#(but don’t wake me up inside. eradicate the memory and /then/ wake me up)

[hayakawalove]

Second Chance

Summary: After a battle with you, Suguru finds himself back at Jujutsu High with a major head injury. He doesn't remember any of the events that occurred over the past couple of years, including his defection. Will you be able to give him a second chance, or is it already too late?

A/N: Big shout out to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for discussing this with me. They are wonderful and their work is phenomenal, please check them out. I hope you all enjoy! The idea just seemed so interesting to me. How would reader act if they saw Suguru again, and he didn't remember anything? I'm sorry for the ending. I hope you'll forgive me! Comments are appreciated!

CW: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Amnesia, Flashbacks, Death, Friends to Lovers

W/C: 4,791

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

Silky hair and chapped lips. 

You’ve seen this man before, but never like this. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, hours you think. Shoko has come in with food twice, but you’ve turned her down both times. It’s hard to have an appetite like this. There’s an endless pit in your stomach, the anxiety clawing at your insides like a demon. 

He’s changed. His hair is a bit longer, muscles a bit bigger. You can’t see his eyes, but you think they’re probably more cynical than they were several years ago. You deduce by the lines on his face that he still smiles the same. That angers you. 

You feel like the clock in the room is too loud. When you look around, you notice there isn't a clock. It’s just your heartbeat in your ears. It hurts how loud it is. 

You were a bit surprised Suguru showed his face. He avoided everyone, and everyone avoided him. For a while you thought maybe that would make it hurt less. You’ve grown to learn there’s nothing you can do to make it hurt less. 

Suguru was hurt. More hurt than you’ve seen him in a while. It was weird seeing him injured, it was even more weird knowing you were the one who caused it. Suguru was stronger than you. He always has been. Because of this fact, you can’t help but think that maybe he let you win. 

It was a laughable assumption. You knew there wasn’t a world in which he would give up that easily to you. But you couldn’t shake the idea no matter how much you tried. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

When Suguru fell to his knees you had a split second to make a decision. You could finish it all. Kill him. It was exactly what he deserved. There was a small voice in the back of your brain though, telling you you couldn’t kill him. You didn’t know if that was true. You suppose it was, because you dragged his body back to the school despite everything in your body telling you not to. 

It took a lot of convincing to find a room fit enough to hold Suguru. The higher ups were afraid he may do something drastic, but you knew better. After everything he’s done, he’s never gone after other sorcerers. “Just for now.” They told you. He can stay here until they figure out what to do with him.

A finger twitch. 

Any exhaustion that you may have felt was eradicated instantly. You stare at his fingers, praying to yourself it was fake, praying to yourself it was real. 

Lashes flutter and you’re met with caramel eyes. 

Words get caught in your throat, so all you do is stare. He was awake. He was awake and looking at you. Suguru. Memories flash through your brain of the childhood you once shared, happiness and youth flowing through your veins. You may have seen him earlier during your fight, but you didn’t see him, not really anyway. Not like this. Not up close where you could see your own reflection in his eyes.

He stares back, widening his eyes to wake himself up even more. 

Who was going to speak first? 

What would you say? 

Would he-

“Jellybean.”

There’s no ticking anymore. You think your heart has stopped, the sound no longer driving your thoughts. 

That was the nickname he had for you before he left. You aren’t even sure how he came up with it, you don't even remember when he came up with it. The only thing you could remember was how it sounded when it flowed through his lips. Just like that. It sounded just like that. 

Your mouth is glued shut as you look at him. Something is different. Something is wrong. The air around him feels different compared to hours ago. It’s not as heavy. His eyes flick around, taking in all the details of the room. 

“Geto.” You murmur. 

You use his family name out of spite, deciding that he doesn’t deserve to hear you speak his given name. 

Suguru’s brows furrow for a moment, as if surprised to hear you call him that. His gaze trails down to the handcuffs binding him. You know he wants to ask why, but he doesn’t. 

“What happened?” 

He couldn’t remember? It was hard to believe. Memories from your fight were replaying in your mind for hours. 

“You’re joking, right?” You ask. 

“Why would I be joking?”

Fine. You may as well go along with it.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Suguru attempts to sit up but he doesn’t get very far. Pain is etched in his face as he moves. 

“I remember watching the stars.” 

It was something the two of you did together. 

You hadn’t done it in years. 

The last time you star gazed together was a couple of weeks before he left. 

“What do you mean?” You press. 

“I’m guessing more time has passed, you don’t look the same.” He has a thoughtful expression on his face as he takes in your features. 

He’s right. You don’t look the same. You don’t feel the same, either. Where he had smile lines, you now had worry lines. Your lips were set in a permanent frown. 

“You would be correct.” 

“How much time has passed?” 

You don’t really know how to respond to him. You can’t tell him it’s been years. You’re sure that would hurt him. You don’t know why you care about his feelings, when he showed you he didn’t care about yours. 

“A while.” You try to reign in the edge of your voice, but it’s hard.

Emotions you hadn’t thought about in years were beginning to stir inside you. 

“Why am I bound?”

“Safety precaution.”

He thinks on your response before resting his head back. If he doesn’t remember the past several years, that means he doesn’t remember what he did. 

Was that even possible? Forgetting years of memories sounded far fetched. You wanted to believe he was lying, perhaps playing some cruel joke on you. But as you look at him, your heart tugs. He looks like the old Suguru. He feels like the old Suguru. 

“What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? He didn’t get to ask that. Not when he’s the one who put you in this mess. Not when you were unsure of what was even right. 

“You don’t get to ask that.” You bite back. 

He has the audacity to look hurt by the tone of your voice. 

The room grows quiet at your reply. He was done asking questions. Good, you think. You weren’t sure how much more of it you could take.

You call Shoko to assess him. When she arrives, she doesn’t tell you much more than you already know. He’s lost his memory, probably due to a head injury sustained in the fight. How he lost so many years, she couldn’t tell you. Shoko is stiff as she examines Suguru, even more quiet than she usually is. It’s hard to watch. It doesn’t go past Suguru, but then again nothing ever goes past him.

She waits for you outside the room, tired eyes following your figure as you close the door behind you. 

“Should I tell the higher ups?” She asks. 

“Probably. It’s not a secret that he’s here anyway.”

“And Gojo?” 

The mention of his name cuts you like a blade. You hadn’t even thought of him. Did that make you selfish? 

If anyone in the world should know about Suguru, it’s his other half. Gojo knows he’s here, but he doesn’t know the full extent of it. He doesn’t know that Suguru forgot everything. 

“Yeah- you should,” you downcast your gaze. “You should tell him.” 

What would his reaction be? You weren’t really sure. The man had become so detached from the events that had happened all those years ago. He never spoke about Suguru anymore, and would shut down the conversation anytime you tried to talk about it. 

“Alright, but” Shoko says your name and steps closer. “Keep an eye on him.” 

The way she says it sounds like a warning. Not like advice from one caring friend to another. 

“Why? You don’t believe him?” 

“I don’t know. It’s certainly possible. There’s also a chance his memory could come back. Who knows what would happen if that was the case. Just be careful.” 

You have to fight to swallow the rocks in your throat. She was right. Anything could happen. You should be scared. You know that. But there’s a deep part of you that had wanted this to occur. You wanted to have him back, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

He betrayed you. He hurt you. He was the villain in your story. 

Even still. Even still. 

He was your friend. Your best friend. 

You wave Shoko off before leaning against the door. You release a long sigh, trying to collect yourself before going back into the room. You were going to have to get through this one way or another. You just hoped it would be as painless as possible. 

~~~

“What’s wrong?” He asks once more. 

It’s been a week, and he’s been acting the same way the whole time. In the beginning, you almost thought it would be a ruse. Now, you were certain it wasn’t. 

No one could keep up this ignorant act for that long. Not even Suguru. 

“Nothing.” Your reply is curt. 

You were less angry now. Still hurt, but you were confused more than anything. There were two parts of you, playing tug of war with your heart. Your past and present, fighting for a chance to control you. Your past self wanted to pretend everything was okay, but your present self was screaming at the top of their lungs trying to warn you not to get too close.

Suguru’s lip twitches. It always used to do that. You hate that you remember all of his quirks still like the back of your hand. You tried to forget them, but it was a fruitless endeavor. 

They were a part of you, tattooed on your soul.

“Come on. You know you can’t lie to me.” 

He was right. As much as you were acquainted with his quirks, he was acquainted with yours. If you were being completely honest with yourself, he probably knew you better than you knew him. You never wanted to believe that, but you learned that it was the truth the hard way. 

“No, but I can try real hard.” 

You didn’t know what to tell him even if you wanted to. Where would you even begin? Suguru had turned into the very thing he had been fighting against for years. If you spoke the words into existence, they would become real. Suguru was a monster.

How could you possibly tell him that?

Suguru cracks a grin and you feel like you’re free falling. It was the same smile you grew up with. 

He always graced you with that grin when offering you a cold soda. When you begged him to hold your phone so you could run through the sprinklers. When you stayed up way past your bedtime just so you could talk a little bit longer. 

You hate it. You hate it. You hate it. 

You hate that he’s having this effect on you. Making you melt in his hands as if he hadn’t ripped your heart out. As if the last couple of years didn’t happen at all.

As you repeat the words to yourself you realize it’s a farce. It didn’t matter how much you told yourself you hated him and never wanted to see him again, it simply wasn’t true.

“I suppose so.” He sighs, resting against his hands.

You’re glad he’s dropped the matter. You were unsure how much longer of this you could take. Being in the room with him was suffocating, made even worse when he tried to prod at you. 

You quickly realized leaving his side was just as, if not more awful than being with him. You were constantly wondering how he was, if his memories had come back. It was terrible. 

~~~

Suguru was nearly all healed up. His memories still hadn’t come back, which put the Jujutsu society in shambles. The higher ups wanted to execute him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember what he’d done. But there were others who wanted him to become a sorcerer once more. 

If he didn’t have any past memories, they could mold him into a hero again. 

You think part of that pressure was a factor in why he left. A man gifted with powers that were out of this world. Neither him or Gojo had much of a say in how they operated before, being used like puppets in a game. Their entire high school career was like that, at least until Suguru forced open a new path.

You hated that the sorcerers thought that, that they wanted to use him like that. But you understood it. 

Suguru was an asset, you would have to be blind not to acknowledge that. 

Then there was Gojo. He didn’t have much of an opinion. Maybe he did, but he never said anything. Never spoke his mind one way or the other. On the outside it almost seemed he was impartial to the decision, but you knew that couldn’t be true. 

It must hurt for him just like it hurts for you. 

Although he has the added responsibility of being the executioner, the ax that will swing down if Suguru is decided to be irredeemable. 

You stride by Suguru, the two of you deciding to go on a walk this morning. His steps are small, walking slowly in order to remain at your pace. When you were in school he did the same thing. Never too fast, never too slow. 

The two of you weren’t even supposed to be out of the room he was placed in. Who knows what would happen if the higher ups found out you had been taking him on excursions? 

But you just couldn’t not bring him outside. The room he was being kept in was so small and suffocating. Everytime you mentioned doing something outside of it, you would catch a glint in his eye. He was envious. Of course he never said anything. That wasn’t in his nature. He would smile and nod, listen to your stories while pushing down his own desires to explore. 

You felt for him. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be confined to a bed, awaiting your sentencing for a crime you didn’t even remember committing. So what if you snuck him out? It was only for a day. Nobody had to know.

The school grounds were relatively quiet, giving you the perfect opportunity to walk around. For how mad you initially were, you sure were crumbling fast. It was hard to maintain your disposition. Suguru was back, and that’s what you had wanted for years. 

“You hurt a lot of people.” You say, figuring you should finally clue him in.

The words taste bitter on your tongue. It feels like the understatement of the century. 

“How many?” He responds. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t say anything because you aren’t sure what to say. You had no idea how many people Suguru killed. And even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to tell him. 

Suguru picks up on your expression. 

“That many?” He murmurs.

You look away as if you’ve been caught in a lie. The clock (your heart) is back, and it won’t stop ticking. It’s hard to breathe under the heat of his gaze, under the pressure of reality. 

“That many.” 

You could tell that it was hard to believe for him. It was hard for you to believe, too. You wonder what’s going through his mind. The Suguru you once knew would never dream of hurting anyone.

“They want to kill you.” You go on. May as well lay it all on the table right now.

You assumed he probably already knew. You wanted to say the words anyway, to dispel any assumption that things would go back to normal once he was released. Then again, you weren’t really sure what normal meant anymore. 

“I see.” 

Suguru doesn’t argue back. He never does. Not like Gojo, who could argue until his face was red. Suguru doesn’t try to plead his case because he isn’t able to. What’s done was done. Even if he doesn’t remember it.

An unassuming man on death row. 

You tell yourself it wouldn’t hurt if he was being killed if he maintained his memories. That wasn’t the case, though. The man who was being put on trial for execution was your Suguru. 

The Suguru you grew up with. The Suguru who would fight for you. The Suguru you loved more than anything. The Suguru before he broke your heart. 

(You tell yourself they’re two different people, two different Suguru’s, the before and after. But you know that’s not true. Whether you liked it or not, it was the same man.)

“You didn’t like nonsorcerers.” You say. The wind brushes his hair from his face. “What do you think about them now? How do you feel about helping them?” 

His eyes flicker over the school. You wonder what he’s thinking. Is he remembering your childhood? For you, it had been years, but to him it felt like yesterday. You also were struck with memories of your childhood when you looked at the school, but they turned your stomach sour. 

“It makes me angry. I want to help them, they need it. But it hurts to see our friends die.” It was more than he had ever told you before. “What about you?” 

“I don’t mind.” You didn’t mind helping them in the same sense that you didn’t mind doing laundry. 

The task never ended. It was monotonous.

You had walked a full circle around the school, finally coming to a stop underneath a tree. It was the same tree you and Suguru had relaxed under many times before. It only made sense that your feet would carry you here. 

The two of you don’t share any more words, instead opting for a moment of silence. It was nice. Being under this tree with him. You needed it. As the wind kisses your skin you feel hopeful. Maybe he could be fixed. He just told you he wants to help. Maybe you could convince the higher ups he wasn’t a lost cause. Maybe you could save him. 

A form of repentance for your ignorance all those years ago.

~~~

The only sound coming from your room was the quiet lull of the TV. You had been up for hours, but you still weren’t tired.

Suguru was with you. He was clad in a large shirt with baggy pajama pants.

His presence was calming. Every night he made his way to your room to lay with you. 

It didn’t matter that neither of you slept for hours after he visited. You felt safe, and that was the important part. 

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at Suguru. 

You were laying on your bed, Suguru sitting at your side. He’s flicking through your TV, uninterested in everything that was playing at this hour. 

“Yeah, shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll have Satoru with me.” 

Both boys were assigned on a top secret mission tomorrow. The only issue was that “top secret” hardly meant anything to Gojo. He blabbed about it the second he was excused from Yaga’s office. The two had to escort the star plasma vessel. An extremely vital task, an honor that wouldn’t have been bestowed upon just anybody. Of course the two special grades were assigned to do it. 

“And you’ll be there as well. You’re just as strong as him.” 

“For now.” 

You pout your lip out as you look at him. Suguru was always humble, but his humbleness was turning into self doubt these days. Of course it was hard to compare yourself to Gojo. He was almost a prophet. 

It didn’t help that all of the adults compared the two boys. Suguru was trying his hardest, wasn’t that all that mattered? 

“You’re stronger than me, if it’s any consolation.” You reply. 

It’s hard to know how to comfort him. He wasn’t wrong in thinking Gojo would surpass him, but you didn’t want him believing that meant he was less than. 

Suguru looks at you and grins, pinching your cheek. He chuckles softly at the way you cry, pushing his hand away. The TV was set on some childhood cartoon, a show you knew Suguru didn’t watch. Gojo did, though. You imagine it brought comfort to Suguru. He leaves it on in the background as he lays beside you. 

His body heat brings about more warmth than any blanket could conjure up. You use all of your willpower to not snuggle up to him. 

“Do you wanna do anything when I get back?” He questions.

The proposition almost sounds like a date. It could be one, you think. The feelings you share for each other is no secret, it’s as blatant as can be. Neither of you acted on them, though. It was almost like a game, it was fun. 

You thought you had all the time in the world. 

(Oh how wrong you were.)

One of you would make the first move, but for now you tiptoed the line between just being friends and something more.

“What would you want to do?” You close your eyes as you strain your ears to pick up on his voice. 

You don’t see it, but his gaze is set on you. Picking out the details on your face. 

“Anything.” 

You grin, your body beginning to feel weightless. It was always easier to sleep with him around. You begin to think about the adventures you could go on tomorrow, the options were limitless. He was right. You guys really could do anything. It didn’t matter, as long as he was by your side everything would be okay. 

Everything would be okay.

~~~

The higher ups had made their decision. Suguru was not going to live to see another day.

It stings when you hear the news. You don’t remember who told you, all you can remember is the way it made you feel. Like you’re drowning. 

Were you so naive as to think you could change the outcome of anything? 

That you could even save him?

The sun is shining when the day comes to execute Suguru. Birds are chirping, the temperature isn’t too hot and your world is falling apart once more. 

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore. 

Silly you. 

Maybe you would never stop caring for him. He was too intertwined with your soul. 

“You have one hour.” The news is delivered to you. 

Suguru hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. It’s not because he’s angry, no, he’s quite at peace with what's happening. 

He doesn't know everything he did, but he understands that this is what needs to happen. There can be no Suguru Geto, for the betterment of society. 

Regardless of what’s better for you.

It’s sick how depressed you feel. 

Your head is pounding and your stomach has been flipped upside down all morning. You don’t know why it’s such a shock to you. You knew this was coming. Deep down, you knew the odds of him making it out alive were slim. 

Maybe a part of you thought they would change their minds, and that you and Suguru could run into the sunset. 

What a fucking joke. 

“It’ll be okay.” Suguru murmurs in an effort to help you. 

He’s comforting you? He’s the one on death row yet he’s worried about your feelings? 

That was so like Suguru. 

Your Suguru. 

His wording is funny, too. He says “it will be okay” instead of “you will be okay”. He would never tell you how you’re going to feel, but he does know everything else would be okay. 

The world will keep spinning and the sun will keep shining once he’s dead and gone. No matter how much you wish it wouldn't. 

The world didn’t need Suguru, but you did. God, you did. 

You’ve survived this long without him, but at what cost? Your sanity? Your youth? You were a husk of a person since he left, but you at least knew he was out there somewhere. You wouldn't have such comfort anymore. 

“I don’t want it to be okay.” You reply. 

And you really didn’t. You wanted the world to crumble in his absence, just like you had. 

He smoothes his hand over yours, heat spreading throughout you. 

“I have to atone for my sins.” Suguru says your name like a prayer, watching as you shiver beside his bed. 

Suguru was right. You knew he was right. 

“What if you didn’t have to? What if I,” you begin. “What if we leave?” 

You snap your head up to look at him through bleary vision. There’s a small smile on his face as he watches you, like a parent placating a child. 

“And went where?” 

“Anywhere!” 

“No.” His response is curt. 

He reaches a hand up to cup your face. The tears have poured over your lash line now, and they won’t stop. 

It was happening all over again. He was leaving you again. 

“How can you do this to me?” You cry.

Suguru’s hand drops and his lips pull down a little. It must have stung when you said that. You don’t care that it hurts him. You’re hurting, and he could stop the pain if only he fought back. 

He scoots to the side of the bed to create room for you. He doesn't even have to tell you to get in before you’re hopping up, sliding down into his side. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You don’t want his sorry’s. You want him. 

Your hands curl up in the fabric of his shirt, tugging it as you cry beside him. There’s an hour left and you aren’t sure you’ll be able to compose yourself before then. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to compose yourself. 

Suguru’s hand runs through your hair as you release all of the pent up emotions. To mourn someone before they’re even dead is a difficult feat, and you’ve managed to do it twice for him. 

Will it be fast? Will it hurt? 

“You have to go, they’ll be here soon.” 

“I’m not- I’m not going anywhere.” You pull him closer. 

You would have to be dragged away. You were seeing this through to the end. He needed someone before he died. He needed someone now because he never had anyone before. 

Suguru releases a shaky breath and holds you against his frame. You memorize the way he feels beside you, the smell of his skin against yours. You never really forgot, but you wanted to indulge one last time. 

There’s foot fall outside the door and you bury your face in his chest, pleading for the universe to be kinder to you. 

“I love you, you know that right?” His voice cracks. 

“I love you, I love you Suguru, please don't let them take you,” 

You can hear his heart shatter, but it could just be a reflection of your own.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” He’s kissing your cheek, licking the salty remnants from his lips. 

Was he kidding? You wouldn't be able to take care of yourself, not like he could. Not like he did. 

The door creaks open and you slam your eyes shut. Not yet. You weren’t finished. You needed more time. 

Without taking a peek, you already know it’s Gojo who’s standing in the doorway. You don’t catch the somber gaze he shares with Suguru. 

At least it was going to be Gojo who did it. He would make it as painless as possible. 

You force Gojo to work around you. You intended to keep your promise. You weren’t going to leave Suguru, not until you had to. 

“I’ll be waiting.” Suguru murmurs in your ear. 

It’s over quicker than you were expecting. Suguru goes still in your arms, heavy hands loosening from your body.

You stay with him until he’s become stiff. Only leaving once you’re forcefully removed. 

