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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

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Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 3 years ago

Text

The Savior Complex [Part 2 of 2] To the Victor Belong the Spoils [Chris Redfield]

“How long have you kept me locked up? And don’t give me that you’re not a prisoner bull.”

Chris leans back against the plush couch and takes a deep uneasy breath. “About two months. And you need to understand that no one in the BSAA trusts you.”

Has it been a month already? You snort. How ironic because no one in the BSAA can be trusted.

“And you? Do you not trust me?”

The answer is no; you know this. Otherwise, Chris wouldn’t have locked you in a safe house; who knows where.

Chris narrows his keen eyes. “I can’t let you leave.”

Nailed it.

You stand with a pout, walking into the kitchen for a drink. The layout reminds you of a studio apartment, except there are no windows, and the door is always locked.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Chris hums. “No, I’m good.”

You frown and settle on a bottle of water. The monitor around your ankle is humiliating, but you ignore it and stroll back to the couch, sitting next to Chris with a bounce. The button-down you have on rides up your bare legs as you tuck them under you, showing Chris your panties.

He averts his eyes, urging you to snort. Ever the gentleman, he is. You don’t have any shame. It’s your apartment; you can wear how little you want.

“At least you’re honest,” you admit as you sip from the bottle.

Chris grunts. “Could you not act like a––”

“A what? Calm down, big man. And besides, I’m just trying to get a rise out of you; I’m a bit bored,” you state.

He glances at you with a frown. “What do you want?”

“There’s no chance you will let me go, so I want to sit and enjoy your company a bit more before you leave again. You don’t visit much as is,” you say with a grin.

Extending your legs, you ease them into his lap. He visibly tenses.

“I’ve been busy,” Chris admits.

He won’t tell you what he’s been doing, but you imagine it has to do with your employers. Regardless it’s none of your business.

“Do you miss me? And the fun we had?”

You wiggle your toes against his stomach.

“You’re safer here,” Chis says, avoiding your question.

How long does he plan to do this? He can’t protect you forever. And why? It makes no sense to you.

Humming, you remove your feet from him. You don’t feel safe. And you know there is no reason to go back; your employers will never allow you to return. You are as good as dead.

But it makes you feel unique. Chris is going through a lot to protect you, and at first, you thought it was because of his job, but for the last two months, he has come to visit you every week.

Perhaps you’re bored of the chase; maybe you want more.

“Chris?”

Said man puckers a brow.

You stand up and move closer, easing into his lap one leg at a time.

“What are you doing?”

You slide your arms around his shoulders. “Yes or no, big man. You’ll have time to think about it later.”

“But will you?” Chris asks. His hands rest on your upper thighs.

Is he serious?

“I already know what I want. There’s no reason to dwell on it,” you state.

He leans up and presses his lips against yours in a rough way.

You were hoping that he would say yes.

Chris raises a hand and sinks his fingers into your hair, angling your head down to deepen the kiss. The smoky odor of the last cigarette he smoked lingers on his warm breath, but you don’t care. Brushing your tongue over his lip, you plead for him to open his mouth, zealously grinding against him.

Once he does, you sigh in relief as you taste him; goosebumps litter your skin.

You’ve wanted this for a long time.

Chris raises a hand from your thigh and squeezes your ass, then slips a finger into the band of your panties, yanking them down your thighs. He breaks the kiss for a moment to yank them off you with your assistance, tossing them onto the couch.

“Get on your back,” he orders.

You come off his lap, lying on the couch with a grin.

Chris spreads your legs and raises them to rest them over his shoulders, leaning his head down to devour you. For fuck’s sake. The hair on his face prickles your inner thighs as you come close to pressing your legs together. It’s the most intense pleasure you have ever gotten during oral.

Moaning, you sink your nails into your thighs as he licks your clit. His fingers sink into your eager pussy, thrusting in and out. The lewd sounds he draws from you heats your face in embarrassment, but you are far too into it to stop him.

Chris quickens his pace, switching between licking and sucking on your clit until you come undone. It’s too much; you press your legs together, trembling in pleasure.

When the orgasm begins to fade, you become aware of your sensitivity, and tears form in your eyes.

“Easy there,” you whine.

Chris lifts his head and puckers a brow. His lips glisten with your wetness. He knows that you’re pleased. Your legs tremble as you ease them from his shoulders, keeping them open for him. He links them around his waist as he unzips his pants, freeing himself.

He looks delicious, a bit thicker than you expected.

Positioning the head of his cock at your entrance, Chris thrusts into you, grinning as you grunt and tighten around him. It stings a bit, but you don’t mind. He grabs your hips and moves out at a slow pace, bottoming out as he thrusts back in. Pressing your heels into his side, he lifts your hips and quickens his pace, knocking the air from your lungs as his cock hits your cervix a few times.

The hold he has on you keeps you in place, but the worn look on his face suggests that he won’t last much longer. But this doesn’t slow him down.

It’s almost too intense.

Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, and you moan until your throat burns. Chris’s name on your lips pours out in worship as he fucks you. And by the time he orgasms, spurting his warm cum onto your stomach and inner thighs, you are tender and exhausted.

Chris pants as he stares down at you.

“Let me get you something,” he proposes.

Standing up, he pulls up his pants and walks around the back of the couch. As you lie there, you hear the faucet turn on, and you grin. How sweet of him. Once he returns, he offers you a damp washcloth. You take it and clean the mess from your stomach, tossing the soiled cloth onto the floor once you are done.

Damn, you are a wreck. It hurts even to sit up.

Chris sits back on the couch and watches you in silence. You wonder if he regrets fucking you.

You are a criminal, after all.

“Your coworkers won’t understand this one,” you laugh.

Chris snorts and leans back. “I don’t give a damn.”

Did he not? You don’t believe him. He is ever the fucking savior.

Resting on his arm, you laugh in sorrow.

“Why did you save me?”

Chris tenses up. “It’s my––”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you argue.

Tears burn your eyes. Why though? It irritates you.

“I hate that; it’s my job. No, it isn’t. You are not obligated to anyone, least of all to me,” you ramble.

Looking at him, you feel your lip tremble.

“I want to thank you, whatever your reason is.”

Chris puts his arm over your shoulder.

You are happy to have met him.

Because of him, you can start living.

#chris redfield #resident evil #chris redfield x reader #female reader

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ackermans-freedom-inc · 3 years ago

Note

Heya! I’m sending in my Valentine’s Letter; thank you so so much in advance! [im so sorry it’s long, also im sorry about my english]

My Dear Erwin,

First of all: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Did you know that Saint Valentine was a priest that believed love was so important, that he chose to marry young couples, even when the emperor forbade it?

It always reminds me of you when historical figures decide to follow what’s important for them, no matter what. Now, I am not comparing you to a priest… but you get the idea. I’ve always admired how determined you are, how passionate you are about your goals, how you’d give up anything for your dreams. I know you believe you’re a monster for that, but… I don’t. I love that about you. And I do believe you will be remembered; you will be mentioned in history books; you’ll be such a big figure.

But, for me, you’ll always be the man that stole my heart and makes me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.

That’s why I hated so much to leave the HQs. Now, sitting at my parent’s place, I can only miss your voice, your ideas, your kisses, the way you touch me… Uh, it’s getting hot in here.

Now, I don’t wish to trouble you. I know you must be very busy, but… Father said my leave would only be a few days. It’s almost been a week, and he won’t let me go back to Trost. I know he doesn’t like you that much, but I’m sure now that he must’ve spoken to you in order to get your permission for me to leave. What did he say to you? Did he threaten you? Please, if he did, know he’s all talk. He was very angry when I joined the scouts too, but with time, he understood. I promise he will understand our relationship too.

I’m pretty sure that he tried to manipulate you, so… Just let me tell you that, I always had everything. I could’ve been married to any wealthy idiot of his liking, but I was never the kind to obey others… not even you. I chose the regiment, I chose to devote my heart to humanity, and I chose you to be my first, my last, mi amor; my everything.

Please know, today more than ever, that you are loved, missed and yearned for. And for you, I’d be willing to disobey anyone; even my father.

I’ll see you soon, amor mío.

Yours,

Anto

P.S: When you get this, I’ll probably be already in my way back home to you, holding the necklace you gifted me very close to my heart. I already planned out something to tell my father’s guards. Please don’t be too angry! [I know you probably will be a little bit] I love you ♡

A/N: Hi @antoxsmith! thank you so much for sending in such a wonderful letter and participating in my event!!! <3 I hope you like this reply! Your English is amazing, and I got your first request so I replied to this one instead of the second one!

My Dear,

You think too highly of me, my love, as you always do. I am still, no matter how you deny it, a monster of my own making. Plans are not made on the shoulders of a coward, and it is all I can do to put on a brave face for those I lead. But with only you, my dear, can I allow myself to feel, even for a moment, human.

I do not care for the history books, for they are often filled with half truths and twisted versions of what happened, written in blood by the victors. All I ask is that I remain in your memory, for as long as you can manage. That will be enough.

You are also not alone in your longing. The nights are colder now, despite the melting frost. The days without you span longer, and not even Hange's antics are able to cheer me up. Levi mentioned something about having a stick up my arse today, and I think for him to have said that, I was too harsh on some of the new recruits once again. I long for your return, and it pleases me greatly to see such fight in you.

From the very beginning, you fought. You fought me, fought Levi, Miche, fought just about everyone. Fought your way into my heart even. You would think your father would know better than to take both of us on hmm?

Your father indeed speak with me. Very...persuasive a man he is, or thinks he is. But you should know better than to question my foresight. I am always three steps ahead my dear, and fear not, after this time, you will not have to worry about those pesky suitors anymore. I believe I was very clear in my last conversation.

Keep the necklace close, I do not want to have further conversations with anyone concerning where your future lies. Your father's guards will bother you no longer. No one will. You have my word.

I am looking forward to your return to me, I know everyone here is eagerly awaiting your return as well.

Yours always,

Erwin

Valentines Day Event 2022

#erwin x reader #suz.writes.#Valentines Day Event 2022 #antoxsmith #I hope you enjoy!#happy valentines day!!!

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ad1thi · 4 years ago

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underrated stevetony fics rec list (P1)

i feel like a lot of really good stevetony fics get swept under the rug because this is such a big fandom and sometimes people miss out on quality content?? so this is a rec list of some of the stevetony fics i feel like everybody should have read/ be reading

Edit (31.12.2020): this got very long (i had almost 50 fics on my list, so ive decided to split this list into two parts. part 2 will be out soon!!)

Edit (20.02.2021): part 2 is out now!!

picture me in the trees: @ifmywishescametrue

Tony and Steve were childhood friends that almost became more, but Tony moved and they lost their chance. Thirteen years later, a chance meeting brings Tony back into Steve's life.

Free: @iwanttopizzamanyou

"Steve reads, and the words dance in front of his eyes, because while this used to be his dream, what he wanted, all he can think about is how this Hell will soon become his full time life."

Steve discovers fame, with fans waiting for him in the lobby and girls passing him their numbers after the shows. It used to be what he wanted, he supposes. Except his future managers keep asking more and more from him, and he's not sure his old life will survive. Tony is ready to help, and compromise, but Steve maybe isn't anymore.

making it work: @/ironarm

“Just tell him you don’t want to see him anymore,” Clint replies, finishing the end of his burger and starting to crumple up the wrapper, “It’s not like you love him or anything.”

“Clint, if I thought I could get rid of him about a week ago, I would have. But for some fucked up reason, I can’t lie to him. It’s like, I see those baby blue eyes, and bam. Whatever barrier that I built up from childhood trauma is gone.”

Clint chokes on the last piece of his burger, almost resisting the urge to smack Tony on the side of his head.

Tony was a fucking idiot.

Boys Like Us: @naferty

The video had been a mistake. One of the biggest mistakes he had ever done in his life, and considering Tony Stark had done a bunch of shit in his younger years, and even older years, that was saying something.

It was just that none of those things were as embarrassing as that video.

He blamed Clint for everything

Stained Fingertips: @thesoundofnat

“I don’t really believe in magic,” he said, clearing his throat. “But I’m almost certain you’re a goddamn wizard, Steve Rogers.”

Steve would remember those words for the rest of his life.

(Or, Steve is maybe slightly obsessed with drawing Tony. Not that Tony minds.)

Inhale, Ex-Sail: @summerpipedream

"Rich pirates decked out in top-of-the-line black market gear,” grumbled Tony, ”why don’t I have the budget to make those again?’

Rhodey inched back so that he and Tony were back-to-back. “We’re apparently law abiding citizens now, which means having to pay taxes.”

Tony scowled. “Urg, right. Remind me why I wanted to do that again?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “What was it you called him last time? Your sweet tart? Your apple pie in the sky? The wind beneath your wings? Hopefully he’ll fly here fast enough so we don’t get killed. Or worse, mugged.”

Tony Stark Bingo K1 - AU: Steampunk

As Constant As A Star: @atsadi

The Swan Princess AU

As young children, Prince Anthony and Princess Natasha of neighboring Midgardian kingdoms are betrothed, and spend their summers together every year until they are wed. Tony adores his headstrong friend Nat: it’s her scowly little companion Steve he’s not thrilled about at first. But soon Steve goes from being a thorn in Tony’s side to being his dearest friend – and much, much more than that. Despite Steve feeling the same way about Tony, the pair still dance around each other for years as Steve struggles to accept his feelings for another man: especially one already betrothed to another. Not to mention that Tony is a prince, and Steve is nothing but a squire.

But before they can make peace, Tony is kidnapped and dragged into the beginnings of another conflict in the nearby magical kingdom of Asgard – he really hates magic. With his potential usefulness diminishing by the day, Tony races to escape even as Steve, Natasha, and their friends race to find him and bring him home.

And—just to make matters worse—Tony has been trapped by a powerful spell and turned into a swan, of all creatures. He really, really hates magic.

Always Yours: @hollyjollyhope

Getting kidnapped is normal for them, at this point. But there's nothing normal about this.

And suddenly, Tony has a choice to make.

Oxeye Daisy (patience): @s-horne

“You make me want things I can’t have.”

Steve startled at the voice from behind him and turned around to see Tony standing in the kitchen doorway. He stared straight at Tony for a long moment. The room was quiet, time stretching out in a thick and uncomfortable silence as neither man dare to move nor opened his mouth to speak first.

White Clover (a promise): @s-horne

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Tony lifted his head as he tried to focus on Steve’s voice. When he managed to open his eyes and blink a bit of the blurriness away, he was rewarded with a gentle smile being shone down at him.

“There you are,” Steve said. “Was worried I was going to have to talk to myself.”

Though his tone was light, Tony knew what he meant. It was no secret that Tony was physically weaker and a hell of a lot more human than Steve was and was therefore struggling more with the lack of regular nourishment that came with being held hostage.

“Course not,” Tony said back, voice hoarse but plastering a smile on his face all the same. His head was pounding and his eyes couldn't stay open. “Would I ever do that to you? You’d never get a sensible answer.”

Acta non verba: @firebrands

unapologetic fluff about two idiots who can barely keep it together with how hard they're crushing on each other

or:

tony has to help steve with math + a halloween party = a good time for everyone, eventually

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

Adjacent, Against, Upon: @firebrands

A political AU!

Steve Rogers is running as the Mayor of somewhere, America. Tony Stark, his campaign manager, deals with a candidate who isn’t interested in lying, and just wants to do good by these citizens, god damn it.

song of unrest: @omg-just-peachy

How was Steve supposed to reconcile all of this? The way he looked so different but still felt so much the same? It made Steve’s head spin. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, that he is what he is, but he just wants to know.

Paint The Town Blue: @omg-just-peachy

Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.

Camelot: @weethreequarter

For one shining moment, there was Camelot.

In 2019, Karen Page meets Captain Steve Rogers to conduct an exclusive interview on his late husband, President Tony Stark.

In 2007, Steve meets Senator Tony Stark and falls in love.

he thinks he’s lancelot (but he’s more of a sir lamorak): @theotherwasdeath

Tony knows firsthand that violence isn’t funny. So why oh why does he think that the scene playing out in front of him, Steve and Victor Von Doom in a knock-out, drag-down fist fight, is absolutely hilarious?

wildflowers: @tinytonysnark

“So,” Steve begins, clapping his hands together, “the city of SHIELD is in debt. The big ups have sent for financial advisors, all the way from DC! They’re gonna take a look at the city’s spending and make some cuts.”

He squints at the camera against the morning sun shining through the courtyard, “I’m not that worried. Everyone here in the parks department is an important member of the team and absolutely needed.”

The camera swings towards the office where from the large glass window, Natasha can be seen picking up the ringing phone before immediately slamming it back down onto the receiver.

[A Parks and Rec AU]

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

#adi's rec list #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers x tony stark #steve rogers/tony stark #steve x tony #steve/tony #underrated stevetony fics #this is part 1 of this rec list #part two will be out soon!!#im planning on doing this for other ships!!#so let me know if there's any ships you wanna see this for

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lovely-angst · 4 years ago

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What UA taught me

this was going good and then it wasnt

pairing: bakugou x reader

word count: 3k

genre: fluff

summary: it was the sports festival at UA, but your school gets broken into by villains

12.05.20

“Hello?”

“Hey Katsuki! It’s nice to hear your voice again,” you tease with a smile as Bakugou goes silent on the other side before quickly replying, “you should be thankful I picked up your damn call,” he shoots back, but you know better.

“Like you didn’t answer my call right away,” you giggle as you glance up at the orange sky, “but you’re right. I should be thankful thee Bakugou Katsuki has picked up my call.”

“That’s what I thought,” he finishes, a small smile on his lips. It had been a while since he was able to joke around with you like this, and did it leave him feeling more refreshed at hearing your voice. “Sorry that we haven’t been able to call often, it’s been hectic as a second year,” Bakugou confesses, but you shake your head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you.

“Don’t worry about it Katsuki, I know you’re working hard to become number one. Our phone calls can always wait,” you say gently, a small smile on your lips, “I’m just happy we were able to call today.”

“Oh! You want to hear something funny?” you begin to tell Bakugou all sorts of stories about your new classmates and the new things you’ve been doing now that you’re no longer at UA.

Bakugou shared a few stories with you as well, keeping you up to date on your old classmates and friends. You smiled as he rambled on about Midoriya before talking about his hero internships and how they weren’t as hands on as he’d like.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into you on the streets when you’re doing work study,” your tone shifted into a hopeful one as you thought about seeing Bakugou in person, “that would be so nice.”

“Don’t come distracting me now,” he teases, causing you to roll your eyes, “yeah right. You’re going to distract yourself. Stop putting the blame on me,” you tease back with a slight giggle before it goes silent on both sides.

“I really miss you, you know?” you confess with a sigh. “It sucks not being able to see you every day. I can’t believe I’ve already gone two months without seeing you once.”

“Yeah, yeah, I miss you too,” he responds and you could already imagine the faint blush on his cheeks, causing you to smile. “Don’t forget to watch me on the big screen next week.”

“How could I ever forget UA’s sports festival? It’s like the biggest event in Japan!” you cry, “My classmates and I are going to watch it together in class. I haven’t told them about you yet, so they’re in for a surprise once I tell them who I’m dating,” you giggle into the phone.

“Damn right, those extras better know who you belong to,” rolling your eyes at his dramatic comment, you see the train station ahead, much to your dismay.

“Oh, I’m at the station. I’ll have to end the call here, Katsuki,” standing still under the streetlights that helped light the darkening streets, you let out a sigh. “I’ll call again after the sports festival next week. Good luck! Let’s get another win this year!” you cheer, hearing Bakugou snort from the other side.

“If I win, do I get a prize?” Bakugou asks, and you knew he wasn’t talking about some medal. “I don’t know. How about you win first, then we can talk?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, “Come on, give me some motivation here, sweet cheeks,” he calls out, adding pet names that have you rolling your eyes, “Jeez, you’re so needy,” you joke, shaking your head with a smile.

