you fall back into his arms only to repeat this same miserable cycle?”

Tips of blurry blonde spikes materialize in the depths of your mind. The crashing of waves against rocks bleeds into your ears and the pricks of blades of grass send tingles exploding across your skin.

“How much will it take until you truly break, (Name)?”

A pair of loving carmine eyes stare back at you, a bright twinkle in the corners of its pupils. They are a reminder of the gentle kiss and the tender love you had experienced only days before.

‘I want you, Katsuki.’

He had cried, when he heard those words.

‘Please, will you let me love you the way you loved me?’

You never thought you could reduce a man as powerful as Bakugou into a mess of joyous tears. But life has a habit of surprising people in the most unexpected ways.

I’m sorry, Midoriya, you long to say. I’m sorry you are slipping down the path you forced me to tumble down. But I’ll save you in the way you failed to save me in before. I’ll right your wrongs.

Not for you, but for me.

“I can’t do this,” you rip your hand out of his grasp, stepping back. “I can’t do this to you, Midoriya.”

He jumps, startled by your abrupt movements. He opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt.

“I can’t live with you in my life— not anymore.”

“(Name), what? What are you saying right now?” Midoriya reaches his hand out to anchor you— or himself— but you widen the gap between you two.

“I’m talking about you— I’m talking about us,” you gasp. The waves slosh in the bottomless pit of the sea. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see it like everyone else did. You can’t lie to me and say what you did wasn’t purposeful!”

Boots smush into the wet mud, slipping off the bottom of your foot. “_____________!” Midoriya exclaims.

The beating of your heart smashes against your ribcage and blood rushes to your face. “You were given so many chances, Izuku,” you cry as the tears finally slip. The bottle fissures and the dam explodes; the beast is unleashed. “You gave up. You gave up on yourself, you gave up on me, you gave up on us. You always have— you always will. You never took a single chance because you never cared enough!”

There are tears streaming down his own face, distorting the sight of those freckles you once adored so much. You had once believed them to be kisses from the gods themselves. Now, they seemed nothing more than a painter’s deception of beauty.

Midoriya weeps. “________________!”

No longer do you crumble under the weight of Midoriya’s tears. You stand proudly under the pour of your own.

“You’re forgetting someone, aren’t you, (Name)?” the voice curls around you, peering at you gleefully. She giggles. “You should go and surprise him, (Name).”

Katsuki. Your heart shines, despite the pain of the tears.

You turn away from Midoriya, sparing nothing more than a turn if your head. “Thank you for giving me the story of a lifetime, but this is the end of us. Our chapter closes today, Izuku.”

Around you, the city blurs. “The story of us wasn’t meant to last a lifetime. It was meant to be for only a moment.“

And slowly, so does Midoriya. You laugh, “But it is one I’ll never forget.”

Stuffing your hands into your coat, you move away, preparing to cross the street. But you pause before your foot meets the pavement.

“Midoriya,” you murmur, glancing side-to-side as the cars fly by, before looking back at him.

He stares at you, petrified, as if you were a ghost of his past.

Maybe, you are.

Maybe, you have truly become another ghost in his world.

“Do you remember me?”

The Symbol of Peace stares at you like a deer in headlights, frozen and lost. For the first of many times, Izuku Midoriya is clueless.

A smile plays on your lips.

“Who knew you could bring the most powerful man to his knees?” she pinches your cheek affectionately.

Fractured excuses and phrases of rambles slip past his lips, sending circles spinning upon circles.

You know the truth.

So does he.

“Don’t think about it too hard, Izuku.”

As you step onto the street, the moonlight falls upon you, covering Midoriya in its pit of dark.

Finally, you burn brighter than the stars above.

——————————-——————————————

The clock reads 2:37 AM.

You remember this road and the corner where Bakugou caught your arm.

You remember running and running until you got to the convenience store, pouring liquor while sitting on the hill. Downing bottle after bottle, bleeding away into a pool of water.

You remember the lights flashing, the salty spray of sea against your skin.

But you don’t remember the feeling or the pain of your broken heart.

It’s all gone.

It’s over.

The memories remain, the sleepless nights, the sober-less dreams.

But the pain does not.

For the first time, it’s gone; the wound has healed. The rift in your heart has shut.

“Call him.”

Frozen fingers reach into the depths of your purse, unlatching the metal clip to reach your phone as you trek down the street. With a few swipes, you press the call button.

Two rings pass before you hear a click and a groggy, gruff voice. A warm grin plays upon your lips.

“Hi, Katsuki.”

You chatter into the night, walking with a pep in your step. Muffled groans can be heard on the other side.

The voice sighs wistfully, resting her head on your shoulder. “Young love,” she twirls her hair around her finger, lips curling into a pleased smile. “How romantic it is, to be so young and utterly in love.”

Unwrapping her limbs from yours, she slips away into the dark, melting into the shadows of the moon. The wisps of her hair fade into a glimmer that twinkles in the streams of light and her body blows away with the breeze of the night.

You check the time in your phone.

2:37 AM, the clock reads.

The edges of your eyes crinkle.

He knew.

——————————-——————————————

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espers-n-espurrs · 3 days

Text

OFFSCREEN POST

Connecting Roots

Continues from Laid to Rest

TWs // CWs : Hospitals, Child Injury Mention, Discussions of Pokemon Death, Discussions of Kidnapping / Child Abduction, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Complete upheaval of life, Police

The hospital was unnerving, with its pristine white walls and floors and its blinding fluorescent lights. The scent of disinfectant perpetrated the air, causing the room to feel artificial and dead. Esper shifted uncomfortably in her bed, forcing herself to not fidget or touch the IV stuck in her arm. Beside her, Victoria sat in the recliner with furrowed brows and a distant stare, her arms crossed and her leg bouncing anxiously. The ticking of the clock pounded its way into Esper’s skull as she waited.

It had been nearly an hour since Reina had excused herself from the hospital room to go make a phone call, ordering Victoria to stay with Esper. At first, the two attempted to make small talk to stave off the silence. But the lingering tension from earlier events hung over them, suffocating any conversation until it died down to nothing more than crossed arms and far-off gazes from Victoria.

And yet despite the passage of time, Reina had yet to return. Esper didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. She couldn’t see the dust. She couldn’t see the scattered remains of the Hatterene in her room. She couldn’t tell if any had landed on her, if Barcelona’s last remnants were all over her or in the far corners of the room. She couldn’t tell and she didn’t want to know.

Her body ached, the pain medication only doing so much to dull the throbbing in her face and torso.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs and hoped she wasn’t breathing in the dust of Barcelona, and opened her eyes to refocus on the blue-haired girl in the room.

“How are your Pokemon doing?” Esper asked, desperate to focus on anything but what had just happened. “I know Maria had to leave the dorm with Esperanza.”

Victoria’s eyes flickered upwards to look at Esper, slipping back into the present. She blinked for a moment before quietly responding with, “Physically, they will be fine. They are Pokemon, they heal fast.” She cast a glance at the blazer pocket that stored her Pokeballs. “Esperanza, as far as I am aware, sustained no injuries. Maria escaped with a few scratches. And Matador…” She trailed off. “Matador doesn’t know Barcelona is dead…”

“Oh…” Esper paused, looking down at her hands as she rubbed the blanket fabric between her fingers, “You're right. He doesn’t.”

With the grim reminder of what had occurred only an hour prior, the girls once again slipped back into uncomfortable silence, with only the ticking clock and the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights to fill the void.

Minutes later, however, Victoria suddenly lifted her head and whirled around to face the entrance to the hospital room. Unfurling her arms, she squinted and furrowed her brows at the door, extreme confusion and disbelief riddled her face. “Wait—” The girl whipped her head to look at Esper, eyes darting around every detail of her face. “Wait wait—”

The girl in the hospital bed blinked, “What–” She quickly brought a hand up to touch her bruised cheek, “What– Is the bruise getting worse?”

“No– I—” Victoria looked back and forth between Esper and the door, her chest rising and falling increasingly erratically. “I don’t– Wait– no—” Her gaze became unfocused as she stared off into the distance behind Esper, shaking her head slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that fell from her lips were unrefined stammers. “You– No– Nono– You can’t—”

“I– What–” Esper furrowed her brows as worry etched itself across her face. She watched her friend’s actions carefully, attempting to understand why her friend was acting so uncharacteristically emotional. Esper moved to the side of the bed, throwing her legs over the edge to sit up as she questioned the other girl. “Tori– Tori, what’s wrong?”

“Est— Esp—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. And before either of them could respond, Reina Velasco-Delgado had let herself into the room.

Two officers filed in behind her, along with a sharply dressed man— Victoria’s father.

The white-haired girl paused, her face paling as she eyed the police officers like a wary Pokemon, “Wha…”

Reina raised a hand to cut her off, “You are not in any trouble, love.” With her hands clasped in front of her, her smile warm, and her eyes soft, she appeared a lot less intimidating than she had been an hour ago. She had forgone the thick fur coat and wide brim hat for a much more humble white blazer. If not for her light complexion, she would appear a lot more like Victoria.