There’s static in your ears as you’re dragged back to your room. It was finally over. The last page to a macabre book. 

You knew it hurt to lose him, you’ve done that before. 

But to really lose him? 

It’s a pain you will never get over.

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[inafieldofdaisies]

2 in 1 uquizzes

Uquiz #1: What does your OC heart look like?

Uquiz #2: What does your OC path lead to?

broken, missing pieces that once were there: your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

the messenger: a creature of flesh and bones but wrong, wires wrapped around limbs and a steady ticking accompanying each step. His home is in the forest, pale trees with dark eyes, and he clutters on, his bones creaking with every step. The clock keeps on ticking, every moment a blink in the eye of the universe as the years fly by. His steps continue forevermore, an ouroboros lumbering on and on, a mechanical being made from the dead. On and on he clatters, a void that can never be filled, with bloody feet and a chittering voice.

i'd say quite fitting, but the fact the second result is titled "the messenger" definitely sent me

a tangled ball of red strings: who are you without the company of others? You aren’t sure, but you know that you aren’t fond of whoever it is. You are an actor, a pretty face and a pleasant song. Many idolize you, or love you, but you can never be sure of how sincere it is. Your heart is buried under the letters they leave you, sealed with a kiss. It can’t be untangled from the red strings they’ve attached to you. You deserve to find something, someone, true and faithful to hold your heart in place. You don’t have to be everything to everyone.

the path: the memories left behind by others, each one taking their next step along side you. Softly rustling leaves in the wind, the full moon bathing the forest in a silvery light. A beaten path between towering trees, giant shadows slinking between them. Glowing eyes staring down at you, the animals' gazes piercing right through you. The fluttering of thousand of moths, each flap of their wings accompanied by whispers and the knowledge that somewhere someone's fate has taken a new path.

I'm screaming at the actor result for Mer. OMG. the path is also ironic considering her role chosen by Joseph

molten lava and charred flesh: your heart burned so fiercely that it burnt itself out, leaving horrible scars in its wake; scars inside your chest and on the hands of those who touched you, the hearts of anyone who got close enough to connect to yours. The person you are now is no longer recognizable, burnt up by your own anger and passion and love. The injuries can never be fully erased, but they can be soothed with time and trust and forgiveness.

the virus: Game Over. Try Again? Yes [ ] No [ ] I am tired [x] You are psydelic colors, no clear edges but instead just flowing into the ether, just floating somewhere in-between. You have played their games and lost, tried again and again and again but it could never be enough, no, you have been flawed from the start, always wrong wrong wrong. Aren't you tired yet? Hasn't it been enough, you have done your best but your form was never supposed to fit into the cutout they've created for you, each time you played their game you snipped parts away. And it still wasn't enough, would never be enough. Darling, don't you want to break them as they broke you? Darling dear, remember, they called you toxic and vicious, a virus they sought to eradicate. So stop playing the games you could never win and play your own, you are bright colors as a warning sign, sharp words spilling like toxic fumes from a sharp toothed mouth, you are a predator of this new age.

I am once again asking Cal to stop breaking my heart. Ooochie. The fire symbolism, the forgiveness.

Tagging @thesingularityseries @cassietrn @direwombat @strafethesesinners @madparadoxum @poisonedtruth @detectivelokis @shegetsburned @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @jacobsneed @josephslittledeputy @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @clicheantagonist @neverthesameneveranother @voidika @v0idbuggy @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @clicheantagonist and anyone that would like to do the tag <3

[whumpeewhumpwhump]

(AI-less) Whumptober Prompt 6: Mind Control

(Having to do this on mobile cuz my laptop decided to die on me. Decided to torment an OC, say hello to Alistor! Also I don’t know how good this is, just got off of work and am ✨exhausted✨ hope you enjoy nonetheless!)

~~

Prompt 6: Mind Control

“Wake Up,”

Alistor groaned. His head pounded. His neck felt stiff. He tried to bring his hands to his face to rub the grogginess away, only for them to be stuck. He was suddenly much more aware. His eyes shot open as he pulled at his restraints. A light chuckle across from Alistor got him to stop moving. He looked up slowly to see an elegant woman sitting across from him. Suddenly his memory came back to him.

The banquet celebrating the King. The petite woman eyeing him from across the room. Following her out of the ballroom and into the garden. Her warm smile before darkness.

His breathing increased as he pulled against his reatraints again, snarling, “You,”

She smiled sweetly at him, “Me. Happy to see you remember,”

“What are you doing?” Alistor snapped.

With a sigh, she smoothed the front of her dress and stood from her seat, “My job,”

Alistor furrowed his brow and watched her as she slowly approached him. She slowly walked around him and gently placed both hands on his shoulders. Alistor tried shake her hands off but she held fast.

He felt her breath tickle his ear before she spoke. “All I need you to do is relax,”

Alistor’s heart raced as he felt her magical suggestion fall over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaned forward and tried to force it out of his head. The woman tisked and ran her hand through his hair before grabbing a handful and yanking his head backwards.

Her voice was in his ear again, encompassing his thoughts, “Oh, don’t make it too difficult for me. Now, Relax,”

He screamed internally as Alistor felt his entire body relax. For a moment, it felt like he was harshly pulled from the forefront of his mind, making room for something else to take over. It felt like he was stuck in his own body—forced to watch himself do whatever the woman wanted of him. He stared ahead blankly, calmly, but on the inside he was thrashing about, screaming at himself to snap out of it, but it was no use.

“Good,” she purred, unlacing her fingers from his hair before gently smoothing it back. “I have a very special job for you. A job assigned to you by the King. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Alistor’s mouth moved without him wanting to. He heard his voice almost as if it were coming from under water, “Yes,”

“Wonderful,” the woman said as she moved from behind him to in front of him. She put two fingers under his chin and tilted his head upwards so he could look at her. Alistor swore she studied his face longer than necessary, basking in her victory over him. “The King knows that you aren’t as loyal as you seem. He knows that you sneak away from the Keep and serve as an informant for that pesky rebellion,”

Alistor felt his blood chill. His heart froze. He knew? All this time, was he only able to sneak out because the King let him? His heart sank deeper and deeper. He was an idiot. A fool. He led the King right to them.

“Worry not, pet,” the woman cooed, her fingers still holding Alistor’s chin. He tried to scream, to move, to bite her finger off, but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch in calm silence. “He’s not angry. He knows you’re just trying to find your place in this world. He’s asked me to help you back onto the correct path. By helping us eradicate the threat. By being an informant for us instead. You want to help me, don’t you?”

“I do,” Alistor heard himself say.

“Good boy,” said the woman as she pulled away and circled him again, this time bending down to undo the ropes around his wrists and ankles. She positioned herself in front of him again, “Now stand,”

Again, he forced himself to break out of her charm, to try and resist her in any way possible, and it worked. Slightly. He rose slowly and haltingly. The woman’s victorious smirk was wiped away and replaced with a quizzical look. Her eyebrow raised gracefully, a sinister smile grew as she connected the dots.

“You’re still in there, aren’t you?” She said, stepping forward before she was toe to toe with Alistor. She was at least a head shorter than him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t powerful. She reached up and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look down at her. She studied Alistor’s face. “Commendable, really. Looks like the King underestimated you. It’s not often that someone can resist my Blessing. Don’t worry, pet. I can fix that.”

With one smooth motion, she hit him behind the knee, sending him to the ground. She looked down at him and placed both hands on either side of his face. There was no escaping her grasp nor avoiding eye contact.

There was no way out.

Alistor felt his heart start to race in his chest. His breathing quickened as the world dissolved around him. All he could see were the woman's kaleidoscope eyes staring down at him. The way the little light in the room sifted and reflected was enchanting. He already could feel himself slipping away.

He couldn't help the tears that started to form the longer he was forced to look at her. He had failed his friends. He wanted to prove himself to be better than the King, to be a Prince of the people, not a tyrant. He wanted to be strong as he tried to find a way to dethrone the man that lied to him his entire life about the world and their place in it. Now he was going to become another cog in the machine.

A lump formed in his throat as he let out a whimper unconsciously. The woman smiled at him again. He hated her smile.

“Submit,”

The single command was the only thing that filled his ears. With that final word, Alistor felt himself drift away. He didn't have control over his own body. His mind began to warp as well. As his body relaxed, he felt every coherent thought slip away like grains of sand. He was an empty vessel.

And he would do anything she wanted. Anything.

[utterlyinevitable]

my internet went down during a very important high profile presentation i was spearheading for our company.

now I’m laying on the floor riddled with anxiety about the 10 minutes i was down and how the directors had to scramble.

[archived-kin]

words upon the wind

note from kin: i don’t really know how to feel about this one, to be honest - it feels kind of half-baked and messy, but oh well, what can you do?

the basic premise is that, instead of dvalin, it’s you, a dear companion from long ago, that venti finds rampaging through mondstadt after waking up from a long, long sleep

i’m pretty sure adepti are exclusive to liyue, so i guess reader is just the mondstadt equivalent? basically you’re in that grey area between vision-holder and archon - you’re not powerful enough to have received a gnosis and ascend into godhood, but you’re powerful enough to have attained a level of immortality and be able to control the wind to a certain extent!

enjoy!! (or don’t enjoy, it is meant to be angst after all)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, venti

pairing(s): venti/reader

warning(s): memory loss, general manipulation of one’s actions, brief mention of death, sad venti

genre: oh it is angst time baby (i think so anyway, please let me know if this managed to get you In Your Feels or not)

Where am I?

Your eyes burn, the air whipping around you in harsh gales that tear at your clothes and dig into your skin like blades. Your hands move of their own accord in a pattern that you don’t recognise, and the wind seems to move with them, swirling around you in a vortex that obscures the world from view, until all you can see are blurred lights, blurred lines, blurred green.

Green. There is a boy dressed in green, far below, arms braced above his head, staring at you. His mouth opens and shuts, but you cannot hear anything - only the whistle of the wind.

Who is he? Who are you? Why does the air bend to your will? What is this strange land below you, spreading out in grassy fields to the south and a bustling city to the west?

The boy is shouting now, straining so hard that the force of his own yells almost knocks him over. Something lies abandoned in the grass by his feet - a lyre with broken strings. There is something familiar about the sight, something familiar about him - something that you can’t quite place. His face is twisted, as if in pain. Are you hurting him? You don’t want to hurt him.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Wait for me, promise?”

You don’t know this feeling - you don’t know this anger, this sorrow, this anguish that digs its claws deep into you and threatens to rip you apart. Tears sting at your eyes, but why? For who do you so desperately want to cry for?

The boy stands his ground, even as the wind around you swells in rippling masses and threatens to crush him under its sheer power. You want to shout, to scream, to tell him to run, run far away so that I can’t hurt you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a guttural, inhuman howl of anger as the storm around you swells.

He fumbles with something on his back - a bow, a bow that trembles in his hands as he raises it and prepares to aim. How can he expect to fight the power of a thousand winds with an arrow? He’ll be killed before his arrow reaches its target, thrown back and forth by the very air around him until his limbs grow limp and his eyes lose their light. He knows this, he must know this - so why does he continue to refuse to relent?

He pulls back the string. You look back, expecting to be staring down the shaft of an arrow, but he isn’t aiming at your head. His face is scrunched in concentration, feet firmly anchored to the ground - and he is deliberately and determinedly pointing his arrow down at your hip. You don’t understand y our wind can easily snap any arrow of his in half, so why waste them on trying to slow you down? Why not go straight for the kill?

You don’t know why, but something tells you that he doesn’t want to kill you. He isn’t aiming an arrow in hopes of eradicating a target. You don’t how you know this, but somehow, against all odds, you’re willing to believe that this boy you do not know would never seek to harm you.

Perhaps that is why you do not intervene when he looses his arrow. Perhaps that is why you do not interrupt its path even as it sails forward, sharp and true. Perhaps that is why, even as the arrow strikes its target and the sound of something shattering rings in your ears, you do not lift even a finger to fight back.

You look down. Something purple and alien is crumbling from your hip, dissolving in the wind as it falls away. Quite suddenly, the wind calms, and you drop to the ground.

The boy stands in shocked silence for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe that his plan actually worked. Then he moves again, running to you, leaving both his bow and the broken lyre behind.

“Stay right there!” You warn as he reaches out a hand, jumping back into a defensive stance. “Don’t touch me!”

He pulls back, and an strange expression of hurt flashes briefly across his face. “But... it’s me. Surely I haven’t slept so long that you’ve forgotten me?”

You ignore the sharp tug in your chest at the sound of his voice, instead narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. The wind continues to swirl around the two of you, tossing the ends of his braided hair about in an almost playful way.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” You growl in reply. “What are you doing here?”

He’s silent for a long while before he replies. “I’m here... to free you.”

“Free me?” You scoff. “What on earth would you be freeing me from? I control the very wind! How much freer can I be?”

His eyes are sad - so sad that you can barely stand to look at them. “You haven’t been free in a long time, [Name]. Please… all I want is to help you.”

The silence would be suffocating if not for the breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. You refuse to meet the boy’s gaze. You speak again, but your voice is softer… weaker. “What is there to help?”

Against all best decisions, he chooses to move closer, reaching forward and grasping your right hand. For some reason that you can’t quite fathom, you let him.

“This destruction, this rage… none of this is you. You’re no Stormterror, you never have been. You... you were always just my Starseeker.”

“Who are you to tell me who I am?” You shoot back in reply. You want to pull your hand from his, to push him away and scorn him, but somehow you can’t quite bring yourself to. “I don’t know who this Starseeker you speak of is, but they aren’t me, and I most certainly am not yours.”

“Then who are you?” He asks, and you find yourself at a loss for an answer. “Who are you, if not Starseeker? Why are you attacking this land, if not because of the Abyss Order’s control?”

“I am controlled by no one,” You snap, but there is no real bite in your tone. You raise a hand to your temple, gritting your teeth.

“How many gaps are there in your memory?” He presses further, his voice increasing in intensity and desperation with every word. His grip around your hand is so tight that it almost bursts. “Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember why you’re doing this? Do you remember how your abilities came to be, how you were even created?”

“I…” You pull back, and he releases your hand, gazing at you imploringly as you turn away. “I don’t…”

“They must have manipulated your memories, stolen them even,” His voice breaks slightly, and he rubs furiously at his eyes with one sleeve as he continues, “Anything to keep you under their control, to rip away the person that you were to leave only a weapon for them to use… but please… you have to try to remember!”

“What is there to remember?!” You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes blaze so brightly that he freezes in place. “This is all I’ve known, and as far as I’m concerned, it is all that I want to know. I will let you live, but I don’t want to see your face again.”

“No—!” He reaches for your hand again, but you push him away with ease, and he lands roughly in the grass. “Please, wait!”

You only shake your head in response and turn to leave, the air around you beginning to stir in preparation to lift you. But then the boy cries out once more, and you pause for just long enough for him to leap to his feet and throw himself at you once more - and in one final, reckless movement, he rips the flower from his hat and presses it into your hands.

“The Cecilias, [Name],” he says desperately, closing your fingers around the flower’s delicate petals. “Don’t you remember the Cecilias?”

“The… Cecilias…” You stare at the innocent flower sitting in your palm for a long moment. Something suddenly tugs hard at your chest, and you inhale sharply, almost crushing the flower in your fist. The boy catches you as you stumble forward, and two of you sink to the ground in tandem.

“I brought you to Starsnatch Cliff,” He begins to speak so quickly that the words seem to blur together. It feels as if he wants to say so much more than what he can. “We went to Starsnatch Cliff together, and we sat and watched the sunset, and we talked all night, until the sun came up again. You remember the stars, don’t you?”

“Stars...?” You repeat. The boy gazes at you hopefully, nodding, and, before you realise it, you’re lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

He reaches up and softly places his own hand over yours. He’s trembling, but he smiles nevertheless - he smiles for you, even though you don’t know him, can’t know him. How many memories have you lost? And what is his place in them?

“You were still so young back then,” He murmurs, eyes distant as if reminiscing something that has long since passed. “You didn’t know what stars were. That night, when we sat together beneath the night sky, I sang you a song. Do you remember how it went?”

“Star…” Your words come of their own accord, unfocused and dreamy. “Fly me to the stars in the sky…”

Something deep inside you seems to stir at the way that his eyes soften. There is something so achingly familiar about their colour, somewhere between blue and green, like the ripples out on the open sea where there is no land to disturb its waves, like the vast emptiness of the sky that goes on for longer than you can remember and longer than you will live to see, like the quiet rustle of the trees in a peaceful evening breeze.

“It was our song,” He murmurs, and his eyes slowly fall shut. “I never sang it for anyone else, and I never will.”

You stiffen.

“Did you like it?” The boy asks, his eyes bright against the dark sky behind him as the final notes of his song fade into the night.

“I… think I did,” You reply, unsure. You press your hand to your chest, and your heart thumps loudly against it.

“Come on, no need to sound so unenthusiastic!” He sets down his lyre, leaning forward, so close to you that you can see every flyaway lock of hair scattered messily about his face. “I wrote this song just for you. It’s all yours.”

You ponder over his words for a while. “...but it’s your song.”

“No, no, I’m just the one who sang it,” He shakes his head. He pauses and thinks for a moment, then continues, “And wrote it. And composed it. And named it.”

He pauses again, his face scrunching up slightly. Finally, he decides, “You know what, we’ll share it! It’ll be our song. Ours only. I won’t sing it for anyone else, and I never will. How does that sound?”

Everything is coming back now, bursting the banks and submerging you in its endless flow. You remember nights spent beneath an inky sky filled with stars, you remember the ring of laughter around a forest clearing, you remember hours spent riding a breeze above a city of flickering lights. You remember the rush of excitement as you plummeted from the sky to a rippling lake below, only for a pair of hands to dip down and catch you before you could break the surface. You remember arms wrapped around your shoulders in an warm embrace, spinning the two of you through the air until sky and land became one, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. And the boy in front of you—

You know the curve of his smile and the dip of his frown. You know the way that his hair falls around his face in messy waves. You know the way that he laughs, head thrown back as if expressing his mirth to the very heavens above. You know the quiet melody of his voice, soothing you to sleep when the sea is too deep and the storms too strong. You know this boy!

“Barbatos...?” You whisper.

His eyes fly open. For a single, frozen second, the two of you stare at each other, one in disbelieving wonder and one in quiet realisation.

Then, before you know it, you’re toppling backwards. The boy throws his arms around your neck and hugs you tight, burying his face into the nape of your neck as he sobs, and the only thing you can distinguish among his muffled whimpers is your name, repeated like a mantra or a spell, as if you might disappear at any moment and leave him all alone once more.

Venti holds you close and cries. He cries for the memories that you were forced to forget, for the destruction that you were forced to wreak, for the people that you were forced to forsake. He cries because the centuries that the two of you have lost can never truly be recovered, because even though you are here with him, you are still so lost and the years have been so long and he doesn’t know i how to go on from here. You slowly shift and return his embrace, and he can’t help but sink into your touch, like a stone disappearing under the surface of a river.

It will take time to heal. Wounds as old as yours and his do not stop hurting easily, after all. But, as Venti burrows closer to you still, selfishly revelling in the feeling of your arms around him, he listens to the quiet hum of the breeze around him, and he allows himself to be hopeful.

He won’t be afraid of the storms on the horizon anymore. After all, it was those very winds that brought you back to him.

[whumperooni]

Little Omega being distressed so her Aloha rubs herself all over her to cover her in his scent before fucking her for hours and knotting her over and over so she forgets everything that makes her feel bad, imma let you choose which character fits the scenario I trust you

ty ty ty for your trust nonny ♡♡♡

sorry i took so long getting to this! it’s a little short, but I hope it’s okay!

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader

Tags/Warnings: a/b/o, knotting, crybaby reader, somft

Word count: 1.1k

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

It’s been a bad day. A really, really bad day. So bad that you exploded into tears whenever you got home. So bad that hiccuping sobs had you shaking as you curled up into bed, hugged a pillow to your chest.

Nothing went right today. Nothing has gone right all week, actually. It’s been so awful and you’ve tried to keep your head up, but being yelled at by your boss and being humiliated in front of your peers finally broke you and now you can’t do anything more than sniffle and whimper, cry like a pathetic little thing.

You’re still crying by the time your alpha gets home- still bawling like a child whenever he strolls into the apartment and calls out your name. You try to compose yourself- you really do- but even with your efforts you can’t stop and your alpha wanders into the bedroom to find tears streaming down your cheeks, distress and upset radiating off of you in thick waves.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?”

Everything is wrong, but you can’t get it out- all you can do is hiccup out a sob as your alpha approaches, whine and throw yourself on him when he gets close enough for you to do so.

“Baby?”

You sniffle and you burrow your head into his broad chest, spill tears all over his sweatshirt. Having him so close means you’re engulfed in his scent and that helps a little, at least- your shoulders still shake and your lips still tremble, but your crying slows as you inhale the scent of cloves and musk, leather and the slight hint of metal he carries.

“Alpha!”

Large arms wrap around you and lips find your hair, a hand slips down until scarred fingers can find your chin and tilt your wet face up.

You can’t quite see him through your blurry gaze- tears obscure your vision and leave it almost useless, block out nearly everything but the concerned crimson that peers down at you.

“Did my baby have a bad day?” Kirishima asks- worry in the question, scent strong as he hugs you tighter to his chest.

You nod and you manage to warble out a pathetic little “uhhuh” and Kirishima frowns- deep enough that you can see it despite the tears in your eyes.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls you right back against his chest, starts to scent over you heavily in an attempt to calm you down.