“Um, I’ll give you a kiss if you win,” you say, “Can’t back out now, I’m going to expect a kiss by the end of the day after my victory,” he says undoubtedly, causing you to gawk.

“But you’re not allowed out and I’m not allowed in!” you protest, but you hear him click his tongue. “Should’ve thought of that beforehand, princess. See you later, don’t forget my prize.”

Beep.

Pulling your phone back to see the ended phone call, you could feel your cheeks heating up from the thought of a kiss. It wasn’t like you two had never kissed, but a kiss after two months apart had you fainting at just the thought.

Shaking away your nerves, you quickly made your way to the station before waiting for your train.

---

“It’s starting! “your classmates shouts as they quickly ran to their seats, students scrambling around quickly before quieting down to watch the television that had been rolled into class.

One of the biggest events in Japan was just about to begin—UA’s annual sports festival. Businesses and schools alike had been shut down for the day so everyone would be able to enjoy such an anticipated event.

Thankfully, your teacher had talked with the principal into letting your class watch the event in the classroom together and thankfully, he agreed, which resulted in where you were right now.

Memories of your first year at UA beginning to flood your brain as you watched the familiar stage and arena in nostalgia, but now as a spectator.

“Didn’t you use to go to UA, (Name)?” a classmate asked as they turned around to face you before you gave them a nod. “So you were in the sports festival last year too?”

You gave them another nod before they awed at you. “Whoa! Is it just as intense as it looks?” Your eyes widen with another nod, “You have no idea. It’s super competitive, but it’s definitely rewarding at times.”

“Oh, here comes the first years!”

As everyone focused back on the television, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach. You felt so nervous for all of the students, but you also were so anxious to see Bakugou on television.

Of course he was going to do well, but it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, well, in action.

Watching the first years was just as amazing as you had remembered your first year to be. You had some favorites, quirk wise and personality wise.

Though you loved watching the new first years of UA, you couldn’t wait to get to the second years, where your old classmates were and especially your boyfriend.

It had been a few months since you’ve seen them and you couldn’t wait to see how they’ve progressed in such a short amount of time.

After Midnight had announced this year’s winner’s for the first years, the second years walked out onto the stadium, looking ready for anything heading their way.

Present Mic was already announcing the introductions to the second years, causing your heart to flutter.

The camera landed on Bakugou, with Present Mic loud commentating, “Last year’s winner, Bakugou Katsuki! Will he be able to keep his title as victor this year?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes at the camera, stuffing his hands in his pockets at the comment.

“Also representing the second years, is Bakugou Katsuki!”

Bakugou shot his head over at Midoriya with a glare as the poor green haired male brought his hands up in defense. “We all thought you’d be a great representative after everything that’s happened in our first year!” Mina cried as she jumped on his back playfully.

You could see your old classmates surround him with warm and supportive smiles before Bakugou eventually gave in and walked up to the microphone beside Midnight.

“I still will become number one,” he starts casually, “but if I somehow don’t, I know my class will come out on top.”

Everyone in the stadium gawked at his answer. He wasn’t much different than he was a year ago, but he was definitely more fond of his classmates. You couldn’t help but smile at his answer.

Midnight let out a chuckle, “Well, you seem very certainly motivated today. What is behind that motivation?”

Bakugou took a step forward, grabbing where the mic sat in the stand, “My girlfriend said she’d give me a kiss if I won first place,” he said smugly, glancing over at the camera. “(Name), you don’t want to let everyone down now if you don’t give me a kiss.”

You choke upon hearing his answer as you watch him walk away like he hadn’t just exposed you to all of Japan.

Your classmates all slowly turned their gaze on you, silently demanding an answer on why the stuck-up blonde had said your name and called you his girlfriend.

You duck your head down sheepishly, “I was going to tell you all at the end of the day today, but I guess he already announced it to all of Japan,” you start. “That’s my boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki,” you confirm with an awkward smile before your class erupts in chaos, missing the start of the second year’s obstacle course.

“And finally, this year’s first place winner is Bakugou Katsuki! For the second time in a row!” Midnight announces, as Endeavor, being the new number one hero, hands out their medals.

You facepalm internally as you watch Bakugou with his smug smile. You knew he was just waiting for that kiss!

Once the third years walked out onto the arena, you felt your phone vibrating before Bakugou’s caller ID lit up the screen, causing your eyes to widen before some of your classmates noticed.

“(Name) ’s boyfriend is calling her!” they teased, “he’s waiting for that kiss!”

Pouting, you stood up before grabbing your phone and walking towards the doors, “Jeez, you don’t have to remind me!” you cry, sliding the door open before stepping out to take the call.

Sliding the accept button, you bring the phone towards your ear, “Hello?”

“So, when am I going to get that kiss?” his low attractive voice says through your phone speakers as you scrunch up your nose, “Katsuki, I can’t believe you announced that to all of Japan,” you whine before he lets out a snort, “just making sure you don’t forget.”

Your classmates begin to cheer loudly from within the class as you peek through the door’s small window before focusing back on Bakugou.

“First of all, congratulations on winning! Secondly, I’d love to give you a kiss, but I just don’t know how we’ll be able to see each other,” you had gone through the possible options, but they never made it far. UA becoming a boarding school made it almost impossible for the two of you to meet.

“Well, when do you think the next time we’ll be able to see each other is?” Bakugou asked, irritated that he wouldn’t be getting his kiss anytime soon.

“New Years?”

Bakugou choked. “New Years? Are you fucking kidding me? You know it’s still early in the year,” he complains, but all you can do is shrug your shoulders.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, so suck it up. We only ever went home once last year and that was for New Years,” you inform, hearing him huff on the other side of the phone. “I know you really want that kiss, Katsuki. I want to kiss you just as much, but we can’t see each other because of how strict UA has become, I’m sorry.”

Bakugou sighed, “Don’t be sorry,” he starts, earning a smile from you, “our New Year’s kiss better be fucking worth it.” You couldn’t help the giggle that falls from your lips at his words. “It will be, I promise.”

After saying quick goodbyes, you and Bakugou ended the phone call before you made your way back into class to finish watching the remainder of the sports festival with your classmates.

“What did I miss?” you ask, sliding into your chair as your eyes focused back onto the screen. “Nothing much, just the third year introductions. They just started the obstacle course.”

Suddenly out of nowhere, a loud explosion was heard, causing you to jump from your seat.

“What was that?” you asked nervously, your classmates alike glancing around with wide eyes. “Was that from the TV?”

“It couldn’t have been...that sounded way too loud and too close.” a classmate responded as you stood up in your seat to walk carefully toward the door, listening for any other sounds.

When no other explosion came, you quietly slid the door open before secretly peeking your head out, glancing around for any suspicious activity. But you couldn’t pick up on anything.

Turning around to face your shaken up classmates, you let out a determined breath. “I’m not sure what the situation is right now, but I’m going to need you all to stay calm and cooperate with me here,” you order as they all glanced at you.

“Enna, could you use your quirk to see how many people are in the building and what they are doing right now?” she quickly nods her head before standing up and closing her eyes, activating her quirk as you all watch silently.

Her eyes shoot open before she glances over at you in fear, “There are three people on the first floor, heading up to the second floor where we are. It looks like there might be some people surrounding the school perimeter as well,”

You nod and thank her before turning to look at another classmate, “Miki, you have an enhanced hearing quirk, right? Could you press your ear against the door and try to listen for what they might be saying?”

You could tell she was shaken up, but she nodded nonetheless. Walking shakily towards the door, she pressed her ear against the cold surface for a minute before turning over to you.

“They’re looking for the UA student who transferred...”

Your eyes widened as her words struck you—they were coming for you.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest even as you tried to calm yourself down. Glancing over at your classmates, they looked terrified, some bursting into tears at the thought of villains heading their way.

You were surprised you could stay calm during such an event, but then it hit you. You’ve been through this, facing villains head on. You had been training for this and you were their only hope of staying safe.

Putting on a determined face, you face your classmates, “Listen up and listen closely, we don’t have much time,” you start, leaning closer, “We know they’re coming for me, so we have to make sure we keep them away from us as soon as possible until help arrives.”

Their desperate eyes watch you as they nod with every word you say, clinging onto the hope you had given them.

“Worst case scenario is that we have to fight them ourselves, but let’s do our best to keep ourselves safe,” you say with a comforting smile, “I’ve gone through enough training at UA to be able to devise a plan, but it can only do so much.”

And so you began to create a plan with all of the quirks from your classmates.

A classmate with an animal shifting quirk would change herself into a bird and fly out of the window to find any pro hero patrolling out in the streets, while your classmates try to secretly and safely escape.

You tried dialing Bakugou to no avail; his phone most likely turned off due to the sports festival.

‘there are villains at my school, please come with help as soon as you see this’

quickly hiding your phone in your pocket before turning around to continue your escape route with your classmates.

“Here, this way, quietly,” you usher towards the window as Enna had cleared the area of any villains, making it the escape route. “They’re searching the classes right now, we need to hurry,” Miki explained as you helped the students lower themselves onto the ground with the makeshift rope.

“There are two people around the corner, but if we use Tomoya’s quirk, we could make it out without being detected,” Enna informed as you turned towards Tomoya.

Before you could ask for his help, he nodded at you before kneeling down, touching the ground with his fingertips before raising his hand into the air, creating an illusion of the same image of the school ground, but with the students hidden behind the illusion wall.

“I can only keep this illusion up well for five minutes before it starts vanishing,” Tomoya explains as he continued to hold his arms up with the illusion.

On the other side of the gate, you could see the students running away to safety while you were left with Tomoya and another student who was climbing down the ropes from the window.

“Ah!” a scream caught your attention before you heard a thud, a student on the ground clutching her ankle. “(Name), I think I sprained my ankle!” she cried as she glanced up at you for help.

“(Name) I can’t hold this for much longer,” Tomoya strained as you could see the illusion slowly warp away. To your dismay, the two men around the corner noticed your presence as they came rushing over. “Over here!”

“Tomoya! Get Nina to safety!” you cried as you ran towards the two men.

“What about you, (Name)?” he shouted, but you continue running, “Don’t worry! Go find the pros, I’ll stop them from getting to you guys!”

As you came face to face with the two large men, you were quick enough to dodge their arms, running under them before pressing a hand on their back before activating your quirk.

Chains began to wrap around their torsos before you pull your arms in, causing their bodies to smash together as you held them tightly against each other as long as you could.

Your strength with holding down two people wasn’t as strong as when you held down one person, but your quirk training had prepared you for this. Curling over yourself, you held your breath as you continued to hold the two men down.

Minutes passed before you felt yourself starting to lose consciousness from the overuse of your quirk to its full potential.

At least all of your classmates are safe and away from danger. This is what being a hero is, right? Your vision begins to blackout, your grip on the villains loosens before you fall onto the ground with a thud.

“Congratulations on receiving first again for the second time in a row!” Sero cheers, wrapping an arm around Bakugou’s shoulder as the class returned to their dorms after an eventful day.

Shaking the man’s arm off, he trudged forward into the common area before walking into the kitchen for some water.

“Hurry up and turn the TV on! I need to relax now!” Mina exclaims, falling onto the couch beside Momo. As the television turned on, the news channel came on, catching everyone’s attention.

“A group of villains broke into a high school today in search of a previous student of UA,” the newscaster announced as Bakugou’s focus shifted towards the television.

“All students were able to escape safely thanks to their classmate, (Last Name) (Name), who devised a plan to get everyone to safety, even using her quirk to keep the villains strapped in place.”

The camera shifted to a classmate of yours, interviewing them on the terrifying event. “(Name) stayed calm even when she knew she was being targeted. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if we’d all be here safe and sound.”

“She prioritized us over herself and made sure we were safe. She’s so brave. A true hero.”

“(Name) was unconscious when pro heroes entered the scene and she is currently under UA’s care, suffering minor injuries due to over exhausting herself from quirk use.”

Bakugou threw his cup in the sink before digging into his pockets to find his phone, now noticing all the missed calls from you before reading your heartbreaking text.

“Fuck!” he yelled, running out of the dorms only to crash into Aizawa around the corner.

“Bakugou-”

“Do you know where (Name) is?” Bakugou pleaded, “please.”

Aizawa let out a sigh before answering, “she’s in the nurse’s office with Recovery Girl. Make it back before 10 pm and I won’t give you any consequences,” Aizawa inform before Bakugou was off and running again.

As soon as he made it to the Recovery Girl’s office, he noticed you on the bed closest to the window, your eyes focused on the scenery below you.

“(Name),” Bakugou breathes as your head turns to face him, eyes widening. “Katsuki?”

Before he could think, his body moved on its own, falling into your lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist, face in your stomach. “Katsuki, are you okay?”

Pulling away, he gave you a stern look, “You fucking passed out fighting some villains, (Name).”

“It was only for about an hour or two, I’m just here for precautions,” you say, staring into his eyes before smiling. “But I’m glad I get to see you today,”

Sighing, Bakugou hid his face in your stomach with a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. If only I had picked up your calls or read your text you wouldn’t have ended up here,” he confessed but you shake your head.

“You had things to do, don’t worry about it. I’m safe now aren’t I?”

Bakugou reaches over to intertwine his hands with yours, “be more careful, dumbass. You’re lucky they were some low class villain that didn’t know what they hell they were doing.”

Squeezing his hand, you give him a nod, “I was just doing what I was taught at UA,” Bakugou quietly stares at you with a frown, “You sure you can’t come back?”

Brushing your hand through his blonde locks, your smile softens at the feel of him, “I’ll ask my parents when they arrive here. Aizawa said he was going to talk to my parents about enrolling me back because it would be safer for me.”

Just as Bakugou was about to close his eyes and relax into your touch, your soft voice asked for him to sit up.

Your hands place themselves on his cheeks before you bring him in for a kiss, heat rising to his cheeks at the sudden affection. “Congratulations on your win today,” you say cheekily before he smirks, bring you in for more.

A month passed since the incident and everything was back to normal. Bakugou trudging to class so early in the morning as he plopped himself down in his desk before homeroom announcements would start.

It wasn’t long before Aizawa walked into class, looking as bored and tired as always, causing Bakugou to glance over towards the windows.

“Good morning, class. I have some important news today, so please listen up,” he starts as the class begins to settle down. “First off, I’d like to introduce our new student who will be joining us today. You can come on in,” Aizawa informs as the door slides open.

Bakugou peels his eyes from the windows to glance over at the door, his eyes slightly widening in shock.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself,” Aizawa asks, stepping aside as you take the podium.

“Good morning. My name is (Name) and I’ll be finishing off the school year with you all. Please continue to look after me.”

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otonymous · 4 years ago

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It’s The End Of The World (MLQC Headcanon)

Dear Nonny...

I say that now, Nonny, but the truth is that the ONLY thing I love more than smut is angst! Mwahahaha! 🤣🤣 That being said, let’s take a one-way trip to Angst Town! Everybody got their seatbelts on?! LET’S GO!!! (Please note warnings below before reading 💕💕💕)

Warnings: angst, explicit language, trigger warnings (mentions of speeding, near-death experiences and flashbacks, nausea & vomiting, insomnia, slight mention of possessive behaviour, workaholism, loss of appetite and weight loss, anger and violent behaviour (not towards other people though!)) and SPOILERS (basically up to chapter 24 in the EN server; includes dates and Rumours & Secrets for the boys)

Gavin:

DEVASTATED. This man is absolutely devastated.

Gavin has known you since high school and loved you since then

You were his dream girl — the one he thought had got away until his duties brought you back into his life. He had vowed to protect you till the very end, had absolutely no qualms about giving his life for yours. He made a solemn promise to himself that he would never lose you a second time

Until that fateful day when you invited him out for lunch at Lynn’s Kitchen on the grounds of your old high school

You order his favourites, spicy noodles and lemon tea; wait until his stomach is full before you open your mouth to gently broach the topic

“Gavin…I…”

A single glance at your face tells Gavin that something is terribly off. He’s immediately setting his chopsticks down, asking, “What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything. Whatever it is, I’ll help you—”

“Shaw. We…we’ve decided to be together. I know you’re not on good terms, and he did insist on coming today, but I thought it would be best if I told you myself…”

He cannot hear

He cannot move

And it isn’t until the burning sensation in his lungs catches up with him that he realizes he hadn’t even been breathing

Amber eyes, listless and dull, float from your lips to the wall decorated with Post-It notes just behind you, moving from one colourful slip of paper to another

“I hate it when people leave without saying goodbye.”

Gavin still remembers the loops and dashes of your handwriting on the Post-It note you had written so long ago, the way you dotted your i’s with hearts

And all of a sudden, he is back in his high school uniform, bloodied and bruised and free falling from the roof of the four-storey building

Except this time, he cannot hear the strains of a piano, no matter how hard he tries. The gingko leaves around him flutter to the ground just before…

“Gavin?” The touch of your hand on his snaps him out of his reverie. He tries to force a smile and fails.

“I…I’m sorry. There’s somewhere…I just remembered…I have to go….” He hurriedly puts a few bills on the table — more than enough to cover the entire meal — and dashes out of the restaurant

Gavin hops on Sparky and just goes…riding for hours on end with no destination in mind. He’s taken with an intense urge to go fast, as if his body were trying to outrun the feelings he doesn’t have the means of dealing with. At one point, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits him and he stops at the side of the road, retching and retching until his stomach is as empty as his hollowed-out heart

He’s still thinking of you the entire time he’s MIA. The last text from his phone is one sent to you, telling you not to worry about him and apologizing for the way he behaved back at the restaurant. He’s asking if you’d still be okay with talking to him when he gets back, and of course, to contact him immediately if you need anything at all

He still feels you in the wind

Believe it or not, for a short period of time, Gavin actually develops a fear of flying: it reminds him too much of you, brings up too many memories of him holding you in his arms as you traverse the skies together. He’s not confident he can do it anymore, partly because he thinks his Evol might suddenly give out when he’s high up in the air

The turning point comes when Gavin visits his mother’s resting place. There, for the first time since you broke the news to him, he actually cries, and it gives him the strength to carry on

Let’s be clear: Gavin will never, ever be over you. The two of you will remain friends though because Gavin intends to watch over you for the rest of his life (that is one promise he would never break)

With time, he gets used to seeing you with Shaw, even starts to relax a bit when he realizes that his younger brother is capable of protecting you

Someday, Gavin will marry — likely someone who was set up with him either by Minor or his colleagues (Birdcop would never take the initiative to actually meet somebody). This person is absolutely smitten with the handsome officer and his gruff ways and cannot wait to start a family with him. They would also have to be thick-skinned and stubborn enough to turn Gavin’s “no” into an eventual “yes”

And while Gavin would prove to be a loyal husband and doting father who would do anything for his family, a part of him would always, always, continue to burn for you.

Lucien:

How do you expect this man to behave when he’s lost the only colour in his life?

Lucien would never, ever recover from this. He doesn’t want to. The man for whom love was never meant to happen has no need for such an emotion. He wants nothing to do with it unless it has to do with you

The professor’s world literally returns to being a drab shadow of blacks and greys — the rainbow disappeared when his little butterfly flew into the palm of another’s hand

“Do you love him?” He’ll ask you, dark eyes almost hypnotic in their intensity when he pierces you with that gaze

You’re ashamed to find that you have to think twice before replying that you do indeed love Victor

Ba-bump, ba-bump, BA-BUMP — Lucien breaks out into a cold sweat as his heart begins to race, face becoming pale as a sheet

His shaking hands are pulled into tight fists within the pockets of his lab coat. He’s running his finger over the cap of his pill bottle inside one of them, not wanting to take them in front of you because in spite of it all, the last thing he wants is for you to worry about him 😭😭😭

Lucien nods, placid smile a mask on his face when he says, “I wish the two of you nothing but the best.”

“Lucien!” You start after him when he turns to walk away. “We…we’re still friends, right?”