Speaking of Victoria, at the sight of her mother and father, the girl had quickly sobered up and sat straighter in her chair. She raised her chin in acknowledgement. The only hint of her prior state was the occasional glance she would throw in Esper’s direction.

Esper looked Reina up and down, doubt and confusion riddling her mind with all sorts of worse case scenarios as she asked, “Then– Then what–”

The girl was swiftly cut off by the clacking of heels as another figure entered the room, stealing away her attention and causing her to freeze in her seat as her eyes met those of an older woman. The older woman froze in turn, letting out a gasp at the sight of Esper and clasping her hand over her mouth where Esper could’ve sworn she had briefly caught a glimpse of the shining whites of fangs. But that wasn’t the only thing of note about the woman. No. Her hair that fell down to just below her shoulders was a brilliant snowy white and her eyes– her eyes were soft lavender with white pupils so bright that they almost seemed to glow.

But that couldn't be. These traits combined with the aged face of the woman resulted in what could only be described as the spitting image of Esper’s father.

If it were not for the fact that this woman was so clearly not her father she would’ve called out to them in excitement, but no. No. This was not her father, she did not know who this woman was.

Esper sat quietly, her guard raised as she stared at the woman through furrowed brows as she waited for her to make some kind of move.

And that was when the woman spoke. “Salut, do you remember me…? Do you know who I am…?” Her voice was soft and warm and she spoke with a strong Kalosian accent.

“...Am I meant to?” The younger girl responded rather bluntly.

The older woman's shoulders slumped slightly as she let her hands fall from her face but nonetheless she smiled at Esper as she answered “I had wished you did but that cannot be helped my dear…” She then leaned down to be face to face with the younger girl and this was when Esper took notice that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy as if she had just been crying. “Which means I should introduce myself, my name is Cécilia Wyrmwood. Does the last name Wyrmwood ring any bells?”

Esper shook her head with a growing sense of dread building in her gut as she glanced off to the side to see the two officers watching them intently.

Cécilia hummed in response, a seemingly sad look in her eyes before she shook her head in turn. “I… I understand. Let’s try this then.” She reached into her purse, pulling a series of photos. Thumbing through them for a moment the older woman selected one and bent down to show it to Esper. “Does this man look familiar to you?”

The white-haired girl looked down at the photo being presented to her and felt her stomach drop as she saw the ever so familiar face of her father staring up at her. It was undoubtedly him, the only difference being a bright toothy grin and a lack of wrinkles, but it was so clearly him.

Esper’s eyes snapped up to meet Cécilia’s, her face paling as she quietly asked, “Why do you have a photo of my da…?”

“Because I’m his twin sister, dear.” The older woman spoke with such confection that Esper didn’t have it in her to argue. To say that, no, no, you’re lying to me, my da has no siblings. Because how could Esper know for sure? Her father always shooed away any conversation about his family, always scolding and telling her to stop asking him such questions. But here she was, in front of one of her father’s family members, in front of one of her family members. But why? Why now? Why here? Why at all?

Esper wanted to ask every question running through her mind, every single one, but the only one that came out was, “Then… then why didn’t he tell me about you..? Why– What–”

Her mouth went dry as Cécilia answered with, “Because he took you.”

“You’re lying.” Esper spat out before thinking. She had to be lying. Her da didn’t take her. He couldn’t have.

Cécilia frowned at this, “I’m not. I promise you, I’m not. He took you and your brother and, as we’ve found out, fled to Spik–”

She was quickly cut off by Esper snapping back, “You are! You must be! My– My da never took me! I’ve lived in Spikemuth my whole life! He never took me if I’ve always been there!”

Victoria visibly flinched at Esper’s sudden outburst. Yet she remained silent as always. Reina stepped to her daughter’s side and rested a hand on the back of the chair, shooting Cécilia a sympathetic frown.

Cécilia sighed in return, “I know. I know this is hard, trust me when I say this.”

“And why should I?” The girl snarled back.

Esper’s aunt took a deep breath and pulled out another photo from the collection she had in her hands, staring at it for a long moment before turning it around for Esper to see. In the photo stood a young girl, no more than six, with white hair and lavender eyes smiling brightly at the camera as she held an older boy’s hand, his complexion darker than her own with curly white hair and his own eyes a darker shade of purple. The two stood in front of a large and extravagant iron gate with Esper’s father off to the side, watching the two with sharp eyes and a soft smile.

“Do you recognize these two?” Cécilia asked in a tone that indicated that she already knew the answer.

Esper felt her hands begin to shake, her eyes scouring the photo for what felt like minutes. No. No. She doesn’t– Those can’t– No– “That’s my brother and I…” She quietly responded, her voice much more meek than what it had been before during her outburst. “But… That can’t– I don’t remember that– Where–”

“That was taken for one of many Christmas photos when you were six...” Cécilia pointed at the building in the far distance of the photo, “That is the Wyrmwood estate in Kalos. Where you grew up until you were taken.”

“But I wasn’t–”

“Your father has been lying to you, my dear.” Cécilia softly responded, reaching to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder only to have her instantly be shrugged off. The older woman held back a sigh as she continued, “He’s been lying to you about so much. That man is not named Cedric Hargrove but rather Lucien Wyrmwood… Much like how your name isn’t Esper Hargove–”

Esper’s chest began to rapidly rise and fall. No. No. No no nononono– This wasn’t real– This can’t be real–

“–but rather Estelle Lucille Wyrmwood… Lucien took both you and Flynn on November thirtieth twenty-seventeen and we’ve been looking for you ever since…”

“No. No– No no no–” Esper repeated in a frenzy. Her eyes began to tear up as she felt the pit in her stomach begin to twist and churn, a shooting pain firing through her as she felt her heart begin to strain and hurt. That was all she felt. Hurt. “Wh– Why would he– He wouldn’t do that—”

“Because he cheated on his wife, your brother’s mother, and had you with another woman–” Cécilia continued despite Esper’s protests, her brows furrowing as she tried to find the words, “We… We hadn’t known that was the case and it’s an incredibly long and upsetting story that I feel as though should be shared with you at another time–”

“You’re lying–” Esper interrupted the older woman, her voice strained, “You have to be lying– Pl– Please be lying–”

She can’t trust this woman. She doesn’t know this woman. Who can she trust? Was there anyone here she could trust? Was there anyone here who wouldn’t lie to her for some unforeseen gain?

Victoria.

Esper whipped her head around to look at the girl, tuning out Cécilia's voice with relative ease as she stared at her friend with pleading eyes. Victoria would tell her. Victoria would tell her the truth.

And as if Victoria could hear her thoughts, she lifted her gaze to look Esper in the eye. With trembling hands, she slowly reached to pull off her gloves, exposing the eye-shaped tattoo on the back of her hand. Setting the glove aside, she wordlessly extended her exposed hand to Esper with a small nod.

An invitation to discover the truth for herself.

She knew Esper would believe every word she said. And yet she was giving her the option anyway.

Esper stared at the open hand for a moment, fear of what she may learn causing her to hesitate and second guess if she really wanted to know. But she did. She so desperately did. Because if this was all a lie then she would need to worry about why she was being lied to. And if it wasn’t…

The room became dead silent as Esper slowly took her friend’s hand into her own.

The memory of two young girls flashed into her mind: one with dark blue hair and small freckles on her cheeks, and the other… the girl from the picture. The two girls were playing with dolls in a beautiful garden, burying a Ken doll that had clearly been set on fire in recent history. On the other side of the makeshift grave stood a towering Pangoro and Matador, Victoria’s Armarouge, lowering their heads solemnly as if attending a funeral service. The Pangoro pretended to wipe a tear from his eye as he held his cabbie hat to his chest. The girls put the Ken doll in a casket and lowered it into the grave. Normal little girl stuff.

But that was clearly a younger Victoria. And that was clearly a younger Esper. Estelle? A younger her.

The memory melted away as the girl’s hand slipped from her friend’s, falling limply at her side as she slowly turned back to Cécilia. She could hear that Cécilia was attempting to speak to her but no matter how much she strained, no matter how much she tried, she could not hear her. She could barely even see her face.

Something wet hit her arm, pulling her gaze downwards to see dark spotting along her hospital gown. Tear stains. When did she start crying? How long had she been crying?

Esper could feel her throat squeezing tightly shut, narrowing her airways and making it harder to fill her lungs with air but when she could she could her chest heaving and shaking. Her heart was being strangled from within, sharp pains shooting through like salt to tender wounds. Her hands were unsteady as she wrapped them around herself in a tight embrace, squirming away as she felt someone else's hands try to reach for her. She didn’t know who it was. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be touched.

She felt cold, clammy, as if all worth had been sucked from her in an instant. Thousands of thoughts ran through her head as tears stained her cheeks and mucus filled her nose. Everything hurt. Her muscles, her heart, her mind. Everything. Hurt.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurtsithurts–

She felt sick.

Esper could barely feel her own mind as she tried to look at the faces around her, finding that her vision was startlingly becoming more and more fuzzy as seconds passed to such a point she wasn’t even convinced that she could see. “I don’t–” She choked out, her voice nearly inaudible, “I don’t feel well….”