It works- it always works- and soon enough you’re just sniffling against him, curling your fingers into his shirt as you let out soft, upset whimpers.

“What happened, baby?” he asks, coaxes. “Tell alpha all about it.”

And you do- the words come pouring out in a babble.

You tell him about your boss and the way he had screamed at you for a simple mistake. You tell him about the new coworker that’s been a bit too handsy with you. You tell him about how you spilled coffee all over your new dress and you tell him about how you were shoved to the ground by a mean alpha.

You tell him everything and Kirishima listens quietly, holds you closer whenever you sniffle and pets over your hair with a loving hand.

“My poor little omega,” he murmurs whenever you finally finish spilling out every little injustice of the week. “You’ve had such a bad week. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Didn’t- didn’t want to bother you,” you whine out. “Didn’t want to worry alpha.”

A huff sounds and Kirishima starts to scent over you again, rubs his hand over your back as he does.

“You never bother me,” he tells you. “Never. You shoulda told me about everything earlier, sweetheart.”

“I- I’m sorry...”

Kirishima shushes you and he lets you nuzzle into him, presses kisses to your hair whenever another sniffle escapes you.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, voice soft and sincere. “Just let me make it better, kay? Alpha will make you forget all about your bad week.”

Make you forget? Oh, you want that- you want that so bad.

You nod and he hums, strokes over your hair once more before doting a kiss upon you.

“Lay back, baby.”

You obey him and lay back onto the bed, bite your lip as he runs adoring eyes over you. The touch to your thigh has you squirming, just a bit, but you still whenever he rubs it, whenever he runs his rough hand up high and pushes your shirt over your hips.

“Just sit back and relax,” he tells you. “Alpha’s gonna take care of you.”

And he does. He eats you out until you’re mewling and creaming on his face, fingers you until you’re almost dizzy with the pleasure his thick fingers bring. The way his cock fills you dashes away the stress of the week and the way he has you so easily coming on his dick has eradicates all the bad memories that had you sobbing before.

“Al- Alpha!”

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”

He really does.

He has you as he pushes his fat knot into you and he has you as you’re trembling and whining. He has you as he fills you and he holds you so very close- big arms wrapped around your body and his hips grinding against you, fucking his cum deep inside as you mewl and clench around his cock.

He grinds into you as you fall apart underneath him and he fucks you again when his knot goes down, repeats the process again and again until you’re a limp, soft mess that can’t think, can’t do anything besides whimper out soft sounds of pleasure, until you’re so blissed out that all you can do is cum and ruin the sheets with your slick, until you’re so lost in the haze that you can’t keep your eyes open.

He takes care of you and he does as he promised- he erases the bad week from your mind and he fucks you until everything but him is gone, until all you can focus on is his cock and his scent and the way you’re so very full.

When he’s finally done, Kirishima gathers you in his arms and deposits you on the couch, lets you snooze away as he changes the sheets and cleans off the cum clinging to your cunt, the drool dried on your chin.

You don’t wake as he carries you to bed and you only sigh when he curls himself around you, nestle against him with a smile as he scents over your sleeping form.

Your dreams that night are soft and hazy- sweet and beautiful. You smile as your dream, so happy, and all you can do the next day is drift about in a pleasant little fog- your alpha’s scent clinging to you and the feeling of everything being okay keeping you buoyant even with the tiny bits of trouble and stress that try to trip you up.

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name, and I’ll Be There: 2.1

"If you wake up to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door...call out my name.  Adeptus Xiao.  I will be here when you call."

"Ehe! Peek-ah-booooo," your chubby fingers separated those of your savior so that you could peek at him through the gaps.  His lips tugged into a barely-noticeable smile.  Your sudden coughing fit brought an end to the rare sight as he watched blood spill from the corner of your mouth.

"Do not forget what I've said."  The man bit the tip of his thumb, drawing blood in the process, and closed the gap over your eyes.  He touched the tip of his thumb to your lips and a warm light enveloped you.

"XIAOOO!" You gasped for air and shot up from the ground.  Cold sweat clung to your clothes, and your hair was sticking up in unruly ways.  

You were greeted with shocked faces, with most mouths agape and about to welcome spoonfuls of breakfast.  "And here I thought you'd sleep all day again," Childe let out an awkward laugh.  "How're you feeling, Sleeping Beauty? You drool like my kid brother," he pointed to a corner of his mouth.

"S-shut it," you hurriedly wiped at your mouth, and found that he was bluffing.  He choked back a laugh.  Your breathing finally returned to normal...had he joked around to calm you?

"Your fever must have broke last night.  The color finally returned to your face."  Zhongli continued to eat as if everything were normal.

"Yeah!  At this rate, we might be able to leave by tomorrow!" Paimon spun around happily.  

"Let me get you some food," Aether reached for a bowl and utensils.  "You haven't eaten anything in a while.  You must be starving."

You stayed silent, but stole a glance at Xiao.  He continued to eat without looking in your direction.  What was I dreaming about just now?  Your gaze fell to your lap.  Why did I call Xiao's name?

"Hey, are you still feeling sick?" Aether prodded you after you didn't answer him.  "Maybe we should go back to--"

"I'm fine.  I just had a really weird dream."  You caught Xiao glancing at you from the corner of your vision.

"If you say so.  Don't hesitate to tell us if something's wrong."

"Thanks."  You finally took the bowl from his hands and ate in silence.

Xiao scouted the area around the path they were to take the following day.  He leapt from tree to tree to identify any potential threats they may need to eradicate along the way.  His mind was unusually cluttered with thoughts pertaining to things outside of his duty.  Like you.  

It appears as though she's beginning to regain her memories of that day.

"'If you wake up to a knife...'"  You absent-mindedly touched your throat as you recalled your dream.  "Why does it sound so familiar?" You ran your hands through your hair, gripping the strands as you repeated the action over and over again.  It felt as though the answers were sitting on the tip of your tongue--so close yet so far away.

"You should really stop wondering off on your own.  Especially after last time."  Childe nodded toward your injured leg before kneeling beside you.  "And even more so considering this is the same spot you got injured."

"It's fine.  Xiao already cleared this area.  I guess the lawachurl was just a loner."

"That won't always be the case.  You need to keep your guard up at all times.  You never know when an enemy could strike you down."

"You mean enemies like you?"  You scooped up water from the stream before dowsing your face.  

"Well, you're not wrong," he laughed.  His face fell as he watched you dry your face.  "What were you dreaming about this time?"

"'This time?'"

"You tend to talk in your sleep or jolt awake." He paused.  "You've been calling Xiao's name a lot lately."

"So I've heard," you muttered and stood.  "I don't know what to tell you.  I barely remember my dreams."

"You know, lying isn't your strong suit."  Childe matched your pace as you limped back to camp.

"Maybe when I know what to make of my dreams, I'll share.  But I promise you won't get any useful information out of them for your precious Tsaritsa."  This earned you an unreadable grin from the Harbinger.

"Is everyone ready?"  Aether's gaze swept across everyone's faces and landed on you.

"Yep!" You grinned widely.  "I can walk fine for the most part."

"Cool!  Let us know if you need a break."

Your team set off to Huaguang Stone Forest.  It wasn't too far of a journey from your current location, but your still-healing injury proved to be a bit of an issue not long after you guys left the campsite.  You were already several feet behind the rest of the group, sweating profusely in the mid-morning sun.  Xiao slowed down and walked alongside you.

"If you need to rest, speak up."

"I'm fine," you insisted despite being out of breath.  "I can keep up."

Xiao narrowed his eyes as if he were thinking of pointing out that you were in fact losing ground.  After a few minutes of watching you recklessly hobbling about the trail, he let out an exasperated sigh.  "Here."  He knelt at your feet with his back facing you.

He wants to give me a piggy-back ride?!  You were mortified at the possibility of being teased by the group if you went through with this.  Your cheeks burned a bright red.

"Don't reduce me to waiting on you.  Hurry up," he ordered.

"O-okay."  You didn't want to test the patience of the yaksha and did as you were told.  He rose to his feet with you on his back, bright red with embarrassment.  "Childe is going to criticize me for being so weak--"

"So?"

"Oh, I--" You hadn't realized you said it aloud.

"If you're that eager for strength, we can do endurance training."

"You'd do that?"

"On one condition."  You picked your head up off his shoulder to look at him.  "You do it for your own protection, not for approval."

"Right," you nodded, realizing how childish your statement was.  "What I said....I had only meant that Childe's teasing is annoying.  I want to grow strong of my own accord."

Xiao nodded without saying anything.  You adjusted your grip around his shoulders before awkwardly resting your chin on him.  I really hope he can't feel how hard my heart is beating....or how hot my face is.  Wait, why do I even feel this way in the first place?  You failed to realize that the tips of Xiao's ears were dusted pink.

Childe bit the inside of his lip after he glanced behind him to find that Xiao was carrying you.  The all-too-familiar pang of jealousy yanked inside his chest.

[popurikat]

Ruin Teresa Agnes career. Aka: the Teresa analysis. Take all the time you need >:3

Okay I’m saying this right off the bat in case someone who stans this character misses the point above, but well I hate Teresa Agnes’ character in the maze series, both movie and book. However, in my analysis I will try to explain why her character misses the mark both as a villain and as a sympathetic character. So, to analyze her in depth, I’m putting this into parts under the read below. HEADS UP! As of now this analysis will exclude Death Cure Novel review as I have not finished that one, though it will mention one major spoiler I have been informed of from that book that I need to add for the sake of her character; other than that I will be discussing the other three novels before it (yes that is including the prequel Fever code) and the three movies from the series in broad ideas as I am not about to scavenge for quotes like I did in my last long post… well at least not as many.

Part 1: Teresa the master manipulator

No matter which way you look at it, Teresa has a way to bend others to her will, whether we blame WCKD for teaching her so well; or she used it as a means of survival, the idea still stands. Though she is extremely skilled in combat, especially at using spears and knives, Teresa’s biggest skill is her silver tongue, she can lie her way out of anything. Most evident is her betrayal in Scorch when she has such a good poker face that she not only convinces group B that Thomas is the problem they have to eradicate to get WCKD’s good side, but she also doesn’t hesitate to maim Thomas to the point of threatening to kill him: “Get in the room or I’ll hit you again. I swear I’ll keep doing it till you pass out or bleed to death” (Ch. 51). /sarcasm/ Charming ain’t she? /end of sarcasm/ The thing about lying though is that sometimes it backfires, for instance in the case of Group B, Harriet and Sonya hear Thomas out on why they shouldn’t kill him like Teresa asked, and when they listen and observe him they realize that Teresa is the worst and side with him; which in turn makes Teresa have to take drastic measures which involve getting Thomas alone with her to finish her duties to WCKD. Anyways, she even goes as far as to cement her betrayal by kissing Aris and crushing Thomas’ feelings by saying they were never a thing; she does this mind you without so much as breaking this character she builds up even though later she tries to say she still cares for Thomas. She is so convincing that Thomas has stated that: “Thomas had never heard such arrogance from her. She was either a really good actress or had started going crazy. Gained a split personality or two” (Ch. 45, Scorch). So yes, Teresa is too good at lying to the point I can say she can align as a Pathological Liar because she’s deceptive, goal-oriented in order to get HER way meaning she will not tolerate anyone interfering with her methods, she disregards the feelings of everyone around her, and she is constantly tweaking her excuses to adjust to the situations at hand. She is so good at lying she oozes self confidence when elaborating her defense by staring directly at the person she is talking to, unblinking, and will lash out in defense if someone calls her out on any inconsistencies. 

Mind you this isn’t the first instance we get at how well she turns the story to her favor. In Fever Code, she is the one to help put the Gladers in the maze and erase Thomas’ memories, which transfers in Maze Runner with how she openly gaslights everyone by pretending she doesn’t remember much about WCKD’s doings even though her memories are the only ones implied to be in tact based on that email she wrote in Fever Code: “I’ve just said my goodbye to Thomas, and he’s now in the Glade, safe and sound. Tomorrow, it will be my turn. Dr. Paige has asked me to send a final note to everyone, sharing my thoughts. I’m more than happy to do so. I feel good about the plan to leave my and Aris’s memories intact. You need someone in each group with whom you can communicate and plan during the phases of the Trials”(FC epilogue) and also based on this specific tid bit in Maze Runner where she slips she knows more than she lets on: “Though I guess a Griever can’t squeeze through this window, so I’ll be happy, right?” The mention of Grievers surprised him -- he didn’t remember talking about them to her yet. ‘Teresa are you sure you’ve forgotten everything?”(Ch.37, pg.246). Griever knowledge in general for Teresa in Maze seems to be code talk for “I am here to cause trouble, I kept my memories'' because during the sequence with the fiasco with the invasion of the species in Group A’s field, Teresa casually wakes up after the event’s commotion subsides earning Newt’s suspicion that maybe the map fire was not done on accident. Anyways, in keeping things down low and having an advantage in memory recollection, she ensures Thomas and co. don’t recall events correctly unless it's vital to her mission. And yes, Teresa will use violence and anger if necessary; she is perfectly fine with murder...”So we’re just going to kill them all? [...] They’ll die anyway [...] No, Tom, It’s be tough now or everyone dies later”(Ch. 47, Fever Code). Or even this small aside on her stance on death overall: “This is kind of fun,’ Teresa whispered to Thomas. ‘Walking along with my new friend.’ He looked at her in bemused disbelief. ‘Really? You drop that bombshell about kids dying and now you act like it’s no big deal? You’re so weird.’ He tried to make a joke out of it to hide just how horrified he’s been by her second question” (Ch. 9, pg. 55, FC). And she has killed, mind you, yes they were cranks, but they are still humanly conscious. Thomas in comparison shows pity about the fact that they were still human, Teresa didn’t bat an eye. And now, you might say “Hey Popuri, you know, she’s just willing to kill if it means saving everyone else right?” to which I go, sure she’s stated that if it means saving the rest it doesn’t matter if thousands or so die. However, she is also clear that she only cares about Thomas’ survival in specific, no one else; which immediately gets falsified by her “lie” in Scorch, thus she will kill anyone if need be no matter how close they are. What I’m saying is that not even Teresa has a clear path in why she manipulates everyone when she can so easily be convinced to make elaborate murder scenarios at the snap of WCKD’s fingers. She claims it's to save her “crush” but will not hesitate to shed his blood and drag him across the desert. 

She claims it's to help WCKD, that WCKD is good, but she has bore witness time and time again that the facility makes countless errors and knows there's no REAL cure available … and Teresa is a smart kid, so why continue believing a hopeless façade? Because she's desperate to cling to some hope? No. Teresa doesn’t do the whole hope thing, she's convinced WCKD is good period, there's nothing else. So, even if there is no evidence anymore she will fight tooth and nail for something she herself is trapped in because no one will want to be there for the girl who treated her only connections as poorly as WCKD treated her. Therefore, is it because she can’t help it then? I can only imagine that's the case. She’s willingly this puppet for WCKD, she could’ve escaped them any time she liked like Thomas and co. did, but she prefers to stay on the burning train even if it means her own demise because she refuses to admit any of her actions were wrong, the truth will NOT set her free because she cannot confront it. 

Moving forward, I wanna delve more into the whole telepathy dealio she specifically shares with Thomas and we actually never really learn if she can talk to others as she evades the question when it does arrive in book. The only certain thing is that if you have a chip, you can talk using your mind. Now this would be a fine plot device, but in the hands of someone who wants to control your every move and thought, well....”Thomas, this is Teresa. He was going crazy. He was actually going crazy. It was the oldest and most common symptom -- hearing voices in your head. ‘Uh...’, he said aloud. Is this working? Is this working? The last words landed between his eyes like a thunderbolt. The pain knocked his legs out from under him and he collapsed onto the floor. Never had the world felt so fluid beneath him, as if nothing solid existed, no form, no substance“ (Ch.20 , pg. 112, FC). So first things first, Thomas hates it when he gets a mind message, he feels extreme pain when someone tries it, this is recurrent throughout the series. He has told her a few times not to contact him through that method, but it's their little secret and besides, if he told anyone who would believe him? “Teresa shrugged. ‘You didn’t tell anyone, did you? They’d think we’re crazy“(Ch.36, Maze Runner). So we have a situation where Teresa has a huge way of overpowering Thomas, she can send images to his head without his consent and yell into his mind even if it means it hurts him. And the kicker? She doesn’t teach him how to use it on purpose. And when he tries to contact her? Well depending on her mood she can either be flirty or... well this: “Teresa? A pause. Teresa? A longer pause. Teresa! He shouted it mentally, his whole body tensing with effort. Teresa! Where are you? Please answer me! Why aren’t you trying to contact me? Ter- /GET OUT OF MY HEAD!/ The words exploded inside his mind, so vivid and so strangely audible within his skull that he felt lances of pain behind his eyes and in his ears. He sat up in bed, then stood. It was her. It was definitely her. Teresa? He pressed the first two fingers of both hands against his temples. Teresa? /WHOEVER YOU ARE , GET OUT OF MY SHUCK HEAD!/ Thomas stumbled backward until he sat down once again on the bed. His eyes were closed as he concentrated. Teresa, what are you talking about? It’s me. Thomas. Where are you? /SHUT UP!/ It was her, he had no doubt, but her mental voice was full of fear and anger /JUST SHUT UP! I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE! LEAVE ME ALONE!/ But, Thomas began completely at a loss [...] /LEAVE ME ALONE, OR I’LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND CUT YOUR THROAT. I SWEAR IT. “ (Ch.8, FC). *sarcasm* ah yes, nothing says true love like a death threat that actually comes to near fruition later in that same book and pretending to not know that person only to later, upon meeting Thomas acting like a sobbing mess, kiss him and disappear...she sure knew him then huh? *end of sarcasm* Having a power imbalance in a relationship is, you know, not good, especially when you’re making it so you gaslight the person anytime they know something you don’t want them to or to have control over the situation. Teresa does this OFTEN. To the point that it makes Thomas so emotionally attached to her he finds it hard to admit he doesn’t need her, even when he’s been badly hurt. 

 Part 2: Your past does not excuse your bad actions in the present. Period.

Now let me clear something up, PAST ABUSE does not CONDONE you to HURT OTHERS in turn, let alone allows you to use it as an excuse to justify wrong actions. I am aware Teresa, aka Deedee, was abandoned due to an outbreak of the flare at an early age; had her name changed, was confined to a room with Thomas as her only friend who was the same age as her, and openly manipulated by adults to believe WCKD is good. But you know who else goes through the same treatment? LITERALLY EVERY KID EXPOSED TO THIS EXPERIMENT! AND THEY DON’T THREATEN EACH OTHER IF THEY DON’T GET THEIR WAY OR KILL EACH OTHER. And this is not said in order to justify that everyone with the same experiences will have the same reactions, I understand stressors and trauma affect everyone differently and acknowledge everyone needs a different support system. But like, for peeps sake, Thomas who is Teresa’s exact foil as a narrative play to show that they are more alike than they realize which is the flimsiest proof to grab at as to why they need each other to an extent; literally has the exact same story cut and paste from her and he has more empathy and compassion to those around him, than Teresa ever shows. WHY? If the idea is to show Teresa has hardened from her own experiences, she should in theory act more like Brenda, a renegade civilian that isn’t soft for anyone except the boy who will save her. I know in my explanation I compare Thomas and Teresa a lot, but it's hard not to when Teresa, though having Aris as another buddy who is also in on the whole WCKD scheme, still decides to CLING to Thomas to be her saving grace. And the thing is, even if she only ever trusted Thomas in this whole experiment, then why not confide in him or tell him what is happening? She doesn’t LISTEN to anything he says to her in turn. YES, Teresa knows more about the situation as a whole, YES she is capable of doing things by herself, but she never trusts anyone. You’d think she would be more open to talking to the kids her age or be the quiet type because she knows what will happen to them all if they don’t comply; but no, I can’t even describe her personality other than stoic one moment and complete chaos in the next, and she does that switch VERY often. But sure, she prefers to skew half truths and put everyone in danger because ….WCKD? She’s supposed to be the intellectual one and she doesn’t know how to spread her capabilities, no wonder Brenda is introduced in the second book.