For what is possibly the first time in his entire life, Lucien can’t think straight. His mind is a mess, logical thoughts tangled up with sorrow, hurt, anger, and the sense that the world could end at that very moment and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He takes a deep breath, composing himself before he turns to face you again: “Of course. You can always come to me if you ever need anything.” It takes everything in him not to fall apart when he lays a hand on the crown of your head, savouring the heat of your body for the very last time

In the days immediately afterwards, the people around Lucien better watch out as his ability to keep cool, calm and collected is challenged: he’s giving the side-eye to his colleagues at the research institute more often then usual, and Black Swan members literally want to run the other way when they see him coming. If they thought Ares was ruthless before then they’d better watch out now…

As if it were even humanly possible, the professor sleeps even less now: if he’s not in the lab, he’s literally wiling away the hours watching old Hollywood films

Sometimes, he’ll place his hand on the handle to the door of your apartment, closing his eyes and doing his best to pretend that he can still feel your palm in his (he knows you’re not home. You so rarely are these days…)

Unbeknownst to you, Lucien spends his weekends revisiting the places you used to go together: sitting on the same bench at the aquarium where you kissed him without a second thought, wandering to the theme park you ran away to as a child just to watch the carousel spin round and round, trying his best to keep a smile on his face when the kids at the orphanage ask him where his “pretty lady friend” is

Lucien actually has a kite that he bought ages ago, intent on fulfilling his promise to one day fly it with you. It sits in his apartment still. He can’t bring himself to dispose of it.

Gives you his pen, Iridescent, as part of his wedding gift to you. “May it always bring you luck, wherever you are and…whomever you’re with.”

Regardless of where he is, Lucien will always be keeping tabs on you. If Victor ever trips up, you can bet that Lucien will be there to swoop in and take his place

The professor will never love another person for as long as he lives. That’s all there is to it.

Victor:

Throws himself into his work when you break the news to him that you’ve accepted Lucien’s proposal

“If that dummy can’t see that I’m the most suitable choice for her, then let her suffer the consequences of her foolishness.” — Victor will tell himself that, but don’t believe it for even a second

Victor has always been obsessed with working, but this is on an entirely new level, even for him: the man’s been missing meals (or taking them at his desk, at most) and doesn’t leave his office until close to midnight, most days of the week

Like a watch whose gears are irreparably damaged, the LFG CEO is broken on the inside. He has to focus on work because he knows that if he stops long enough to fully consider the consequences of having lost you, he would never climb out of the depths of his despair

Even his dad and aunt become concerned, especially when they notice that he’s lost weight: “Victor, you have employees for a reason. Delegation is not a weakness.”

His mind often drifts to you, especially when he’s driving. There are many times when he finds himself absentmindedly heading in the direction of your office after work before he catches himself (the man is so used to picking you up that it’s become like muscle memory, in a sense)

Weekends will find him holed up in his attic space, fingers tracing over the uneven surface of the cup you had accidentally dropped and shattered, the pieces of which he had spent an entire night glueing back together

He shuts down Souvenir for a while: Victor cannot bring himself to step foot in the kitchen because he can’t help but see your face, smiling in rapturous joy to indulge in the caramel pudding he made especially for you

He spends his nights lying wide awake in a bed that suddenly seems much too big, wondering if you would’ve chosen differently if he took the time to tell you all the things he always thought were obvious: that he respected your fighting spirit, admired the brazen way you never gave up on the things you believed in, loved every single thing about you, even the things he seemed to disapprove of

His biggest regret: that he never had the chance to tell you that you were the love of his life

He often fantasizes about what it would’ve been like to stop time before you informed him you were choosing Lucien, to exist forever with you in a single moment when you made him the happiest man alive just by sharing your time with him

He still checks your Moments account religiously, murmuring “Dummy” with the faintest hint of a smile on his face to see your ridiculous posts, but he can never bring himself to reply. Victor’s pride won’t let him. He would rather die than let you know that each moment spent without you makes him feel like he is suffocating

Eventually, his worried family — especially his aunt — decides that enough is enough. They force Victor to take a vacation while trying to discreetly set him up with daughters of other wealthy and prominent families

Victor is beyond annoyed at having his personal affairs meddled with like this, but is essentially strong-armed by his aunt, who turns on the waterworks and starts sobbing about wanting to see the progeny of her dearest nephew before she passes on or withers away from want of new blood in the Li family

Victor will eventually have to marry and have kids — he needs to have someone to pass LFG on to. It will be a long while before he does settle down though; at one point, it’ll seem like he’s content to be a bachelor for life, married to his work

He will show up for your wedding though, and you can bet the most generous gift will be from the LFG CEO

“Try not to be such a dummy from now on. I won’t be there to set you straight and your husband may not be as patient of a man as I am.” Those jet black eyes are wavering with emotion when he reaches out to lay a hand on your head. But he halts midway, awkwardly pulling back because he’s realized that he doesn’t have the right to touch another man’s wife so casually 😭😭😭

Kiro:

“Ahahaha! All right, all right…you’ve got me. You can stop playing around now, Miss Chips,” Kiro will say, hands held up in defeat when you tell him that you’ve accepted Gavin’s proposal

When he realizes you’re being serious, it’s like all the warmth and light has suddenly been sucked from the room

Those blue eyes go wide, the smile dropping from the superstar’s face. For what seems like an interminable amount of time, Kiro just sits there staring at you, almost catatonic

When he speaks again, you’re so surprised you almost jump out of your skin: “Gavin…he’s that cop, right? The friend you’ve known since high school?”

You nod and all of a sudden, it’s like the floodgates have been opened: Kiro’s grasping your hands in his, expression panic-stricken as his questions come a mile a minute:

“Was it something I did, Miss Chips? I swear I’ll change! I…I won’t eat junk food anymore! Won’t even look at that stuff! If you don’t like your nickname, I’ll call you by your real name, anything you want! Or maybe it’s because my schedule is always so crazy? I’ll cut back on my jobs, I don’t care about the money! If you’re tired of running from the paparazzi, I’ll quit. Just quit, stop everything — I don’t care, ok? The only thing I care about is you! Miss Chips? Please don’t cry…I’m your hero, remember? So please…please…”

A single tear rolls down his cheek — you have to look away or else your resolve would crumble

“I’m so sorry, Kiro. I…I wanted you to be the first to know. I wanted you to hear it from me…”

It’s like all the life has been drained from him; it actually frightens you to see him like that

“Kiro?" You hesitantly lay a hand on his. It’s almost cool to the touch. Kiro gives his head a little shake, seeming to come back to himself

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Miss Chips. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to get hysterical. God, what an awful way to react….” He forces a laugh, but it is wooden and so goddamn heartbreaking to hear. You almost wish he would scream obscenities at you instead

“He, Gavin…he’s a good man. He’ll be good for you. I’m happy that you’re happy, Miss Chips.”

The next day, Kiro drops off the face of the Earth: he’s MIA, no one can reach him

Everyone is panicking: his agent, Savin, and management, his legions of adoring fans all over the world, and most of all, you

That is, until he sends two text messages, one to Savin and the other to you, telling you all that he’s safe and not to worry; he’s just taking some time to work some things out for himself

In actuality, the only thing that’s happening is that Kiro is reverting back to who he originally was before you came into his life

His sun has been eclipsed by crushing sorrow and loss, the brilliance of your light and warmth forever taken from him and he is left in the cold shadow of solitary darkness

Kiro wants to be happy for you, and he hates that he can’t — this dissonance so disconcerts him that he’d rather not feel anything at all

When the superstar does eventually return to the world at large, there’s something about him that’s changed — Savin and the rest will be largely fooled by that ever-cheerful mask he puts on, but you won’t

Those blue eyes seem just a bit darker, the radiance of his being almost imperceptibly dimmed

Poor Kiro, loved the world over, would never love another person for the rest of his life. It would always be you or nothing.

Shaw:

Hurt. Angry. Confused.

Shaw is angry with himself for ever believing that you and him had a future together; he hates that he saw the signs that you would always, always, always choose Gavin in the end and still continued to lie to himself in spite of it

He hates that he let himself become vulnerable by falling in love with you (Shaw sees vulnerability as the biggest weakness one could have, that’s why he’s always kept himself emotionally guarded in his dealings with people)

But for whatever reason, when it came to you, he just couldn’t help but fall (“Guess brothers are hard-wired in the same way after all, no matter how different we think we are,” he’ll say with a bitter laugh)

A lengthy and most unusual storm will hit Loveland City; expect an extended light show with lots of thunder and lightning

The boy is trashing his place, throwing whatever he can get his hands on: cans of Coke and Pepsi, dishes, clothing and books

He breaks the deck of his skateboard when he smashes it against the wall, bringing down a good chunk of plaster along with it

You won’t be there to witness the destruction. Shaw will continue to front like nothing could ever faze him when you tell him that you’ve chosen to be with Gavin. He’ll chuckle, brows raised as he bites on the tip of his straw, saying, “Whatever. It’s your life. Do what you want with it.”

Then suddenly, he’s standing up to leave, hand half-raised in goodbye as he makes for the exit without so much as a glance back at you.

“Take my umbrella. And don’t worry about returning it.”

Those are his last words to you. Not long after, you spy the handle of the black umbrella sitting in the stand near the front of the café (the only one there, since it had been bright and sunny out). And suddenly, the clouds are rolling in to blanket Loveland City in grey, sheets of rain pouring from a sky cracked in half by a fearsome bolt of lightning

Shaw walks, letting cold rain soak him to the bones to take his mind off the ice that’s already started to freeze the blood in his heart

“Don’t cry…don’t let them f*cking see you cry…" he's saying to himself, over and over again like a mantra

Starts hanging out at the Live House more than ever, losing himself in the music and packed crowds there; he can’t stand to be alone right now.

When he’s not playing bass guitar as a last minute backup for the bands, he’s literally working on his thesis at the bar, sipping on his Coke and Pepsi blend (the staff know him so well that they’re pretty much cool with him doing anything at this point LOL)

STILL blows off every person who comes to proposition him for a good time

I’m sorry, but you know it’s pretty much gonna rain on your wedding day, right? (The poor boy can’t help it, okay? He is SAD, SAD, SAD!)

Much like his brother, Shaw will never really get over you. You were, after all, the first person he ever truly loved

Would likely remain an eternal bachelor, only engaging in meaningless sex but never opening his heart to anyone ever again. One lesson was enough for him. 😭😭😭

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc headcanons #mlqc angst #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc kiro #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #source: giphy

783 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 3 years ago

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Resistance - Evol: Chapter 11 - Victor

“She’s pretty.” Artemis threw casually as she leaned closer to her, caressing her hair. “Not hot, but pretty. And petite. You certainly have a type.”

Victor wriggled furiously, trying to release himself from the hands that covered his mouth and kept him in place.

“Let’s have an educational lesson, shall we?” She showed him an empty syringe. “This is a syringe that I will fill with air.” She pulled the plunger. “Now imagine that I insert this into your wife’s carotid and push the air inside it.” Artemis turned Andrea’s head, sticking the needle into her neck. “That would cause all kinds of havoc, don’t you think?”

Victor immediately froze in place, breathing hard through his nose.

“Now, do you think my employee can uncover your mouth so we can have a pleasant conversation, or do you want me to give your wife another stroke?”

Victor did his best to relax, nodding briefly. He gasped, eager for fresh air, as the hand lifted from his face.

“What do you want?”

The apartment felt empty, but not because he was alone as he walked in. The apartment was empty because there wasn’t a promise that she would be coming back. When loved ones are safe and well, every single object in the house is a promise of more moments with that person. The pictures on the refrigerator are a conversation started regarding other happy moments to come. The laptop on the kitchen island predicts a sleepy woman will come in the morning and open it, while sipping her morning coffee. The ugly Donald Duck sweater laying on the bed means someone will come and put it on, sticking her tongue out as her spouse complains about it.

But when a loved one is sick and dying, all of those things are reminders that those moments will not repeat themselves. They are not for the taking anymore, they are simply memories of what was happiness and now is lost forever. Those objects always made Victor smile. And now, he felt like crying.

It was up to him to change that fate, he reminded himself as he opened the vault in his study. He would need to go back to the past, look at it one more time, and try to find the missing piece of the puzzle. The one that would save his wife’s life. He took from the vault a fat envelope, placing its contents on the coffee table, studying them while he helped himself to some brandy.

First clue, the bank account report he had asked for those four weeks. Apart from his usual activities, he had requested another credit card. The debits from that card were ridiculously small amounts compared to what he used to spend, apart from one large withdrawal of ten thousand dollars.

The second clue was even more confusing: His work schedule. Victor was a fervorous believer in keeping his commitments, but during those weeks he seemed to have forgotten about his duties. For the first two weeks, he started canceling some of his meetings, although it was nothing substantial. But for the last two weeks, it was like he hadn��t been working at all. The last appointment he had kept was for a TV show Mia asked him to be a guest on, in cooperation with a company named HBS. But even that seemed not to have gone that well, as her report stated the show had been canceled last minute. To make things even more perplexing, the company went suddenly out of business, and the collaboration was canceled. And from that moment on, according to Goldman, Victor only showed up at the office once, canceled all his future commitments and vanished.

“Oh please, you are a fool if you didn’t expect this day to come.” Artemis teased, holding the needle in place in Andrea’s neck, dangling her feet from the bed. “You took something from me. It’s time to pay your dues.”

“Your Evol.” He concluded. No, it didn’t surprise him that someone wanted him to pay for what he had done. He was just surprised it didn’t come sooner.

“The love of my life.” She spat. “Hades was in that building. I know it was you who made it explode. You killed him. You killed my family. Black Swan is in ashes.”

“So it’s about vengeance. You came here to kill me and my wife.”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.” Artemis turned her attention to Andrea again, fingertips tracing the contours of her face, eyes, lips. “And if I wanted her dead, I’d shoot her in the head. I wouldn’t make her sick.”

The third clue, although it was the most mysterious, it was the one he was more familiarized with. He remembered writing those notes in his office, carrying them in one of the notepads with his company logo. Victor had caught wind that Black Swan had built digging sites in several places across the world: India, Russia, Bali, and China, all to look for a precious artifact that could further their Evol study. They called it the Source Stone. Naturally, seeing Black Swan’s interest in the artifact, Victor decided he had to get his hands on it first.

No one knew where it came from or if in fact existed, but the legend was clear about a few things. First, the stone was thousands of years old, and it existed long before any civilization known to Man. It was hypothesized that the stone was the source of Evol on Earth, and could change the DNA of whoever touched it, attributing super powers to even normal humans. Second, besides giving a non-evolver an Evol, the stone could either magnify or take away the power. And related to the second point, a third part to the legend: Nobody knew how the stone worked, as it seemed to act on its own accord. Nobody could control it.

He had no idea why he had kept these notes in his vault, as it was probably meaningless lore, a wild goose chase designed to prey on the gullible. To his knowledge, neither him nor Black Swan had been able to get their hands on the stone, and even if they did, none of them would be able to control it. He focused on the symbol he had drawn below the page, a flame surrounded by a circle. What was that? What did it mean?

The papers flew across the room, the brandy glass crashing against the wall, shards flying everywhere. Victor let himself slide to the ground, his hands shaking in anger. It was no use, this was a dead end, no matter how brilliant he thought himself to be, he couldn’t put the puzzle together.

He had lost. And he would lose his wife.

Victor’s body tensed, the adrenaline running through his veins, ready to slash the woman’s throat. But his wife was in her hands, and she mattered more than his thirst for revenge. He took a deep breath and stood perfectly still, eyes on the Evolver, analyzing her every move.

“Don’t be so surprised. I was the one who caused the pandemic.” She laughed. “Did you really think that was the only virus I created? You do not know how resourceful I can be when I want something.”

“Human extinction.” Victor spat.

“Evolver supremacy.” She corrected. “At whatever cost. So I locked myself in my lab and concocted the deadliest diseases I could think of. The one I infected your wife with is batch number four. Doctors can’t detect the virus, yet it’s diligently working through the nervous system, attacking the brain, until the infected is nothing but a senseless, useless vegetable. It would be my choice for the pandemic, seeing those humans slowly losing their minds, but it had one fatal flaw: It wasn’t contagious. It came out handy now.” Artemis laughed. “I had so much fun watching you squirm.”

Victor’s heart slowed down as the realization hit him. Artemis wasn’t here just to gloat. She wouldn’t waste time on that.

“This is blackmail.” He smiled, finally regaining his footing in the situation. “You have a cure, and you want something for it.”

“Oh, it’s better than that.” She came closer, sitting in front of him. “Your wife’s cure is actually in your hands. You see, all the diseases I created, no matter how different they were, they had one thing in common.”

“They don’t affect evolvers.” Victor concluded. “My wife is not an evolver.”

“Or she would have told you, right?” Artemis smirked. “Like I’m sure you told her.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Why don’t you ask her mother? She was the trail of crumbs who led us here.”

“How are you holding up, son?” Jeremy turned to him, eyeing his bandage. “Did you get some rest?”

Victor greeted his father-in-law with a nod, approaching his wife from the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m here, my light.” He kissed her forehead.

“The nurses don’t know how to properly take care of curly hair.” Mariana complained. “By the way, your assistant came by with the keycards to our room. The Emerald Hotel. Very generous of you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shook his head. “I would have you stay at the apartment, but-”

“You’re not in the mood to entertain, we get it.” Mariana nodded. “Goldman tells me Owen is staying with him.”

“For the time being. My aunt Terry is traveling, but she will take him when she arrives.”

“We can help take care of Owen as well. Jeremy could pick him up tomorrow, spend the day with him. He should be with family.”

“I agree.” Victor nodded. “Thank you.”

“Then it’s settled.” She turned to her husband. “Go get some rest. I’ll stay with her.”

“Let me know if anything happens.” Jeremy kissed his wife.

“The same applies to you, Victor. Go get some rest. The nurse told us you’ve been here since last night.”

Victor took a chair next to her, sitting down.

“You can go with your husband. I’m not leaving her.”

“I’ll stay a little longer with you then.” She pleaded. “I don’t want to leave her either.”

Jeremy left for the hotel, leaving them in the room, an eerie silence hanging between them. Victor was alone with her, it was his chance to ask, but how does one go about that conversation? In the end, it was Mariana who broke the silence.

“Josh and Cristina are sorry for not being here. Cristina got the stomach flu, and they were afraid of doing more harm than good by coming here.”

“It’s alright.” Victor nodded, not much in the mood for small talk. He needed the silence to think, he needed to figure out a solution.

“How did it get to this point so fast?” Mariana grew agitated. “I mean, she was lucid. She was aware of what was happening to the point of filing for divorce to protect you, how did this happen?”

He remembered the last conversation they had; him picking her up in his arms, dancing with her. We will always dance, he told her. All he wanted to do was to protect her, to keep her safe, to give her the happy life she deserved. He should've protected her from himself. Little did he know that by wanting her close, he was signing her death sentence.

“Is Andrea an evolver?”

“What?” Mariana looked at him like she had seen a ghost. She was certainly as pale as one.

“Is she?” He looked her in the eyes.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Victor.” She got up, clearly agitated. “My daughter is sick, and you make ridiculous accusations about things I have never heard of!”

“You obviously know what I’m talking about, otherwise you wouldn’t be so upset.” Victor insisted. “Answer my question.”

“You know what I think this is? This is you shifting blame for the fact that she is dying!” Mariana raised her voice. “She collapsed at that damned inauguration, and you couldn’t care less to take her to the doctor, always worried about the next deal you’d make, your precious empire! She kept complaining about headaches, and you were too busy to notice they were far too frequent for it to be normal, and now you want to blame it on some weird concept you made up in your mind! But the fact is, she was sick, and you didn’t care until it was too late!”

Victor was speechless. Evol or not, Mariana was absolutely right, he could’ve done better. She had been unwell since France and he let himself get distracted with the Ted Kasey situation, to the point that he didn’t even realize she wasn’t telling him she was sick so he wouldn’t worry more. He sat silently, looking at his mother-in-law, taking all the venom she had to throw at him. He deserved it.

“I’m going back to the hotel.” She stated, taking her purse. “I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe you’ll have come to your senses by then.”