She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. She could not think as her vision faded into nothingness and Esper, the now no longer missing Wyrmwood girl, collapsed onto her hospital bed.

Scene End.

===============

[ Victoria, Reina, and Alamar all belong to @victoria-vd / @jaimemes ]

#pkmn irl #pokeblog rp #rotomblr #pokemon irl #rotumblr #ooc post #offscreen post #miracle eye #connecting roots #tw hospital #tw pokemon death #tw child kidnapping #tw child abduction #tw panic attack #tw dissociation #tw complete upheaval of life #tw child injury mention #tw injury mention #tw police

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sadly-in-active · 4 months

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Affogato Cookie x Amnesiac Reader (part 3)

Summary: Congratulations, you aren’t dead or anything! Apparently the head injury that you got from falling headfirst into a pile of rocks made you get amnesia! Hooray…yay…🤗. Luckily, you have a caretaker who’s here to tell you what you missed, who you are, and what happened to you! How sweet, right? And, uh, what was his name again? Oh, Affogato Cookie? Yeah, that’s fine. He’s probably a great guy, y’know?

TW: FINALLY some manipulation, normal gremlin Affogato, you don’t get wtf is going on because nobody is telling you besides the ex-advisor, and mentions of blood strawberry jam loss! Probably poisoning if you squint your eyes~ AND NOTHING I MAKE IS PROOFREAD.

Link to #1

Link to #2

You let out a soft groan, feeling both sleepy and sore as you blink your eyes open. Your gaze darts around, trying to make sense of where you are. It's freezing and everything is covered in snow. You’re in a cave... How did you end up here? And then it hits you—wait a second, who even are you??

“Agh…my head..”

You mutter softly, attempting to stand up but quickly collapsing back onto the ground, curling up from the pain in your chest. You notice someone has bandaged you up. So, you got wounded, someone brought you to this random cave, and then patched you up? Hm. Well, it feels like you should thank whoever helped you out. It just seems like the right thing to do.

However, a quiet yet amused voice was heard from the darker corner of the cave, where little to nothing would be seen without a light.

“Well, you certainly look like a mess. I’d suggest that you sit down, but I doubt that I get a say in what you can or can’t do.”

It was... someone. Not in a rude way, just that kind of voice that triggers a faint sense of familiarity, like you've crossed paths before but can't quite recall where or when. That damned memory loss; you can't even remember your own name or how you ended up in this situation. Everything feels like a haze, pieces of a puzzle scattered and lost in the fog of your mind.

“W…who are you? Do you know who I am too? How did this happen, what am I doing-”

You asked, trying to limp closer to the darker corner of the cave before the stranger giggled, cutting you off as he walked into the light. At first you were taken aback by how he looked. How could a voice as smooth and sultry as that fit someone who looked so…feminine? Well, you didn’t have time to question it, as he suddenly grabbed your hand and gestured for you to sit down, which you did.

“Oh, a lost little sheep like you must be very hurt after your incident. You don’t remember me, do you? That’s alright, I can tell you. My name is Affogato Cookie, but you can call me Affogato. You were attacked by one of the beastly snow lions within the kingdom’s snowy borders, and I stepped in to save you before you crumbled and bled out.”

Affogato, at least, that’s what he calls himself, just smiled sweetly, lighting some incense as he spoke. His demeanor exuded confidence, as if he held all the answers in the palm of his hand. And honestly? All you needed was someone to explain what the hell was happening in a way that wouldn’t send you into a panic spiral. His voice had this soothing quality, like a gentle breeze on a hot day, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to it. You let out a shaky sigh, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you nodded slowly, silently thinking that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

"You saved me…? Oh, you must be the one who put the bandages on my body. You saved my life - literally. Is there any way I can repay you?"

You asked, your voice a mix of gratitude and curiosity as you looked up at him, trying to read his expression. However, even as you spoke, you realized you had about a hundred MILLION questions buzzing in your mind, waiting to burst out.

Affogato merely smiled and tucked away a few messy strands of your hair behind your ears. Oh, you looked so naive and innocent…like a child who just found out about the world. It was delightful, seeing someone so strong and resilient be reduced to a confused and weak little sheep in need of a shepherd to guide them.

“All in due time, dear. Oh, and you were called [name], in case your mind forgot about that. You also were my most closest servant and disciple during my time as the Royal Advisor, as well as former King to the Dark Cacao Kingdom. Oh, you were so loyal…maybe I could make you remember what it was like..”

It was an obvious lie on Affogato’s side, but for you, it definitely sounded like the truth. If he was so eager to save you, of course he would’ve known who you were and how much you were loyal to him!

—

For the next few days, you were asking questions to the ex-advisor, and he answered with his own twisted way of reality. All to keep you under his thumb and become his sweet little puppet.

Yet, during the nights, you still seemed to have those horrible nightmares, this time coming back stronger and stronger to the point of curling up in a ball and just plain sobbing. What the hell were you even thinking about? What kind of stuff have you encountered during your time as a Watcher? It made Affogato ponder for many hours on end, still allowing you to lean on him during this period of time.

Affogato became more affectionate, as time went on. Well, during nights only. In the day he was that manipulative and cunning snake that everyone knows him as.

But he certainly can get you to quiet down, whether it be whispering in your ear or lighting some strong incense around you, keeping you sleepy and relaxed instead of terrified and anxious like a mouse.

He didn’t even know how you managed to break down his first wall of coldness and gaining a certain level of trust.

But of course, he had to be wary in case you somehow got your memories back.

For now, the feeling of your warm body breathing softly as you lean on his shoulder feels more relaxing then it should’ve.

I’m gonna explode

#affogato cookie being a little shit #would this be considered a very short fanfic #cookie run kingdom #writers on tumblr #cookie run x you #crk x you #crk x reader #crk affogato #affogato cookie x reader #affogato cookie

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 1 year

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One Bad Day....Jason's Death

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 8. Panic Attack, 12. Character Death, 23. Begging, 31. Crying, Alt. 13. Grief Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Batmom, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Summary: Before Red Hood rescued her, before she was in prison, before she killed The Joker, Batmom experiences one of the most devastating losses of her life. Word Count: 5587 TW: Canon Character Death, Mentions of Torture, Brief Description of Injuries, Grief, Breakdown, Tears, Anger, Character Picks Up Reader Note: This is part of the One Bad Day.... series but can be read as a one-shot (though best to be read after Part 3)Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

Series Masterlist

It has been three days since you have heard from either Bruce or Jason and you are starting to get worried. Actually, you are way past worried—you are terrified. Something is wrong, you can feel it in your gut. A gnawing queasiness deep in your stomach that has you unable to eat or sleep while you wait for some sort of news.

Usually, you wouldn’t give this radio silence a second thought. While Bruce tries to send some sort of word as often as he can while out of town, it just isn’t always possible. Especially when he is away on this kind of work. Batman is a force of secrets and mystery. He can’t always risk finding a way to call his wife to tell her he is alright.

You pull the blanket that is draped over your shoulders tighter around you and continue pacing. Alfred had placed it there a few ago, the last time he had come to check on you. When you had first begun to worry, the butler had remained by your side providing constant reassurance and support. But after a while, once it became clear you wanted to be alone, he retreated upstairs. Occasionally, he returned to the Batcave to bring you some food, water, or something to keep you warm, but otherwise, he had been keeping his distance. However, you know the second you call for him, he will instantly be there to get you whatever he possibly can. If only he could get you the one thing you truly wanted right now….

As if summoned by your silent wish, you suddenly hear the distant roar of a familiar engine growing louder by the second. Whirling around, a huge smile of relief on your face, you turn just in time to see the Batmobile burst into the cave and come to a stop in its usual spot. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe again as the driver-side door opens up and you catch a glimpse of Bruce, still in his Batman costume though he has removed his cowl and gloves.

Throwing your arms open wide as you approach the car, you exclaim, “There’s my boys!” Bruce doesn’t look at you as he climbs out of the Batmobile and walks slowly over to the passenger side. “I was just about to send out a search party. How was Ethiopia? Did you find–”

You stumble to a halt, your smile slipping from your face. An icy vice clamps down on your heart as you see Bruce lift something out of the Batmobile: a small limp figure wrapped in a torn yellow cape that reveals small glimpses of the red suit underneath through the holes and tears. Though the cape is also draped across the person’s face, you know immediately who is under it.

“No….” you gasp as your blanket slips from your shoulders to pool at your feet. “No, no, Bruce, no. Please, no.”

As you wait for Bruce’s response, you cling to that last fragile shred of hope that it’s not what you think, that maybe he’s just hurt under there or sleeping or…or…….

But as your husband silently walks past you and lays the body on one of the nearby tables, the drawn, pained expression on his face coupled with the tender care he takes carefully arranging it is the final confirmation you need.

Dropping to your knees, you let out an almost inhuman wail as the truth of the situation slams into you like a nuclear blast. Your baby’s gone. Jason is dead. And you have lost yet another child.

You collapse forward, your forehead pressing hard against the cold cave floor as another wail tears through your chest. No. It can’t be true. Jason has to be alive. He has to be. Oh please, God, please don’t tell me you’ve taken my baby from me. Not again. Please.