It's also incomprehensible to me why she feels it necessary to follow WCKD in general when she was the first to know of all their evil doings? “They were at the door when Teresa stopped and asked Dr. Leavitt a question. Two, actually. And it was enough to change the man’s demeanor completely. ‘What’s a swipe trigger? And is it true that seven kids died during the implant surgeries?’ The questions stunned Thomas. He turned to look at Teresa as the doctor fumbled for an answer. ‘How...’ the man began, then stopped, realizing at the same moment what Thomas did: Teresa had stumbled on something major. Something true”(Ch. 9, pg.54, FC). You’d think she would have the maturity to one up WCKD and knock them from the inside out to save the one she “loves'' but she doesn’t, instead she abides by the facility...even when knowing they are the ones who made the Flare in the first place. Call me naïve, but wouldn’t it make sense that if she wants to help stop the Flare than it would be in her best interest to hold Ava at an inch of her life (and Ratman) until she fesses up how to reverse the Flare, only to then realize oops there never was a possibility for a cure ~, but in knowing this finally be rid of the one thing holding her back? Again, someone can argue that hey, she thinks the people who made it HAVE to eventually find the termination and either way what possible choice does she have when her own manipulators control her? But remember, in the end it's always been a huge experiment to eliminate the human populace, and that's motive enough to rebel and/or snap at the hand that feeds when it's gone too far. EVERYONE has a breaking point mentally and physically, THOMAS BREAKS DOWN SEVERAL TIMES IN THE SPAN OF THE SERIES BECAUSE HE CAN’T MAKE SENSE OF THE EXPERIMENTS AND THE REASON TO CONTINUE SURVIVING ONLY ON WCKDS TERMS. And it drives me insane that Teresa would openly keep the Gladers from knowing about their procedures when she has known the longest from everyone else! Oh? You want evidence that Teresa keeps her memories intact and lies about ever losing them, sure! Here, have a morsel: “Teresa..., he started to say, but then stumbled a void. He had no idea how to respond. Did you....did you already know this stuff? /I’ve heard rumors./ And you never told me? He was stunned. How could she have known this and never said anything? She was his best friend. The first person he went to with everything. /I just don’t see the point. Yes, we have reason to hate these people. But how is dwelling on the past going to help anybody? The solution is what matters./ Thomas had never been so blindsided in his life.../I’m really tired, Tom. Can we talk about it tomorrow?/ She was gone from his mind before he could respond [...] The next day Teresa refused to talk about it, emphasizing that she’d rather focus on the future than the past Dr. Paige also blew it off, saying that those decisions had been made well before her time. it was almost like they were both determined to forget” (Ch. 43, pg. 239, FC). TALK ABOUT BECOMING THE ONE THING THAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OVERCOME. Like goodness sake, Teresa was part of the prep and launch of putting each Glader into the Maze and she never doubted it, never fussed over how this was bad. The excuse of “this is for their own good, my own good, and the world’s” can only go so far when you are in an environment that is full of violence and trauma, you expect me to not believe Teresa just never broke down and truly analyzed how she can use her lies to one up her own abusers? She’s supposed to be this “empowering” female character and she can’t even get THAT right. 

Part 3: How come the films did it better?

The film actually humanizes her a lot more and makes her motives at least justifiable in a fit of protecting the one you love. I know a lot of people dislike her character in the movies because it's more frail and sympathetic, but it was a very good way to justify her motives and plan out her actions from point A to point B. What do I mean by that? Let's take a look. Film Teresa enters the Maze without the ability to communicate to Thomas through telepathy, she still has her memories and she is still in close contact with WCKD, that much is still the same. Her motive though is to get everyone out of the maze and into stage 2 where the facility can round up the ones who have been viewed to be immune through the Maze Trials. So far so good, but pretty on par with the book right? Well, here is where it differs for the best. On the last act of Scorch, Teresa tells Thomas WITH SENTIMENT, no more lies and no more hiding that she contacted WCKD because it was needed to keep Thomas alive and well. WOW, notice how she doesn’t emotionally manipulate him and her innocent nature of trusting the scientists of her world to cure everyone actually leads her to be more sympathetic and relatable to the audience? In Death Cure, she doesn’t expect Thomas or ANYONE to forgive her for her actions and in fact takes her actions at face value. This Teresa is more understanding of the phrase “You can change, but those you’ve wronged have no obligation to forgive you” than book Teresa ever will. To the point that when she finds Thomas in the city and has bore witness to the startling realization that there indeed could be no cure cause her patient flares back up; of which is intentionally a little girl to reflect without showing that she can relate to the Flare stripping away her childhood, she then betrays WCKD by allowing the Gladers to infiltrate the facility, thus redeeming her when she dies in the explosion. Thus, making her in the film's eyes an anti-hero. As Skquill once told me, “Film teresa really did want to create a better future, and wanted to help people and that's what I like about film teresa. It didn't work. It literally blew up in her face. But, she tried, and she saved Thomas in the end.”

The only reason I don’t like Teresa even in the film is because she is kind of a wet blanket there, barely expresses any emotion beyond stoic token girl that cries sometimes, and she could’ve saved herself the whole betrayal arc if she just learned to better communicate her intentions instead of sobbing pathetically every time no one wants anything to do with her for her ill doings.Not to mention she still maintains her personality to a degree from the book (just call her diet Teresa really) because once both enter the sequence in Scorch where they ran out of pawns to move around they claim that they did what they had to do and they wouldn’t change a thing, they’d do it again if they could. It is only when both are at death’s door with no other choice that they give in some noble sacrifice at a chance for redemption, which is well too little too late. And in the opposing corner of knowing some people blame Thomas for not just allowing himself to be experimented on since the beginning, my rebuttal to be fair is that Teresa just again, sucked at explaining herself and the intentions of WCKD until it was deserving of a literal showdown bloodbath that evidently Tommy boy had to take defense to and threaten his life if anyone else died due to miscommunications. ALSO, IT'S HIS OWN BODY, HE CAN DO WHAT HE WANTS WITH IT INSTEAD OF HAVING OTHERS DICTATE WHAT HE NEEDS TO DO.

BUT ANYWAYS, book Teresa in comparison has even less characterization, I am sorry to say. SHE'S BARELY IN SCORCH AS IS, only coming out toward the climax because before that she is crying and kissing Thomas before going MIA for 45 chapters. Ouch. And when she does appear? She purposefully causes trouble that leads to essentially no where, we could’ve gotten to the safe haven way sooner without her interference.

Part 4: Is Book Teresa a good female character?

 The simple answer? No.

The slightly longer answer? Even if I were to place her as the villain of the story she’s...not that good? Mostly because again, she acts as a puppet for a rich, governmental organization that basically implants how she should think and act. YET, somehow she is still smart, brave, lethal, and *ahem* UNBELIEVABLY BEAUTIFUL WITH HER LONG HAIR THAT IS BASICALLY DESCRIBED THE EXACT SAME WAY AS BRENDA’S, WHO FYI IS THE SLIGHTLY BETTER FEMALE LEAD THAT STILL CAN’T HOLD A COIN TO SONYA OR HARRIET (the background characters) THOUGH. I also need to say plainly, she has no gradual growth, she remains by her ideals and thinks she's right constantly in all but one book...which is one book too late and thus made meaningless. By no means is Teresa a mary sue, yet she still manages to be a stereotype in Maze Runner: “If you’re going to decipher a hidden code from a complex set of different mazes, I’m pretty sure you’ll need a girl’s brain running the show”(ch.43); then again going most of the book in Scorch missing, and then unceremoniously gets crushed by a boulder in Death Cure as her final hurrah for all the bs she caused isn’t really a means to become a memorable character. This is the female supportive character I’m supposed to relate to and or praise for her dastardly, cunning intellect?  If I were looking for a strong female with various flaws and a tragic end I would saunter over to Hunger Games’ Katniss instead. Teresa fails as a character the moment that her sole purpose is to be so emotionally/physically attached to Thomas that her whole character gets washed down the gutter so badly that Kill Order had to be made to justify her actions through a tragic backstory. In no way or form was I able to entertain this character as a favorite because she is everything I don’t want to be or befriend, and even as again, a “villain” she doesn’t exactly do much as the real masterminds are Ava and her cronies who MADE the disease and the trials. Even going as far as calling her an anti-hero feels off because none of her actions deliberately affect the plot or progress of our main character’s story. But that's kind of the thing with D*shner’s characterization of females overall? They’re either brutish or simply there. I don’t think any of them even pass the Bechdel Test. 

Final thoughts:

I don’t like Teresa, I would personally fight her in a Denny’s parking lot at 3am if I could. I recall saying multiple times how she should just “shut up” as I read Maze and Scorch because most of her quotes are not memorable nor important. But in no way do I blame the character for the angst and tragedy of the novels overall. D*shner just...doesn’t seem to know how to make honest character growth and a decent plot, thus, in turn the story and its leads suffer tremendously as the narrative gets stretched out. (me yelling in the distance about how Crank Palace was made for clout). HOWEVER, In no way should my analysis stop people from finding Teresa as interesting or “cool”, I actually ENCOURAGE anyone that stans her to explain why to me because I personally don’t understand why beyond thinking “I just think she's chaotically evil and her treachery is fun to witness”. COOL IF THAT'S THE REASON OR EVEN IF YOU RE-WROTE HER TO BE BETTER! I just personally don't find her presence necessary for plot progression or as a love interest in general. It in fact sucks that she gets essentially replaced by Brenda almost as soon as the opportunity arises. In turn though, for others who don’t like her either as much as me, feel free to add onto this post any other “Teresa sucks and here's why” moments as I know there's a lot of moments out there to quote or paraphrase. Thanks for reading~

[arigatouiris]

i’ll remember you // kuroo tetsuroo x reader (1/3)

Author’s Note: I absolutely adore the movie Kimi no Na Wa, and I guess this is a sort of reprised version? Don’t ask me how I got the idea, I have no clue lmao. Just started writing it one day and this is what I came up with. I gave it three parts because the whole thing is quite long. Do tell me what you think! 

Word count: 4243

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuroo x Reader [Kimi no Na Wa re-write]

Summary: Everything had been perfectly normal until you woke up as a volleyball captain from a school you didn't go to, in a city you didn't live in. Ever since then, Kuroo Tetsuroo has been inching closer and closer into your life, wrecking almost everything that could perhaps be considered normal.

However, you never realized how vital he was to you; because you were sure you would understand upon seeing him.The struggle however, was remembering each other. Because what good would it do if you went to saw him and he didn't remember you? 

Well, the universe turns back time, of course. Until he did.

Warnings: angst, body-swapping, fantasy, reader is depressed, mentions of suicide, character death, slow burn, bittersweet end, awkward boners, mentions of porn

ｃｈ． ０１ — ｃｏｕｎｔｒｙ ｂｕｍｐｋｉｎ

You could not remember how you had fallen asleep last night.

You woke up with a faint stinging in the back of your head as if someone had hit you with a ball. You groaned, but you sounded gruffer than you'd remembered; as if you had an itch in your throat that you couldn't quite clear off. You felt as if your entire body had been stretched out longer than you were and it was strange, it wasn't as if you were injured or anything. You just cried yourself to sleep because you were turned down by the person you had a crush on for quite some time now. Letting out a breath, which you swore sounded like someone else instead, you raised yourself to come face to face with a room you had never seen before.

You could hear vehicles on the road outside, and your eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what was going on. You probably were still dreaming, that's for sure, since the first thing you'd always saw when you woke up was the window right in front of you. Now, there was no window but just a plain grey wall with a poster of a rather weird looking rat-like thing with a robot on its back, and the window instead was near the table with stacks and stacks of books lying on top of it. For a dream, this had way too much detail, but it wasn't as if you could complain. At least you weren't dreaming of Akio-kun, so that was something.

    "What in the world?"

Your eyes widened instantly before your hand went to wrap around your throat; and you let out a squeak, which again, didn't sound like you. Your heart was racing now and you searched for the bathroom in this dream and rushed inside, and your eyes came in contact with one of the most handsome boys you had ever seen. His hair could use a fix-up, but considering how you'd just woken up, you guessed this is how his bed hair looked like. His features were incredibly well-divided, his teeth were perfect, and he was freaking tall.

You were somebody else. Somebody handsome. Your eyes widened before feeling something heavy downward, a strange warmth spread all over your body when you looked down to see something poking out through the boy's underwear. Your face instantly reddened before screaming, not thinking if he lived alone or if his family could hear. You didn't care; you were not this boy, you were in a strange place.

Running back to the room, you tried to look for anything that made sense, anything that could let you know who this person was and how it was that you got here. It had to be a dream, but you had slapped yourself or him enough times to wake up but you were still here. Panic rushed through you, but perhaps it was because this boy didn't have terrible anxiety like you, you could strangely calm yourself down. You found his phone and thank goodness it didn't have a pin, because, for the life of you, you didn't have this boy's memories.

What the heck, you thought, and even your mind voice changed into this boy's voice and it unnerved you. It wasn't as if you never dreamed of something like this, but for it to actually happen in such great detail, it didn't flatter you; it was a big inconvenience. At least I don't have to face Akio-kun, you thought before opening this boy's phone, and learning that he was perhaps an anime fan.

You discovered through his text messages that his name was Kuroo. You were yet to discover his first name, but that was for later. You were in Tokyo, a city far, far away from your own, a city you had never been to but had always wanted to go and live in, and you had discovered that he was the volleyball captain for his school. You remember playing a little bit of volleyball back in middle school, but you were a second-year high school student in Fukue Gakuen, sports weren't as prominent as teasing girls and crushing on boys. You'd learned that Kuroo was best friends with someone named Yaku (or you weren't sure if the members in the group were being sarcastic, for this Yaku person did not even like being addressed in such a way), and there was someone named Kenma. You'd heard of Instagram but students from Fukue generally spent more time gossiping than on their phones, especially with limited internet access.

You guessed things in Tokyo were different since the internet was relatively quite fast here. You clicked on Instagram before thinking you were blessed. You tried as hard as you could to memorize how the volleyball team looked, how Kenma looked, and in each and every one of those pictures, Kuroo himself looked rather dashing, and you wondered if this dream would end soon or not.

    "Tetsu!" An ugly voice rammed itself into the room and you almost dropped your Kuroo's phone.

You turned around to spot a middle-aged man with a stubble, a nasty frown on his face which died down on seeing you there, standing with your phone, in the middle of the room. To whoever this person was, you were Kuroo and you decided to stay mum until he left.

    "Ah, you're awake. Damn, thought you were still asleep," The man rubbed the back of his neck, "You're going to be late for school, moron. Go get ready. And," He cringed before pointing to your pants, "Take care of that, for god's sakes."

Your face reddened before your hands rushed downward, feeling Kuroo's private parts sticking out uncharacteristically. You knew why this happened, and even if you were from the country, that didn't mean you were unaware of the morning wood. You had a friend who'd given you all the unnecessary details, especially when you didn't want it.

    "Uh, so... Who are you?" You asked, taking a risk.

    "Ah?!" The man didn't even look offended, "Your goddamn father, go wash the sleep off your face, Tetsu!"

Oh, so it was his father! You wanted to ask him how to get rid of the morning wood in other easier ways, but you guessed that Kuroo or Tetsu wasn't such a person. You took a breath before heading inside the bathroom to take a shower, hoping it'd eradicate your problem. You were accustomed to calling Tetsu's body as your own now because this was where you were for the time being, and it didn't make sense that you had to correct yourself constantly. You found his uniform sprawled on the nightstand, which made your eyebrow twitch with annoyance; whoever this Kuroo was, he sure as heck didn't care how he looked like. Despite looking like a demigod, you thought before putting on your shoes.

You didn't take a peek at his... private parts. You took a bath with his underwear, trying hard not to drool over how toned his body was. Maybe, he took the whole volleyball thing quite seriously; you'd heard of how Tokyo schools were all about championships and leagues, and the volleyball scene was quite huge in Japan. You managed to change his underwear somehow and put on new ones with your eyes closed and it was then the most important thought, the one you had been sitting on all this while, hit you.

What if he's in my body!?

Your eyes widened and your hands flew to your face, but somehow seeing Kuroo with his hands on his face made you blush harder at how out-of-character it was. You didn't even know who this Kuroo person was, but giving him feminine mannerisms made you feel weird.

He better not have... You thought before feeling uncomfortable, but there was honestly nothing you could do at this point. Perhaps, he was just as weirded out, perhaps, he was just as confused as you were and wouldn't try to do anything stupid.

You didn't know how to get to school, but it was something you knew you'd have to solve. Grabbing everything that he otherwise needed, his wallet, his bag, and a small part of you was excited that you were getting to travel in Tokyo and live a day in Tokyo as someone else. Despite how different it felt. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you walked out of the house, and on your way out, you noticed how the house looked. It was a simple-looking house but the lack of woodwork made your feet feel weird. Kuroo wore indoor slippers, and so did his father, and two others who looked like they were his grandparents. Where's his mother? You thought in Kuroo's voice before noticing his father approach you.

    "Eat," He snapped, "Don't walk out without eating."

    "Okay."

For some reason, Kuroo's father turned and looked at you with a funny expression. He was just as tall as Kuroo, which must have explained where the height came from. You cocked your eyebrow at him, wondering if you had said anything strange, but you were sure you hadn't.

    "We've got toast." The dad mumbled quietly before walking away, coming to place something on the kotatsu.

You found it rather easy to sit and get back up, but toast for breakfast? You were more of a rice and egg person in the morning, but perhaps Kuroo didn't pay attention to what he ate. After breakfast, you ignored the weird look Kuroo's father was giving you before heading out, to find Kenma waiting outside the gate, playing something on a weird horizontal device.

    "What are you doin' here?"

Kenma paused the game before turning and looking at you, cocking an eyebrow at you funnily.

    "Waiting for you, did you forget that we go to school together?"

    "Ah," You rubbed the back of Kuroo's neck, "Must'a slipped my mind—"

    "What's with the country accent?" Kenma mumbled before putting his game inside and you froze.

You completely forgot about trying to maintain an accent. You weren't sure if you could tell Kenma what had happened, but you knew that if someone were to come and tell you they had slipped out of their body and entered someone else's, you'd definitely not believe them, and not only that, you'd worry for their mental health.

    "I was watching something last night," You tried to shake off Kenma's suspicion, but every word that slipped out of your mouth sounded disastrously weird to you, "Don't mind me."

    "You're acting strange, Kuroo."

    "I said don't worry about it." You looked away.

Kenma was perhaps as tall as you were in real life. Kuroo was certainly tall, and you believed he was probably one of the tallest in his school. Well, I'm glad I don't have to find my way to school, you thought before following Kenma, following after every one of his actions. Taking out the card that he used for the train, taking a right when he took a right, taking a left when he took a left—strange, you thought before noticing the school in the distance, I think we took a long way around.

    "Right, so spill," You heard Kenma say, grasping your wrist, "Who are you?"

Eh? Your eyes widened and you instantly blushed at his question. How the hell did he get to know? What was he even suggesting?

    "What? Kenma-kun, I—"

    "You are definitely not Kuroo. I had my suspicions, but the '-kun' confirmed it."

You were sure you were panicking now. The school was just meters away and Kenma had thrown a bomb at you. Whoever this little rat was, he was sure as hell was perceptive. You tried to breathe, but the anxiety was starting to bubble in your chest. Turning to meet Kenma in the eye, you gave him a worried expression, which he just ignored.

    "Lemme explain, I ain't from around 'ere."

Kenma nodded, "I figured as much. How are you here?"

You shook your head, "I 'ave no clue. I just woke up and I'm 'ere. I'm not even from Tokyo!"

Kenma sighed, before leading you inside. He gestured you to follow and handed you something from inside his bag. It was a face mask. You took it from him before hearing him say,

    "Don't talk to anyone. Just tell them you have a cold."

You narrowed your eyes. This Kenma person seemed almost prepared for something like this. Was it something that happened a lot with Kuroo? As strange as it sounded, was it your first time and not his? You put on the mask quietly before following after him, before tugging his sleeve. Kenma paused before swatting your hand away.

    "Kuroo doesn't do that. We'll talk during lunch. Go to class 3-1."

    "Okay. I'm sorry."

He gave you a strange look but ignored you. It was funny how Kenma and Kuroo didn't share a class, but that didn't matter. The mask helped. However, Kenma hadn't told you where you sat, and the class was already occupied. Oh no, you thought before scanning your eyes all over every desk in the classroom. Where does he sit? Does he sit by the window like an anime character? Where does he—

    "Kuroo-san," A voice sounded from behind you and you froze before turning to see a teacher, "Please go to your desk—oh? Are you sick?"

You gave her a helpless smile before realizing that the mask must have covered most of your smile, so you were just closing your eyes at her. She sighed before pointing to a particular desk, and said, "Go."

You nodded before thanking her a gazillion times inside your head and sitting over there. Homeroom was quite strange; the kids were just minding their own business and some of the students weren't even paying attention to what the teacher was saying. You wondered what kind of student Kuroo was, but taking one good look at his notes made you understand just where you were sitting.

He was in a college preparatory class. This Kuroo person was a smartass.

He was good at subjects you were terrible at. Math. Chemistry. Physics. He was great at those, but he wasn't too bad at biology, English and Japanese. Both of you seemed to dislike history, but you didn't think literature was too bad, but Kuroo hated it. He refused even to take notes of the same. Your fingers loomed over his notes and despite the terrible handwriting, you could tell that he worked hard.

    "Kuroo-san," The teacher sounded, offering you a soft smile, "Please get better soon."

Your eyes were wide at the sudden show of concern and you smiled before nodding and realized that no one in class even paid attention. Some of the girls came over to you and asked you if you were alright, but just from one look at them, you realized they were trying to flirt. You didn't know what annoyed you, but suddenly, you saw yourself in one of the girls, and how you'd throw yourself at Akio-kun. Was this how it felt? You thought before clearing your throat.

    "Girls, I really can't talk right now." You tried to say in your fake city accent and heard moans of disapproval from them.

You wanted to snap at everyone personally and tell them that maybe Kuroo didn't care about them at all. Maybe, this Kuroo person was a flirt with no mind, who'd callously play with the emotions of the girls around him, only for his own benefit. And since he was from the city, he might even... he might even do some illicit activities like drugs or such. You didn't know who this Kuroo person was, but you were hoping Kenma would fill you in. If this was the life you had to live from now, a part of you worried that it would remain this way. Lunch break didn't come too early. By the time it was lunch hour, you almost felt like you indeed had a cold, and you rushed out immediately to spot Kenma standing by the door.

    "Kenma-kun!"

He winced at what you called him before saying, "Drop the -kun, damnit. Kuroo never says that!"