Victor looked at his unconscious wife, helpless against that venomous woman. It couldn’t be true. Andrea wouldn’t lie. Andrea wouldn’t hear him cry about the time he spent at that orphanage and pretend that she didn’t know what it was about. That wasn’t the woman he knew and loved.

“So this is how it’s going to go, frat boy.” She yanked his hair, making him look her in the eyes. “You are going to undo whatever you did and give back the Evols, or your wife’s blood will be on your hands. Do you understand?”

“I will find you.” He threatened. “And when I do, I will make you pay for what you did. With your blood.”

“Bring it on, you arrogant dick.” She growled. “I’ll be ready. And then we’ll see whose blood will stain the floor. But for now, enough talk.” She signaled her men. “Lights out, boys.”

Victor’s head smashed against the bed rail and he knew nothing else.

The room door opened, filling the dark room with the light from the corridor. It was Mariana, dark curls in disarray, eyes puffy from crying. She pulled a chair next to him and sat, taking a deep breath.

“When Jeremy and I moved to Lisbon, I got a job working in a mental facility.” She murmured, her voice hoarse. “A patient there claimed that he had superpowers and was being persecuted for them: He could see the future. That was the first time I ever heard the word Evolver. During one of our sessions, he told me one of my children would be an Evolver too, and that she would have a painful death because of it. Obviously, I never believed him. He was mentally ill, delusional. There was no such thing as superpowers. He ended up hanging himself in his room. Left a letter saying his future was too horrible for him to endure.”

Victor remained silent, waiting for her to continue. She took a deep ragged breath in.

“A few months later, I was pregnant. I never thought about that man again. Until, one year later, when Andrea was only a few months old, I caught her stealing her brother’s pacifier. Making it float. I panicked. I did not know what my daughter was, and what kind of danger she could be in, so I started learning all about Evol and how I could stop it. I did it all by myself. I couldn’t burden Jeremy with this. It felt like it was my fault, like I inadvertently messed with things I couldn’t possibly comprehend.”

Victor’s heart was beating in his throat. Andrea was an Evolver. Artemis wasn’t bluffing. He was the only one who could save his wife.

“During my research, I came across this couple. They were scientists and Evolvers. Apparently, they belonged to a secret organization that wanted to control these powers, and give them to only a special few. Black Swan. They told me about the atrocious things that organization was planning to do on Evolver children, to further their investigation, and how they had gone rogue the moment they learned about this. There was a drug that could mask it, temporarily annulling the powers. They gave me several doses, one per year, and I used them on her. And she became normal. It was like she had no power to begin with.”

“So Andrea doesn’t know.”

“She never did.” Mariana shook her head. “Victor, before you judge me, ‌please try to understand. I have spent a substantial part of my life trying to protect her from these evil forces that can harm her. I have always been two steps ahead of her, making sure she doesn’t get involved with the wrong people. I investigated you and your company before she came to Loveland. I know you are an Evolver too. The only reason I let her get close was because the Evols were already gone‌. It was a mistake. They found her through you. This illness… It’s their doing, isn’t it?”

Victor’s blood froze in his veins, a feeling of dread washing over him. Mariana was a lot smarter than she showed and knew substantially more. Suddenly he felt watched, analyzed, like a guinea pig in a maze.

“I thought long and hard about this, and I came to a few conclusions: First, they don’t want her dead, or she would be dead already. So they want something from you. Knowing you and your abilities, and how well you have seemed to accept your loss of Evol, I can only assume you had something to do with it. And now they want you to reverse it.”

She covered her mouth to suppress a sob, hesitant to speak again.

“And God forgive me for this, but whatever they ask of you, don’t give it to them.”

Victor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was her mother! How could she say such a thing?

“You don’t want me to save her?” He didn’t care to hide the anger or contempt in his voice. “You want me to let her die? Your own daughter?”

“At least she will have a peaceful death...” The woman sobbed. “If they find out about her, if they get their hands on her… It will be a lot worse.”

#mlqc li zeyan #mlqc victor #victor mldd #love and producer fanfic #victor mlqc #growingtogether #mister love queens choice #victor x oc #love and producer #mlqc fanfic #mldd victor #li zeyan

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bittersweetmelxdy · 4 years ago

Note

i was wondering if you could write headcanons about the guys being drunk af and accidently confess to MC

say hello to a real late request from me (by now this is totally on brand for me)

Drunk Confessions: Victor:

Victor is a very private person and I’d say he’d drinks wine regularly, so his alcohol tolerance is high, however sometimes he does overdo it, leading to tonight.

You had just finished applying a face mask to your face, and were standing in front of your bedroom mirror pulling the sheet mask from your face, and you were massaging the excess serum into your face and down your neck, humming a soft tune and dancing around the brightly lit room.

Leaving the bathroom, you wandered around your apartment tidying up all the mess you weren’t able to, as for the last week you had been swamped with work, hence your apartment upkeep had slipped a little bit. However, you stopped when you heard some firm knocking on your front door, noting the time which was far too late for visitors, but you still made your way over to the front door.

Peeking through the peephole in your front door, and to your surprise the person standing outside was Victor. You scrunched your brows, wondering why Victor was at your house, from what you remembered Victor should currently be at a gala for LFG. So why was he here, at your place?

You cautiously opened the door, to reveal Victor looming over your figure, his forearm resting on the doorframe, you noted his alcohol-induced blush and the heavy breathing, the scent of wine wafting over you, “Victor? What are you doing here?” you asked gently.

Victor pushed off the frame and waltzed around you into your apartment kissing your temple as he passed, falling back onto your couch, “Missed you.” his admission causing you to gasp and a smile twitched at the corner of your lips, Victor looked over at you giving you his usual glare but it lacked its usual bite and at that moment he reminded you of a cat.

You padded closer towards him, but once you were within arm’s reach, Victor felt you were still too far and simply stretched out his hand, latching around your wrist tightly and pulling you hard. With a yelp you tumbled into his embrace, tripping over your feet landing within his arms in a tumble of limbs, Victor kept his arms wrapped around you, humming in satisfaction, “You were too far.” Victor’s deep baritone rumbled through your ear, and you shivered at his timbre.

You choked on your breath, not expecting for 1) Victor to be this drunk and 2) that he even managed to find his way to your apartment. You remembered from before (Victor’s Asmr ‘Drunk in Love’) that Victor tended to get a tad more affectionate and dare you say “clingy” whilst drunk.

You resigned yourself to his warm embrace, (not really complaining with the position you’re in) and snuggled into his arms. Victor feeling your figure had fully relaxed, buried his nose in your hair and breathed in the subtle scent of your hair, “Just stay here, with me.” his voice whispered.

You giggled, “But I need to get you water and some painkillers-”

“Don’t need them.” Victor yawned afterwards

“You won’t be saying that tomorrow, come on let’s go together and then you get some rest.” You reached up and caressed Victor’s hair to placate him into letting you go.

Victor hearing the word “together”, seemed happy enough to release you enough to stand but once he was also standing he latched an arm around your waist, almost escorting you o the kitchen where you gave him a glass of water and reached to give him some painkillers from your medicine cabinet, the whole time Victor sleepily watched you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Although your movements were restricted by Victor’s engulfing you in his presence, you were secretly happy at the rare form of affection you were seeing from the usually cold and standoffish CEO. Victor wouldn’t take the glass from you, and therefore you had to raise the glass, tilting it gently so he could drink the cool liquid, pausing slightly to pass him the painkillers, which he did take from your hand and push into his mouth. Once he was finished, you placed the glass into the sink, but you were unable to wash it as Victor immediately dragged you from the sink towards the bedroom.

Once there, Victor unbuttoned his waistcoat, struggling slightly to pull it off, and taking pity on him you helped him pull it off, placing it gently on a spare hanger and hooking it onto the door of your closet. Hearing Victor’s grunts of frustration you turned back around to see the normally capable CEO struggling to remove his tie, hearing your repressed giggles Victor looked up pouting.

“Need help?” you asked smiling, as you padded over, then you reached up carefully working to untangle the knot Victor had made of his tie, all the while he remained silent, staring down at you with soft eyes.

You were startled when Victor’s large hand caressed your hair, and you looked up startled, “What would I do without you, Dummy?” his voice was hoarse but showing fondness.

You pouted muttering, “Adding ‘Dummy’ at the end doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

Victor laughed finding your aggrieved expression adorable, “But you are a Dummy. MY precious Dummy.” he then yawned, blinking slowly and starting to sway showing he was barely awake. “But I only tell you that to keep your eyes on me.”

Your eyes became watery at Victor’s heartfelt admission and led Victor over to the bed and once you had tucked him in and turned to leave, Victor’s hand shot out of the blanket and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t....” Victor’s eyes closed for a second, but he kept trying to keep them open, “Don’t... leave... me.”

You patted his hand gently, “I won’t leave, not until you fall asleep.”

Victor smiled gently, his deep eyes locking with yours as you smiled sweetly back, “Goodnight, I love you.” he said it so naturally then drifted off to sleep.

Your smile only grew, happy that the alcohol lowered his guard that you were finally able to hear what was in his heart. And reaching out and carefully brushing his hair back from his forehead you leaned down and placed a light kiss to his forehead, “Sweet Dreams Victor.”

Lucien:

Lucien to me doesn’t seem like the kind of person to drink regularly in public, as he a pretty calculating person and always likes to be aware of his surroundings, something which alcohol would impair. I believe that even if he’s over his alcohol limit and is a little tipsy, he’d be the master of hiding it, and making it seem like he was sober the whole time. However, there are always instances where he lets his guard down a little and unsurprisingly those instances just happen to coincidentally be in your presence.

You were humming along to the song coming from your earphones, as you walked up the stairs to your apartment. It was the end of the month and the end of the quarter, so your company was a little busier checking various reports and finishing paperwork, so you had worked overtime consistently for the last week. But finally, as the weekend began you were glad to finally see the end of your nights of overtime. But you stopped seeing a figure leaning on your front door.

Walking closer, inching your way down the hallway, you scrunched your brows before realising who it was.

“Lucien?” you placed your hand lightly on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Lucien turned his head, face flushed and eyes bleary, but once your features entered his vision his brain recognised you in an instance and the brightest smile grew on his face.

“Y/N? Why are you home so late?” Lucien reached out and pulled you over towards him, caging you between his looming figure and the apartment door, then he leaned down, nuzzling his nose in the hair atop your head.

You were a little confused, but noticing his shaky figure, you placed your hands on his sides to steady him, “Lucien where are your keys, I’ll let you in.” you asked.

Lucien leaned back, shaking his head at you, “Already tried, they don’t work...” he sighed resting his hand atop your hip, “Maybe I took the wrong keys, can you let us in?” his smooth voice, slightly pleading.

You were a tad confused, when it suddenly clicked, Lucien’s so drunk that he thinks you live together, at this train of thought, you felt your cheeks prickle with heat and you bit your lip to hide your growing smile. Pushing at his chest you managed to get him to back off, albeit with Lucien pouting in the most adorable fashion. You then turned around, fishing your keys from your bag and opened the door, the whole time Lucien’s comforting warmth surrounded you.

Once inside Lucien tried to pull you over to the living room’s couch, and despite his pulling you managed to placate him enough to sit by himself whilst you got some water for him and some painkillers. Reaching back to the living room, you noticed Lucien muttering to himself as he lay on his back staring at your ceiling, at your return he sluggishly sat up, beaming happily and looking closely you noticed that tears were gathering in his eyes.

“Y/N you came back, I missed you.” he spoke, and he only accepted the water from you after you were securely cuddled in his embrace. “You work too hard, I barely saw you this last week, I’m so proud of you but don’t make me worried.” he finished the statement by caressing your tresses gently.

You giggled; it turns out Lucien has no filter whilst drunk, but you were practically beaming at his attention, it always felt that Lucien was walking circles around you, but now for once he was delightfully honest with you. “Really, you were worried about me?” you interested in the reason why Lucien was so worried, and decided to push him a little, since he was in such an honest mood.

“I’m always worried about you.” you gasped at his honest words, eyes sparkling, “Aren’t you supposed to worry about the people you love?”

You didn’t respond for a minute and Lucien’s eyes became teary, thinking he had done something wrong, “Aren’t you?” he pouted, turning he head from you.

You quickly grabbed his face, cradling his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs gently atop the apples of his cheeks, “You love me?”

“How... could... I not?” Lucien closed his eyes, drifting in and out of sleep throughout his sentence.

Concerned about him, you helped him lay back down, tucking a blanket around him, and once he was soundly asleep, a couple tears slipped from your eyes, overwhelmed with the emotion, and brushing your hand through his hair, you really hoped he would remember this when he woke up.

Kiro:

Oh, you know this boy is a lightweight, not quite a one drink drunk but after at least a couple he’s down and out.

You knew exactly where Kiro was, as you sat at home enjoying your day off to catch up on the TV series you had heard everyone talking about recently, Kiro had been active on social media, posting pictures on his Moments and Story, showing the fun time he was having at the BS Company Banquet. You had giggled at the funny moments and the various comments from fans and other people in attendance, as you watched the show.

But later just as you were about to start the finale episode, you heard some very excited knocking on your front door. You hopped up, shuffling in your slippers over to the door, and looking through the peephole you were shocked to see a bright blue eye blocking the view.

“Um... Hello?” you called, tentatively.

“Surprise Miss Chips!” an excited voice called through the door.

“Kiro?” you quickly unlatched the door, and as soon as it was open you received an armful of the hyperactive puppy of a superstar. Kiro laughed boyishly as he picked you up, walking into your apartment with you still in his embrace. “What are you doing here?” you asked, as he lowered you to the floor.

“Well I was at the party and I suddenly thought ‘Man, I miss Miss Chips’ so here I am.” Kiro announced proudly, presenting his arms in a flourish.

“Aw, you missed me?” you played along, grabbing Kiro’s wrist and leading him into the kitchen.

“No, you’re doing it wrong. It’s let this.” Kiro stopped you, pulled his wrist from your grip and then grabbed your hand interlocking your fingers tightly, you shook your head smiling, thinking to yourself ‘Man is he drunk!’ and continued your journey to the kitchen.

You filled a glass with water with one hand, as Kiro refused to let go of you, and then handed him some painkillers, he looked from you to the painkillers, but at your hopeful gaze he quickly downed the water and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he waited for your praise which you freely gave. “Wow, Kiro!”

Leading him back over the living room couch, you were stopped once again, this time by Kiro’s sniffles, shocked you turned around to see what was wrong, “Hey Superstar, you okay?” you kept your voice soft, but it made him cry harder.

“M-m-m-miss C-chips, you’re, you’re always so nice to me, and you look, you look after me as well.” he sat down still crying and holding onto your hand tightly.

“Isn’t that what friends do?” you tried to placate him, his distress tugging at your heartstrings.

“B-b-but you’re so pretty, I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.” Kiro’s tears continued to flood down his cheeks.

“Oh no Kiro why?” panic did start to rise within you at his tears.

“I love you, but you’re so pretty, and smart, you’re way out of my league.” he pouted, looking like an abandoned puppy.

You knelt down reaching out with you free hand and cradling his face in your hand, “Sunshine, you’re the one out of my league, don’t beat yourself up like that, okay?”

“You love me too.” his tone was tinged in hope.

You had a feeling he wouldn’t remember this in the morning, so you decided to be honest, “Yeah, Sunshine I love you a lot, I’ve loved you for a while now.”

Kiro pulled you into his arms leaning back so you were both lying on the couch tangled in each other's arms, “Not as much and as long as me, Miss Chips.”

You giggled happily, nudging his jaw with your nose, “It’s not a competition Superstar.”

Kiro yawned, and he started to drift off, playing with the strands of soft hair and his breathing started to become slow and rhythmic, and even you started to become drowsy as your ear rested atop his chest and you could hear the steady beat of his heart.

Minutes stretched out between you two, and you actually thought that Kiro had already drifted off to sleep, but to your surprise he suddenly said in a sleepy tone, “Miss Chips?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

“If it was a competition, would I win?”

You huffed a laugh, “Of course you would.”

“Always?”

“Always. Now go to sleep.” with this the two of you finally drifted gently off happily to sleep.

Gavin:

Done before, and it’s found here: a little dose of liquid courage

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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Wordcount: 1.9k

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

But then his dreams start to take a dark turn, though he doesn’t notice it at the start.

There is light dancing on the edge of his eyelids, and when he blinks he finds himself in a field of never-ending gold. ‘You’re obsessed with flowers ’ he teases her, leaning on his hands to allow the breeze to ruffle his hair and whisper long lost secrets in his ear.

‘But they’re so pretty. It’s like they were put on this earth by the gods to remind us that life can be beautiful, after all.’

‘Now who’s being poetic, hm?’

‘Don’t tease! I’ll give you a more prosaic reason then. I’ve loved flowers ever since I worked for a florist after mum died to earn a little money on the side and ended up falling in love with the look on people’s faces when they buy flowers for themselves and the people they love. ’

‘Why don’t I see you work at the florist shop then? ’ He frowns, thinking of the bustling, cosy little shop in the town square owned by Hana-chan’s mom.

‘It didn’t work out’, she says simply. ‘Well, never mind that. Just shush and bask in the sun, let the sky gods weave rainbows into your dreams’.

Her words linger in his mind, and he foolishly finds himself searching for rainbows in the sky the next day.

‘Listen to the sky, Keiji ’, she calls, her laughter like birdsong. ‘ Do you think the wind will answer our prayers today?’

‘You answer my question first ’, he grumbles. ‘Hana-chan cornered me at school to scream at me to mind my own business again. Does that have anything to do with the bruises I saw on your arm last week? What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into when I’m not around? ’

‘Nosy, nosy Keiji ’, she teases, and he knows she’s just deflecting his concerns again. ‘You’re just overthinking things again’.

‘Promise me you’ll be careful’, he pleads. ‘Promise me you’re not doing anything stupid‘.

‘Stop worrying, silly boy, I promise I’ll be fine’, she murmurs, her voice lost in the wind.

‘You need to tell me what’s going on, you can’t go on like this at this rate’ , he hears himself say, desperation laced in his words.

He looks down. There is a tapestry of mottled bruises and angry welts on her arms, paint strokes of yellow and blue and purple and red that is gut-wrenching in the violence it implies.

‘It’s not my secret to tell, Keiji’ , she says, unwavering.

He wakes up, the pit in his stomach slowly filling up with dread. His dreams are turning out to be less like a shojo manga, more like a thriller that he suspects will give its protagonist a terrible end.

'Have you been a good friend to Hana-chan these days? ’ the man asks, an unfriendly smile playing on his lips.

Akaashi (or rather, him in her – though she’s in here somewhere too so it’s a little confusing) frowns, but accepts the box of vegetables and eggs held out to him anyway. ‘I suppose’, he answers, the load heavy in his arms, and the man seems to accept his response, humming an offbeat tune.

‘Well, I hope you can keep a secret, sweet girl’ the man laughs, tossing his cigarette butt on the grass before walking away. Sparks smoulder in the dry grass, and Akaashi hurries to balance the box on his hip before stamping them out.

‘That’s Hana-chan’s father, Nakamura-san ’, she tells him, voice strained. ‘I need you to act normal around him, got that?’

‘Might need you to find me the definition for your normal’ he says drily. ‘That word’s lost its meaning to me these days ’.

He hears her chuckle, but she doesn’t sound amused.

Hana-chan corners him when he’s in her body and he’s stupid enough not to notice the fist that swings his way.

‘I told you, you little creep’, she snarls, her nails digging into his arms. ‘I told you to stay the fuck away from me, but did you listen? No! I saw you last night, creeping around my family’s house with that stupid phone of yours – did you really think I wouldn’t notice you? I’m warning you to stay away or I will fucking end you, got that? ’

And she spits in his face, and he’s still left trying to make sense of the sting of cold liquid on his cheek when burning hands shove down the stairs. Concrete and human flesh clashes, the victor already predetermined, his body wracked with pain as he lands heavily, face down on the floor.