As you continue to sob—worldless howls of grief and pain—you feel Bruce drape himself over you as if trying to shield you from this agony….but it’s too late. The damage has already been done and you have been irreparably broken.

In what seems like hours later, once you have exhausted yourself to the point you no longer have the energy or tears left to cry, Bruce sits back and pulls you carefully into his lap. As you lay curled in his arms with your head resting on his chest, you can feel his heart beating beneath you—so strong and steady—and it hits you that you will never again feel Jason’s heartbeat or hear him take a breath. All of those little signs of life you take for granted are just gone…and so is he.

Lifting your head to gaze up at your husband, you force your words through your aching throat, torn raw from all your screaming, and you ask, “What happened?”

“The Joker,” Bruce says as he brushes a tear off your cheek. “He used Jason’s birthmother to lure him in, then he placed both of them in a warehouse that was rigged to explode. I arrived just as the bomb went off. I….I was too late to save him.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice breaking and the tears in his voice sends another jolt of pain into your heart and you nuzzle your head into his neck as you squeeze his hand. He silently squeezes back and you have to stifle a groan as you feel the bones in your hand shift and crack in his grasp, but you don’t say anything. You just let him continue to squeeze your hand long after the point it turns numb.

You haven’t seen Bruce fall apart since the two of you lost the baby. Regardless of what heartbreaks or fights had come your way in the years since, Bruce had remained calm and stoic through it all. It’s just who he was. He was your rock, your lifeline in the roughest of waters, your source of comfort when you needed it the most—so the sight of him breaking adds another layer of grief to your own.

When he finally loosens his grip and you can tell he has regained some of his composure, you whisper, “Did he…. Did he hurt him before…?”

Bruce hesitates for a moment before murmuring, “You don’t need to know the details.”

Which means yes. The Joker had probably tortured and beaten your baby bloody before blowing him up. Another sob threatens to tear from your lips, but you manage to quell it so it is just a whine deep in your throat. You had cried enough for the moment. Right now, you need answers and to come up with a plan. But first…you need something else.

Untangling yourself from Bruce’s arms, you unsteadily get to your feet and begin walking over to the table. Bruce leaps up when he sees what you are doing and he gently grabs your shoulders blocking your path. “Don’t. Sweetheart, just…just don’t. Trust me.”

“Let me go. I need to see him.”

You try to shrug him off but he holds you firmly in place. “No. You don’t. Don’t let that be the last image you have of him—I wish it wasn’t mine. He’s gone and seeing him like that won’t bring him back. So, I’m begging you, don’t.”

“Get out of my way, Bruce,” you growl as you glare up at your husband. “I need to see our son. I need to see what that monster did to him.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what Bruce is going to do. His eyes flit across your face, trying to find the slightest hesitation he can grasp onto. But when he doesn’t find any, he sighs and slowly lowers his hands as he bows his head and whispers, “Please…Don’t look.”

But you have already pushed past him before he finishes his sentence.

You approach the table with a determined stride, yet you hesitate once you reach it. Jason was always a slight kid, even verging on scrawny, but he had never seemed smaller or more vulnerable than as your hand hovers over the cape still draped over him. Even that first night Bruce brought him home to you, he had so much fire and spirit in his little twelve-year-old body that his presence filled the room. Now, three years later, that fire and spirit had been extinguished and it hits you all over again how young he truly was—how young he would always be.

You feel Bruce come to stand just behind you but he doesn’t say a word. He has tried his best to stop you so now all he can do is wait for you to live with your decision and be there for the aftermath. Knowing he is right there for you gives you a renewed sense of strength and as you take a deep breath, you pull back the cape to look at your son.

Bruce was right. You shouldn’t have looked.

Some of the damage you are expecting based on what Bruce told you. Burns litter Jay’s face and neck as well as his hands. In some places, they are light, almost invisible unless the light catches them just so. However, in other spots, the burns are so severe you can almost see down to the bone. His hands are the worst, so charred and blackened that you fear touching them despite the longing in your chest to hold his hand once more in yours. Looking at the burn patterns, it seems heartbreakingly clear that Jason had tried to protect himself from the blast by throwing his hands in front of his face…he had seen it coming.

Yet as horrible as that realization is, far worse is the damage you weren’t expecting to see on your son.

Beneath the burns and debris from the bomb, Jason’s body is broken, bruised, and bloody in ways that an explosion couldn’t have caused. One arm and leg jut out at odd angles and there are dark bruises all over his face, neck, and the parts of his torso you can see through his ruined suit. One eye is swollen and black, his nose is bent sharply to one side, and his lip is split open wide. You have seen enough blunt-force trauma up close and personal to understand what had to have caused all of this.

Casting one last longing look at your son, you turn to face Bruce. You are visibly shaking, and when you speak, your voice is dripping with venomous fury, “Where is he?”

“Clark is tracking him down and he’ll alert me the second he finds him.”

“And then?” Bruce glances away, unable to look at you. Disbelief washes over you and you step closer to your husband. “Bruce, don’t tell me you are thinking of letting him live.”

“It’s not our place to–”

“He killed our son!” you hiss as you point to the body of the child you both loved. “Jason is—Jason is dead because of that maniac! We can’t let The Joker get away with this!”

“We won’t.” Bruce takes your face between his hands and bends over so his forehead is almost touching yours. “I swear to you, we will find him and throw him back into Arkham where he belongs.”

Wrenching from his grasp in disgust, you snarl, “For how long? A few weeks? A month if we’re lucky? Then he’ll just find another way to escape like he always does and he’ll hurt more innocent people, more people we love. How can you not see that this has to end? That it should have ended years ago.”

“My heart—” Bruce tries to take your hand but once again you snatch it away from him. “I know you don’t always agree with it, but we have a code. A code you agreed to follow when you joined me. And that code means that no matter what The Joker or anyone else does, We. Don’t. Kill. Otherwise, what makes us any better than them?”

“Maybe I don’t care about being better than them anymore. We’ve done things by the book, followed your rules, and where has that left us? Two dead children and a third who barely survived being shot. And you still talk about trusting the same system that allowed it to happen in the first place. Well, who’s next, Bruce? Who will be the next victim in your moral war? Alfred? Dick?....Me? Whose death will it take for you to realize that this won’t end unless we make it end?”

Bruce stares at you as if he is looking at a stranger and not his wife of ten years. Shaking his head slightly, he says, “I understand you’re hurting right now and you’re not thinking clearly. But once some time has passed and the feelings aren’t as raw, you’ll—”

“I’ll what? Forget my son is dead?” you snap.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean? Give it time and things will just go back to normal? That this pain will fade and I won’t care that my son was murdered?”

“Our son.”

“What?”

“Our son,” Bruce says. His voice has a sharp edge to it that momentarily takes you aback. “You keep saying ‘my son’ like you’re the only one who lost him. I know what you and Jay had was special but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him too, or that I’m not in agony right now. I had to watch, helplessly, as that warehouse exploded knowing I was too late to save him. Then, I dug with my bare hands for almost an hour through the wreckage praying for a miracle only to find—” Bruce presses his hand over his eye as he takes a long, slow, shaking inhale then continues “And then I had to fly home watching vigil over our son’s body, all the while dreading this moment. Knowing I was coming home to shatter the woman I love. But the only thing that made that thought bearable was knowing we could mourn together and lean on each other for comfort. Yet all you can focus on is revenge and murder!”

“No, Bruce. I’m focusing on keeping the family I still have safe. I’m focusing on protecting this city just as you swore to do. I’m focusing on ending terror and chaos in the streets. And if that means one psychotic clown has to die to make that happen, then so be it.”

“We do not cross that line. Ever. No matter who we think deserves it. That’s just how things have to be.”

“Don’t you get it! Jason would still be alive if you had just—” All of your fury evaporates instantly and you inhale sharply as you realize what you were about to blurt out. Bruce’s expression hardens into a stone-cold mask usually reserved for the most lowsome of criminals and, stumbling back, you stutter, “I-I mean…I—”

“If I had what? Say it. Say it!” Now it is your turn to not meet his eye yet he pushes on. “You were going to say that if I had just killed The Joker years ago, Jason would still be alive!”

“I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out,” you whisper. “I know this isn’t your fault, Bruce. You told him not to go but I encouraged him to do what he thought he had to do. That I would support whatever decision he made.” Your voice cracks as you choke out, “I sent our baby off to his death, not you.”

It is the thought that has been nagging at the back of your head since you saw Bruce lift Jason’s body from the Batmobile. The unbearable truth you’ve been unable to face. Bruce had known something felt off about the situation and he insisted Jason stayed home. But when Jason came to you saying he had found his birthmother and needed to go see her, you put your foot down and forced Bruce to take him. If you had just listened to Bruce, if you had just really examined the facts instead of wanting to show Jason you were supportive, your son would still be alive.

Suddenly, it felt like the walls of the Batcave were closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath. Stumbling back a few steps, you say, “I-I can’t do this. I have to get out of here.”

The anger in Bruce’s face disappears as quickly as it appeared. He reaches out to you with a soft, “Sweetheart—” but you continue to back away.