You felt your heart shrink from being scolded, but nodded before following him. He turned to you and gave you a look before letting out a sigh.

    "Let's go get lunch first."

    "There's a cafeteria 'ere?"

    "It's a regular school. Of course, there is. Unless the school you're from doesn't have a cafeteria—"

    "We prefer takin' bentos."

Kenma and yourself managed to buy some more bread before you realized that the city folk ate a substantial amount of it. A few minutes later, Kenma began eating while walking and you just stared at him like he was committing a crime. He shot you a look before smirking and continuing his eating. The two of you walked to the roof, which was considerably less occupied than you had imagined.

    "I really thought there'd be more people—"

    "Have you watched the movie 'Kimi no Na Wa'?"

    "What?"

Kenma let out a sigh, "This happens in the movie. I'm surprised it actually happened, and to Kuroo nonetheless, but the movie prepared me, I think."

    "So you knew somethin' like this was gonna happen?" You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He shook his head, "I didn't say that. Just... Familiar with something like this. Not sure why it happens and I seriously hope you're not from a remote country village that's going to be destroyed by a meteor."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, "I am from a remote country village, though... I—I'm from F-Fukue I-Island, i-it's the l-largest island i-in the G-Goto—"

    "Relax, your island isn't going to be destroyed." I think, he thought but decided against telling you.

    "How long is this goin' to happen for?" You asked, folding your arms in front of your chest. Standing there as Kuroo made you feel a tad bit confident, judging from how tall he was.

    "Well, not sure if you're following the movie's timeline, but it happens for a while on random days. You can insert notes in Kuroo's phone for him to see so that you two can communicate whenever this happens. Text yourself to let him know."

    "What if it isn't Kuroo that's... that's in my body?"

    "Highly unlikely."

    "But you just said that this hadn't ever happened before!"

Kenma sighed, before chewing on his bread, "You have to trust me," He said, right before taking another bite, "Besides, it's not like you can go to anyone. No one will believe you. Especially since that movie's a bit famous, they'll just think Kuroo's playing with them."

    "Does he play around often?"

Kenma nodded, "All the time."

You groaned before feeling tears prick your eyes, "What was the point of the movie? When did it stop?"

    "When the... male character and the female character met each other. And they saved the village that the female character lived in."

    "You said—"

    "I know what I said. I'm just... maybe, you have to identify what's lacking in your life and see if Kuroo has it."

You were quiet. The only recent sadness or void in your life came from being rejected brutally by Akio-kun. Your mother and you shared a strained relationship, your father had passed away long ago, your younger brother was an absolute pain. The other family you had, your aunt, lived in Tokyo, and you'd always wanted to live with her considering you were closer to your mother's sister than your mother herself. Most days you didn't even want to get off the bed. If Kuroo was in your body, you knew there was quite possibly nothing he could do that could make your life worse there.

    "What's your name?"

    "(s/n) (y/n)." You said, now looking at him.

Suddenly, Kenma's eyes widened at what you said.

    "What?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

    "What do you mean what?"

That's the name of the girl who....

    "Nothing."

That's the name of the girl who died three weeks ago.

The day passed by quite normally. Kenma thankfully had informed the team that Kuroo was sick and practice had been pushed to another day. Apparently the coach scared the boy, and it wasn't something that you could relate to. You'd left a note behind on Kuroo's phone, 'This is (s/n) (y/n), I hope my life didn't scare you too much!', but secretly wondered if anything strange had happened. While heading back home, you asked Kenma if Kuroo and his dad were distant.

    "Hm, you could say that," Kenma said, clearly not wanting to talk about it, "Kuroo's mom passed when he was a kid. They moved here and became my neighbor. He was silent then. I think I preferred that."

You giggled and said, "You guys must really be close."

He shrugged, "I guess. We've always known each other."

    "Which was why you could figure out that I'm not Kuroo."

Kenma was quiet. He'd asked you to watch the movie to understand a little more about what was going on between you and Kuroo. However, there was something else that Kenma had discovered that he wasn't telling you. If you were a year younger than Kuroo, which was what you'd mentioned, then that meant you in Kuroo's body, were from the past. Because the 'you' in the present had died three weeks ago.

It was something he knew he had to discuss with Kuroo if he hadn't figured that out already.

Just as you reached Kuroo's house, you smiled at him before saying, "Here's hoping I don't see you again."

Kenma chuckled before waving at you, knowing full well that this was going to happen again. Just as you walked away, Kenma turned to a building opposite to where he lived and let out a breath. (s/n) (y/n), huh, he thought before rubbing the back of his head, This is fucked up.

Kuroo's dad wasn't at home when you reached home. Perhaps, he was out for work? You could hear soft snoring coming from upstairs, and you figured that it must be his grandparents.

Kuroo lives with his father and grandparents, Kenma had told you. He has a permanent bed head, and his father loves him but has a temper. Kuroo hates yelling, and he thinks people who yell are degenerate, although sometimes, he gets loud himself.

You walked into Kuroo's room and let out a breath. You set his bag down and removed his uniform, before ironing them and placing them neatly in a hanger and letting them hang from the door. You tried to rid him of his bed hair to no avail, and you opened one of his books before writing another note.

I'm sorry this happened, and I'm aware that if you were living as me for a day, it must be a bit hard. But, I'm glad it's over now. I'm glad you're back to being Kuroo Tetsuroo again. And I hope it never has to happen.

When night came, you decided to eat your fill. You felt bad enough for Kuroo for having to live as you. Turning on the movie Kimi no Na Wa, you tried to watch, trying to learn what this meant. Strangely, Kuroo had already seen it since his computer had a folder that said 'Favorites' and this movie was in that folder. Back in Fukue Island, you prided yourself on how you could use the computer better than your classmates, but clearly, you weren't a genius. The movie was playing, but you couldn't hear it. Shooting a text message to Kenma, you hoped the boy could answer.

Instead, he called you.

    "Kenma-kun," You could picture him wincing, "Can you please tell me what to do 'ere? I'm not able ta hear anythin'."

    "Just check if it's in mute. Kuroo watches porn in mute."

Your face reddened and your eyes widened at the sudden burst of information, which you only chose to ignore. Finding the mute button, you sighed before thanking Kenma and then another thought struck your head.

He'd watched porn right before I touched it!

The shock had the laptop falling off your lap and onto the floor, a clear crack presented on its screen.

    "What was that?" You could hear Kenma's alerted voice at the end of the phone.

    "N-Nothin'!"

Oh no! You felt tears prick your eyes at how broken the laptop was. Scrambling to the floor, you closed the laptop before rushing over to the notebook and writing another note right below the one you had already written.

I'm sorry about your laptop! I really am!

You slapped your forehead, no Kuroo's forehead, and groaned before collapsing on the bed. Your heart was beating rapidly, and there went every chance to watch a movie that could have otherwise explained to you what was going on. If Kuroo's watched it, then he probably understands this better than I do, you thought before letting out a breath. Closing your eyes, you felt sleep pull you into a lull, a sort of comfort you hadn't felt in a very long time. The sound of your mother's voice calling you for breakfast rang in your ear; you honestly missed her with every fiber of your being.

Missed her? You felt a tear leak out of your eye. She's still alive, though...

[youngjusticeslut]

Water (Chapter 2)

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power   Characters: Catra, Adora, Glimmer, Bow, Mermista, Melog Ships: Catradora Rating: G+ Word Count: 2,500 Links: AO3, FF.net Summary: Catra faces off against Mermista in the Fright Zone, putting the spotlight on old fears and new memories.

Even if Mermista wasn’t chipped, her anger would have been more than justified.

After all, Catra played a rather big part in destroying her kingdom— possibly forever. So really, what are a few water blasts in comparison to that?

Still, it’s unpleasant. Despite however just it is, every droplet makes her fur stand straight, her nerves going into total overdrive with stiff panic. She wants nothing more than to run. Water always makes her want to run.  

Catra takes refuge behind a stack of crates, doing her best to catch her breath and get out of Mermista’s view. Melog is right behind her, and presses their tail to her thigh, making them disappear from view. She’s gotta admit, even though their connection is, admittedly, weird, Melog is incredibly useful. She rests a hand on their head in a gesture of thanks, her heart fluttering when Melog curls their head upward into her palm.

She doesn’t have long. Mermista will find her in a matter of seconds, and the barrage of water will begin again. Catra doesn’t need much time to recover, but a few seconds would be nice so she can think of a plan to get out of this predicament.

Should she try speaking to her? She shoots that down a second after she’s thought it. Speaking with Scorpia had gotten Catra nothing but a rather painful wake up call. No, she needs a better plan. Given that Mermista’s powers are rather inconvenient, she needs something quick, something fast that’ll get her out of here.

Catra peeks behind the crates and tries to find an escape route. Invisibility wouldn’t fool Mermista for long, but if she can just—

A blast of water hits the crate, exploding it to pieces. The force of the explosion combined with the water sends both Catra and Melog reeling, sputtering for breath. Mermista smirks, holding her hands up.

“Didn’t take you for much of a hider.”

Yeah, well, clearly she doesn’t know her that well.

Catra ignores Mermista and manages to push herself to her feet. She has about ten different words she’d like to say to her, some inappropriate, but she bites her tongue. Taunting her won’t help. It’ll only waste any energy she has, and right now she needs it to get away. Lucky for her, she barely has to consider the thought for more than a second. Before she can blink, Melog is by her side, and without having to say anything she climbs atop of them and directs them towards the door.

To her credit, the water really sent her into a frazzled, desperate state. Otherwise, she really shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy.

Mermista blocks the door with a wave powerful enough that it knocks Catra off Melog and sends them both flying in different directions. Catra’s soaked to the bone. Her ears are ringing from the force of the impact. She can just barely make out Melog’s mewling.

The water burns her lungs. It’s bringing back memories that she wants to stay forgotten.

It’s so tempting to stay there on the floor, to let the dark thoughts consume her and lose herself in the memories of the past. Catra hates the feeling of being soaked. Her fur, damp to the touch, plastered against her skin. Her tail, too heavy to move properly. The last time she’d felt like this—

Melog is by her side again. Catra’s vision is still blurry, plagued with black spots, but she can tell. She feels their equally damp skin, pressed against hers protectively. She presses a hand to Melog’s skin, letting them help her clear her head. Slowly, the dark memories ebb away from the forefront of her mind. She stops sputtering for air. The pain becomes a little more bearable.

Once everything is clear, Catra opens her eyes to see a pair of feet standing before her. Waiting. She glances upwards, hating this little predicament. She’s in the perfect spot, vulnerable to another attack, and Mermista knows it. To her credit, the controlled girl just grins.

Then, the grin falls. Her body shudders, and suddenly her eyes tinge a very familiar shade of green.

“We meet again, Little Sister.”

Melog growls, immediately shifting into their more primal form. Catra clenches onto them, trying to keep her jaw from clenching. He’s here. Horde Prime knows she’s here. And if he knows that she’s here… Her heart starts racing. The pain in her ribs suddenly makes itself known two-fold, and every breath she takes feels far more labored.

Adora.

She can't let him get to Adora.

Catra starts to move, but Mermista is quick to stop her. She steps on her chest, holding her firmly with her boot. It takes everything inside Catra not to scream from the pain. Thankfully, repressing is one of the few things she’s good at.

“How you have fallen,” Mermista sighs in a voice that doesn’t belong to her. The voice is shThe same voice that’s seared in Catra’s brain, unwilling to be forgotten.

“Let go of her,” Catra finds herself saying. The absurdity of her words doesn’t escape her notice. If the tables were turned, she’s sure that Mermista would have thrown her to the side. Catra wouldn’t even blame her. She’d probably respect her for it.

But no, now she’s here, defending a princess she doesn’t even like, for the sake of— what, being a better person? Man, sometimes being a good guy is seriously inconvenient.

Mermista cocks her head to the side, Prime’s expression never leaving her. “I will not keep her long,” she states, her voice clouded with Prime’s oozing tone. “This fight is of no significance to me. Your fighting is futile.” The princess raises her hands, and two waves of water appear, spiraling menacingly beside her.  Catra scoots back on reflex, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

As much as she hates to admit it, he has a point. Catra can hold her ground with most of the princesses, but Mermista? Her powers give her a significantly upper hand.

Okay, so she needs a new plan. Escape is going to be nearly impossible to achieve on her own, not unless she feels like getting drowned by a tsunami. She definitely wants to avoid giving Mermista any more leverage than she already has. Melog won’t be much help here, the water seems to affect them almost as much as it does her.

Catra holds back a sigh; she’s going to have to call for help. If Mermista and Scorpia are here, there might be more controlled Etherians here than she initially thought. That means that the rest of the rebellion will have their hands full.

Great. She’s going to have to ask Sparkles for help.

“I don’t know,” Catra says, her eyes quickly darting to the side. The nearest control room is just a short dash away. If she can distract Prime long enough to loosen his guard, she might be able to lock herself inside and call for help. It’s not her greatest plan, but right now she isn’t left with much of a better option. “I’d say my chances of winning this fight are pretty high. Especially when you chose to occupy the weakest princess.”

Mermista’s eyes flash for the faintest glimmer of a moment. Catra smirks. Maybe she doesn’t need to distract Prime.

“Like seriously, water powers? How lame.” A blast of water shoots by her ear, and Catra acts quick, dodging the blast.. “Seriously, I’m not even trying. If you wanted a real shot of winning, you should have taken over Scorpia. Now those are some powers.”

The green hue of Mermista’s eyes fades, and the girl groans before shooting Catra a nasty scowl. “You are so annoying!”

Bingo.

Catra takes her chance and climbs atop of Melog, and both of them race for the control room. She only has a few seconds, so she needs to be fast. Not even a moment later, she hears a rush of water and knows that Prime has taken control of Mermista again.  

They reach the control room, and Catra acts on pure instinct, slamming the door closed behind them and smashing keys on the control pad to lock it shut. The lock clicks just as Mermista arrives, and Catra can hardly think as she grabs the communication tablet and pounds in Glimmer’s coordinates.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Catra hisses as the line tries to connect. Silence. Of course, Sparkles remains ever unreliable. She begins entering the coordinates again, and then it dawns on her that it’s far too quiet. Mermista should have been pounding the door by now.

Before she can really mull over the thought, water begins streaming in from the cracks in the wall. Catra shrieks, immediately clambering on top of the equipment, her heart beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. Melog follows after her, trying to stay dry but clearly panicking.

“Foolish Little Sister. You think you are so very clever, but you continue to place your trust in your rash decisions,” Mermista simpers in Horde Prime’s voice. Catra trembles as the water starts to fill the room, covering the floor. She tries thinking of an escape route, some way out of here, but there isn’t one.

A smooth chuckle comes from the other side of the door, loud enough to be heard over the rushing of water. “You could have flourished under me. But no matter. You will be eradicated soon enough.”

Catra can barely hear anything at this point. Everything seems as if it’s happening in slow motion. The water fills the room, and no matter how much higher she climbs, it will be futile. Even if she calls Glimmer, there’s no way she’ll get here in time. Still, she has to try.

She finishes punching in the coordinates, clenching the tablet for dear life as her hands tremble from fear. Moments later, Bow and Glimmer’s faces appear on the screen.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

“Get us out of here, now!” Catra yells, her stomach wrenching as Melog starts mewling for help beside her. Hang on. They just need to hang on. Hopefully Glimmer and Bow will be able to get them out of this.

“What’s going on?”

A beam falls under the pressure. By the way the water is rising, they only have a minute or two before the whole room will be filled. “This whole thing was a trap.” Catra should have realized it sooner. She’s good at strategizing, she excels at getting inside the enemy’s head. Why hasn't she seen this coming? The water splashes her feet and she shrieks. “Why did I get the water princess?”

The water rises higher, covering her feet, then her ankles, leaving her nowhere to go, nowhere else to climb. She tries anyway and stumbles, dropping the tablet in the process. Shit. Now her coordinates are gone. It’ll take a minute for Glimmer to find her.

A massive wave of water looms overhead through the window, and Catra swallows. She may not have a minute.   Melog continues to cry, and Catra reaches out for them, wrapping her arms around their neck in an attempt of comfort. “It’s okay,” she tries, though her voice trembles. “Glimmer will come.”

Another beam falls. The control panels fizzle out. One goes off by Melog, zapping them with a quick shock. The alien cat slips into the water, dragging Catra down with them.

The moment her body hits the water, Catra gasps for air. She remembers the pool. The pain. How her life had been sucked out from under her and placed firmly in Prime’s control. Everything she’d fought so hard to keep from thinking about comes to the forefront, and she splashes around the water, trying to get out.

There’s a crackle. Catra looks up just in time to see water crashing down from the ceiling, the impact of which forces her underwater. She tries to swim, but her body feels sluggish. It’s like she’s moving through tar.

As she chokes beneath the surface for air, the memories return, clear as day. Her body tingles with the shock from the green pool. She feels the back of her neck burn, and the cold steel of scissors sliding through her hair. Catra grasps at the short strands, shivering in pain, convulsing for air. The more she strains for air, the more water she swallows, burying her deeper and deeper still into the blackness.

Though cruel, perhaps drowning with her memories is the most righteous form of justice she’ll receive. Catra really thought she’d have more time. There’s so much she left unsaid. So much she wanted to see, and do, with—

Something grabs her arm. Melog, probably. They don't deserve to go like this. She hopes that alien cats don’t need to breathe to survive. If Glimmer ever gets here, maybe she’ll be able to save them.

A familiar wave of nausea rolls over her, and a moment later she’s out of the control room and on a dry pavement. Almost immediately, Catra starts coughing out water and struggles to breathe. Every inch of her is shaking, and the only thing on her mind is breathing. Someone keeps calling her name, but she can barely register it. The water is gone. Unfortunately, her memories aren’t. No matter how hard she tries to pull herself out of the depth, she finds herself stuck in the blackness.

“Catra.” Glimmer’s voice. A squeeze on her shoulder.

Instinctively, Catra jerks back with a hiss. Glimmer backs off. She frowns, her face creasing apologetically. “I’m sorry. It took me a while to find you. My connection to you isn’t as strong as…” she trails off, biting her lip.

“Where’s Melog?” Catra rasps,trying to will her vision to return to normal. She’s still shaking. If she wasn’t clenching her teeth, they’d be chattering.

“They’re fine. They need some time to recover.” Glimmer hesitantly takes a step forward. “You okay?”

She isn’t. As much as she wants to brush it off, Catra knows that Glimmer has already seen too much. It’s been made clear that her problems, and her fears, aren’t going anywhere. She pushes some wet hair away from her face and shakes her head. “No,” she admits, slowly peeling herself off the floor and sitting upright. “But I will be.”

To her credit, Glimmer only smiles. It’s in that sappy, mushy kind of way that makes Catra want to punch her, but she can live with it. “Okay.”

Later, when Perfuma offers her help, Catra makes a mental note to take her up on it. One day, when she feels brave enough to finally confront her issues, it’ll probably come in useful.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nine

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Paladin Danse had felt like the husband in one of those pre-war picnic advertisements the whole damn evening. After helping Codsworth carve the roast, the large man had assisted Backhand in making up plates for everyone. Roasted carrots and mashed gourd made their way onto the plates as well before the Longs had shown up to sit at the rickety old picnic table. It was a bit like taking a shift in the mess hall, though it had been several years since Danse had been required to do such a task.

  Despite Codsworth's ramshackle appliances (and the paladin hesitated to even label them as such), the robot appeared to be outstanding at making do with what it had. It easily managed the extra pot and cooking sheet, numerous arms deftly keeping everything from over or under-cooking. Danse was duly impressed. 

  Sturges arrived with an elderly woman clinging to his arm, the aforementioned Mama Murphy if Danse had to guess. She was a frail-looking thing even by Commonwealth standards, all bundled up against the balmy evening air.

  Backhand greeted her warmly, the knight drawing her into a careful hug before urging her to take a seat.

  Everyone gathered around the table and the environment was one of lax comradery, much to Danse's surprise. He had never been involved in a true family dinner, but this seemed to be something like what he had heard about. It was a little cozier than the mess hall on the Prydwen; he kept bumping elbows with Backhand and the woman kept brushing it off like it was nothing, laughing at his stern apologies. Jun plied Danse with a variety of questions about the Brotherhood which he did his best to answer, while Marcy and Sturges asked Codsworth for seconds. All the while Dogmeat begged from anyone that would offer him attention, ending the meal with his head resting on Mama Murphy's thigh as the old woman absently scratched him behind the ears.

  It was...it was nice. 

  But now, warm and well-fed, lying on the mattress he had procured, Danse found himself wide awake. His thoughts wandered to the massive machine Sturges was constructing on the outskirts of town, the molecular relay . Could it be possible that the Institute had no true physical openings to the Commonwealth proper? It seemed like a villain's scheme out of those illustrated paperback manuscripts the squires loved to read, not something that had any basis in reality.

  Though Ingram had weighed in on the matter, she had also believed it to be fantasy, entirely relegated to the world of theory. As such, she may have been a bit more wild with her calculations. A bit more willing to push the envelope. 

  Danse turned over, staring at the doorway as he considered whether he ought to bring up his concerns to Backhand. This was her son at stake. But it would do her no good to get blown to pieces by some malfunction or miscalculation. 

  Hell, they hadn't exactly covered experimental methods of travel in advanced training. The large man sighed and grudgingly slipped from the bed, digging his fatigue pants out of his pack.