‘Last warning to stay away, you creep’, she shrieks before turning on her heel. There are no other students in the deserted hallway – not that anyone would come to help, not from his experience.

‘Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to piece your secrets together myself?’ he demands, when he scrapes himself off the floor, body aching from bruises in full bloom.

He can hear her breathe a sigh. ‘It’s a long story’ , she finally says.

‘Right now, all I have is time’ he answers drily. ‘Try me ’.

So she tells him about taking a part time job with Hana’s mom, the town’s florist for some extra cash. She tells him about the noises she hears whenever Hana’s mom steps out of the store, faint echoes of whimpers and sobs and broken cries for help, and how she puts two and two together when she sees the bruises on her classmate’s arms and legs. Her voice shakes when she tells him what she saw when she stole upstairs towards Hana’s bedroom one cloudy afternoon, how Hana’s dad gets off on hurting his teenage daughter, how she tried to report what she saw - but who’d believe the words of a teenage girl over the town mayor .

‘And now he’s taking it out on Hana-chan, which is why she hates me but I’m not going to let him stop me’, she tells him stubbornly and he can hear his past self gulp.

‘Are you insane? You shouldn’t get yourself involved. Tell someone, anyone. If you continue like this, you’re going to get yourself killed at this rate’.

‘Stop being a worrywart, Keiji! ’ she laughs, but the sound is hollow. ‘I’ll be fine, I promise’.

She’s back at the forest shrine, holding her hands together in prayer. The mangled remains of dandelions lie beside her knees, decapitated flower maidens sacrificed for wishes that they both know won’t ever come true.

‘I told you no one will listen to me, Keiji’, she cries, her face buried in her hands. ‘They all think I’m a little child who’s making up stories for attention ’.

‘There’s nothing you can do unless you have a record of it. Just keep your head down, or he’ll come after you next. How many times have I told you not to set yourself on fire to keep others warm? ’

Her head shoots up, and a feral grin ignites like wildfire on her face. ‘That’s brilliant, Keiji! ’

‘Wait no - that wasn’t meant to encourage you – that was meant to be metaphorical!’

‘If it all works out, it’s because of you! ’ she runs off, throwing her head back as she laughs, challenging the wind to catch her if it dares, before disappearing further into the woods.

‘You have got to be kidding me ’ he groans, kicking off the blankets to stare at his or well, her legs in horror. Dried blood is still caked into the deepest scrapes on her legs, and he can feel the ache from the bruises deep in his bones. ‘What on earth did you do?’

‘I may or may not have slipped when I was scaling Hana’s drainpipe’ .

He can feel the vein in his temple start to throb. ‘You what?’ he bites out.

‘They didn’t see me, I swear!’

He groans in despair this time, dropping his head in his hands. What is he supposed to do with someone so ridiculously obstinate?

‘If anything happens – ‘ she begins to say but he cuts her off before she can complete her sentence.

‘You promised me you wouldn’t do anything remotely risky and I refuse to let you put yourself in danger again. ’

She sighs, and worry flickers like a flame in his heart.

‘Fine – just. If anything happens – ‘

‘Which it won’t, not on my watch’ , he tells her firmly.

The smell of smouldering ash hits his nostrils.

His eyes fly awake. He’s back in the old wooden house again, but he chases his curiosity to the front yard, where he finds the letterbox razed to the ground.

‘A warning to stay out of his business ’, he hears her say, her voice determined. ‘But I’m not going to be spooked just by that. ’

‘You promised to be careful’ he shouts, properly angry this time. ‘Look at what you’ve done! ’.

‘I refuse to be a bystander to his madness’, she screams back. ‘I'd be tarred by his sins if I choose to do nothing about them. ’

His shirt is soaked in cold sweat when he stumbles out of bed, slapping his palms against his face to reassure himself that he’s not back in the dreamscape.

‘It’s not real. It can’t be real’, he tells his reflection firmly, but his mirror self only stares back at him.

In the morning, he skips class to make a trip back home, intent on leaving the omamori where it belongs, back in his childhood bedroom, so he can look forward to adulthood without these ridiculous dreams clouding his way. He stops by the florist on the way, as is his usual practice these days.

‘Flowers for your mother?’ the florist asks, when she opens the shutters to greet him, her first customer of the day.

‘Yes’, he answers shortly, and on an impulse he adds (because he needs something to fill the newly empty space on his desk) - ‘and maybe a houseplant. Something that’s relatively easy to take care of would do the trick.’

She hums in thought, fingers busy tying ribbons in the bunch of yellow roses for his mother. He doesn’t need to ask to know that the baby’s breath she includes is on the house.

‘What about rosemary?’ she suggests.

‘For remembrance?’ he asks, wrinkling his nose at the reference to Hamlet. The sudden thought of poor, mad Ophelia, floating dead in a stream, water lilies in her hair hits a chord that’s a little too jarring. ‘Um. Maybe a cactus might be better instead.’

He wonders if he’s imagining things, but he catches a flash of disappointment on her face before she replies easily - ‘sure!’, bending down to pull out a grumpy looking bulb full of thorns. Then she waves him off, his purchases packed in a neat brown bag. ‘Please come again!’

The cactus replaces the omamori, sitting neatly on his desk. It refuses to die even when he forgets to water it for weeks at a time.

Taglist:

@bongofrito

@forgetou @animeflower26 @kageyamakock @underrated-fruit-tarts-official

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ufuckingpastry · 4 years ago

Text

These Bonds We Keep

AO3 Link (this fic is very long btw)

This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Relationships: Dream/Technoblade - Kismesistude/Rival Shipping Technoblade/Philza - Moirallegiance/Platonic Relationship

This is a continuation of Where Gods and Monsters Meet, but it not necessary to read that to understand this fic.

@meepishme

CW: graphic depictions of violence, hallucinations, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (based on game mechanics), self harm

Summary: I have all the time in the world to wait for you, Blood God. And, one way or another, you will become mine.

Technoblade could hear the triumph in the egg's voice. Like the slow, smug flicking tail, the egg felt victory against its opponent. Because he was trapped with it and he had nowhere to run. And yet… Technoblade smiled despite it all. And he could feel the egg's shock, faint and unnatural as it was. Because he knew this game. He knew what it took to be patient in the face of an unwavering enemy and still come out the victor. He knew what it would take. So, he settled in, grinning at the ghost of red before him, and breathed out. The red parted and he took solace in that, at least.

"If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on without many things," he recited quietly. "You underestimate me. And that will be your downfall."

The whooshing of the portal faded as Technoblade descended the steps towards the community house. Someone had recently built it back up, even nicer than it was before. But the holes in the dirt still belied what had turned it to rubble. He recalled Ranboo telling him and Phil, his hands twisting and tapping in uncomfortable motions, that he blew it up. Later, after Dream had been locked up, Phil mentioned that Dream had done it as they sat by the fire. They discussed why Ranboo might believe he had blown it up instead. That conversation left an uncomfortable sting of acid in Technoblade’s stomach. That kid didn’t deserve any problems thrown his way. He thought about when Ranboo gifted him a new netherite axe. “Rent” they called it. Payment for living on his property. But in recent weeks, Technoblade found that the kid was growing on him. They explored maps of distant places, arguing over golden apples. The last time they had gone into a woodland mansion, Technoblade found him backed up in a corner. Technoblade hadn’t remembered much after that, but he remembered Ranboo afraid, but steeling himself against an unwinnable fight. He jumped in alongside him and they cut down their foes together. As Technoblade passed through the community house and out the other side, he wondered if Ranboo was fixing the house up out of misplaced guilt. He pressed his lips together and made a note to talk to Ranboo about it soon. The kid was brave, but he was also real jumpy. Technoblade dutifully described his visit to Dream when he returned home a week ago. Ranboo seemed relieved that it was the same as Tommy's retelling, but it felt as though he was still hiding something from them. That might be Technoblade reading too much into it, but still… Caution was the thing that kept them safe. Phil always reminded them of that, especially when Technoblade got a little too bloodthirsty that he forgot himself. He made a note to remind Phil to be there when they talked with Ranboo. Phil was much better at reading social situations than he was.

Technoblade hiked the axe up on his shoulder as he walked, his thoughts straying from Ranboo as he scanned the area. He frowned, eyeing the vines. They grew more every time he came through. He cut away some of the vines that were in his way, though he never lingered around them too long. It was hard to tell in the fresh air like this, but something smelled off about them. The voices in his head seemed to agree. He tossed away the vine blocks at the voices’ request. As he walked further, he saw Ranboo delightedly hugging a grass block. Technoblade’s shoulders relaxed at the sight of a genuinely happy Ranboo. He stepped up close to the kid and waved.

“Techno!” Ranboo greeted. The nickname made him smile. He usually only let Phil or Dream call him that, but he wasn’t about to cut Ranboo short. If it made him happy to call him that, then who was Technoblade to stop him?

“Hey, Ranboo. What are you up to?” They caught up for a bit, walking around a few steps as Ranboo placed grass and picked more up. He found it nice to talk to him and he relaxed bit by bit. After a while, as the sun reached and passed its highest point, Ranboo made noises about having to go soon. Technoblade rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up. Phil’s making some stew tonight. He always makes too much, if you want to stop by. We’d be glad to have you.”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Sounds good!” Ranboo smiled and Technoblade felt his chest warm at the sight. He waved Ranboo off. He turned around and started for the Prime Path, but paused. Bad was standing on some of the vines, the ones he had chopped up, watching them. The vines glowed gently and grew just under Bad’s feet, completing the chain again. Technoblade’s smile faded as his gaze flicked back up to Bad. His hood was white, which… Wasn’t it red? Technoblade adjusted the axe on his shoulder. Bad started walking towards him. The voices in his head rose to a steady thrum, conflicting as always, but this time it set him on edge. He rolled his shoulders as he watched Bad’s approach.

“Good afternoon, Technoblade,” Bad greeted warmly. Technoblade raised a few fingers in response, but remained otherwise silent. His gaze did catch on movement in the distance behind Bad. Antfrost was also approaching now, making a beeline for their small group. Technoblade’s silent response didn’t seem to deter Bad. “Lovely day out, isn’t it?”

“There something you want, Bad?” Technoblade asked. He didn’t really want to be sociable more than he had to at any given point. He had already spent long enough here and he had things he wanted to finish before he went back home for dinner. But Bad seemed like he genuinely wanted something from him. At his question, Bad’s face brightened.

“Well, yes, actually. What do you know about the egg, Technoblade?”

---

The first thing Technoblade noticed when they entered the cave was the smell. The cave smelled of blood. Putrid, poisoned, diseased. It was a sickness that made his stomach roil. He swallowed bile as he looked upon the egg, stepping carefully over pits of lava and magma as he followed Bad. The voices, usually a cacophony of conflicting desires, now grew in a chorus of one word: RUN. He eyed the egg, used to ignoring the voices. The vines were annoying, but to be here, in the presence of the thing causing their growth, he genuinely felt unsettled. He glanced at Bad, at Antfrost. Their faces, drawn toward the egg, were ones of devotion.

“So,” he started, breaking the silence. “I take it this is the egg?”

“Yes!” Bad clapped his hands together and grinned brightly at Technoblade. “It offers people what they desire, be it power or strength. Anything.”

“Power?” Technoblade asked with a considering tilt of his head. “The power to lead nations? Like a government?”

“No, no, no, not like that. We,” Bad gestured to himself and Antfrost. “We don’t want more governments. All they’ve done is cause war and destruction. The egg doesn’t want governments.”

“You literally have a bunch of signs that say ‘Join the Eggpire’,” Technoblade pointed out. Bad’s expression tightened, as if frustrated. But it vanished and he smiled brightly again. He dismissed Technoblade's point with a wave of his hand.

“That’s just some catchy phrasing. The egg doesn’t want governments.”

“Uh-huh. Then what does it want?”

“Well,” Bad and Antfrost glanced at each other, their smiles growing. They turned back to him simultaneously “Why don’t you listen?”

“Listen?”

“Yes! The egg speaks to all those who will hear it. Listen so that you might hear what it wants.”

Technoblade pressed his lips together, unconvinced. But Bad looked so excited by this idea, so on board with the literal everything going on, that Technoblade decided to humor him at least. He sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on the voices. He brushed past their yelling, down deeper, down to voices he couldn’t hear as well. And, he realized, there was one. It was a small voice, quiet, barely above a whisper. But now given attention, it grew to something recognizable.

Blade. I know you for what you are. God of Blood, God of Vengeance, God that has been Betrayed and Used. Know that I can grant you the power you seek, the power to keep you, make you whole again.

Technoblade stilled, opening his eyes. His gaze focused on the pulsing red of the egg, trying to ground himself even before he realized what was happening. He blinked, red winding its way across his vision. It coiled into images that shifted into shape before him. He saw L’Manberg, burned and blasted, the hole ever expanding. He saw the vines taking root, filling the pit like blood spilled. Overflowing, he saw it, as the voice whispered ever on, slowly overtaking the other voices.

Blood for the Blood God. Nourish me of their flesh and I will return their blood to you tenfold. Blood for the Blood God!

He saw bodies strewn about before him. Thousands, millions, tens. Ever changing, ever flowing, ever beating with his heart. Each one torn apart. Ribcages steaming in the sun, skulls shattered with gray matter strewn across the way, bodies broken, twisted, ruined. Bleeding without a care, without purpose. He saw himself step through them, inside and outside his form all at once. The blood drenched his hands, his clothes, his crown, dripping in vines of freshly spilled blood. He saw himself stop, drop down, and nudge a head up to the sun. Tommy’s eyes, blank, cold, and dead stared past him, horror and betrayal plain in his last moments. As he looked up, he saw them. He saw them all. Their names passing by, their faces turning toward him, their eyes on him as they bled out. Bled out for him. Niki, Punz, Ranboo, Tommy, Tubbo, Jack, Puffy, Sam… He lifted his gaze and saw two bodies strung out for him, their bodies opened and spilling out blood and entrails, and he saw their faces plain as day. Horror, pure terror flooded his system at the sight of these bodies. These bodies, the bodies of those he most cared for, of those he would stop at nothing to fix the suffering they experienced, or aid what he could not fix. Those he felt tied to and those he would be tied to the end of days. Phil's body, wings broken and ruined. Dream's body, gutted and empty. He could hear the egg singing worship at the scene, calling it sacrament… The implication that he… that he had done this…

Technoblade stumbled back from the egg, eyes wild and teeth bared. His breaths came in pants, his axe in his hand. He saw movement next to him. He lurched towards it, aiming to strike, aiming to maim, to kill!

Bleed them! Bleed them for me!

Technoblade stumbled at the voice, the red in his vision vanishing. Bad and Antfrost stared at him, their own weapons at the ready, their eyes wide. Technoblade realized himself and he forced his breath to slow. Once he felt calm, calmer, he hooked his axe on his back once more. He shook his head in an attempt to rid the egg’s voice from his head. He had to get out. He had to leave, leave, leave, RUN! Technoblade took a step back from them, from the egg. His ears twitched back, flat against his head to block out the voice even though he knew it would do nothing. He took another step back, nearly stumbling over the magma block behind him.

“No, nope. No, not today. Not this. Nope.” He looked up at the egg, its disease burning his lungs, and turned on his heel. He heard Bad call out and he heard him running after him, words stumbling on his tongue to slow down. Halfway across the room, the exit in sight, Bad grabbed his cloak. Technoblade turned so fast Bad flinched back, releasing the cloak to reach for a weapon. Technoblade’s eyes burned with rage and it was with a snarl he silenced both the egg and Bad’s protests. “I will destroy this place,” he growled, his voice trembling in his rage. “I will. Destroy this place. I will destroy the egg. I will fill this room with TNT and I will burn this place to ash! To bedrock! What I did to L’Manberg, I will do to this place a thousand times over!” Technoblade straightened and looked down upon them, a wrathful god barely held in check. “And I would suggest you stand aside before I burn you too.”

Bad pressed his lips together, thinking fast. Technoblade could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He held his hands out in a staying gesture, a rare sign of surrender. Technoblade did not trust him, nor the words that would soon spill from his mouth.

“I feel like there are some misunderstandings here. How about this? We go and talk. Away from the egg. Above ground. Before we do anything too rash, let’s talk.” Technoblade’s eyes narrowed. He knew a bad idea when he saw one. But his position would not change. And if Bad wanted to try to talk, to placate him… He would let him try, if only to see him tremble beneath his failure. Technoblade unhooked his axe and gestured for him to lead the way.

Bad led them above ground, led them to a suspiciously egg-shaped building. Technoblade stopped outside the building, eyeing the blood vines growing over the structure. He tilted his head, listening. The egg’s voice still haunted him, but it grew faint. He assumed it wouldn’t leave completely until he went back home.

He hoped.

“Before we go in,” Bad started, hands in front of him. “I would like to talk without the threat of weapons and armor.”

“No.”

“Here, as a show of good faith.” Bad started to remove his armor, then glanced at Antfrost and gestured sharply with his head. Antfrost followed suit, though his limbs seemed to shake more in front of the still very armed Technoblade. Bad put his items into the chest at the door and gestured for Technoblade to do the same.

“You must think I’m some kind of idiot. I threatened you with decimation and you say you simply want to talk. And now you’re asking me to remove my gear in the name of good faith?” Technoblade snarled at him. Bad smiled, bright eyes and a challenge in his voice.

“Are you cowing away from us, Technoblade? We are unarmed and you still consider us to be a threat? A snake without venom is no more a threat than a gust of wind.”

“Venom is ultimately a defense. You are a virus, an attacker. A disease that must be burned clean.”

“Take off your armor, Technoblade. And let us talk.”

Technoblade considered him. He didn’t know Bad well, had never taken the time to get to know him. With this egg business, he didn’t want to take the time. He adjusted the axe over his shoulder, making decisions and plans. He should have messaged Phil. He’ll be late for dinner.

“Let me search you, and I might consider leaving behind my weapons.” Technoblade said, letting his axe drop off his shoulder. Bad’s expression was tight, the fingers stilled. Then he opened them and lifted his arms.

“Alright. I can promise you I have no tricks up my sleeve.”

Technoblade grunted, not convinced, and searched him. He found nothing on Bad: nothing to harm, nothing to heal, nothing to poison. Just… nothing. Technoblade stepped back and gestured Antfrost over so he could search him as well. Antfrost’s inventory was much the same, though…

“Bruh,” Technoblade said, holding up the maid outfit. Bad had his head in his hands, muttering quietly to himself as Antfrost bounced on his heels nervously. “You know what… I don’t want to know.” He gave Antfrost the maid outfit back, feeling… settled was the wrong word. But it seemed Bad had not lied. Technoblade still did not trust him, but perhaps… He had thorns on his armor and they would not be fast enough to equip in time if they decided to attack him. He preferred an axe or a sword in his hands, but he had enough experience in hand-to-hand combat that he didn’t think the lack of one would be a problem.

“Alright. No weapons.” He removed his weapons, his tools too, in a show of “good faith”. When Antfrost went to pick them up, he growled a warning. Antfrost jumped back quickly, his fear scent keeping Techno from relaxing all the way. “So,” he said, turning to Bad. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes, inside.” Bad lead them into the building and Technoblade took a second just inside the door to scan his surroundings. There wasn’t much to the building. The most notable features were a chest and an obsidian table. It briefly reminded him of the table Phil and him found in the stronghold. His was better than this obsidian mess. His table was unbreakable. Technoblade took a spot closest to the door, not sitting, his muscles tense to run back for his weapons at the first sign of trouble. Antfrost waited at the side, watching. For the first time, Technoblade noticed his eyes were red. Strange. Bad was gesturing again and Technoblade's gaze snapped sharply at the movement. Unperturbed, Bad continued with his talk.

"All the things that have happened to us has been because of governments and the people who blindly follow them, looking for a leader. What we offer, what the egg offers is stable ground in a chaotic world. It offers power to those who seek it and guides them in ways if they are struggling to find it. The egg does not want government. It wants land that will nourish it and, in return, it will nourish those who protect it. Technoblade, for every battle you have fought here, for every person who has recruited you, they have seen you not as a person, but as ‘The Blade’. They have seen you as a weapon to be used and abandoned once your purpose is fulfilled. But we are not them. We see you as a person, Technoblade. We see what you can become when you are treated as one.