“No. No, I need to go. I-I need to be alone.”

Bruce nods slowly. “Alright. That’s okay. Why don’t you go take a long shower and lay down and I’ll take care of things down here. I’ll come check on you when I’m done.”

You nod back and hurry over to the stairs leading up to the manor. But just as you begin to climb them, you pause and mumble, “I’ll be in Jay’s room.” then flee up the stairs before Bruce can stop you.

Once back in the manor, you move in an almost trancelike state towards the bedrooms. As you pass the kitchen, you hear a soft sniffling and you realize Alfred must have come down into the Batcave at some point and seen what happened. You have been so preoccupied with your own grief, you completely forgot about the butler who loved Jason almost as much as you and Bruce did.

Part of you wants to go back and join him. After all, Alfred always knows how to fix anything and everything and maybe, somehow, he can fix this too. Yet as much as it pains you to admit, there are just some things even Alfred Pennyworth can’t do. So you continue walking.

When you reach Jason’s room, you don’t even pause before opening the door and shuffling in. In one fluid movement, you collapse onto your son’s bed and roll over, dragging his comforter with you until you are cocooned beneath the blanket.

It seems impossible that just three nights ago you were sitting on this very bed with Jason next to you as he told you about how he had been tracking down his birthmother. He had been so scared to tell you for fear he would hurt your feelings. But you had just gathered him into your arms and pressed your lips into his hair as you promised him you would always be his “Ma” regardless of what happened on his search. That you would always love him….

Tears you did not think you could still cry began slipping silently down your cheeks. What would you have done differently if you had known that was the last time you would see your son? What else would you have said to make him understand how much he meant to you? How he had saved you from your grief once before and how you still needed him now?

You bury your face deeper into his pillow as you finally allow yourself to ask the question that you know will haunt you the rest of your life:

Could I have saved you if I had been there?

For the next twelve days, little changes. The only time you leave Jason’s bed is to go to the bathroom, but otherwise, you lay curled in the center of his bed wrapped in his blankets and staring at his wall. Bruce and Alfred take turns coming to check on you several times a day, usually bringing food or drinks and trying their best to coax you into consuming something. You take a little nibble here and there or take a few sips of water, but it isn’t long before you return to your near catatonic state.

Even when Dick arrives a few days after you learned of Jason’s death, it doesn’t make much of a difference. You do allow him to climb into the bed with you where you wrap him in a bone-crushing embrace, afraid if you let go you’ll lose him just like your other children. But eventually, he has to leave and you resume your solitary existence.

On day seven, Bruce slips into bed behind you and wraps his arms around you. For a long time, the two of you just lay there in silence. Then, softly, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Please, sweetheart, please come back to me. I know you’re hurting. So am I. But I just lost Jason and I can’t….I can’t lose you too. Please, let me in. Let us help each other through this….Together.”

You know he’s right, and it kills you to know you are only adding to his heartbreak, but you just don’t have the strength or the will to be what he needs right now. So, you remain motionless in his embrace, your eyes never shifting their unseeing stare at the wall.

Eventually, Bruce accepts nothing is going to change. Pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, he whispers, “I love you. Please never forget that. And I’ll be waiting, as soon as you’re ready.” Then he slips from the bed and you are alone once more.

The next major change in your routine comes exactly two weeks after Jason’s death when Bruce and Alfred walk into Jason’s room holding a simple black dress. Silently, you allow them to put it on you before they lead you downstairs where Dick is waiting with the car. No one has to tell you where you are going. You already know.

For the short drive, Bruce sits next to you in the backseat, holding your hand tightly as he presses his lips against your temple with whispers of encouragement and love. You squeeze his hand back but make no other acknowledgment of his presence or support. You catch Dick glancing back at you in the rearview mirror a few times, concern etched on his face, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. That thought makes you withdraw even further into yourself in shame.

As Alfred pulls to a stop, you make no move to exit the car. Alfred and Dick both glance at Bruce for some sort of guidance as to how to proceed, and he motions for them to get out. Once you are alone, Bruce pulls you into his arms. “If I could spare you from this, you know I would. But we have to make some sort of public show or it’s going to look suspicious. And people are already asking questions. But I promise, the second we’re done, I’ll take you back up to the house. Okay?”

You nod, knowing he is right however much you despise it, and he smiles softly. Placing his finger under your chin so he can tilt your head back, Bruce kisses your forehead as he whispers, “That’s my girl.”

Then sliding his hand into yours, he opens his car door and steps out before helping you out. Immediately you are met with flashing lights and the whirring click of hundreds of cameras all pointed in your direction. You try to ignore them as Bruce leads you down the path lined with photographers and reporters, your face a blank mask void of any emotion.

But that mask becomes harder to maintain as you hear the slight tittering of whispers passing through the crowd. And though you have over a decade of experience being the subject of Gotham’s rumor mill to get used to the kinds of things people say about you, these reach a new level of cruelty:

“Look at the heartless whore. Can’t even spare a single tear for that poor boy Bruce so kindly took in.”

“I heard she didn’t even want to come today but Bruce insisted. Can you imagine? He deserves so much better.”

“She wasn’t even there when he died. Bruce planned a family trip overseas and she refused to go. She would rather stay here to be waited on hand and foot by that butler of theirs than spend time with her supposed family.”

“I bet she had something to do with the boy’s death. Probably didn’t want to share the Wayne fortune with anyone else. Bruce and the older boy should watch their backs. They could be next.”

You remember a time when you would have gone off on these people. Snapped back about how they didn’t know anything about you or your relationship with your family. Caused such a scene Bruce would have had to sheepishly drag you away while his face glowed bright red. But not today. Today all you want to do is curl up in a ball in front of them as you sob, asking how they can be so cruel or heartless to not see your pain or the devastation at your loss. How they could come here—here of all places—just to add to your suffering.

But you don’t. Instead, you allow Bruce to continue leading you forward until you stop in front of the freshly dug grave with the casket placed beside it.

Bruce (well, probably Alfred) had worked out all the details while you were locked in Jason’s room. A plot had been selected in the small graveyard on the edge of the Wayne estate, right next to where Bruce’s parents were buried. The casket is closed so you can’t see how they dressed Jay, but Bruce had promised you in the car that he tucked Jason’s Robin mask into his pocket like you asked. It was the only input you had given on the whole ceremony but it did make you feel a little better knowing he had it with him.

To the world, this may just be the funeral of Jason Todd, but in reality, today you are burying two people, and you wanted to honor that.

Dick comes to stand next to you so you are sandwiched between him and Bruce. Though you don’t as much as glance in his direction, you are grateful to have your remaining son beside you. It is a calming reminder that not everyone has been taken from you. At least…not yet.

As the ceremony starts, you hold your head high and stare straight ahead. It is harder than you thought, the weight of a hundred eyes boring into the back of your head, but you manage to remain calm and composed throughout the sermon.

It isn’t until they begin lowering the casket into the ground that everything goes wrong.

Unable to take your eyes off of the box containing your son as it disappears into the dirt, your body begins trembling violently as your knees give out underneath you. Luckily, Bruce catches you before you hit the ground but his touch does little to ease your trembling.

Still staring at the casket, you begin repeating, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

Bruce pulls you tight against his chest, allowing you to bury your face into his jacket to muffle to sound. You claw desperately at the back of his suit, your chanting becoming more frenzied by the moment despite no longer looking at the grave. It’s just too much. All of it’s too much. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

Mercifully, Bruce gently lifts you into his arms and carries you back to the car. You cling tightly to him, your arms around his neck, even as you continue shaking and babbling, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

“Shhh….” Bruce coos gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You did so good. I know he’d be proud of you, just like I am. But it’s over now, and I’m taking you back to the manor just like I promised. It’s going to be okay.”

You nod into his neck as you finally manage to quiet down some. The words are still swirling in your head but at least they are no longer spewing from your lips. You thought you were stronger than this. You thought you could at least hold it together for an hour for your family’s sake, but you were so wrong.

Even though it had been a closed casket funeral, knowing Jay was in there, seeing it disappear into the ground forever…it finalized everything in a way you hadn’t felt yet. All those days laying in Jason’s room, numb and disconnected from the world, you had distanced yourself from the reality of the truth. But there was no escaping it now. Jason was gone and there was nothing you could do to change that.

When you reach the manor, Bruce once again lifts you into his arms though you half-heartedly tell him you can walk on your own yet part of you is glad when he ignores you and continues to carry you up the stairs. You are somewhat surprised when Bruce returns you to Jason’s room without even asking. For some reason, you had assumed he would try to take you to the master bedroom to be with him.

You expect him to climb into bed or kneel down beside it, but once again he shocks you as he simply turns and walks to the door. He only pauses a moment to say, “I had Alfred put a fresh change of pajamas on the dresser.” Then he walks out and closes the door behind him.

You aren’t sure what to think about this. Has Bruce finally given up trying to reach you? Was he more embarrassed about your behavior at the funeral than he admitted? Or has he finally accepted you need time alone to deal with your loss?