  He crept across the hallway, noticing a light still shining from beneath the door of Vega's room. At least he wouldn't be waking her.

  Gingerly, Danse rapped his knuckles on the door. "Knight Vega?" There was no response. The paladin eased the door open, his words dying on his lips as he took in the scene in front of him. 

  Elizabeth was sound asleep in the bed, her hands folded underneath her chin in what Danse had come to identify as her favored sleeping position. On her bedside table a single candle fluttered in the breeze from the now-ajar door, starkly illuminating the pallid cryo burns on her forehead and chin in its yellow glow.

  Of course she was asleep. She was just as tired as he had been, if not moreso. 

  His eyes were drawn without his conscious input to the blue crib that sat empty alongside the door, the vacant area inside it a solemn, silent reminder of why he was even here in the first place.

  Jesus . Danse felt stupid. What had he been planning on doing? Vega, as your commanding officer, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would come discuss my concerns with me. Pander to my needs . He grimaced at himself, shaking his head. Just what kind of fool was he? Sure Danse, she would just sit down, have some damn tea with you and let you whine about how mechanically unsound all of this seems.

  He cautiously moved further into the room and snuffed out the candle before retreating and shutting the door. It would do her no good to burn the place down around her ears as she slumbered. 

  The paladin retraced his steps across the hall to his room, but if sleep had been reluctant before, now it was downright unobtainable . The bed was comfortable enough. Hell, it was a more comfortable bed than he had experienced in literal months . His brain simply refused to be still.

  Danse groaned, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed he was in for another night of patrol duty.

  He got fully dressed and ventured outside, closing the front door silently behind him before setting off down the main 'street' of the development. He barely got halfway to the large tree at the roundabout of the cul-de-sac when he heard someone calling his name.

  It was Sturges, Danse realized, the other main hailing him from the top of one of the houses. "C'mon up and take a load off!" The mechanic urged, patting the roof beside him.

  Danse glanced off down the thoroughfare of Sanctuary, and then shrugged. Eh, what the hell . From an elevated position he could see threats coming.

  The paladin heaved himself up the ladder and plopped down beside the mechanic, declining the cigarette when it was offered. "I come up here when I got thinkin' to do." Sturges turned his face upwards. "Everythin' seems so much smaller. More compartmentalized -ish, you know?"

  "I'm afraid I cannot sympathize, civilian." Danse replied, wishing he didn't sound quite so stiff.

  "Look up for a minute, man. Take in the view. Then try and tell me everythin' down here ain't small potatoes." 

  Danse dutifully obliged, tilting his head back to observe the sprawling cosmos high above. It was hardly his first time gazing at the stars and pretending to think deep thoughts. He said as much to Sturges, who chuckled. 

  "I used to sit up here and wonder how I got to be so good at tinkerin'. I don't remember much about where I came from, not like how other folks do. Can't recall bein' little, or havin' anyone else around. It's all just kinda' vague." He took a contemplative drag off the cigarette. "I figure I must have come from the Institute. Maybe them Railroad boys got hold of me, smuggled me out like a puppy from a pet shop." He gave Danse a lazy grin. "Of course, it don't matter much either way. Now, I'm workin' to bring 'em down. At the end of the day, I'm makin' myself useful. And if I really am a synth, I get a kick out of the idea of all them bigwigs losin' their shit over somethin' I did."

  Danse knew that his first response ought to be immediate apprehension of the mechanic, followed by interrogation and eradication. But something about what Sturges had said resonated with him, settled in his stomach like a lead weight. "You assume you are a synth merely because your early memories are not as clear as they ought to be?"

  Sturges waved him off. "Nah nah, like...they're not really there . I mean, they're there, but it's all kinda'...I 'unno, sterile . Lots of blanks in between, more than the gaps people talk about when they got trauma n' such. Can't remember losin' my first tooth. Breakin' a bone. Whether I had a family. Little things that add up." He glanced over at the other man after a few silent seconds. " Damn , you alright? You're white as a sheet. You been gettin' enough sleep?"

  Sterile . That was a word Danse had privately attributed to his own early memories long before this moment. Devoid of any defining characteristics, any instance of real impact . Just hazy, irradiated landscapes and gray ruins. Alone, always alone.

  He had known, vaguely, deep down, that most people seemed to have the ability to recall important periods from their childhood that he simply lacked. He had chalked it up to being an orphan, being forced to survive on his own from a tender, unknown age. 

  But…

  But what if it was something far more sinister?

  "I just have a lot on my mind." Danse replied finally.

  ...

  It took him four days. Four days where he was out of his armor more often than he was in it, four days of the two of them sitting in what was once her living room as they pored over tattered schematics, defunct wills and shady paper trails of all kinds. 

  Four days of watching her absently tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. Four days of her being blissfully, wonderfully armor-free as well. Four days of just getting to be in proximity of her without anything going horribly wrong. 

  It only took him four days. 

  Vega had chosen to wear an appropriately light skirt for their less than taxing work of the day, the ragged pink fabric pooled around her as she sat on the floor and studiously sorted through yet another box of somewhat suspicious documents. The sun was setting, a radstorm hanging low on the horizon in the distance. Its green glow muted the pinks and oranges down to a dull yellow, wraith-like beams making their way through every unpatched crack they could find. The light struck the lenses of her glasses when she bowed her head to look closer at a document, the motion sending a few weak prisms scattering across the opposite wall. 

  Danse couldn't help himself, his mouth dry when he gruffly blurted out, "you look nice today."

  Elizabeth gave no indication that she noticed he had said anything, only looking up after several seconds had gone by. "Sorry, what?" She apologized, blinking behind her thick glasses as a troublesome curl slipped forward over her ear to frame her cheek. "I was engrossed in this thrilling tale of larceny."

  Danse chuckled feebly, thanking God that she hadn't heard him. "Ah, nothing. Sorry to have interrupted your reading material." His hands twitched, and then clenched on his thighs after she smiled benignly at him and returned to her reading.

  Her divorce papers had been among the many documents they sifted through. She had read them aloud, making a theatrical endeavor out of the whole thing. Backhand stood and paced, gesticulating and apparently imitating how her ex-husband had done his job in the courtroom. Danse had laughed at the time. But all the while he wondered about how Nate had treated her, and at her animosity towards the nickname that the man had apparently bestowed upon her. Their divorce was obviously far from amicable.

  A nickname. That was essentially all she had left after the divorce she had requested, that and the child which was born on the same day that they finalized the papers. 

  " He had me sign them in the hospital." Backhand had told him, her voice a little less bright. " I had just come from getting Shaun scooped out of me and he was already in my room. I couldn't even lift my arm to sign. One of the nurse robots had to help me. " Her eyes were far away when she continued, " he didn't even want to see Shaun ."

  Danse knew logically that not every human being was cut out to be a parent. Nowadays, it was enough of a struggle just to survive. But he found himself wishing, stupidly , that he had been there two hundred years ago. Wishing that he had been present to send Nate packing, with or without his damned papers.

  Finding Elizabeth wounded at Fort Independence had been bad enough. The idea of her laying limp in a hospital bed, half-dead from the effort of trying to give birth with some cretin badgering her into signing divorce papers--Danse wasn't sure how his blood could retroactively boil, and yet here he was.

  " He wanted kids ." Elizabeth had said. She never mentioned what she had wanted.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of her as simply Elizabeth, despite the paladin constantly mentally correcting himself. Knight Vega . General Vega . It was becoming increasingly difficult to stop daydreaming about a different life, where the two of them eked out a companionable existence and enjoyed tea in the evenings. 

  He was so lost. He wondered if she would let him kiss her and in the next breath scolded himself for such a ludicrous idea. She had a life already , she had her dog, Sturges, Jun and Marcy, Mama Murphy, this little settlement. She had the Minutemen and Preston. There was no room for him here. He was an assistant on her quest. He had promised to help her find her son and Danse kept his word, even if it involved things that weren't his to promise.

  Danse still couldn't reconcile with truly thinking about her like that since the police station, his body wracked with guilt every time his mind wandered a little too far south. Self control was one of the few things he had left in this world, and Danse did his best to force his thoughts to be chaste when he was alone at night, did his best not to think about what Haylen had said to him during his visit with her and Rhys.

  " It's okay to like her, you know. " The scribe had remarked, her smile soft and knowing as her fingers twined with Rhys'. " You're still allowed to enjoy your life, Paladin ."

  It was futile. It was pointless.

  But wasn't that how everything always turned out with him.

  …

  Sturges claimed that the machine was ready and Backhand couldn't resist throwing her arms around him. She knew he probably couldn't breathe. 

  "Tomorrow mornin', bright an' early, we'll fire the bitch up." Sturges grinned, slapping her on the back before pulling away. "Fingers crossed our luck holds and you'll be back with your little boy."

  "I can't thank you enough for this." Backhand murmured, taking his hands in her own. "Seriously, from the bottom of my heart Sturges, thank you ."

  "Shucks ma'am, you ain't gotta' get all sentimental on me. I'm just happy to help." Sturges replied with his easy grin. "After what you did for us in Concord, this ain't nothing."

  "Congratulations, kid." Mama Murphy said from her chair, wheezing a little. She had asked to be moved outside earlier in the day, as it was pleasantly warm in the sun. Sturges and Jun had carried her throne out by the foundation where Sturges had been constructing the 'slapdash relay' as he had dubbed it. "You'll be on top of those Institute eggheads in no time."

  "Now, I need you to know a few things for tomorrow." Sturges cautioned Vega. "There ain't no sure way to test this thing. We're flyin' blind, unfortunately. I can't guarantee your safety, General. I'd advise you to treat this like your old army endeavors. Not to be grim or nothin', but just...well, make your peace. Smoke 'em if ya' got 'em." Sturges advised, smiling wanly.

  "I'll get in touch with Preston." Backhand replied, believing she understood what the mechanic was getting at. "I won't leave you guys twisting in the wind if I get turned inside out or something." She tried to joke.

  "It ain't us he's concerned about, kid." Murphy piped up, watery eyes fixed on Vega's face. "You better talk to that man of yours. Make sure he knows."

  "Man?" Backhand asked in confusion.

  "Your gentle giant, kid." 

  "Oh. Oh! " Vega blushed furiously even as she tried to explain that Danse was only here as her sponsor for the Brotherhood, nothing more.

  Mama Murphy hummed knowingly, "kid, you can't hide nothin' from ol' Mama Murphy. It's okay that you're anxious. I don't need the Sight to know that you been through a lot." She patted Vega's hand. "Go on, kid. You'll be fine."

  It was on trembling legs that Backhand sussed out Danse after her radio conversation with Preston. 

  " You don't owe the Minutemen a damn thing, General. " Preston had said firmly. " Ronnie will be more than up to the task, if this is where we part ways. I hope you find your son, General Vega, and the Minutemen thank you for everything you've done. You gave us hope , and that isn't an easy thing to find ."

  Danse was, as ever, working on his armor. He seemed to maintain his gear almost obsessively. Currently he had one of the legs detached from the frame, painstakingly sweeping the sand and grit out of the joints so he could apply a fresh coat of grease. 

  "Paladin Danse?" Vega asked, embarrassed by how her voice squeaked. "C-Can I get a word with you?" 

  "Of course, Knight Vega." Danse replied, placing the leg off to one side and picking up a rag to wipe the excess grease away. He propped his hip up on the power armor station, looking at her expectantly.

  Backhand's words dried up and she cleared her throat. "I um, should be able to try to get into the Institute tomorrow." She managed to say.

  Danse's eyebrows rose. " Really . Sturges truly has that much faith in his machine?" The man asked, not unkindly. "I can't find any fault with it, of course. What people like he and Ingram can do has always been incomprehensible to me. I am incredibly curious to see whether the device works. Will you permit me to see you off?"

  "That's kind of what I wanted to speak with you about." Backhand said hesitantly. "Danse, I...I just wanted you to know that…"

  Oh she was a coward , just the worst kind of coward! Danse smiled after a moment. "It's alright, Vega."

  Backhand blinked up at him, stunned. "It...it is?" 

  Danse nodded. "Venturing into uncertain territory is always a tumultuous experience. Take all the time you need. I'll be here to listen." He assured her. 

  She was going to cry. Oh no , oh dammit . Backhand took a deep breath in, stalling her tears for the moment. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help." She was a coward . "I-If I don't come back."

  "You've been a breath of fresh air for me, soldier." Danse's hands landed on her shoulders, his sincere grin tearing chunks out of her stomach. "Despite our strange and rocky start, you've proved yourself ten times over in my eyes. I'm incredibly proud of what you've accomplished, and I hope our partnership continues even after you've rescued your son." 

  "Y-Yeah." Backhand sniffled, losing the fight with her tears. "Me too, Danse."

  "It is entirely reasonable to be apprehensive, Knight Vega. There is no shame in admitting your trepidation." The paladin's thumbs pressed into her shoulders, idly rubbing circles. "Don't let it eat you alive."

  Backhand felt like a creep. She wished she was brave enough to ask for a hug, while scolding herself for thinking that way. Danse had been such an anchor for her, it wasn't right to expect more out of him. "I won't. Thanks." She promised quietly. "I should probably...go. I'm sure Marcy needs...um, something."

  Danse nodded, removing his hands from her shoulders. Vega silently mourned the loss as she fled like the coward she was, certain that she had turned a violent shade of crimson.

  ...

  I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help.

  Danse loathed himself for clinging to those words. Loathed himself for putting his hands on her, what the fuck was he thinking? He talked a great game, but his self-control never seemed to improve. 

  He couldn't believe he had gushed like that. Telling her how proud he was, how glad he was to be able to work with her...she had rescued his team, rescued him .

  He stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes, then dragged his fingers firmly down the sides of his neck in an effort to soothe away the tension that threatened to lock him in place. His trapezius muscles in particular screamed for mercy, making him grunt and dig in a little harder. After several moments of focused attention, the spasm eased. Danse hummed, relieved. He was always concerned that the next one could be his last. He hadn't exactly treated his body with tender loving care, especially when he trained himself to a pulp.

  The rush of endorphins was what did him in every time he worked out, the triumphant feeling when he pushed his body that much further past his previous limits. 

  Danse absently began to smooth his palms down his thighs as his mind wandered. When he caught himself, he tore his hands away like his own touch burned him. That was...God, it had been a fair amount of time, but…

  Danse bit his lip. But …

  The paladin shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable and cringing every time the mattress springs squeaked. He spread his legs a little wider, one leg hanging over the side of the mattress while the other bent at the knee and pressed against the wall. 

  His touch was, as ever, function over form. Danse slid a hand between the waistband of his briefs and his stomach, hissing out a breath as he felt his body stir under his own fingers. The paladin just rested there for a selfish moment. It had been so long since he had touched himself. 

  He scrolled mentally through a catalogue of his previous endeavors and the media he had seen over the years, trying to decide on a visual to accompany his activity. 

  Cutler came to mind, as he always did. His smile, his eyes, the way a blush rose high on his cheekbones when he and Danse engaged in such pleasant diversions. Danse had never failed to tell the other man just how handsome he was, if only to watch his flustered reaction to the compliment.

  But God, Danse would give anything to have a moment to himself that wasn't tainted with melancholy recollections. He carefully put the memory of Cutler aside and continued to think, not incredibly surprised with his brain's next course of action. 

  It settled on that pre-war mag he had seen passed around in the barracks, the one full of lingerie and women who looked outstanding . One of the buxom models came to mind, her blue eyes and brown hair very similar to--

  Danse flinched, feeling like an idiot for immediately switching to fantasizing about Vega in some sleazy, delicate…

  Barely-there…

  Fuck .

  Danse bit back a groan. She was pre-war, he reasoned wildly, it was only logical that he thought of her. She had curves and real muscle that wasn't simply visible due to emaciation. God, and she was beautiful to boot. He could at least admit that much. 

  His traitorous cock decided to make the choice for him, hardening beneath his hand while he wrestled with himself over imagining Vega in something so devastatingly attractive. It didn't have to be Vega, he rationalized, it could be anyone . Just a woman who resembled her. Entirely by chance. He absolutely wasn't about to masturbate to the idea of his ward in a skimpy outfit. 

  Danse pulled his undershirt up, catching the hem between his teeth to keep it out of the way. He couldn't be loud here, so hopefully the fabric would hold his embarrassing noises at bay. 

  His hand sank to the base of his cock, encircling it and then tugging lazily upwards. Danse almost crumpled in on himself, oh God , it had been ages . He panted out a breath, teasing the sensitive head of his cock for a moment before stroking back down. No matter his guilt, some portion of him was definitely interested in Vega. Beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to stealing a private moment in the Brotherhood, and so he gave in.

  Danse jerked himself off with long, smooth motions, doing his best to keep his pace even. There was nothing worse than falling out of rhythm with his imagination.

  God, she was probably so damn warm, so wet , tight, hot . Danse choked a little when he wondered what she would sound like, utterly devoted to his fantasy now. Would she tell him to be quiet, or would she let him ramble? Let him kiss every part of her body, let him devour her, taste her on his tongue…

  Danse bit back the groan he desperately wanted to let escape at the idea of her calling his name or calling him paladin while he ate her out, " fuck ," he breathed softly, squeezing the base of his cock. 

  Elizabeth , he wanted to say her name out loud, God he wanted to say it so badly, he could feel an ache in his jaw from how hard he was biting his undershirt. He wanted to say her name until she loved it again, until whatever hurt she felt over it vanished into nothingness. He used to call me Beth . The man who was Shaun's father. The man she had married.

  Danse knew it was stupid for him to be irritated by a man who had been dead for around two hundred years. But she wasn't Beth. She was Elizabeth . 

  He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, kiss down her neck, learn every scar and mark on her body. At the same time he feared her getting to know him in that manner, really know him. How greedy and undeserving he was, how much of a failure he was. 

  It was futile to think about. Pointless, even. These feelings, these desires...nothing would ever come of them. Danse knew that. This was just a means to an end and his damned heart, his emotions were going to make a mess of everything.

  He silently spilled his release onto his stomach and then went slack, gasping for breath as his cock twitched and jumped against his belly. 

  The paladin threw an arm over his eyes, grateful at least that his body understood the age-old cue to let him get some damn rest.

  ...

  He didn't sleep well, but at least he slept. Danse was up before the sun, his eyes heavy as he ran through his gear check and suited up in his armor.

  Backhand emerged from her house, clad in her combat armor and armed only with her pistol. Danse noted that she had dark circles under her eyes as well, the young woman sipping coffee from her metal mug like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

  "Want some?" She asked Danse, darting back inside when he nodded in reply. 

  The two of them made their way to the old foundation where Sturges had built the relay, companionable silence filling the air between them. 

  Danse watched the sun rise, his eyes drifting to Elizabeth every now and again. She appeared to simply be enjoying the peace, her own eyes closed as she drank her coffee cross-legged on the foundation. 

  The paladin cleared his throat. "Knight Vega, I-"

  "Up bright an' early, eh?" Sturges called from the residence he appeared to have claimed as his own. "Be with ya' in a moment, General!"

  Backhand tipped her mug to him in acknowledgment, looking up at Danse curiously. "You were saying, Paladin?"

  If something happens to you, if you don't come back, if I don't say the things that I wish I could- - "Do you have that lucky bandanna of yours?" Danse asked instead, crushing the sentimental nonsense down. "I imagine it may prove useful for ensuring your success."

  Backhand laughed, patting her pocket. "Always carry it on me, Danse. The homeland takes care of their own."

  Danse inclined his head and fell silent once more, watching as Sturges fiddled with the control podium. Electricity began to arc and sputter from the generators placed around the site, making the mechanic frown and readjust a few dials.

  "Not sure how long I'll be able to keep it steady for once I dial in on the signal!" He called over the racket of the generators. Vega nodded, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. Danse watched as the engineer hauled her in close and pressed something into her hands, the man speaking too quietly for Danse to hear. Then, "alright General, it's now or never!"

  Vega approached the transfer plate as Sturges turned dials and punched numbers, the man's hands flying over the control panel. Danse stood off to the side, uncertain of what might happen but also unwilling to let her face this alone.

  She pressed her fingers to her lips and brushed them against Danse's helmet. "I'll be back." Vega stated with a wink.

  Danse rolled his eyes, chuckling a little. "Good luck, Knight." He said, his voice tinged with humor.

  And then she was gone. With a flash of light and a burst of noise like a thunderclap, she vanished . Sturges' delight was only dampened by every piece of equipment he had painstakingly built immediately and fatally overloading, leaving the engineer and Danse scorched and dismayed. Danse, for his part, hadn't truly expected the device to work . He had assumed it was just a pipe dream, something for her to throw herself into so that the grief wouldn't swallow her whole.

  But she had disappeared .

Part Ten

[rymndsmth]

ordinary life

a little something for @meadapple, i hope you enjoy it 🥰

a/n: ray’s been acting distant. she’s had enough of it.

The light streaming through the cracked blinds created ribbons across her eyes as the sun rose. She groaned, nuzzling her head under the pillow. Her back arched absentmindedly, reaching for the source of warmth that seemed to pull away over the course of the evening.

Miles stretched across the other side of the bed and all of them were cold. It didn’t surprise her. Mornings had been like this for the better part of their relationship. The nature of his work kept him coming and going at odd hours. But that only occurred when absolutely necessary. Now, it seemed like he could barely stand sharing the same duvet as her, holding her.

She removed the pillow from her head. It made no sense keeping it there since she wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon. Her feelings being hurt were more effective in waking her up than any amount of sunlight or endless cups of coffee. With a long exhale, she sat up and rubbed the remaining sleep from her eyes.