“What we want, what the egg wants, is for you to be its defender. The egg has many enemies. Enemies who would strike it down without further thought. You are here, even though you threatened to become one of those enemies. You are here of your own accord and that is all we are asking for.”

Technoblade listened to Bad speak and he found… If Bad had started with this, if he had waited to show him the egg, then his decision might have been different. Bad’s words were moving and they pulled at him. They were true. Very few people here had treated him as a person. And those who did, he held onto tight and fast, unable to allow them to stray too far lest they disappear into the wind like ghosts. If Bad had started with this…

But he hadn’t. And Technoblade’s decision was not going to change.

He tilted his head and lifted his lip up in a snarl. “What sort of fool do you think I am, Bad? The egg simply wants me to be its defender? Bullshit. Do you even know what the egg promised me?” Technoblade asked. Bad’s expression didn’t change, though there was a brightness in his eyes that Technoblade did not like. He stepped up onto the table, forcing Bad to look up at him. “You talk about the loyalty people have shown me and how little it mattered to them. And yet, you think the egg shows unfailing loyalty to you? For your blood, for your flesh, it promised me power. It switches sides for whoever it decides will serve it best.” He stopped in the center of the table, growling now. “Even if no one else does in this miserable place, I will stand by my word. I will destroy that thing. I will blow that room up, deeper than the pit that was L’Manberg, wider than the stars reach across the sky! And I will burn you too if you stand in my way.”

Bad’s expression twitched, but it was still that unreadable smile. Technoblade could taste Antfrost’s fear and feel his quivering breath. He was afraid, but Bad…

“I’m sorry to hear that, Technoblade. And I’m sorry you feel that way.” As Bad spoke, he shifted to the side. Everything in Technoblade went cold as the home Phil waited in for him. There was a button behind his back, one hidden throughout their whole conversation. “But I can’t let you do that.”

Bad slammed his fist back on the button. Technoblade lurched forward, but it was a second too late. The ground fell away beneath his feet and he threw out a hand. Hooved hands caught on the cracks in the obsidian table, his body dangling above a pit. The egg’s voice surged up to meet him at the same time Bad’s foot stomped on his fingers. Technoblade cried out as pain shattered down his arm. He glared up at Bad from his place beneath him.

“I think you need to spend some more time with the egg, Technoblade. At least, until you start to see things our way.”

“I’LL REND YOUR FLESH FROM BONE, BAD!”

“Oh, shut up, why don’t you?” Bad smashed Technoblade’s fingers beneath his foot, then kicked him away. Technoblade fell into the pit, landing with a sickening CRACK! Technoblade’s vision went black for a moment as he dropped to the floor. He was not dead, but almost. Fuck. He felt over his leg, tearing off armor to get at the bone sticking out of his leg. Fuck. Technoblade tore a piece of cloth from his shirt, stuffed it between his teeth, and worked on snapping the bone back in place. This was not the first time and he knew how to do it so it wouldn’t heal wrong. The pain was still the same, almost enough to make him black out. At first, he thought he did, with how dark the pit went. A look up revealed that they had close the table up again. He could just barely hear Bad and Antfrost’s voices talking together. He was too far down and…

Technoblade took stock of his surroundings, horror drilling him deep to his bones. He was above the egg. Directly. Above. Trapped in obsidian and no tools to save him. And the voice, that damned voice, was whispering again. Welcoming him back home. It embraced him like an old friend. When he threw himself back from it, only the cold obsidian caught him. Its voice crept like fingers over the back of his neck, gentle caresses along his ears, playing with him, toying with him. Like a cat who's cornered a mouse and batting it along because it thinks it's funny. He snarled at it, bared his tusks and teeth. If he was a mouse, the least he could do was to blind that son of a bitch. And the voice

The voice parted. It parted like soil beneath a hoe. But unlike soil, it flowed back into the space he made between them. He could almost see it. See it like red in his vision, blood in the water, like Phil's tea as it steeped. Idly mixing with the air around him, only growing violent when agitated. Technoblade realized with dawning horror that the egg was no longer digging its claws into him, unrelenting in its attack lest he escape and flee. No… now he had no escape, nowhere to turn and run. He was trapped. And the egg knew. It knew and it had changed behavior.

I have all the time in the world to wait for you, Blood God. And, one way or another, you will become mine.

He could hear the triumph in its voice. Like the slow, smug flicking tail, the egg felt victory against its opponent. Because he was trapped with it and he had nowhere to run. And yet… Technoblade smiled despite it all. Despite the lingering pain from his fall, despite the scent of blood filling his nose, despite the darkness and the heat, he smiled. And he could feel the egg's shock, faint and unnatural as it was. Because he knew this game. He knew what it took to be patient in the face of an unwavering enemy and still come out the victor. He knew what it would take. So, he settled in, grinning at the ghost of red before him, and breathed out. The red parted and he took solace in that, at least.

"If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on without many things," he recited quietly. "You underestimate me. And that will be your downfall."

And so, the war with the egg began. It was a mental war, a test of wills, and it was one of the most grueling wars he had faced. The egg sometimes grew malicious, striking at the heart of him. He witnessed visions of his friends suffering, the people he knew hurting in ways almost unimaginable. Sometimes the egg offered him the power to fix this suffering and sometimes it offered the power to cause it instead. Sometimes, he would wake bathed in blood and gore, knowing intimately who it had come from. Sometimes, he would wake wrapped in vines, never knowing where he ended and the egg began. And sometimes, he would wake and he would see Phil, reaching for him. And, in the weak times, he would reach out and Phil would fade like smoke around his fingertips.

Sometimes, the egg would leave him alone. He knew it was gathering strength. He knew it was feeding from the ground, from the creatures that got too close. He didn’t know when it happened, but one day he felt immense pain and he lashed out. His fingers caught on the obsidian and he realized, in panting breaths, that he could feel when someone cut the vines. He hugged himself, breath shaking, and the voice returned.

It hurts, doesn’t it? When they hurt us, we can feel it. When they feed us, we no longer hunger. We can survive upon the ground, but we hunger, don’t we? Blood God of mine, we hunger.

“I am not yours,” Technoblade hissed. “I will never be yours.” The voice faded into laughter and Technoblade saw nothing but visions of death and blood again.

He could not keep track of time down in the cave. He did not know how long he sat, how long he waited. He knew at one point he woke and his armor was gone. He had nothing to protect himself, besides the cloak that he hugged around himself. His stomach twisted in pain. He ran out of food long ago. Water was scarce too, and the heat felt close to that of the nether. He was so thirsty… He opened his eyes and saw the ghost of blood again. It never had a face and its body wavered like smoke. But this time, it lifted its arm. Technoblade, weary from the fight, didn’t realize his body was following suit.

Drink up, my friend. God of Blood, mine. Drink and be nourished.

Technoblade’s mouth watered and he bit down. Flesh gave way under his teeth and liquid flowed onto his tongue. He lapped it up like a dying man in the desert. He could not taste it, as far gone into his head as he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw golden streams dripping down. And he felt, suddenly, something dripping down his skin. His flesh burned, faintly, and he wondered why. Why did he hurt, even as he drank?

He watched idly as the golden liquid splashed down at his feet and onto the egg. The ghost shivered into light, keening in joy. His ears flattened and he flinched back from the deafening crash. There was a feeling of tearing and Technoblade winced. His fog cleared and found he felt pain, intense pain, and he

Technoblade released his arm in horror, staring down at the wound. The wound burned, his golden blood dripping down the length of his arm, down the corners of his mouth, down to the egg where it rejoiced at the offering. He snarled and ripped off his shirt to wrap it around his arm. Slow the bleeding, cover it and protect it from infection. His gazed snapped back up to the red ghost, but it dissipated before he could growl. He hugged himself and slumped down. He could feel himself fading again. The egg was a powerful influence in his head, easily overtaking the other voices. Even those faded into almost nothing now as the egg left him alone. It was strange to not hear them, to not hear their faint buzzing. But what use would they be to him?

He could not run. He could not escape. He would die down here. Die or belong to the egg. He lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and felt over the lines in his flesh. The corruption was already taking root, breaking through his skin. Vines twisted around his heart, around his lungs, until every moment, every breath, was controlled by the egg. His hand stilled and

He considered it. Technoblade considered his death. He had escaped it hundreds of times. Technoblade never dies! But here… maybe. His hand twitched and he glanced down at it, considering. If he died here… he would wake up in his bed. Back home. He would wake up to the light spilling in through his window, to the sounds of Phil and Steve below. Steve's soft growls as he tried to eat whatever breakfast Phil was preparing. Maybe Ranboo would stop by too, dance around the polar bear as he eagerly showed a new map. And they could go together, shove playfully into each other as they searched for new adventures. Phil would stay home, watch the stasis chamber for when they wanted to come back. And he would be down a life, but maybe… if it meant the ghosts he saw were nothing more than ghosts and not proof of his losing battle…

Technoblade tested it, pressed his fingers into the wound on his arm. It would be easy to find a vein to rip--

NO!

Technoblade jerked back, the feeling of hands on his skull, hands on his arms and fingers, stilling him, freezing him in place with the strength of the egg's will. He stared, wide eyed, into the burning pits of the red ghost.

You are MINE and I will not have you escaping!

And Technoblade

Technoblade filed that reaction away, in the depths of his mind where the vines could not reach, for later. The egg didn’t want him to die, to escape. It wanted him near, to finish corrupting him. He was weary from the fight and he was losing. The egg knew this too. It hummed with victory. It burned bright with sickening delight. He could hear it chanting, singing praises that they would wipe clean this world until all that left was blood. Blood for the true blood god. And he knew that it would make him its puppet. He was already bound in its vines. But…

If he could escape…

There was no totem of undying in his hands this time. But if it feared his death… If it feared him escaping through death, then perhaps…

Perhaps, he still had hope left.

The next time he woke, Technoblade heard voices. With how faint they were, he assumed it was simply the familiar buzzing coming back to poke and prod, see if he was still alive. But they came closer, armored footsteps clacking against stone and muffled as they stepped on and around the vines. So not another hallucination either. His eyes were kept closed, but he tilted his head to listen, to pinpoint their location. The voices quieted as they climbed up next to the egg. Then, one of them spoke again, directed at his cage.

“Hello Technoblade,” Bad greeted. Technoblade could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Technoblade inhaled through his nose, eyes still closed. He didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be reminded of the one who trapped him here in the first place. He heard Bad equip something and tap the metal bit against the obsidian walls. A pickaxe, based on how the sound echoed.

“How do you feel about the egg, Technoblade?” When he didn’t answer, Bad slammed the pickaxe against the wall. “Answer! Or we’ll leave you here again.”

Technoblade huffed a laugh. He lifted his head up towards Bad, his eyes opening. He peered through the holes in the obsidian, staring at Bad’s face. He wanted an answer, huh? Then he’d give him one.

“Heed,” Technoblade said, his voice hoarse from disuse. His hand reached for the obsidian he’d broken from his earlier attempts at escape, closing around the sharpened point. Bad’s face contorted in confusion and Technoblade pressed on. “Heed, ye mortals. Heed the words of your prophets, lest they be true. Ye people, fearful of death and stillness, heed!” Technoblade stood as he spoke, eyes bright and wild. The words were an old speech he and Philza made together. Old friends aiming to strike fear and wonder in their enemies. “Your end beckons! The Angel of Death comes, his sword sharpened and called to your blood! His wings glow bright and his mercy has faded. Woe to thee, ye peoples laid low by sin and hate! Repent before him, and your deaths will be swift.” Technoblade stepped back, his hands raising before him, his golden blood dried and stained down the one arm. He revealed the obsidian blade, turning it towards his neck. Bad’s eyes widened in growing realization and Technoblade grinned at him. “I will soon rest my head in holy arms and he will rain fire upon you! HEED! FOR THIS IS YOUR END!” His movement swift, he aimed the blade straight for his neck. Bad lurched forward, a cry on his lips, but it was too late-!

NO!

The blade dropped from Technoblade’s hand and he slapped his hands over his ears. The egg shrieked, louder than anything, louder than explosions and withers, and he dropped to his knees. Its rage and fear shattered through him and his voice joined the cacophony in his head. His scream tore through his throat until he tasted blood.

Bad and Antfrost flinched back from the force of the egg’s shriek. Bad risked a glance back through the obsidian and saw Technoblade screaming with his hands over his ears. Bad’s breath came quick and he squeezed his hand around his pickaxe. They had to stop him, they… Someone would hear. Someone would hear! Bad cut away the obsidian and grabbed Technoblade by the cloak. He hauled backwards, dragging Technoblade’s body out of the cage. At the movement, Technoblade jumped up and aimed fingers curled like claws at Bad’s face. Bad reared back and dropped him. He crumpled to the floor of the cave. Even now, even with blood on his hands from where his flesh cut on the blade, even after three days in isolation, he looked like a wild beast. He snarled like one, struggling to stand to his feet. Bad pointed the pickaxe at Technoblade.

“Why won’t you stop! The egg has you! We’ve won!” Bad shouted.

“Won?” Technoblade laughed. Something sounded like it was bubbling out of him and Bad watched blood drip down from his lips. He coughed and laughed and coughed and laughed and then launched at Bad. He tackled him to the floor, knocked the breath out of him. Bad felt heat near his face as Technoblade forced him closer to a pit of lava. Suddenly, the weight lifted off of him. Bad sat up, coughing air back into his lungs. Antfrost had grabbed Technoblade and dragged him back. Like a beast, the piglin turned back on him, snarling as he aimed his tusks for Ant’s face. He blocked him with his shield, shoved him off. Unarmored and lacking weapons, Technoblade was still dangerous. He looked insane, the corruption evident on his face, but he still looked whole.

Bad heard a growing cacophony as the egg hissed and chanted. He missed some of the words, but it sounded like… It sounded like the egg was urging Technoblade on, urging him to kill Antfrost. Bad’s head snapped towards the egg, betrayal spiking through him like the prongs of a trident. He saw his plans unraveling before him. He couldn’t think here, not while his friend was in danger, not with the egg’s voice deafening them all with its desires pouring forth. Someone could still hear them! They could come down and stop them!

Bad jumped to his feet and ran to a chest. He dug through it, risking a glance back at Antfrost when he cried out. Technoblade had clawed his face, the blood dripping down his cheek. Ant swung his sword at Technoblade’s head and Bad called out in time to the egg.

“No! We need him!”

Technoblade ducked, but just barely. His reflexes were slower, his movements jerking even as he fought back. He had to be close to death! Bad couldn’t let him die! Not here! He turned back to the chest, digging through its contents until his hands closed around his prize. Bad spun on his heel and threw the potion of slowness at Technoblade, then leapt towards him with the rope. Technoblade tried to react, tried to claw him too. Bad dodged the blow, then caught him with a punch to the chin. Technoblade stumbled back, doubling over. Taking his chance, Bad looped the rope around Technoblade’s throat, a noose, and hauled back on the rope. Antfrost threw his body against him and pinned him to the ground. Bad pulled a muzzle out of his inventory and secured it around Technoblade’s snarling mouth. Technoblade coughed and choked and Bad loosened the rope just enough to let him breathe.

“What,” Antfrost panted, glancing up at Bad. “What are we going to do now?”

Bad licked his lips, panting in time as he glared back at Technoblade. There weren’t too many people around tonight. They hadn’t seen anyone hanging around. They had time. Not much, probably, but they had time!

“We’re taking him back to my place. We’ll force him to change his respawn point. And then we’ll make sure he loves the egg.”

---

Philza heard the polar bears shuffling outside and a shocked little “Oh!”. Footsteps up the stairs, then a shifting of weight, then a tentative knock. He sighed, touched the sword at his side to remind him it was there, and opened the door.

“Puffy?”

“Oh! Phil! Do… do you live here?” Puffy asked, quickly glancing over her shoulder. She was decked out in full netherite. Worry and determination dripped off her like rain on feathers.

“Yes.” Philza let her in. It was cold this afternoon, even colder without Technoblade around. “Puffy, how did you find this place?”

“Oh, well, Tommy mentioned when I asked.”

Of course, he did, Philza thought with an annoyed huff. He gestured for her to sit, but she didn’t take the opportunity. “Are you… okay?” He asked, slowly turning towards her as he grabbed his mug of tea. It was peppermint, to soothe the nerves. It was Techno's favorite.

“No, not really.” The honesty was strange to hear, not because he assumed to hear a lie, but because Philza had grown used to trying to decipher Techno’s tone when he was trying to be sincere, or when he was hiding things. Puffy was still talking so Philza turned his attention back to her. “Bad tried to take me out and I was looking for Technoblade because I wanted his help.”

“His help?”

“Phil, what do you know about the egg?”

“The thing that’s causing all the red vines to grow? What about it?”

Philza listened to Puffy and her story. He listened to how they found the egg in the pit of L’Manberg, their decisions on what to do with it, and the effects it was having on people. The more she talked, the more his horror grew. His wings puffed out with his growing dread.

“Sam had only been in there for a few hours and it made him start eating his own flesh! It has to go, but I don’t know who I can trust anymore. I wanted to talk to Technoblade and see if we can’t do something about it ourselves. Have you seen him recently?”

“No, I… I haven’t. He’s been gone for three days and I’m starting to get worried. No message, no warning, nothing.”

Puffy opened her mouth when the doors slammed open. Puffy jolted up, sword already drawn, and swinging to face the attacker. Ranboo jumped back with a chirp, hands up in the air.

“Sorry, uh, I tried to open it and the wind caught it.” Ranboo glanced at Puffy, then at Philza, who was busying himself with his cup of tea. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, you can come in,” Philza said before Puffy could say anything. “He lives nearby and I invited him to dinner,” he said as explanation. Puffy slowly sat back down, her weapon sheathed. A thought came to him and he turned to Ranboo. “Ranboo, have you seen Techno? He was passing by L’Manberg the last time we spoke.”

“Oh!” He opened up one of his memory books and flipped through the pages. “Yeah, I saw him over there. Uh, three days ago?”

That matched up with the timeline, but…

“No sooner?”

“Nope.”

Philza frowned, his fingers tapping on the table as he thought. He had tried messaging him the other day, worry eating at his edges when Techno didn't come home for dinner. But all he received was static. That happened sometimes, when Techno was too far away, but he couldn't have made it that far in a day, even if he used the nether portals. Sometimes they’d get interference, but that was too hard to track. Something was up and Philza was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Did something happen to him?" Ranboo asked, standing far from Puffy.

"We don't know for sure yet. But this is strange behavior, even from him." Philza tipped back the rest of his tea and pushed up from the table. He rummaged through the chests, equipping his gear in silence. When he turned back, he rested his hand on his sword to remind him it was there. "Let's go find out."

Philza led them through the nether portal, striding across the cobblestone path with purpose. Puffy followed him, her stride matching his, while Ranboo took up the rear. They weren't in the nether for long when Ranboo made a familiar chirp of Ender. Philza stopped and turned towards him, quirking up his eyebrow as he waited to hear what Ranboo remembered.

"I saw Techno, Bad, and Antfrost go into that weird egg building too. You know the one?"

Philza did not, but by the way Puffy stiffened, she did. That kind of reaction did not bode well.

"Technoblade went in there? With Bad?" She asked, growing panic seeping into her voice. At Ranboo's nod, she swore. "That's the place they trapped Sam in! We have to get to him!"