Still pondering his behavior, you climb out of bed and slip off the black dress you are wearing. Tossing it to the side, you walk over to the dresser to look for the clothes Bruce mentioned. The sooner you get them on, the sooner you can return to your blanket cocoon and lose yourself to your fog of grief once more.

But as you spy the pajamas and you reach for them, your eyes land on something on the wall. Despite the fact today is May 11, Jason’s calendar is still turned to April. Since he left for Ethiopia on April 25th and was killed on the 27th, he never got the chance to change it. He would never know which classical author’s picture had been selected for May. Instead, Jason ran out of time and now it will forever be stuck on William Shakespeare.

Time….If only you had more time….

Three and a half years. That’s all the time you had with your son. It seems insane that someone who was in your life for such a short amount of time could leave such an impact on you, but there is no denying it. You know deep in your soul that you could not have loved Jason more if you had given birth to him or known him since the day he was born. He is your son just as much as Dick is, as much as the baby you had lost is, and now he’s gone too.

And it’s all because of The Joker.

For the first time since you had crawled into Jason’s room that first night, something besides sorrow stirs in your gut. The red-hot burn of vengeance that you have let your grief extinguish suddenly flares to life in your veins and your hands clench tightly on the edge of the dresser.

Memories begin flashing through your mind: Sitting next to the bed, begging God to save an 18-year-old Dick as he clung to life after being shot by The Joker while on patrol; Monitoring the Batcomputer in horror as The Joker released his laughing gas throughout the streets of Gotham; Listening to Lt. Gordon’s sobs as he told Bruce what The Joker had done to Barbara; Watching Bruce lift Jason’s lifeless body out of the Batmobile as your heart shattered in your chest.

He is responsible for all this death and this pain, year after year after year. He is the reason other villains think they can get away with whatever deadly scheme they have up their sleeves. He is why Arkham Asylum has become a swinging door deterrent that no one fears. He is the one who killed your son.

And he’s not going to get away with it any longer.

Every cell in your body knows what has to be done, yet you also know the consequences if you do it. Is stopping this lunatic really worth destroying what’s left of your family? Can you really give up everything to ensure no one else ever feels this pain you are feeling?

You think about if your places had been reversed and it had been you who had been killed instead and there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that Jason would have burned the world down if it meant stopping The Joker. And if that’s true, how could you do anything less for your son?

With a newfound purpose driving you and a clear goal in your sights, you flip the calendar to May and pin it in place. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stares back at you as you press your finger to May 27th; 16 days from now and exactly one month after Jason’s death. That will be the day. The day you do what you should have done long ago. The day you will kill The Joker.

Taglist: @juliaarwj, @calsjack, @theclassicvinyldragon, @zebralover, @megumimind, @freerangesweets, @@lapidaverunt-scriptor, @kiryoutann, @charmellaposts, @imperialabysssins, @dawnwriterimagines, @avitute

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rottenpumpkin13 · 5 months

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TW: PANIC ATTACK

hiya!! I've kind of been wondering, because Genesis can be all sorts of crazy sauce emotionally, what are some things that would cause him a panic attack, and how would he be during?

and Sephiroth/Angeal would absolutely tak care of him no matter what ♥️♥️

brought to you by my own sensory issues during a school assembly making me cry

lots and lots of love!

Genesis has a funny relationship with anxiety, because while he often feels anxious, he portrays himself as always composed and unbothered, as if nothing could break him, when that couldn't be further from the truth.

• Being perceived as anything other than strong is a source of anxiety for him. He has no problem feeling 100 eyes on him in a crowded room so long as they're admiring him. Turn those gazes analytical, laced with pity or hatred, and Genesis feels entirely naked. His heart races, he shifts in place, begins to look uncomfortable, which in turn attracts more eyes on him. The overthinking comes quickly, as do the reasons why they hate him. He has a readily available list in his mind he pulls out whenever he feels at his worst. It's the way he looks; if only he looked better. It's the medals around his neck, not enough next to Sephiroth. Sephiroth has more. Sephiroth always has more. It's his voice, he's been told it sounds annoying before. Maybe he should be speaking less. Or maybe they hate him because they see right through what he is—an insecure, lonely person who will never be enough no matter how much he tries.

• Genesis has a lot of anxiety surrounding the book(s) he always carried around. While part of the reason he has so many copies of Loveless stems from his love for the epic, he doesn't like losing things he loves. So he makes sure he always has two of the things he loves. Two of his favorite pen, two of his red coat, two of the same sunglasses....he was so glad the day Sephiroth became his friend. Now he had two best friends. That way, if one fell or flew away, he wouldn't be alone. The only thing he cannot have two of is his first and most annotated copy of Loveless he's had since he was a child. He treasures it greatly, but every time he loses it, Genesis thinks he's dying.

His fingers are numb and static beneath his leather gloves, the tears hot as they pour down his face, heart beating fast as he tries to collect his thoughts long enough to focus. His office door is shut and locked, so no one walks in on him like this, wiping his nose and hyperventilating as he pulls open drawers in hopes of seeing his book. When he sees it—nestled under a stack of documents, he collapses onto his chair, clutching the book close as he sobs. He feels ridiculous, in part because he didn't see it laying there sooner, but mostly because he lets it have control over him.

• Genesis is used to being sick, but that doesn't mean it doesn't bother him. His immune system has improved greatly, and was much worse when he was a child, but it's still significantly weaker than the others. A flu that would be a mild inconvenience to Sephiroth and Angeal leaves Genesis bedridden and severely ill. The first day of being sick is the worst for him, the moment he first realizes he'll be away from SOLDIER for days and will be talked about. He's riddled with anxiety over what they'll say.

He thinks—no, he knows that they'll compare him to Sephiroth. They'll question why Genesis is always sick, why his health is never perfect, and why it takes Genesis days to recover from an injury that would be nothing to the others. And then there's the illness itself. He never knows what's coming. Will it be serious? Will it evolve into something serious? Will he survive?

The first day of any illness is when Genesis finds himself curled into a ball on his bathroom floor, biting the color of his shirt to keep himself from hyperventilating, his vision blurred from tears, wondering why he couldn't be normal.

• There's one thing that's guaranteed to send Genesis spiralling into an immediate panic attack no matter who he's with or where he is. It's not something he can control (he's tried). Sephiroth and Angeal are talking. Genesis is in between them (he's placed himself there to guarantee that he'll have a place in their conversation). But they're not responding to him. Genesis levels with them at first. His words are bold, he likes the shock value.

His jokes aren't the kindest. He's not a negative person, but he loves to complain. They dismiss his words and roll their eyes, as if to say "There goes Genesis again." He wanted to know if they wanted to go see a screening of Loveless with him the next weekend, but they talked right over him. Genesis feels smaller and smaller as Sephiroth and Angeal, and not even shouting Loveless quotes at the top of his lungs will be enough to grab their attention. He's not sure they're doing it on purpose. So he sits there, listening to his friends laugh, acting as if he isn't there.

Genesis can't take it. The tears are spilling before he can wipe them away, so he covers his face with his hands and lets himself cry. Sephiroth and Angeal notice and stop talking immediately.

• They're quick to realize where they went wrong, and even quicker to pull Genesis in and apologize profusely, assuring him that they weren't doing it on purpose and never intend to hurt him on purpose. Angeal has Genesis wrapped in a hug that buries his head in his chest. Genesis is still crying, softer now but still clearly upset. Sephiroth joins, sandwiching Genesis as he hugs him from behind. They're both whispering apologies and soft words to him as they let him cry.

Now Genesis feels embarrassed that he's crying and being cared for, which makes him even more anxious. Still trembling, he tries to pull himself away, but they don't let him. Sephiroth holds him tighter, and Angeal starts blowing on his face to cool him off, gently brushing the hair from his eyes. Sephiroth tells him to take deep breaths and slowly count as high as he can.

Genesis gets to 69 when Angeal snorts involuntarily. This catches Genesis completely off guard. Soon all three of them are doubled over laughing.

Angeal's spontaneous humor of a fifth grader is just what Genesis needed to be distracted from what upset him in the first place.

When he's calm enough to speak, Sephiroth and Angeal make him sit down between them again. This time Angeal is rubbing soothing circles on his back, and Sephiroth is holding his hand, lightly squeezing. They want him to explain all that cause potential panic attacks so they can help him avoid them, and be there for him in the future so he won't have to suffer alone.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #headcanons

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animeyanderelover · 1 year

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Can I have yandere sakamaki and mukami cast with older brother that are always gentle and treat them so nicely. But one day when they try to find him. one day, they saw their brother fighting somebody and that person saw them and tried to attack them. Reader decide to shield them using his body. In the end reader get badly injured but survive nonetheless.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, clinginess, paranoia, blood, violence, torture, death

As long as you're safe...