Once all of her senses returned to her, she realized that the shower was running. The noise offered an odd comfort. At least he was still in the house. Her feet carried her to the kitchen where she put the kettle on. The fabric of one of his few t-shirts grazed the middle of her thigh, and her heart squeezed.

So many happy memories revolved around this one spot. The first time she came over being one of them. God, she was so intimidated just to be in his presence. Ray quickly eradicated that irrational fear by offering her a cup of tea from the same kettle that whistled today. She thought that maybe the moment their fingertips brushed was the one that set everything in motion. That time he cooked her the most delicious eggs benedict was a close contender too.

All of that, the endless kisses, caresses, and moans shared in their kitchen paled in comparison to one memory. Ray had just returned from a particularly difficult task. He sat at the island, looking the most disheveled she’d ever seen him-hair falling into his face, shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the blue cotton dotted in what was unmistakably blood.

“The only thing that keeps me going.” He looked at her. “The only reason I care to fight this fucking hard anymore is because I have you to come home to.”

Tears fell then, just as they did in the present. The two reasons couldn’t be further apart though. Back then it was all eyes bleary from the fullness in her heart, and how he’d made a liar out of her by proving that there was still more room available in her to love him. Now it was the opposite; she felt empty. There was a gaping abyss between them that started with simple silence that quickly evolved into avoidance.

The slim appetite she had diminished, leaving her not even wanting to drink the tea she’d just made. She felt sick to her stomach that this was what she was thinking about the first thing this morning. There was nothing more she wanted than to be in his arms, to be the subject of his gaze and the taste on his lips.

A spark lit in her, the origin of it being the anger, fear, desperation, or desire she felt-or a mixture of them all. It didn’t matter what the catalyst was, the only thing that mattered was that she was tired. Fed up at how they’d gone from heated debates to hmm’s in response. She couldn’t tip toe around whatever the hell was going on anymore.

Ray’s back was to her as she entered the bathroom. He stood unmoving under the shower head, letting the beads of water bounce and traced the lines of his strong body. His head fell back slightly, letting the droplets run through his beard.

She removed his shirt, nearly throwing it onto the floor in her state of heightened emotions. They didn’t get the best of her in that regard, the fabric dropped from her hands as she passed by the hamper on the way to the shower.

The suction released from the door, steam floating out as she stepped in. Ray obviously knew she was in there with him, he probably made her as soon as she crossed the room’s threshold. However, there was no movement on his behalf that gave that away.

Her hands reached out slowly, steadily, fingertips brushing the muscles of his upper back. She flattened her palms against them, feeling their expansions and contractions as he breathed. Still, he remained as he was.

But he didn’t pull away. Her touch navigated around to settle just under his chest. A sigh bypassed her lips as she rested her head between his shoulder blades.

It was impossible for her not to tremble when his hands traveled along her forearms, stroking the soft skin back and forth. She bit her lip, trying to shove away the second wave of tears that threatened to spill. When Ray laced his fingers in hers, she was done for. A small choked sob left her, and once she realized she couldn’t take that back, everything spilled out.

He spun around almost too quickly for her to register. His hands became a cradle, holding her head to his chest. Like all the times she’d broken down in front of him before, he gave her a minute to let out as much as she could before speaking. After her shaking subsided to a mere tremor, he cupped her face and looked down at her.

“What’s wrong, love?” His voice was even, but tinged with concern.

“Are we-” She sniffed. “Are we okay? I mean it’s clear that we aren’t because it’s been so shit between us for weeks now, but I just have to know. Are we going to be okay?”  

Ray closed his eyes, jaw ticking twice. Had he not been holding her, he would’ve been pinching the bridge of his nose. It was his go to when he was fed up with himself, but that confused her. Why would he be upset, what did he do?

“I’ve been thinking about something for a while, but I couldn’t find it in me to speak to you about it.” Ray’s thumb swiped across her cheek.

A sharp pain hit her in the chest, mind immediately going left. “Why’s that?”

“Nerves.” He smiled.

At first she thought he was fucking with her. Never in the entire four years that she’d known him, three of those being in a relationship with him, did she know Raymond to get nervous. It was like the earth actually being flat, or the Catholic church not being more shady than the mafia. Impossible.

But then she looked at him, really. He appeared almost to be in pain with the amount of discomfort that was broiling inside of him. She took his hand in hers, and brought it to her lips. An unspoken promise of non judgment.

“I’m done. I don’t want to do what I do anymore.” Ray admitted.

She gasped lightly, but reeled in any further reaction should he misinterpret their meanings.

“I want to be able to take you out to the park, and not have to look over my shoulder for threats. I want to stay in bed with you as long as I want, as long as you can bear looking at this mug, and to be home every night before the sun sets. I want to make you mine in every way possible, get a hideous van and fill it with mini versions of us.” He laughed. “But I can’t do that the way I live now, so I’m done. I was scared to tell you because I didn’t know how you’d feel about that.”

Her head shook, eyes rolling towards the unseeable skies above. She was, unsurprisingly, crying again. Though on this occasion, it was like that time from way before in the kitchen. Here she was once more with a heart so swollen it felt as if it could pop any minute, and yet again faced with the reality that she was a devilishly dishonest woman.

Each time she thought there was no humanly or otherwise way possible that she could love the annoyingly good looking bastard before her, she was proven wrong.

Admittedly, the things he’d spoken of hadn’t occurred to her as a possibility because she figured he’d be Mickey’s right hand until the wheels fell off. His job, the influence it had, all the nice shit it provided for her it didn’t matter. None of it mattered as long as she had him.

“The way I feel about that is,” She bit her lip. “How soon can we start on that mini versions of us bit?”

Ray hoisted her into his arms, making her shriek giddily. He backed her against the tiled wall, peppering her neck with kisses. His teeth grazed her collarbone before his mouth came to hover just a hair away from hers.

“I can’t wait to have a normal, boring life with you.”

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

hold me like the moon holds onto the tide (1/3)

Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a cell with no escape. Alex and Michael are faced with an ex-Caulfield employee who is prepared to do anything to get alien powers of his own. (Inspired by the Daisy/Sousa scenes in Agents of Shield 7x06)

Word Count: 2,946

[Also on AO3] [Part Two] [Part Three]

This wasn’t the first time that Alex had woken up somewhere with no memory of how he had gotten there.

There was the happier occurrences of this, such as waking up at his grandparent’s place after falling asleep during the car ride there as a child or ending up at home in bed with a killer hangover the morning after an unexpectedly wild night at the Pony.

Or the not so happy occurrences like waking up in the hospital after an encounter with a roadside IED or tied to a chair in his father’s basement after an unfortunate meeting with his metal cane.

But this. This was definitely the first time that he’d woken up in an unfamiliar cell with his hands shackled to the wall.

His head hurt and there was a weird heaviness in his limbs that could only be explained by the uncomfortable sensation of drugs running its course through his body. Blinking a few times in a poor attempt to clear the haze from his vision, he lifted his head to get a better look at his new surroundings.

“Alex?” Came a murmur from nearby, which only confused him more.

He let out a slight groan in response as he pushed himself up to rest on his forearms, the chain securing his cuffed wrists to the cell wall jangling nosily at the movement.

To say that Michael was a sight for sore eyes was an understatement at the best of times. But right now, the sight of him was practically angelic. He was sitting with his back against the wall, legs stretched in front of him, matching cuffs around his wrists. His hair was more of a mess than usual and he was looking at Alex with such big eyes that the worry radiating off him was palpable.

He looked beautiful, of course. But above all that, him being here meant that Alex wasn’t facing whatever this was alone.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex croaked around the unexpected dryness of his throat. How long had they been here?

“No clue. I woke up about twenty minutes ago, haven’t heard anybody outside.” Michael shook his head, eyeing Alex carefully.

They may be chained to a wall but at least their mysterious captors had the consideration to secure them within reaching distance of each other. Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, Alex shuffled over and rearranged himself to mirror Michael’s position, their shoulders bumping as he rested against the wall.

Now that his head had cleared a little, Alex took a moment to survey the cell. It was a small room with dull grey walls and a cold, dirty floor.

There was one window positioned high on the wall behind them that was allowing a few beams of light into the room. The dim rays hit the door opposite them as if preparing to provide their captors with a golden entrance.

There wasn’t much to deduct from their closed means of exit, but the solid metal of the door was worrying. It didn’t look like some makeshift prison hidden in the basement of someone’s house, this looked professional and if someone had access to a place like this, who knows what they wanted with the two of them.

Alex lowered his head to rest it against Michael shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to take a calming breath.

“Your head hurting?” Michael whispered, feeling himself relax just a little from having Alex so close.

Alex nodded gently, “Yeah, yours?”

“Yeah, it’s been throbbing since I woke up.”

Michael had been worried when he had woken up first.

The first thing he had registered was the hard surface beneath his cheek and he had thought for a moment that maybe he’d been drinking the night previously and hadn’t quite made it into the airstream before passing out. The drumming in his head sure seemed to support that theory.

Opening his eyes revealed how far off he was with that prediction and it had set his heart racing. But seeing another person lying nearby had his heart jumping straight into his throat.

He had only allowed a second to compartmentalise the fact that he had clearly been kidnapped before clumsily crawling over to Alex, instantly shaking the man in an attempt to wake him.

After a brief flash of panic, Michael had taken note of Alex’s small breaths and the rise and fall of his chest before letting out a nervous laugh of relief.

And now that Alex was finally awake, Michael took solace in his breathing once more as the man sat next to him.

They were silent for a moment as Alex glanced down at the metal cuffs cutting into his wrists. The thick grey bands looked stronger than standard police issue handcuffs and the sturdy chainlink connecting them to the wall bracket was not going to be easily broken.

“I feel like this is a dumb question, but have you tried to break the cuffs?”

Michael smiled fondly, glancing down at the top of Alex’s head, “It was the first thing I tried, but my powers aren’t working. It feels the same as when Helena dosed me with that stuff.”

Alex sat up straight with wide eyes and Michael mourned the sudden loss of contact. “That means they know that you’re an alien.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Michael replied, biting his lip. A situation where someone else knew about his powers - let alone how to neutralise them - was concerning to say the least.

And downright terrifying to say the most.

Though he was quietly glad that Isobel and Max were nowhere in sight. At least they were safe, for now.

“Shit.” Alex looked towards the door as if expecting their captors to burst in at any second, “I don’t even remember what happened.”

“I’m pretty sure we were at the junkyard, but apart from that I’ve got nothing.”

Alex leant his head back and closed his eyes as he tried to get everything straight in his head, the incessant throbbing in his brain doing its best to distract him.

There was very little information to go on regarding who had taken them and how, but the part that was screaming out to him was why the pair of them had been taken together.

Their captors clearly knew that Michael was an alien, but if they’d kidnapped him because of that, what was Alex’s role in all of this? And if it was Alex they were targeting, why bother with the extra hassle of bringing Michael along?

There was no situation that would require them both. Not unless they’d gone back in time and were part of a secret organisation’s plot to create an atomizer that would eradicate an entire species.

Then the kidnapping would make sense. Maybe.

But after CrashCon, they had ensured that the devices and all existing blueprints were destroyed thoroughly and the only remaining knowledge of the chemical formula could be found locked away in Charlie Cameron’s head.

And well, after his father’s death, the threat of a systematic elimination of the alien bloodline had unsurprisingly become less of a problem.

So who was this new threat they were facing?

-

They were making them wait.

Classic interrogation technique Alex had told Michael. You leave the subject just long enough to let them get inside their own head and think through - in painful detail - every possible reason for why they could be there. Then you ambush.

And if that was the plan, their captors had succeeded.

After confirming that they were both reasonably unhurt and a few very unsuccessful attempts to break their chains and find a way out of the cell, they had managed to compile a rather long list of why they could have been taken and who might have been responsible.

Maybe there was a new alien in town who thought they were a threat. Maybe Jesse Manes had been brought back to life like some alien hunting Frankenstein’s monster who wanted to finish what he’d started. Maybe this was all some giant ploy by their friends to force them to get their act together and go on that first proper date they had been trying to arrange for weeks.

In truth, they knew that every idea was either completely far fetched or extremely possible, but they all ultimately came back round to Michael being an alien. It was the one thing that Michael had feared, above all else, for as long as he could remember. Someone had discovered that he was an alien and now they wanted to know more.

It was about an hour before they heard any signs of life beyond the door. Heavy footsteps and low mutterings could be heard muffled through the metal, before the door creaked open and a man in air force fatigues entered the room.

For one tiny moment Alex was hopeful enough to think that this was a rescue. That by some miracle his base had known that he was missing - despite the fact that no one was expecting him to report to them anytime soon - and had sent an officer out to find him.

It quickly became apparent that this was not the case.

The man closed the door, stopped in front of them and said nothing, simply stared at them as if surveying his goods. It made Alex feel very exposed. And concerned. His brain flicked through several reasons for why the air force might want to kidnap them and they weren’t exactly pleasant.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.” The man spoke, his tone patronising as if speaking to a toddler.

Alex felt Michael stiffen beside him. He clearly wasn’t expecting the air force’s involvement either.

Alex schooled his features, making very sure to hide any trace of unease or confusion, as he studied the man in front of him for any hint that they may have met before.

Hughes, his uniform’s name tag spelled out in thick capital letters. He was a middle aged man, maybe early forties, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard to match. Alex didn’t think he’d come across any ‘Hughes’ during his time in the air force.

“You’re here.” Hughes continued, unfazed by the lack of response, “To give me what I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex asked with an air of defiance, “And what’s that?”

“Power.” Hughes grinned and the sight was unnerving.

He began pacing the room and Alex could sense an evil monologue coming.

“Let’s skip the pretence of you not being aliens and get straight to the point. You see, when I was nineteen I joined the air force and found my true calling, my one purpose in life. But there came a point a few years ago where I felt like I’d lost my way.” He paused for dramatic effect, coming to a stop in front of them, “That is, until Master Sergeant Manes recruited me.”

Alex and Michael glanced at each other as if reading one another’s minds. It was always a possibility that someone new would discover the alien secret, but despite the jokes earlier they had truly believed that the Jesse Manes chapter of their story had come to a close.

“Thought that name might be familiar,” Hughes smirked, crouching down to their eye level, “He told us about you. About the aliens that hadn’t quite made it to Caulfield.”

Without a second to hesitate, Michael went to lunge at Hughes, the sudden memory of his mother’s death flashing before his eyes but Alex’s quick hands coming to rest on his thigh (and the rather inconvenient chain) stopped him from giving Hughes the satisfaction. The man almost looked pleased with the reaction, chuckling to himself as he began pacing once more.

“‘Those three aliens are practically inseparable!’ He’d told us. 'You find one and the others won’t be far behind!’ And he was right.”

Michael watched him carefully as he reached one side of the cell before turning gracefully on his heel to continue the motion towards the opposite wall. If this guy knew about the three of them there was no reason for him not to go after Isobel or Max next. In fact, they could very well be in a cell just like this, right now, waiting for their own personal soliloquy.

And Michael was powerless to help them.

“Learning about your species altered my path in life, but now you’re going to change it completely. Starting with you.” Hughes pointed to Alex with a meaty finger and any response Alex might’ve had ready fell away with complete bewilderment.

Wait, what was going on? Alex glanced at Michael once again to make sure he had heard the same thing and he could have laughed at the mystified look that Michael was unable to hide.

“But he’s not an alien.” Michael furrowed his brow, suddenly feeling very unsure of what details Jesse Manes had given him.

“You better hope he is.” Hughes stepped closer, not even blinking as he stared Michael down, “Or he’s of no use to me.”

“And what exactly is it do you want with me?” Alex held his head higher, ready to offer himself up willingly if it would keep the attention off of Michael.

“The power flowing through your veins. It might take a few tries but it’s an easy enough experiment and I’m sure I’ll harvest the right cells eventually before it kills you.” Hughes watched him carefully, practically daring him to break eye contact first. “Besides, I’ve heard you heal quick so there’s nothing to fear really.”

“Wait, that’s your plan? You think you can just give yourself powers? You’re deluded. That’ll never work.” Alex remarked as Hughes pursed his lips at the comeback.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

“Take me first!” Michael blurted out, ignoring the confused glare he could see Alex giving him from the corner of his eye.

“Hmm, telekinesis is impressive, but the power to kill with a single touch? That’s what I want.” Hughes smirked, his eyes still not leaving Alex.

And well if that didn’t slot a few more puzzle pieces into place.

It was true that Alex had been spending a lot of time with Michael and Isobel lately, and with Max more likely to be found in Liz’s arms than at his sibling’s side, it’s clear how this little misidentification may had occurred.

Before Michael could argue his case further, Hughes turned to leave the cell. “I’ll be back when we’re ready,” he stated simply as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room quiet once more.

Neither of them spoke as they tried to organise their scrambling thoughts. An hour ago, when they were making their list, they would never have guessed the correct outcome of that conversation.

“He thinks I’m Max.” Alex whispered into the silence, his eyes still on the door.

“We have to tell him you’re not, we have to do something.” Michael turned his whole body towards Alex, a determined look in his eyes.

“Guerin, we can’t tell him.” Alex furrowed his brow. Even if they could convince Hughes that he wasn’t an alien, it wouldn’t suddenly make everything better. He may be pretty useless to the man right now, but Alex knew full well how expendable he would be if Hughes found out the truth about his lack of alien abilities. With no means of escape and no sign of a rescue anytime soon, he knew that this was their only logical option, no matter how deranged and barbaric it sounded. “Whatever the hell is going on right now, we definitely don’t have the upper hand here, so if he’s gonna take anyone it’s better me than you.”

“Are you insane? If he experiments on you, he could kill you!”

“And if he experiments on you, he could discover everything.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue but Alex barely gave him a chance to take a breath before continuing.

“You’ve always been careful to make sure that nobody even has a chance to get access to your DNA but now you want to what? Give it up freely? No.” He stated firmly, shaking his head. “Him thinking I’m an alien is our best case scenario right now. This guy clearly knows a lot about you already - I mean who knows how much my father told him - I won’t let him learn any more.”

Michael had always known that Alex would go to great lengths to protect him, but to see his resoluteness firsthand sent a rush of warmth through him.

Still, he bit his bottom lip as he tried to grasp at any response that would overrule how right Alex was. Putting his own safety above Alex’s had never - and would never - be an option but, as selfish as it was in that moment, the thought of doing something that would put Isobel and Max in danger made him feel physically sick.

Without thinking, his hands found Alex’s and he wrapped his fingers around them tightly, undeterred by the awkwardness of the cuffs. He watched as Alex weakly gripped back despite the odd angle.

“This is insane.” He whispered dejectedly.

“I know.”

“He knew your dad.”

“I know.” Alex let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes, “Fucking Jesse Manes.”

Michael couldn’t stop the corners of his own mouth turning up into a small smile.

Trust Alex’s father to still manage to upend their lives from beyond the grave. And unless Hughes had somehow managed to pass his medical exams alongside serving his country, this was definitely not going to end well.

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (2/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is posted, I can do that! I’ve seen others do that, and wanted to throw it out there.

~~*~~

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again? 

Outside the train,  a sign was lit up by electric lights: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

Oh, that’s right, he thought to himself, I’m going to medical school. At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne. 

That woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He kissed Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly Anne . The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. 

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script. 

Gilbert, 

Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment. 

Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll exceed beyond our expectations. 

Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator, 

Miss Muriel Stacy

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other. 

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge. 

Gilbert peaked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked. 

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time. 

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open. 

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?” 

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw. 

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne. 

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.” 

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space. 

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.” 

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four years’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts. 

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate. 

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. 

“You snore?” 

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?” 

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs. 

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath. 

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone. 

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep. 

~~*~~

“You a novelist or something?” 

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in  front of him: My Anne...

“Where is home, anyway?” 

“Avonlea, PEI.” 

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.” 

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. 

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“What made you want to come here, anyway?” 

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.” 

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.” 

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively. 

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room. 

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

My Anne, 

I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds. 

Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in.

Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine.  

I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real, genuine feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne. 

With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown. 

As for follow up questions: 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared.

Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do.

I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you. 

As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home.

I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did. 

Know that I remain always 

Yours, 

Gilbert 

(PS:  My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)

(PSS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately. 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked. 

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy. 

“Were you going through my things?” 

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.” 

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices. 

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded. 

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes. 

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.” 

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising. 

“Family and love, huh? Wish I could relate.”  Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Oh, uh, bye?” 

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did.

My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too. 

I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve.

I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well.

Your brother, 

Gilbert.

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town. 

[am-stories]

Introduction to me and my many worlds

ABOUT ME

My name is Reyhan(Ray-ann)! I’m a 21-year-old student hoping to get my degree in Psychology, with a minor in theatre or creative writing... Or both? You’ll come to find I’m very indecisive. I love art (drawing, literature, theatre, you name it), board games, video games, and of course, writing. 

MY WIPS

ERADICATE

When an illness is discovered to be rapidly infecting the population, the world is deemed beyond repair. In an attempt to stop the spread, major cities go into quarantine. Nobody comes in or out. When the people living in a homeless shelter inside one of the quarantine zones realizes that they’ll die if they stay, they escape. Little did they know, the world was much more cruel and devastating outside the walls. The survivors are forced to stick together and attempt to build a life worth living with each other. Together, they look for the simplest thing a person could ask for; a home.