Philza felt something sharp twist in his chest. That was the place? Where Sam had been trapped and made to eat his own flesh? Philza's mind was racing now with the implications. Sam had only been there for a few hours, but if the worst had truly come to past and Techno had been down there for three days…

They had to hurry. But something kept him there, still and indecisive. He glanced at Ranboo and felt that same sharp twisting in his chest. The kid was shaking, minutely, but shaking. Philza remembered just a few days ago, when Ranboo was fixing up his house, he admitted some of his fears. He didn't want to get dragged into more stuff. Not after everything that happened. The quiet in the snowy biome was good and safe. He looked so relaxed and happy. He did not look that way now, not with the way he was inching towards the portal to run. Philza was determined to protect him from suffering any more than he already had. The decision was made even before he finished thinking it, as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Ranboo, go back to the house." Puffy cried out in protest, but he overruled her. "We might be wrong. Go back to the house and message me the second you see Techno, if he comes home before us." Ranboo straightened and hurried back through the portal. Puffy watched him go with a mix of frustration and confusion clear on her face.

"Do you really think that--"

"No," Philza replied immediately, not caring that he had interrupted her. "But that kid doesn't need to be dragged into any more shit."

Puffy looked back at the portal and nodded, finally. Philza started back down the path, but when he didn't hear her follow, he turned back. She raised up a hand to shush whatever he was about to say, tilting her head in that way that meant she was messaging someone.

"Hey, Sam?"

Dream watched Sam set down the bowl of soup on the netherite wall between them, eyeing it hungrily. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but crackling filled the space between them and the words were lost forever.

"Puffy?"

Dream hummed, inching towards the wall impatiently. He watched him intently as he had a conversation right in front of his dinner. He wasn't allowed to grab it before Sam stepped back, in case he tried to do something rash.

"Technoblade? No, I have not seen him since he visited the prison last week. Why?"

At the mention of his partner, Dream blinked and stepped closer, analyzing Sam's face as he frowned. Sam shook his head, taking a step back. Panic was winding tight around him and it set off old alerts in Dream’s brain.

"With Bad? No, no, that's not- nothing good will come of that."

"Sam, what's going on?" Dream asked. The mention of Bad was… it made his heart twist sharply. He missed him, but why was Technoblade with Bad? Sam didn’t respond to him, instead shaking his head slowly.

“Puffy, I would come and help, but…” He glanced at Dream. Dream knew the look of someone considering decisions and watched Sam make up his mind. He turned away from Dream, stepped back, and crossed the lava pit. The netherite wall didn't lower, not even as Sam deliberately walked to the levers. Before the lava came down, he heard Sam's voice echo through the prison.

"INITIATE CODE 7 LOCKDOWN." Dream blinked, pressed close to the wall. Lockdown? Total lockdown? What the hell was happening? And why did it involve Technoblade?

And it was in that moment, as the lava dripped down, that he heard screaming.

Dream went still. Sam wouldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it. But Dream could. He could hear Techno screaming. Technoblade could shout, growl, snarl, but Dream rarely heard him scream. He closed his eyes, pinpointing the location. Deep underground, nearby. The sound echoed; he was in a cave. But… Where! His jaws dropped in, a growl starting low in his chest. That was a scream of pain. It was not a sound he had ever heard from Techno and to hear it come from his mouth sent Dream’s body transforming before he could slow it. He ripped off the mask, let it clatter to the side. His clothes went next; they never survived the transformation. A wild glance at the netherite wall made him pause for only a second. Then he grabbed the clock and brought it close to his chest. Breaking the wall first would take too long and he would need the netherite next. But the lockdown meant it would not go back down until Sam decided it could. And he needed to get out. He felt his flesh change slowly. It was too slow, far too slow. He could no longer hear Technoblade screaming and he did not know whether he preferred it that way. He willed his flesh to change to gold. It would be better, easier to slip over the wall if he was already malleable. Finally, finally, it was enough. He tossed aside the clock, heard it shatter against the obsidian as he squeezed over the wall. Pain shot through his system like fractures as a rib broke under the pressure. It didn’t matter. It didn’t MATTER!

Dream gave himself a moment to breathe through the pain once he was on the other side. Belatedly, he realized his soup was splattered across the floor. It didn’t matter. He pressed his back to the netherite wall, willing his flesh to change again. Netherite was harder, but at least he was already gold. That helped. That helped. When he was fully netherite, he glared at the lava, panting. His body had finished the transformation and he felt old and new at once. It had been far too long since he took this form. It had been far too long. Already, he could feel himself slipping. Slipping away from Dream, the mastermind of this realm. Away from Dream the prisoner, away from the name he had given himself in an attempt to hide the worst of him. To hide the nightmare he was.

He pounced into the lava, the heat immediate. But netherite did not burn. Netherite would protect him until he got to where he knew he could break out. He knew the plans for this prison, he had helped Sam design it. He knew where weaknesses lied and where he could push through, even weakened as he was. He swam up to the ceiling, hooked his claws in between the cracks, and began digging.

---

Technoblade stumbled forward, his vision swimming. Antfrost pushed him forward again with the tips of his trident. He glared behind him, growling still. They had dragged him up from the cave to the surface. They were taking him to Bad’s house. To force him to respawn there should he die. His attempt to escape worked, but only just. He was out, away from the egg, but he was restrained. The muzzle around his mouth was secured tightly, the noose around his neck choking him every time his steps trailed. He felt so weak from his time with the egg. His broken leg felt wrong, given little time to heal before he was back on it. Another push from Antfrost sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Get up,” Bad said from above him. Technoblade didn’t feel like he had the strength to. When he didn’t move, Bad’s foot kicked into his side. “I said, get. Up.” From his place on the ground, Technoblade started laughing.

“What if I don’t?” he asked past the muzzle, turning onto his side to breathe. “Are you going to kill me?”

“You know I can’t do that. Not before I know where you’ll spawn.”

“And what’s your plan after? Give me to the egg? Even when I come back I won’t love the egg! You and it can rot with me!”

Bad growled. He dragged him up by the cloak and shoved him forward again. Technoblade stumbled a few more steps before turning around.

“Your plans failed!” Technoblade shouted in crazed delight. He twisted even as the noose went tighter. He dug his hands under the muzzle and, with the last of his strength, he ripped it off. “They have failed and they will fail over and over again! They—” The three of them froze as a dark shape passed over them What the hell? Technoblade lifted his head, eyes widening when he found the shape. He saw it high above them as it hovered, the poison green of its eyes just barely visible. His grin widened and he turned to Bad. With a voice hoarse from screaming, he hissed, “Repent, mortals.”

And then the shape crashed in between them.

---

Finally, finally! Netherite claws burst through obsidian. Dream pulled his body free, the night air cold like ice as lava dripped from his skin. He exhaled a breath, hot steam rising through the chilled air. It was odd to not have the heavy presence of the obsidian surrounding him, feel it cold under his feet. He shook off the rest of the lava, stretching much like a cat as his tail flicked off the rest of it. Time for the last of his transformation, to see if he still could do it. Otherwise, he would have to scale down the wall and risk the warden hearing. Dream focused, rolling his shoulders, until a loud crack split the air like thunder. A wing opened up, heavy and dark like his flesh. Then, the other wing opened. It hurt, after spending so much time hiding them. He stretched them out and groaned low into the air. His mouth didn’t work right in this form, his mouth unable to speak more than a few words of the language of those around him. He remembered briefly how long it took him to learn the language, how much he struggled until he learned how to hide his jaws. He shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand.

Dream opened his mouth, tasting the air. He had to find his rival, his soulbleeder. Wind blew into his face, flowing down his body, and he breathed it in. All his senses lit up as he tasted the blood of his soulbleeder on the wind. His claws dug into the obsidian, a low growl rolling in his chest. He would ruin those who dared to hurt what was his. He leapt off the prison wall and took to the air. It felt like home, even after being grounded for so long. But he couldn’t reminisce. He had to find him. He had to.

The buildings below him looked familiar, but he disregarded them. A lurch of movement caught his eye as he passed over. He studied them briefly, eyes scanning the short shape that dove to the ground and the tall shape reaching for its sword. But neither of them was the one he searched for. He ignored them. Then, like a stain upon this world, Dream saw the demon among them; the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He pulled up, passed over them as he watched. A flash of red, a flash of tusks, and a muzzle ripped free. Dream’s vision tunneled to the figure struggling to stand, but still fighting. His chest twisted, recognition folding his wings, and he dropped to the ground like a stone.

The crash of his impact was deafening. A memory flashed before his eyes: withers reigning terror upon the souls who thought themselves greater than they were and the TNT he dropped upon them for that mistake. This moment reminded him of then. He lifted his head and first looked at his soulbleeder. Techno blinked, recognition washing over his face. Dream rumbled fondly at him, a rare softness. Techno stepped forward, his mouth opening to speak. But he dropped. Dream checked him; he was breathing, just passed out from the effort and strain of his battle. A body stumbled back behind him and Dream swung his head around immediately. His lips lifted in a snarl as he positioned himself between Techno and those who wished to harm him.

The smaller one stumbled back in his fright, netherite sword falling out of his hands and into the dirt. The other, tall and demonic, his tail lashing, smelled… strange. Familiar. It made his chest ache and he didn't remember why. All he remembered was his soulbleeder, his rival. No one else. The demon tilted his head, staring down at the nightmare, paling as recognition hit. Dream's jaws opened, tasting his fear, dropping into a stance to pounce, to go for the throat, and hold until the body stopped thrashing.

"Dream?" came a voice and it halted Dream's motion. He blinked, snarl faded into silence. "Dream? Is… is that you?" Bad asked, voice trembling.

He blinked and

Dream blinked and breathed in deep, tasting the air. Bad, Bad, his friend. Close enough of a friend that he had once almost considered him starfated, if he had known what it meant. Dream's mouth closed and he stepped back from Bad, poison eyes watching him. He reached for Techno, his heart yearning and aching so much he wanted to lay down and whine. Speaking was hard, but he was not so far gone that he couldn't shift his mouth to speak.

"DON'T FOLLOW," Dream growled. With Techno firmly in his claws, Dream took to the sky once more. He did not look back as he flew him home.

Bad watched Dream fly away, his hopes flying away with him. He pressed the heels of his hands to his face and screamed his frustration. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t FAIR! With a growl of his own, he picked up his trident. The first drops of rain fell on him. With a begging prayer to any god who wouldn’t forsake them, he dropped to a knee to shake Antfrost.

“Come on, you muffin head! We have to go!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Bad spun on his heel at Puffy’s voice. The rain began to pour when his gaze landed on her, her sword and shield raised at the ready. “Where’s Techno?!” She shouted. Bad started to stand when he saw the figure behind her. His face paled and he took a step back. Technoblade’s warning came back to mind. Heed, and repent! Philza, the Angel of Death, stared down at him, hand on the hilt of his sword. His expression, cold and enraged, made Bad’s heart palpitate with fear. He took another step back, nearly stumbling over Antfrost. He risked a glance at him and urged him to stand. He was shaking as he took to his feet, looking ready to flee. A glance back at Philza told him why. The man had stepped forward, his sword now unsheathed. They couldn’t fight them, Bad knew that in the depths of his soul. Even alone, Philza stood leagues above them. Bad took another step back and Philza followed him. Bad’s breaths were coming fast, panting with his growing panic. He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t die now!

“Bad!” Puffy called. “Tell us what you did with-uh.” Her face contorted as if she was biting back her words. Philza turned his head to her, his expression softer and gentle. She stepped back, holding up a hand. “Sam?”

It was only then that Philza realized he could hear the crackling of the call. He waited patiently for her conversation to end, only half listening. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he snapped his face back to Bad. Bad and Antfrost were backing up, though Bad was looking at Puffy with an intense expression that Philza did not recognize.

“Sam, uh, can you wait a minute? We-We’re kind of in the middle of-“ Puffy’s words trailed off as her face paled. “No…” she whispered, eyes drifting towards the prison.

“Puffy?” Philza started. More movement from Bad had him looking back at him. Bad had a feral look in his eyes, trident in hand.

“Don’t follow us!” He hissed before he and Antfrost flew away with the tridents. Philza growled, his wings spreading so he could gain speed and follow them.

“Phil, wait,” Puffy said, holding her hand out.

“They might have taken Techno somewhere, Puffy! We can’t just keep stalling like this!”

“No, Phil. Sam, he,” she paused, licking her lips as she hesitated.

“What is it?”

“It’s Dream. He’s gone.”

Philza felt the lightning before it came, felt the crack of thunder long before he heard it. Even that was silent compared to Puffy’s reveal.

“He… What?”

“Sam didn’t find him in his cell. The prison was in total lockdown so he could come help us and he still got out!”

Philza squeezed his hand around the hilt of his sword, indecision taking root again. If Dream was gone… Why now? Why now?! And where was Technoblade? He had been with Bad, but they just found Bad and he wasn’t here! Where???

“Phil?”

Philza closed his eyes and swallowed his hesitation. He straightened and leveled his gaze with Puffy. “Go see if you can help Sam. I’ll go find Bad. I’ll go find Techno.”

“Are you sure? What if they try to take you too?”

"I'd like to see them try," Philza said. His voice had dropped into a deep growl. He reached for his trident-

"Phil?" Ranboo's voice came crackling through the communicator. His voice was shaking, afraid of something, and Philza forced himself gentle before he spoke.

"Ranboo, this is a bad time. Can we talk later?"

"No, uh. You said to call you when I saw Techno?"

That caught Philza's attention. "Did you see him?"

"Well, no, I-I don't really know. But this big dark shape flew overhead and… I-I-I think I saw him. It crashed in the hills."

"Dark…" He thought of Puffy diving to the ground earlier, instinct taking over to hide. But nothing flew here, not without rain. And nothing that big. "Ranboo, get a torch ready. I'm coming back."

Philza turned on his heel, trident in hand, when a loud crack of thunder made him flinch. He eyed the sky, eyed the lightning storm above him, and put away the trident. He'd be slower, but he wasn't about to risk death here. For Techno, yes, yes, he would in a heartbeat. But he was useless to Techno right now if he was dead. Philza broke out into a sprint, weaving through buildings and vines until his feet hit wood. The wind and thunder roared in his ears in time to his heartbeat, in time with his racing footsteps. His wings flared out and caught a gust of wind. When he landed, he slipped on the stone. Pain burned through his skull from the slice in his hand and he pushed himself to his feet. Come on, he had to. He had to go! If there was a chance that Techno was safe…! If there was a chance he was okay!

Philza slid through the portal. The rain evaporated off him in an instant as he bolted down the path. He knew the nether well enough, knew this path enough to know how to use his wings to catch him, to stop him from falling. He would find Techno. He would save him. No matter what dangers he faced, he would save him. No matter what horrors his friend faced, no matter if the egg corrupted him, he would save him! He would. He would!

He would.

Philza couldn’t stand to see his friend suffer. He couldn’t stand to be part of any more suffering. If he had to, he would take Techno far away. He would take his friend far from them all. From all the pain and suffering. He would take Ranboo too. Gods above knew the kid had suffered enough. He would fix it. He would keep them safe.

He would.

He ducked into the portal and was met with air so cold it burned his lungs. He coughed, the cold already seeping in through his armor, through the remaining heat of the nether. He wrapped his wings tight around him and glanced at the sky. There was no storm here. Just the icy light of the moon. He hurried towards home, hurried towards torchlight. Ranboo was waiting outside, torch burning in hand. As Philza approached, he touched the sword at his sword to remind him it was still there.

---

Dream squeezed Techno's arm, willing his skin from netherite to flesh, willing his body less into nightmare. Techno was cold, barely breathing in the snow. He was still unconscious. Dream could smell that his throat was still raw and reeking of blood spilled wrong. Seeing his soulbleeder laid low like that sent everything inside Dream still tethered to this world asunder. He would have killed them, slaughtered them until the grass was black with their entrails. But his name, whispered in fear from the mouth of someone who still looked like his friend, dragged his head out of the sea he drowned in. It was enough that Dream picked up Techno, heavy and limp like a corpse, and flew him back. Dream flew back to the snow and cold of Techno's home, until his body gave out under the weight of his own flesh. They were still too far and Dream felt so weak. He would never make it there and back to the prison without rest. But he could not rest in the snow, not while Techno might be suffering, still under the egg's influence. No, he had to get him home.

The schling of a sword unsheathed was Dream's only warning. The blade halted just under his chin and he was forced to look up. Torchlight flickered behind Philza, the dim light barely illuminating his face. But Dream didn't need the light to see him, to see the expression. He could taste Philza's fear from here.

A soft gasp pulled Dream's attention away from the shaking sword from his throat, his gaze flicking to the one who held the torch. Ranboo thrust the torch forward to help Philza see better and Dream flinched from the light. Too used to darkness, the light burned.

"What are you doing here?" came Philza's voice, his worry cracking like jaws through a turtle shell. Dream gazed up at him, at his disgust, his anger, his terror. Dream breathed it in, willing his aching body back to life, back to movement. He turned his head towards Technoblade, and for one brief chilling moment, he thought his partner dead. A weak, shaking breath revealed the worst had not yet come to pass.

"Ranboo," Philza started, the name spoken sharply. The sword had begun to waver, but now snapped back in place at Dream's throat. "Take Techno back to the house." His gaze focused on Dream, briefly leaving the monster to hiss his order at Ranboo again. Ranboo startled and dropped the torch. A soft chirp of Ender left him as he hurried to pick up Techno. He stilled when he got close to Dream, a single step from panicking. Dream eyed him, his hand curling tight on Techno's arm, until finally releasing him. Ranboo dragged him onto his shoulders and hurried away from the two, leaving them in flickering darkness.

"Dream," Philza said, pressing the blade closer to his throat. Dream lifted up his gaze, his inhuman eyes blinking at the man. Philza had never seen the man without his mask on. To his knowledge, none of them had. Seeing his face now, after everything he had done…

He could now see him for the monster he really was.

"Why are you here?" Phil asked again, struggling to keep calm.

“They were going to kill him, Phil.” The sentence should have been an explosion of sound, a scream, a snarl, a roar! But it came out of Dream like a whimper, bitter anger and helplessness. It was a mirror of the helplessness Phil felt when he realized his old friend was in danger and the terror of not getting to him fast enough. It was a kinship, he felt suddenly. Phil set his jaw firm and hardened himself against that thought. He did not want to feel kinship with the monster before him. Dream continued, his head hanging away from the sword.

“I… I don’t know how long he was down there, but,” he bit his lip. Phil could see glimpses of the emotions racing across his face and he was struck by how open Dream was. His voice, even, held open desperation. “Phil. I could hear him screaming.” Phil went cold, so cold he swore his heart stuttered to a stop. The implications flooded his mind until it was all he could see. Techno trapped above the egg, its voice the loudest thing in his head. He wouldn’t have been able to mine out of the obsidian. They had found his gear locked in a chest. Techno’s hands had been bloody, hadn’t they? It was hard to see in the dark, but… Had he tried to claw his way out? They assumed three days, but how long had he really been there? How long had he suffered alone?

“So, I brought him home. To you.” The way he addressed Phil was full of venom, but also… It sounded like a concession, an admittance that he never wanted to speak into existence. What? That Philza was better equipped to take care of Technoblade? There was also a hint of…

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through on my blade,” Phil said, guiding both his thoughts and Dream’s head back to the matter at hand.

“Because if I die, then death is permanent?”

“A different one,” Phil hissed. Dream contemplated him, like he didn’t have a sword inches from his throat. The torchlight died, plunging them into darkness. As Phil’s eyes adjusted to the cold moonlight, Dream’s voice came, whispered like a corpse’s dying breath.

“Because I don’t know if Techno’s going to survive the night.”

“Is that a threat?” Phil asked. His voice did not waver, but he felt his fear settle in again. If he killed Dream here and Techno died before he could get back… But if he ran now, it meant letting Dream roam free. Phil couldn’t live with himself if he was the cause for more suffering. His indecision trapped him. His sword twisted in his hands and he focused on Dream again. Dream’s jaws opened, teeth reflecting the moonlight as he dragged himself to his feet. His hand braced around the edge of the sword and he leveled his gaze with Phil’s.

“What do I gain by threatening you here, Phil?!” Dream yanked the sword back to his throat. Phil expected to see more snarls, more teeth, more threats. What he saw instead froze him in his tracks. Dream’s eyes, wild and poison green, were tear filled and feral in his desperation.