Shu Sakamaki

🎵 Shu just wants to hang out with his brother, the person he's closest with but strangely enough he can't find you in the mansion. Now, Shu doesn't worry his head too much, it isn't unlikely for his brother to be outside though so he simply ventures the exterior of the Sakamaki property. His keen senses pick up surely enough some noises, under them the clearly recognizable voice of his brother and that's when he suspects that something is going on and he starts running to the source of the voice, slight panic dwelling up inside his chest. When he spots you, his heart drops as he realizes that you're fighting someone, a silver knife shining in their hand as they try to stab you. Your younger brother stops for a moment in his steps, tries to work out quickly how to help you but unfortunately he's spotted by the hunter who kicks you away and switches his target, storming to him. Knife about to plunge into his chest only for you to protectively hug him, the sharp metal embedding itself in your back over and over again. The taste of your blood pungent in the air as silent yet potent shock pulses through Shu's entire body, hands flying to your back only to pull back as if he's burnt himself, palms stained in dark red.

🎵 A piercing scream fills the air when Shu grabs the arm of them when they try to stab you again, breaking it in one swift motion and kicking the knife away as soon as they let it drop. Blue eyes dark with the desire to kill as he carefully lies you down on your stomach, gaze fixed on the vampire hunter. He wants to hurt them so badly but knows that he can't waist time since you need medical treatment. One hand is wrapped around their throat as he squeezes down, a sickening crack before they go limp in his hand and he drops them carelessly before quickly turning to you, half-conscious. You give him a half-hearted grin as you compliment him on his nice murder yet Shu has other worries, doing his best to maintain his fear as he helps you to stand up, hurrying back into the mansion with you so that your injuries can be treated. He's so disappointed and frustrated with himself as he blames himself. He could have done more. If he would have acted quicker, none of this would have happened. Why is he still so incapable after all those years? He isn't a child anymore. He finds himself hovering near you after that incident a lot more, especially during the healing process of your injuries.

Reiji Sakamaki

☕ You're late for an appointment with him, a study session which Reiji likes to do with you together as a way to boast his own intelligence and gain your compliments. You're always punctual so this is definitely odd, he doesn't believe that you'd just dismiss him so there must be a reason. That's how Reiji finds himself searching for you around the mansion, passive-aggressive when none of the other brothers can answer his question of where you are at the moment. That is the point where he starts to worry as he enters the surroundings of their estate. Catching you in the middle of a fight throws him off-guard as he eyes the dagger shimmering in the moonlight and the few scratches you already have. It's the fact that you're slightly injured that disturbs him, you've always been this untouchable individual in his eyes. How can you be hurt? It's in this frozen state that the hunter attacks him only for you to shield him, knife driving itself in your chest before you kick them away with brutal strength, surely rupturing a number of organs. When you turn around to ask Reiji if he's alright, his eyes can't remove themselves from the rapidly growing blood spot on your shirt.

☕ He's in total shock as essentially his belief of this strong and untouchable brother in his head is shattered seeing him wounded like this, holding himself together despite the lethal injury. When Reiji eventually snaps out of it, he has troubles holding back his dwelling panic as he pushes you back into the mansion into his own chambers, ordering you to lay down on his bed, unbotton your shirt and let him bandage and stitch your injury. You try to overplay it, tell him it's fine which only seems to make him snap more as he nearly yells at you to do as he says, hands slightly trembling as he collects everything he needs. If even one of the other brothers tries to peek inside his room, he shouts at them to leave, composure crumbling a he spends the next hour stitching the wound together. It's a shattering experience, seeing that you aren't indestructable, soon after the insecurities come as he realises that he's the one who is responsible for your injury, for the long scar that'll be a reminder of it for eternity. It throws him into a fit of despair. He searches outside for the hunter, half-alive at this point and staring with blury eyes up at Reiji. Oh, he will make sure that this human will pay dearly for this.

Ayato Sakamaki

🥇He's rushing through the mansion, a basketball in his hands as he wants to challenge you to yet another game in hopes of beating you but can't seem to find you. It's frustrating, where are you? It's so boring without you around after all, only you can provide him with a good challenge. He gets visibly more agitated the longer he can't find you, plans to brattily yell at you as soon as he has found you because you weren't where he wanted you to be. That all is wiped off his mind when he finally does find you, in the middle of a serious fight with a vampire hunter who has sneaked inside the compound of your property. Ayato acts unfortunately without thinking as he aggressively launches at the person who dares to try to take his brother away from him, underestimating their reflexes. A knife that was intended to pierce through his stomach is instead stuck in your abdomen as you spit moments later some blood out, some of it dropping on Ayato's face. A few seconds just pass by where he sits on the ground, staring at the soaked fabric of your clothes before he sees literally red, head pounding with wrath. How dare they? How dare they?!

🥇He isn't fully himself, lost in searing anger as he grabs the hunter by their throat and pushes them to the ground, kicking and throwing them angrily around as he keeps shouting at them, his whole body shaking with rage and sadistic blood lust. You stop him after a while, point out how the human is barely alive anymore and decide to end things quickly as you break their neck, knife still stuck in your stomach. He's confused and angry, not sure what to do now as he watches his older brother picking up the basketball, tossing it to him and jokingly telling him that he fears that he can't play with his younger brother now before staggering on his feet, causing Ayato to rush over and quickly support him. Fear is pumping through his veins as he yells at his brother what he is supposed to do now before being told what to do, dragging Reiji as a result out of his own room to assist the oldest sibling in removing the knife and stopping the blood loss quickly. A part of Ayato blames himself for what happened, the other one rejects those feelings of guilt as he decides to blame anyone else besides himself. His stupid brothers, that dead hunter and even his own brother who is supposed to be the strongest.

Kanato Sakamaki

🧸 Kanato is a walking time bomb without his brother around since he is co-dependent and relies on his brother a lot. You missed a tea party with him and Teddy so he's beyond livid, clutching the plushie tightly in his arms as he storms around the mansion in search of you. How could you just ditch him?! You're a terrible older brother, you're supposed to take care of him! No matter how had he searches, he can't find you though so that only worsens his mood and soon he starts screeching your name, anger and anxiety piling up inside of him as he can't find you. It's only when he goes into the garden that he spots you and shouts your name, noticing a moment later the stranger next to you who you're fighting against. His loud and obnoxious voice draws both yours and their attention to him and as you call Kanato's name out shocked, the vampire hunter instantly switches his targets, planning to attack him and leaving Kanato clutching his Teddy even tighter. You stop them before they can reach your younger brother, although only moments later their knife is driven into your abdomen, the attacker twisting it around and eliciting a painful hiss from you.

🧸 The scent of your blood tears Kanato out of his state of shock and suddenly he's grabbing the assaulter from behind by the neck, crying and yelling at them that they should never hurt his brother and that they should die. His older brother uses the distraction to pull the knife out and ram it into their own heart, killing them. Kanato is in a frenzy though, blood lust still there as he grabs the knife and continues to stab them, tears in his eyes as he screams for them to die and it isn't until his brother pulls him back that he stops, only to cling onto his blood-stained shirt and start crying hysterically as he tries to stop the bleeding by himself, coating himself in his brother's blood as a result. You're forced to walk back with him clinging to you like a little koala, hissing and crying the moment you try to pull him off you. He isn't of good help but you luckily you can cater to your wound all by yourself, leaving Kanato with you to avoid the boy entering a frenzy mental breakdown. Needless to say, your younger brother is half-distraught and half-angry with you, his presence suffocating from that day on as he demands you to stay from now on with him, threatens to hurt himself otherwise.

Laito Sakamaki

🎹 Laito may not be as permanently clingy as some other brothers are but he still likes hanging around with you. Usually he always has a good idea of where you are so it's a bit of a surprise for him to not know where you are as of now. Well, let's find his older brother then~ Initially it's a bit like a game of hide and seek for him as he wanders through the Sakamaki property in order to find you but the fun ends when his ears pick up the noises coming from the garden, sounding like a fight is going on as he recognizes your low growls you only use when you're serious. His expression falters as he now rushes to the location the sounds are coming from only to stumble into the middle of a fight between you and a vampire hunter who somehow has gotten inside their property. He isn't as hot-blooded as Ayato would be though, green eyes observing as he hides himself to find a good opening to join you in your fight and get rid of the pest. The hunter is experienced though and spots Laito, instantly storms towards him as he recognizes that he's weaker than the other vampire he's fighting against right now. Your calmness falters for a moment as you see them attacking Laito, letting your guard down for a moment.

🎹 His brother shields him in time but the price is a knife rammed in his ribcage, taking him off-guard as his older brother stumbles back, gritting his teeth as he clutches the fresh wound, blood seeping through his clothes. Eery silence befalls the surroundings for a few moments before Laito launches at the hunter, pushing him down and giving his older brother time to grab them and restrict their movements as they drop their knife for Laito to snatch it away, glaring at it with gleaming eyes as it's covered in his brother's blood. He hears how you break the bones in their limbs and swiftly decides to join in the fun for some revenge, grinning down at the human before waving his hand, wishing them farewell before he plunges the knife into their throat, watching the life slowly leaving them. He would have loved to prolong their suffering but has little time as he helps you quickly to rush back into the mansion. He may appear fine upon first glance but is still brimming with blood lust so you have to keep him calm enough or otherwise he might actually go on a murder spread. Let's just say that after this unpleasant encounter, he's sticking a lot more to you.