Themes: found family, learning to love, loss, friendship, healing from trauma, finding peace, mental health, choosing one’s destiny, kindness, lgbt

THE WILTED FLOWER

Dinora lives in a perfect town with her perfect family, her perfect best friend, and her perfect boyfriend. But of course, she wants something deeper than perfection. One day the perfection cracks. Dinora wakes up to find the normally bustling town silent, and her father missing. Upon further investigation, she finds everyone else, including her boyfriend has frozen in a catatonic state. She’s alone, until her best friend Fae finds her. Dinora can tell that Fae knows something she doesn’t: Dinora is an android.

Themes: identity crisis, betrayal, lgbt, friends to lovers, autonomy, find an escape, memory loss, friendship, trust, what it means to love

BEFORE THE BLOOD MOON

In a vampire-driven world, one breed of vampires is discriminated against and mass-sacrificed during the Blood Moon festivals. In an attempt to escape his fate, one of these vampires flees and is caught by a group of friends who decide to help him find safety.

Cowriting with @isaacatwriting

FIND ME placeholder title

In a time of war, many people don’t get to meet their soulmates. On a person’s 18th birthday, a birthmark is revealed somewhere on their body and on their soulmate’s 18th birthday, the same exact mark will show up. When two women meet, they feel drawn to each other. They feel the same feelings they’ve always heard of when told stories of two soulmates meeting. When they can’t hide their attraction for one another, they begin a relationship in secret, though they fear it will end sadly as same-sex soulmates are said to be impossible. Despite this, they continue the relationship, counting the days until the younger girl’s 18th birthday. But before they can find the truth about their love, the younger girl is swept away with her family when her brother is drafted for the war. The only thing left to the older girl is a letter from her lover. She decides to push past her doubts and find her love, whether or not they’re soulmates, and sets on a journey to find her.

MARNIE AND THE CHOSEN ONES

When Marnie agrees to help her friend start a Gender-Sexuality Alliance at school, she didn’t expect to be nominated for club president. Between being in the closet at home and trying to keep up with the pressures of high school, it seemed like an idiotic idea. Despite all rationality, she agrees to take on the responsibility. This story follows the lives of the students in the GSA as they navigate identity, high school, discrimination, and the newfound freedom they’re granted and fighting for.

THE OUTSKIRST OF LIFE

Past the outskirts, the lost and lonely can feel free. It can feel addictive, and you may never want to come back in. But the longer you stay there, the darker and deadlier it will become. When a girl, numb from the cruelty and mediocrity of Life, is brought back from the outskirts, she must learn to heal past needing the them.

LACKLUSTER placeholder title

Ana Kumari tried to be optimistic about life, but everything she does seems slightly out of place. She has a new apartment that looks nice but has an odd smell she cant get rid of, a partner who is nice but generally uninterested, and a job that pays well but doesn’t bring her any joy. One day, she decides to get out of the apartment. On her walk, a device falls out of someone's coat and Ana attempts to return it to it’s owner. In the blink of an eye, it’s as if she’s in a whole other world, trapped underground. Strange occurrences threaten her around every corner. Along her journey to find her way back home, she meets others also trapped. They also have the devices and reveal that they lead the wearer to their deepest desire. Not until each of them realizes their desires will they be set free.

All of these stories have a lot of work and developing needed! Some, heck maybe even all of these, may change storylines, titles, etc. I’m hoping to create individual posts for each story when they’re more developed, and possibly for each character eventually. I’m excited! :D

[wyofabdoms]

Don’t Say Anything

Characters: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Original Female Character

Summary: OC Natalie has been broken up with Frankie for going on three months. A fateful night out with the girls ends in an interesting encounter.

Rating: Smut, 18+ ONLY 

Warnings: Sex in a car, rough sex, angry sex, choking, implied/referenced drug use (if you look carefully), dry sex, angry kissing, post-breakup sex, angst

Word Count: 3988

Notes: This is part of what I hope will become a much longer story centered around Frankie and an original character, but this scene just would not leave my brain so I had to write it. I think it works as a standalone right now.This is my first time writing Frankie. He's so sweet but fierce in the movie, I tried to convey that. I love him so much, I just want to hug him around the tummy! Anyways...hope you enjoy and maybe I'll get my tail in gear and start fleshing this larger story out sometime.

Nat smiled wistfully as she watched Meredith twirl herself around the two good natured older bar patrons that had been wrested onto the makeshift dance floor by her tipsy friend.  Next to Natalie at the bar, a few other of her close friends from work and her social circle were chattering away, tittering over Meredith’s shenanigans, talking shop, or gossiping about someone named Kelly’s botched boob job.  Despite the cheerful energy and upbeat vibe coming from her friends, she felt like everything around her was moving slowly, like she was trying to run through water. 

She might have considered that she had been slipped something in her drink, but she had been feeling this way since she had started getting ready earlier this evening, before even a drop of alcohol had touched her lips. Though she didn’t want to think about it too much, she knew what the cause of the fogginess was:

She missed Frankie.  She missed him so much sometimes she couldn’t breathe.  

Meredith had called her earlier that day and insisted that she join her and the others to celebrate her belated birthday.  When Natalie had tried to protest, Meredith had called her on her self-imposed hermitage over the last three months, had told Natalie that she was worried about her.  That if things weren’t going to change between her and Frankie, then she at least needed to step back into the land of the living, even if just for a drink or two.  

“You need to socialize with someone other than your cats,” Meredith had squawked through the phone.  Nat had made a face at the implied “crazy cat lady” reference but, she had thought, perhaps Meredith was right.  During the week, she had summer school (which she had in previous years avoided like the plague but for which now she was grateful.)  She could beg off outings on school nights, claiming the pressure from working with the high-risk students left her exhausted each evening.  She had been skulking around the house most weekends; doing her level best to eradicate any and all memory of Frankie Morales. 

Having not been able to sleep in her own bed for several weeks after he had left, she had repainted and rearranged her bedroom.  Still, sometimes she would wake up crying, swearing that she could feel his weight in the bed next to her, hear his soft (or loud) snores in the darkness, smell their sweat and sex in the sheets.  Everything in her home seemed to possess an echo of him. She had eventually sold her couch for a new one after remembering the very first night he had visited her home, when their lovemaking commenced with a steamy make out session on the leather sofa.�� Along with the new couch, she had also moved the rest of the furniture around.  Out of nowhere one evening making dinner, she remembered the way he had sat her up on the counter one particular Sunday morning, pulled a chair from the table and spent almost an hour with his head between her legs.  That particular memory had resulted in purchasing and installing new backsplash along with replacing the countertops and repainting the cupboard doors.  She had turned into a veritable DIY guru with the cosmetic changes to her home, but that chosen method of trying to forget Frankie was proving to be exhausting...and expensive.  Maybe, she had thought, it would do her some good to get out of the house for a night.  

She had reluctantly agreed to join Meredith and the girls, but had almost immediately regretted it.  The slogging through water feeling had begun as she had tried to make herself not look wretched and sleep deprived, then continued when she had left to pick up Meredith.  She had done her best to not be a downer, engaging in small talk with the other girls and even surprising herself by laughing a few times.  But now, as the night wore on and the alcohol loosened the women up more and more, Natalie just wanted to go home and crawl into bed.

That’s a lie. She thought as she sipped the watered down cocktail she had been nursing for a good thirty  minutes.  What I really want is to lay on the couch with Frankie and watch something stupid on Netflix and fall asleep with his arms around.  She felt tears start to sting her face and she shook herself.

This all felt a farce, trying to pretend like going out with girlfriends was even close to what it used to be back before Frankie; before she had let herself fall so deeply for that man.  She only noted with half an ear when one of the women in her group leaned across her and whispered, “Damn, incoming!!  Grey jacket, coming towards the bar...hellooooo handsome!”  Would she ever again be able (or even ever want) to look at another man with desire like that again?  Her girlfriends assured her she would; that it would just take time, but right now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Hey man, can we get another round for the back?”  The booming voice of who she could only assume was the grey-clad target in question was a familiar one and caused her to start.  She glanced over her shoulder.

“Benny?”  The eyes of the younger Miller brother lit up when he saw her and before she knew what was happening he had slid down the bar and wrapped her in a bear hug, pulling her from her seat.  

“Hooooly shit, Nat!  It’s good to see you.  How the hell are you?”  She chuckled at his enthusiasm; Benny’s attitude was infectious, she had always liked that about him.

“I’m…” She shrugged, not quite sure what to say.  She was sure that Ben and the others knew about her and Frankie.  What should she say?  Lie and say she was doing great?  Tell the truth and say she missed his friend?  Whatever she said, it would surely get back to Frankie; life with five brothers of her own had taught her that men talk almost as much as women.  “I’m…ok.  I guess.”  She gave him a small smile and another shrug, and avoided his eyes to keep herself from asking him how Frankie was doing?  She looked instead at the pitcher of beer and four clean glasses that the bartender had just placed on the bar in front of Benny.  Her eyes froze on the four drink receptacles and Benny followed her gaze.

“Uh….shit...yeah…” Benny looked almost embarrassed and jerked his head towards the back of the bar.  “We...uh...we’re all in the back...playing pool.”  She didn’t need to ask; the look on his face told her that Frankie was part of that “we”.  She nodded and took a deep breath.  Of course they were.  She remembered now that night when she had first “the guys”, after dinner they had come here and commandeered one of the back rooms for several raucous games of pool.  She remembered how much she had laughed that night, how it had made her heart sing to see Frankie so at ease with his friends, giving each other shit and swapping inside jokes.  

The memory made her eyes prick with tears and she stood up quickly. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she realized where Meredith had brought them?  She should have checked the parking lot for his truck.  Dammit!

“Hey, Nat, listen…” Benny made to stop her from moving away and she paused and looked at him, waiting.  He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think otherwise and just shrugged.  “...Nothing. Never mind.  It just...it really sucks...what happened with you and ‘Fish’.  I know he…” again, he seemed to stop himself from saying too much.  “Well….it just sucks,” he finished lamely. She could feel the tears welling now, threatening to spill over.  She felt something like panic starting to rise in her chest at the realization that she was so close to Frankie after not seeing him for three months.  The last time she had seen his face it had been marred with pain...pain that she had put there.  His eyes had glittered with unshed tears and she remembered how his lower lip had trembled.  She couldn’t see him now...there was no way she could face him!  

She suddenly felt like the water she had been slogging through all night had suddenly risen above her head and she couldn’t breathe.  She yanked her jacket and purse off the back of her chair, scrambling to pay for her drink.  

“Yeah.  Thanks, Ben.  Me too...I mean, yeah.  It does suck.”  Her voice cracked.  “It was good to see you…” she let her voice trail off, hoping that maybe he could read her mind; that maybe he would know to tell Frankie how empty she felt without him, how much she regretting asking him to pack his things and leave, how she wished she could do a thousand things differently.  Instead, she just choked out “Take care, Benny.” And she whirled away before she lost the last shred of control of her emotions she still had.  She didn’t want to be THAT girl sobbing into a drink at the bar.

She quickly let Meredith know what was going on.

“Nooooo!” Meredith crowed, slinging an arm around Nat’s shoulder.  “He’s HERE?”  She squeaked, craning her neck to look around the room and nearly toppling both of them over.  Nat quickly untangled herself from her friend and made sure she was left in the capable care of one of the other sober women in the group.  Then she shoved her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and headed out the door.

The heavy, humid Florida air seemed to suffocate her, but he evening had brought a blessedly soft breeze along with the darkness and she was grateful for the air that cut the mugginess, though she could still see clouds of humidity suspended within the shining lights of the parking lot lights.  She shivered as she walked past the first row of vehicles and then the second, out of the relative comfort of the lights and further away from the music and ambient noise seeping out from the bar.  She had parked in the furthest row earlier because of all the cars that had filled the lot when she and Meredith had arrived, but since they had been there, the second and third rows had diminished and her car now sat in solitude, the next closest at least five parking spots away.

Approaching her vehicle, she was putting her finger on the unlock button when she heard something that stopped her dead.

“Natalie.”  

Her heart felt like it was being pulled up through her throat and she suddenly felt lightheaded.  That deep, gruff voice like warm honey.  She hadn’t imagined she would ever hear her name spoken by that voice ever again except, perhaps, to curse her.

She turned and there he was, charging towards her across the parking lot.  She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see as far as emotion from Frankie, but the anger on his face was the last thing she imagined on his usually kind face.  His brows were furrowed low over his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly, fists balled at his sides.  His eyes seemed impossibly hollow and overflowing with hostility all at the same time as his heavy stride kicked up gravel and crunched loudly as he strode towards her. 

“Frankie,” she said, her voice wavering a bit at the darkness in his face as he passed beneath the last parking lot light and continued his beeline towards her and her car.  “It’s ok, I’m leaving.  I didn’t know you were here...I should have figured.  I remembered too late you guys come here sometimes and I-”  

Before she could finish, the rest of the words along with her breath was ripped from her chest as he slammed her body back against the side of her car with his, his mouth on hers, pinning every single part of her between every single part of him and her car.  His lips were desperate, hungry; it was sloppy...she could taste beer on his tongue as he shoved it into her mouth without hesitation,seeking and prodding, attacking her own.  It was all so abrupt and so unlike her sweet, gentle Frankie that she did nothing for a moment.  Then she felt a moan slip from somewhere deep within her and climb her throat, seeping into his mouth as her arms flung themselves around his neck.  

He suddenly rutted his pelvis into hers, hard, eliciting another moan from her when she felt him stiff and solid beneath his jeans and now pressed against where she so desperately wanted him to be.  

“Open the door.”  He grunted against her mouth, never taking his lips away from hers, his tongue leaving its assault on her only as long as it took to form the words.  Her brain couldn’t focus on anything other than his kiss and it took her several long moments to even realize that he had spoken.  “Open the fucking door.”  Once again mouthed against her lips, this time it was a command, guttural and growled, like nothing she had ever heard from him or anyone else before.  Breathless, he ripped his tongue and lips away from her, but kept his hands gripped tightly on her hips, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes as she fumbled with the key fob in her hand.  The car’s headlights blipped, giving a soft ca-chug as the locks disengaged and in the next instant, he had ripped her away from the car, yanked the backseat door open behind her, and shoved her backwards inside.

Her bottom landed awkwardly on the seat and she bumped her head on something as she moved to right herself.  She didn’t have time, though because Frankie was right behind her, looming over her and manhandling her further across the seat, hauling her legs into the car with one hand and slamming the door shut behind him with the other.  

It was dark in the backseat without the parking lot lights in this row, but she could make out his face, grim and determined as he yanked one of her legs up forcefully around his hip and knocked the other wide and into the footwell, widening her legs so that he could crouch between them.  She heard the distinct metallic clink of his belt buckle being undone, then almost immediately the pop of his button and soft shush of his zipper.  She could feel the heat radiating off of him and she saw again that dark gleam in his eyes as he shoved her shoulders down, made her lie back with her neck and head propped uncomfortably against the opposite passenger door.  

She wondered for a moment how much he had had to drink.  Was that why he was being so aggressive?  No, that couldn’t be it.  She had been with him before when he’d had too much to drink.  He got still and smiley and loved to put his face in her hair and sniff , or tangle their fingers together and make them dance on his stomach and chest while he sang a love song off key. 

This wasn’t her Frankie.

This wasn’t the Frankie that had called her his angel and begged her not to send him away the last time she had seen him.

This wasn’t the Frankie that was always so caring and gentle and thoughtful and slow.

This wasn’t the Frankie that always whispered to her that she was beautiful when he was inside of her, that told her how he was so lucky she had chosen him, that made sure she was always comfortable.

This Frankie?  This Frankie was something else entirely:

Dark.

Dangerous.

Angry.

And holy shit did she want him to fuck her.

His hands ripped at her skirt, pulling it high around her waist.  He didn’t stop to remove her panties, merely shoved them to the side as he pulled himself from his jeans.  He paused for just a moment, leaning over her, one hand next to her head on the seat holding himself up, the other hand gently tugging on his swollen cock.  She gazed up into his face trying to see his eyes, but he kept his head angled downward, seemingly mesmerized by the pump of his hand hovering over her heat.  She brought her hands up and twined them in his hair, uncovered now when his ball cap had been knocked from his head at some point.  She reveled for a split second in the feel of the silky brown locks between her fingers and thought briefly of those lazy Saturdays when they had laid in bed reading or napping or talking, his head resting on her stomach and her fingers carding through this same soft hair.  She felt him draw in a sharp breath at the touch and felt his body shudder.  But he still refused to look at her.  

She gathered more of his hair in her hands until she had two fist-fulls.  She slowly tightened her grip, then gave a firm but insistent tug with both hands.  His head finally lifted and she saw his eyes.  

The hurt that she remembered from the last time was still there, raw and real as ever.  Simmering below it was the darkness she had seen only a moment ago.  Covering all of it was a thin sheen of desire that colored everything else.  His eyes spoke to her clearly.  

He wanted her.  He knew that he shouldn’t want her.  But he was going to have her.

And it was not going to be gentle. Or sweet.  Or soft.

She nodded.  Yes.  Please.

Without warning, his eyes still locked with hers, he shoved himself inside of her with one hard push, fully seating himself.  It was abrasive and she hissed as his dry cock entered her core without any type of preparation.  She had only a split second to feel it though, before he yanked himself out, then back again, repeating the motion again and again.  Thankfully, as he thrust in and out of her, her own wetness spread, easing some of the pain from his initial entry.

There were no sweet, breathless pants of pet names, no cries of affirmation.  No calls to deities or lusty moans of pleasure.  There was simply the ragged sound of both of them breathing heavily in the small space, an occasional quiet gasp lighting the air.  The muffled sounds of his denim clad hips smacking into her naked thighs and ass drowned out most everything else.  His pace was manic and he rammed his hips into hers over and over so hard she imagined she would for sure have bruises on her hips tomorrow.  She squeezed her eyes shut more than once against the sharpness of his thrusts, trying not to cry out in pain.  It hurt a little, but the fact that it was Frankie made her want to sob with pleasure.  He pressed his forehead into the door behind her head, his breath puffing into her ear with each hard thrust and she snaked her arms up his back and shoulders the way she had always done, digging her nails forcefully into her skin along the way, making him hiss.  She whispered his name into his ear.

“Frankie…”

He yanked his head up, his eyes flashing with anger again and moved one hand from her hips to her throat.  He squeezed...hard, and she panicked for a moment.  This had never happened before.  She had never been afraid of him before but for an instant she was as she felt her windpipe close beneath his hand. She knew...she had never asked for details, but she knew...Frankie had killed people before, that he was capable...she had no doubt he could snap her neck right here in her own car if he wanted to.  But just as the thought entered her brain he released his grip, but kept his hand firmly wrapped around her throat.  He buried his face back next to her ear, growling and spitting out words between each powerful thrust of his hips.

“Shut up.  Don’t say my fucking name.  Don’t say anything.  Just shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

His voice was dark, but she heard the desperation lacing the edges.  

This was only for this moment.  This was nothing past the inside of this car.  

Frankie needed to feel her, needed to get off.  This frantic, off-limits, out of control act of violently fucking his ex in the backseat of her car was not something he wanted to be doing.  But the alternative-what he had chosen in the past, before Natalie-would ruin any slim chance there might be of ever getting this woman back if again.

He could have found someone else; a warm body.  It wouldn’t have been that hard...some willing woman in a bar on any given night.  But he couldn’t make that choice, either.  He couldn’t  find peace in someone that wasn’t her...because no one else could make him feel at peace and whole the way she could.  His angel.

So, rather than hold her close and tell her he loved her and worship her body and bring her to ecstasy over and over and over again, here he was treating her like a cheap fuck, pretending that she wasn’t the woman he loved; the woman that had broken his heart.  And he couldn’t pretend when she was breathing his name into his ear.

Without any words, without him having to explain any of that, Natalie understood.

He thrust into her once more...twice...three more times, each seemingly harder than the last and then he let out a cry filled with desperation and sadness as he spilled himself inside of her.  Tears welled in his eyes as he felt himself twitching inside of her, the familiar feeling of her walls cradling him nearly sending those tears pouring down his face.  He felt his stomach turn to water and his neck began to burn with shame.  He hated that he hadn’t taken time to get her off, that she had read his need and had willingly let him take her, allowed him to be selfish.

He hated himself.  

He pulled himself out of her slick heat, practically kicking the car door open and tucking himself back into his jeans as he stepped out of the vehicle.  He couldn’t look her in the eye.  Without a word, he turned and walked away from her car, crossing the parking lot as fast as he could, climbing into his beat up old pickup and peeling away.  Natalie still lay breathless in the backseat as she heard the roar of his truck engine, the door of her car still wide open, her legs splayed and her skirt hiked up to her waist, his cum dripping from inside of her and pooling onto the seat beneath her.

****

Later, when she pulled into her driveway, she realized she had no idea where her purse was.  She remembered she had had it in her hand when Frankie had kissed her.  Without looking, she reached behind the front passenger seat and grasped blindly into the footwells until her hand knocked against something solid. She grabbed it and realized immediately it wasn’t her purse, but she couldn’t identify it.  When she brought her hand forward to examine the item, she stopped breathing.

It was Frankie’s baseball cap.

Clutching it to her chest, she felt herself shatter into a million pieces. She caught a whiff of Frankie: his shampoo, his cologne, the sweat from his brow.

She buried her face into the cap and sobbed.

Read on Ao3