Subaru Sakamaki

⬜️Subaru is very aggressive but at the same time he's very obedient as he listens to whatever his brother tells him to do if it doesn't involve hurting him or leaving him. The oldest Sakamaki boy is like the lid containing Subaru's anger so he often searches for him when he's upset or mad about something and needs to calm down. So it's quite bad that the youngest one can't find you as he starts trashing around in the mansion, destroys vases and walls the longer he looks for you without success and his brothers avoid him on sight as they know better. Now, when he finds you outside the house as you dodge and attack a vampire hunter, he instantly wants to help and protect you and resorts to violence as he storms in to assault them, triggered by the silver dagger that they try to hurt you with. They're initially caught off-guard as he pushes them away with sheer strength alone, manage to come quickly back to their senses and come back for him, using quick attacks to make him lose balance shortly before striking down with the dagger. You cover him in the last moment as the hunter slashes down your back, the heavy scent of blood filling the air and making Subaru nauseous.

⬜️There are too much emotions at once mercilessly overwhelming him. Anger, shock, panic, guilt, shame and many more he can't even decipher. His body starts shaking as he temporarily stops thinking clearly but when he snaps out of this searing haze of rage, he's smashed the head of the person with his brutal strength. He pays no mind to them afterwards though, quickly rushes to help you up and half-carries you back inside the estate, shaking with fear and panic as he doesn't know what to do now. Instead he just does what he's used too, listening to you and following your instructions. He considers dragging Reiji to your room to help you but you insist that you can handle it all on your own with his hands. His stomach is turning and twisting when he helps you cleaning the wound, hot guilt flodding his veins since he blames himself for those injuries. He knows that he's the youngest and that you're the oldest but he thought that now that he's older that he'd be able to protect you at least a little bit. Why is he still acting like the small boy from back then? The feeling of helplessness haunts him, the invasive thought that he couldn't protect his mother back then nor you now.

Ruki Mukami

📘 Ruki is protective of his family, he's lost his family by blood already once and he won't let it happen again. His older brother is his idol and aspires Ruki til this day. He initially just wants to talk with his brother about something but when he can't find him in their house, he starts panicking a bit. He's just a tad bit controlling so the fact that he doesn't know where his brother is at the moment bothers him more than it should. Afte he couldn't find you in the mansion, he heads out into the garden surrounding the place and surely enough finds you there. It brings him no relief though when he realises that a vampire hunter is also there, fighting against you as you try to win the upper hand. Ruki stops in his tracks, trying to collect himself and help you but they notice him and dash to him, the silver knight glowing under the moonlight. Ruki is sure that he could have defended himself yet you throw yourself against the hunter to keep him away from your younger brother, earning a couple of stabs in your abdomen yet still managing to strip them off all their weapons and the rest is easy play as you twist their head and snap their neck, watch how they go limp under you.

📘 Ruki is tense, trembling slightly as his eyes take in the injuries you've endured for him. You try to be as nonchalant as possible as you ask him if he's fine, earning a throaty choke from him. How can you ask him this question in your condition?! Suddenly he's rushing to you, tries to stop the numerous bleeding spots, hands shaky. When his older brother attempts to calm him down, he nearly yells at him. How can he expect him to calm down?! You're quickly brought back and all of his other brothers start making a fuss when they see your injuries, somehow pressuring Ruki even more as he escorts you to his room to give you medical treatment. He's very close to hyperventilating in that moment, his chest heaving with each troubled breath he takes as he spends the next few hours cleaning the wounds and stitching the skin back together. As soon as he has made sure that his older brother will be alright, he collapses onto the ground as his legs shortly lose all strength. This event leaves a mark on him as Ruki grows paranoid all over again. He monitors his brother closely as his body heals from all the wounds, prays that there will be no scars left since it's entirely his fault. He's such a failure.

Kou Mukami

🎤 Kou has grown significantly clingy after he's been turned alongside with all of his brothers into a vampire and he's specifically often to find around the oldest Mukami brother. There's just such a feeling of security and safety there when he's around him and Kou is low-key addicted to this warm feeling, especially when he's having one of his nightmares. Somehow he can't find you currently though and he's pouting initially a bit because of it as he doesn't instantly assume the worst. At least until he has figured out that you are nowhere inside the mansion which does make him anxious. Why would you leave without telling him or any of his other brothers? He goes outside in order to continue searching for you, his attention drawn to the noise coming from somewhere deep inside the garden. When Kou finally finds you, he realises with growing fear why he couldn't find you as you're currently going head to head with a vampire hunter who has somehow found this place. When they suddenly come for him, you act without thinking as you throw yourself between him and them, sacrifice yourself as the knife is plunged in your chest.

🎤 Kou quickly thinks and reacts, grabs them and throws them down, hands engulfing their neck before swiftly twisting it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as much as this sickening feeling does when he turns around to you as you pull the knife out of your chest. This looks really bad, he knows that despite you trying your best to downplay it to spare him from worrying yet that only makes it worse. Kou knows that he has to get you to Ruki as quickly as possible as he assists you to get up, careful to not worsen your pain nor the bleeding. There are tears in his eyes when he brings you back into the mansion, screams for Ruki to come as quickly as possible and refuses to leave your side the entire time, choking when he sees from close the wound you received in order to protect him. He doesn't want to stray away from his brother's side after that day at all as he feels paranoid if he's gone for more than five minutes. This accident is just sheer nightmare fuel and they're very frequent the next few weeks as he dreams that his older brother really died. He's a sobbing mess every time he awakes from such dreams, shouting for you in and outside his sleep.

Yuma Mukami

🌱Yuma is arguably the chillest younger brother from the Mukami boys even if he also is the one who took the longest to accept you as his older brother. He's quite excited that day since the vegetables he planted together with you are finally ripse so he wants harvest them together with you which is why he starts searching for you, furrowing his brows when he can't find you anywhere in the house. Honestly, where are you? You may be the oldest but sometimes you're really troublesome. A thought that bites him back when he finds you outside the mansion, struggling against a vampire hunter who wanted to sneak on the property of the Mukami brothers. There are a few cuts on your skin whenever they manage to scratch your skin slightly with their weapon made out of silver. Yuma quickly comes to your help and catches them off-guard by ripping them off you and throwing you away, helping you up and barking at you how you got yourself in this problem all of a sudden. You don't get much time to answer as the hunter launches at you two again, although they're now at a disadvantage with two Impure Vampires against one human. You two nearly overwhelm them.

🌱In their last moments they get desperate, charging at Yuma with newfound ferocity which shortly throws him off-guard. You realise what they plan to do and throw yourself in the last moment in front of him, shielding him as the knife insted pierces through your ribcage. With their weapon now stuck inside of you, they're defenseless as Yuma lifts them up by their head and mercilessly crushes their skull before throwing the corpse carelessly away, grabbing his older brother as he stumbles back, knife still stuck in his skin. Even if he tries to assure his younger brother that he can walk, his false claims fall on deaf ears as he's picked up and piggybacked by Yuma who worries back to inform Ruki of what has happened. He still knows that Ruki needs space to treat the injury so he just waits outside the room, trying to keep a straight face despite the nagging fear of the injury you received. He's back to scolding you for always getting in troubles even if you're the oldest one as soon as he knows that you'll make it, warns you that you'll get nothing from the vegetables he harvested all by himself. He's joking though, tells Ruki to prepare you a bigger plate to enjoy.

Azusa Mukami

🔪 Azusa is the clingiest from the brothers as he's heavily co-dependent to the point where he struggles to make decisions for himself when his older brother isn't with him. He just doesn't know how to properly function without his cherished brother and it's something that worries you as the oldest just as much as all other Mukamis. So when Azusa can't find you, he always starts searching for you. It's one of those days again as he walks around the property, the grip on his knife tightening the longer he can't find you as anxiety eats him away from the inside. Where are you? Please come soon, he's so anxious and lonely without you. He didn't anticipate stumbling upon the middle of a battle and when he sees you, he stills out of shock. Your eyes fall upon him and widen in shock as you shout at him to quickly get away and inform your other brothers what is going on. That's when the attacker decides to go for him though, underestimating him for looking weaker than you. You don't let him though, use your enhanced speed to get between Azusa and him, hissing when you feel how they drive their knife close into your stomach, although you manage to break their leg as a result.

🔪 You struggle with your wound but so do they with their broken leg. You do your best to push them away as they try to stab you again only for Azusa to appear behind them in a flash, a dangerous glint in his normally tired eyes as he uses his own knife to stab them over and over again in the back as you secure your hold on them to allow Azusa to do as he does. With a final stab in the back of their neck, they finally go limp in your hold and you quickly push them away from you, beathing through the pain as you clutch your wound. Azusa goes down on his knees, crawls to you and clutches the bloody fabric of your clothes as he tries to somehow stop the bleeding, tremors going visibly through his body. He doesn't separate from his brother even once when both of them come back into the mansion, not even when Ruki instantly takes their oldest brother to treat the wounds on his stomach. He falls down the hole of self-harming tendencies again as he always grabs his knife as soon as he isn't with his brother which leaves the rest of his brothers little choice but let him stay with you all the time, unable to take any distance. Especially when he wants to punish himself for being at fault for your wounds.

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