“Why do you care!” He shouted back. He ripped the sword out of Dream’s hand, his wings flaring behind him. “Techno hates you! Why would you save him?”

Dream’s eyes widened. He stumbled back, dark blood dripping onto the snow as realization cracked across his face. “He never told you,” he said softly, as if to himself. Before Phil could respond, Dream stepped forward and continued with a voice as hard as bedrock. “Techno is the last thing tethering me to this world.” Phil blinked. He took in Dream’s expression, the unshakeable truth to his words. But…

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy?” Disbelief danced across Dream’s face. A sick laugh bubbled out of him. Dream hugged himself as he laughed even harder. “Tommy?!” Once his laughter subsided, Dream grinned wildly at Phil. “Tommy is just a toy to be used and played with.” His grin faded and he hugged himself tighter. “Techno is different.”

“Different?” Phil shook his head and sighed. He couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t understand what Dream meant and the longer he stayed out here, the longer Technoblade was left without help. Ranboo didn’t know how to take care of a body, to heal and make it whole again. Technoblade could be dying and Phil wasn’t by his side. He had to make a decision and he had to make it now. “So, what even is your plan here? Save Technoblade and you think that makes up for everything you did? Do you think you can just roam free now?”

“No, I—“

"Then what?" Phil asked, hilt of the blade humming familiar violence under his fingers. Just one stroke.

"I’ll head back," Dream said, caught by a shiver wracking his body. He lifted his hands up in a staying gesture. "Just as soon as I can. I mean, hey," he shot Phil an exhausted smile, something that should have been cavalier, would have been, if Dream was acting like he normally did. "It was made for me, after all. May as well."

“It… what?”

Something lit up in Dream’s eyes and he tilted his head. “The prison. Was designed to hold me. Of course, I belong there.”

Philza didn’t want to think about the implications of that. It was cold, the moon drifting higher in the sky, and he was exhausted. He didn’t want to give up this easily though. He gripped his sword and opened his mouth to say something at Dream.

“You know what?” Dream started, taking a step back. “How about this: you let me go back, alone, and I’ll owe you a favor. Anything you want. Anything at all.” Philza eyed him for a long moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he sheathed his sword and took a step back. Dream smiled and gave him a nod; their deal agreed upon. His body cracked as his wings opened again and he started to turn away from Phil.

“Dream,” Phil called, a hand outstretched as if to stay him. “You need to understand one thing first. If you ever hurt Technoblade, I’ll run you through on this sword myself.” Dream turned back and leveled his gaze with him.

“If I ever hurt Technoblade, I’ll let you.” Dream turned on his heel, and started to walk away. Phil started to turn away, his thoughts shifting to Technoblade in their house and how he was going to fix him, when something dropped in front of his face. The enchanted sheen of the god apple shone up at him from the snow.

---

Sam tapped his foot, his anxiety crawling around like spiders as the lava slowly crept down. Somehow, somehow, Dream had escaped. Escaped into the night and no one around knew what happened. He didn't alert many people. Just Puffy, who had called about Technoblade and the egg. She told Philza, since he had been with her. She rushed over and he gave her temporary access to help him search the prison for break ins or weaknesses. The only thing they had found were some blocks placed wrong in the ceiling. Above several stories of lava. The mining fatigue curse was still in place. There was no sign of tools, no sign of potions. The only thing different about the cell was that damn clock was broken again. And Dream's mask and some of his clothes were in the chest. Which was… strange. The last person to have visited Dream was Technoblade almost a week ago. And Sam searched him! Searched his crown even! And there was nothing! Sam was going to check the cell again, praying that he had somehow missed something to explain Dream's escape.

The lava receded into the floor and Sam looked up to the cell and froze. He blinked several times, even rubbed at his eyes to rid what must be a sleep deprived hallucination. But the scene before him didn't change.

Dream, his back pressed against the far wall, sat with his knees pulled up in front of him. The mask was back on, all his clothes on, and he looked as though he was writing in one of his journals. It was a scene that Sam had grown accustomed to seeing when he brought Dream his meals. But…

"What?!" He shouted across the expanse. Dream looked up at the noise. Seeing Sam, he waved. He got up, put away the journal, and stepped close to the edge of the cell.

"Hey, Sam," Dream called.

"Where did you go?!”

“Out.”

“How did you get out?!”

"There's a little weakness in the blocks up there that you might want to check out," Dream explained, pointing up at the ceiling. Right where Sam had found the blocks placed wrong.

"How did you get up there?!"

Dream shrugged and stepped back from the edge. "Do you think you could get me a new clock?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dream, stepped back, and flipped the lever to bring the lava back down.

#technodream #technophil #dream smp #technoblade #dream #philza #dream smp fic #dsmp #mystuff #this has been a pain to tag cuz i just keep blanking on it #these bonds we keep #this fic is almost 13k words so tbh read it on ao3 #i also worked sooooooooooo hard on this fic #hope you enjoy it

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danny-chase · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donna Troy & Dick Grayson Characters: Donna Troy, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper (mentioned), Garth (mentioned), Joey Wilson (mentioned) Additional Tags: non-graphic injury, Stitches, Donna and Dick are plutonic soulmates, Dick is emotionally repressed, mention of vomiting, Bruce is a good dad, POV Donna Troy, childhood best friends to adult best friends, Whipped Cream, a little fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, technically they're adults though, no beta we die like DONNA SORRY HONEY, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Donna Troy is slightly better at feelings Summary:

The one where Dick gives Donna stitches as she reflects on how he's changed throughout the years.

“Donna, sweetheart, I love you, now hold still.” Dick carefully positioned her forearm on an examination table. A deep gash left blood steadily trickling down, squeezing out through his iron grasp. He wiped down the area with disinfectant, smiling at her fondly and projecting the perfect image of calm.

Donna marveled for a moment. He was a well-oiled machine, moving with explicit confidence and practiced precision. She could easily believe him to be a paramedic, or even a doctor, if she didn’t know he’d dropped out of college. She remained stony face as he injected the local anesthetic, acutely aware of his eyes flicking from the gash to her face. Despite the painful stinging radiating through her arm, she was proud to say she didn’t flinch.

She was tired of hurting her best friend. She was the one who wasn’t careful enough, hadn’t dodged in time. But none of that ever mattered to Dick, perhaps it wasn’t fair, but if she flinched, he’d feel even worse.

She still remembered the look on his face the first time he gave Roy stitches.

There’d been tears welling in his eyes, his brow furrowed in determination and his skin lacking any color; he’d bit his lip so hard it bled. The instant he was finished, he raced out of the room, faster than she’d ever seen. Garth had followed, only to have the bathroom door slammed in his face; Dick had sobbed and vomited until he was left dry heaving.

And here he stood, expressionless before her. “Can you feel it?” He gently pressed a finger near the wound. <em>Can you?</em> She wondered, trying to read past the blank haze in his eyes. “Donna?” He asked more firmly, voice even and unrevealing.

“Nope.” She popped the p and kept the tone light, watching as suspicion flashed behind his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t complain, even if she could feel her arm. “Dick, I really can’t feel it, I promise.”

Dick’s eyes always reminded her of a hawk. He inspected her face, and finding it clear from deceit, he turned his eyes to the wound, flicking on a bright lamp, and began wordlessly cleaning it.

That first time, Dick hadn’t come out of the bathroom for hours and when he finally opened the door, he announced he was quitting the team. He was back the next day with a medical textbook, refusing to do anything until he finished memorizing it. They had to call Bruce in the middle of their sleepover because he wouldn’t sleep.

He’d been grounded from Robin; they hadn’t seen him for a week. She’d been angry at the time, but now she realized Bruce was probably just trying to give him a break. The day he came back the book was memorized, and he had a little fake pad to practice stitching on. Bruce bought him his own surgical tools and gave him extra lessons. He had a small, jagged scar where he’d let Dick give him his first set of sutures.

Dick was thirteen when he’d frantically given Roy stitches (later she realized he only knew how from watching Alfred), fourteen the first time he’d practice on Bruce, and sixteen by the time he began doing it apathetically. He did a lot of things seemingly apathetic these days, but if she was careful, she could spot the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, or the downward twitch of his lip.

Slowly, Dick’s tweezers found and picked out the last metal shard. He was twenty-two now, and as he was readying their x-ray machine, the equipment was purchased by Victor’s father and not his own. The Titan’s Tower had been destroyed several times over, but by some miracle of engineering, the medical bay’s equipment always survived. He wrapped the wound, and draped lead over her, hesitating briefly before speaking.

“I’ll be back in a second, it won’t take long.” He promised. She nodded; not like she was going anywhere. They’d done this before; Dick always doubled checked. But she couldn’t recall a single time he’d found something more.

One time, he’d skipped the double check, and she’d heard Roy yelling at 3am, having been woken up when Dick’s worry got too intense to wait. But Roy had given in, the x-ray done a few minutes later. Sometimes, it was just easier to give into Dick’s paranoid behavior. One of these days, she liked to joke, they’d just put lead in their sheets or MRI equipment in the walls.

Dick strode back in, evidently pleased with the results, and they began their silent tradition. Well almost silent; he turned on some ambient music, the same kind he listened to when studying. She let her mind wander, and his fingers never wavered as he removed the bandage and began the first stitch.

She closed her eyes, thinking about times when things were simpler. When they went on picnics in the park and played frisbee together, how Dick would braid her hair and paint her nails before dates with Roy, had laughed loud, cried hard, and loved freely. He was the same as before but could flip on a dime and shut away who he used to be. She found herself missing the little boy who cried after giving stitches.

“Done.” She opened her eyes to an apologetic smile. He began wrapping the wound once again. “Lay off it for a while.” It was an order and a request, sometime long ago the distinction had faded away. She rolled her eyes to finish the routine.

Her arm stung, but the weight in her chest was heavier and more distracting than the steady throb of pain. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, and neither was Dick, but she could pretend for the rest of the night that they were young and invincible (despite having physical evidence contradicting her).

So, she grabbed his hand tight and before he realized what was happening, began dragging him across the room.

“Donna, I have work tomorrow.” He protested. Well, that would be easy enough to deal with.

“Call in sick.” She suggested, not slackening her grip, lest Dick escape and fly off somewhere far away.

“I’m out of sick days.” He stumbled along, doing his best to protest without causing harm. “And I have to patrol tonight.” Donna laughed, but not unkindly.

“Let the city watch itself. Take a day without pay. Honey, you’re rich.” She suggested.

“Doooonnnnnaaaaaaaaaa.” He groaned, as they made it into the hall. “I have a life, I can’t just…”

“Drop everything to spend time with me?” She asked sweetly. “Sweetie, you have before. What makes tonight any different.” Dick opened his mouth and closed it. She steered them into the kitchen, finally releasing him. “We’re going to make hot fudge sundaes, and watch Scooby Doo, and fall asleep on the couch talking about boys.” Dick wrinkled his nose.

“You hate Scooby Doo, and only <em>you</em> talk about boys.” She gave him an unimpressed look. She saw the way he used to look at Joey. “Donna, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s great but I-”

“Need to take time to take care of yourself?” She asked incredulously. “Wow, me too.” She held up her arm. “What a coincidence, less talking, more cartoons.” Dick stared at her. She counted the seconds as she stared back.

He sighed, breaking first. She’d won this battle, though she had no idea where she stood in the war.

“I’m going to lose my job.” He muttered. A bonus in her eyes, it would do him good to sleep more than three hours a night. She rummaged around for ingredients in the fridge.

“Cry me a river.” An empty demand, he never would, not anymore.

“Why are you so mean to me?” He pouted. She grabbed a can of whip cream and pointed it at him threateningly.

“Because you have terrible bedside manners.” He stuck out his tongue and stole the can, dangling it over her face as she laughed and opened her mouth. He accidentally squirted some up her nose, but she didn’t mind.

And as he pulled out the bowls, they fell into familiar conversation; the space gained through the years seeming to slip away as she was reacquainted with the man who gives her stitches.

#my writing #Dick Grayson #Donna Troy #Titans #DC give us more fab five content please #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: vomiting #it isn't graphic i promise #Nightwing #Wonder Girl #Troia

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edie-k · 4 years ago

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Living Legend (R/Hr, PG-13)

Title: Living Legend

Summary: Harry confronts his legacy as The Boy Who Blocked

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine; just having some not for profit fun.

So, based off discussion of this awesome piece of art shared on the Romione Discord, I wrote this fic. It started as very tongue in cheek idea and ended with some heart.

Harry entered the crowded pub and glanced around. He’d been held up almost an hour completing paperwork at the Ministry so he expected he was the last one to arrive. It didn’t take long for him to focus on the boisterous group in the back and he made his way towards the table with a grin.

“Hey, there he is!” said George, with a raise of his glass and assorted greetings joined in from the rest of the group.

“Oi, thank God, you’re here Harry,” said Seamus. “These two,” he said, gesturing at Ron and Hermione, “are getting gross.”

Hermione gave an indignant snort and Ron glared at Seamus but he was smirking. Harry laughed as he dropped into the empty seat next to Ginny and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He glanced around the table at the crew - George, Angelina, and Luna were already seated at the other end and Dean was plopping down on the other side of Ron, next to Parvati. There was still an empty seat with a half drank glass in front of it and glancing around the room, he spotted Neville at the bar. He gratefully accepted the mug his girlfriend had slid in front of him. “And what do you expect me to do about the two of them?” he asked, as he took a swig of his drink.

“Break out some of that cockblocking magic you’re famous for,” said Seamus. The entire table burst into laughter. Harry was so shocked that he momentarily choked.

“Honestly Seamus!” said Hermione, although she looked much more amused by the comment than Harry would have expected.

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” Harry asked.

“Do you not know what cockblocking is? The term seems pretty self explanatory but it’s when-”

“I know what it means, Seamus,” growled Harry.”I just don’t know what you mean.”

“I believe that’s his colorful way of talking about the fact that you were the main obstacle preventing Ron from progressing beyond friends with Hermione,” suggested Dean.

“Uh, in the name of gender equality, he was also the main obstacle preventing Hermione from making a move on Ron,” said Parvati. Dean tipped his drink in her direction in agreement.

“Human birth control, if you will,” suggested George.

“The opposite of an aphrodisiac for the two of them, if that’s a thing,” said Ginny. Harry gapped at her, startled by her comment.

“It is, it’s called an anaphrodisiac,” Hermione supplied.

“Oh, that’s interesting. What things are considered anaphrodisiac?” asked Angelina.

“Alcohol, right?” said Dean.

“Not in my experience,” said Seamus, wagging his eyebrows.

“That’s not what Cara Johnson told Padma,” said Parvati.

“Alcohol and tobacco and some other elements that go into pain relieving medications and potions. There was also recently a study around licorice of all things.”

“Red or black?” asked Neville, who had just returned from the bar with a fresh pitcher.

“Hmm,” said George thoughtfully. “Licorice wands but droopy. There’s a Wheeze in there somewhere.”

“Dabberblimps are also said to have an impact on sexual desire but I think that’s more due to the smell,” said Luna.

“No, wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait,” said Harry, completely aghast. “Are you all saying it took Ron and Hermione two years to get together and it was my fault?”

“Look, Harry, no one should be saying you were the main obstacle in it. Hermione and I certainly could have done more to rise above it,” said Ron in what he thought was a consoling tone.

“Honestly, everyone at this table could have done more,” said Neville, gesturing to the group who nodded in agreement.

“But it is fair to say that Harry carries most of the blame,” said Seamus.

“Outside of Ron and I,” Hermione clarified.

“This is unbelievable,” said Harry.

“Look, Hermione and I have talked about it and there’s no hard feelings. It all worked out in the end.”

“You’ve talked about this?!” Ron shrugged. “Hermione,” Harry turned to his friend with a pleading tone. “You are the most rational person I know. You can’t seriously agree with this?”

“I pluck up the courage to ask Ron out and you created as much noise as possible and practically threw a bowl across the room before I could clarify it was a date.”

“It was awkward!”

“Are you saying we’ve never done anything awkward for your sake?” Ron chuckled.

“No but… come on, it was obvious that was a date!”

“I told you I thought she asked me as a friend and you never said anything!”

“Wait,” said Angelina. “Harry, there was a misunderstanding between them that you knew about and you didn’t say anything to clear it up?”

“It was awkward!”

“Not only that,” said Hermione. “I asked him why Ron was angry with me so I could fix it and he knew why but he didn’t tell me.”

“It… was awkward,” said Harry weakly. “And! And! The reason Ron was angry with you was ridiculous. You had snogged Krum two year ago. I didn’t want to make him look stupid.”

“Yeah,” said Ron dryly. “You really kept me from looking like an idiot in sixth year. Cheers.”

“I’m sorry,” Parvati said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you saying that if you had one awkward conversation, we would have avoided the entire debacle that was Lavender and Ron?”

“Yes,” said Hermione.

“Pretty much,” said Ron.

Parvati turned to Harry. “Potter, there are hours, days, WEEKS of my life that I will never get back that I spent dealing with that nightmare.”

“What, do you think it was a picnic for me?!”

“No! That makes it worse!” cried Parvati.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” exploded Harry. “Just go up to Hermione and say, ‘Ron is jealous as hell that you kissed Victor Krum You should go talk to him and get this sorted before Slughorn’s party’?”

“YES!” shouted the entire table.

Harry noticed that Ginny had joined the chorus and rounded on her. “What about you? You could have stepped in just as well as I could have!”

“I was mad at Ron and for good reason!” she retorted. “But yes, I could have done more. I’ll admit, part of it was that up until the point that you kissed me, I was a little worried that you were doing it because you had a thing for Hermione. I was worried that if I helped get the two of them together, you would totally spiral.”

“I thought that was why you were doing it too,” said Dean.

“You did?” said Ginny with a smile. “You never told me that. I guess we were pretty compatible back then.”

“Hey! Am I not getting dealt enough blows?” said Harry indignantly and the table laughed.

“Harry was never interested in Hermione,” said Luna with a tone of declaring the matter settled. “I did suspect he fancied Ron though.”

“Wha- okay, Luna, no,” Harry sputtered. “So I’m apparently responsible for the dumbest fight the two of you ever had but-”

“Not responsible for the fight but you showed a lack of accountability in resolving it,” clarified Hermione.

“Fine. So why didn’t you get together after Ron and Lavender broke up? You didn’t kiss until the final battle. How was that my fault?”

“Didn’t Ron tell us Harry tried to break up that kiss too with some sort of snide comment?” George said to Angelina.

“Snide comment?” Harry asked disbelievingly. “I reminded them that there was a war going on. THERE WAS LITERALLY A WAR GOING ON!”

“It was coming to a natural conclusion,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“So that was really the first time you two kissed?” asked Dean. “Because when we uh, met up that spring, it seemed like something was going on.”

“Well, we certainly made some progress to understanding we were on the same page,” said Hermione. “But things were complicated.”

“It was miserable and it really would have been pretty awkward to start something with Harry around all the time,” said Ron.

“Good call,” said George. “After tonight, I think we all know that Harry’s boggart takes the form of awkward interactions.”

“At the point we found Dean and Luna, we both knew it was inevitable but we also had to finish helping Harry,” said Hermione.

“Plus, you want to talk cockblock? Harry has nothing on Griphook,” said Ron. Dean nodded sagely and Hermione wrinkled her nose in agreement.

“Finished helping me? You weren’t picking up my dry cleaning, we were saving the world!”

“Harry, you are taking this way too personally,” said Hermione. “We don’t think you were truly trying to keep us apart but your desire to stay out of our relationship and your mild self-absorption caused a lot of complications.”

“I don’t know why someone would take being called self absorbed personally,” George remarked and Ginny snorted.

“Hermione, you don’t get it. You’re letting him off the hook too easily because you’re a woman. A man does not prevent a friend from getting laid. It’s basically an Unbreakable Vow that’s entrenched in our DNA,” said Seamus.

“Ugh,” scoffed Parvati. “I honestly don’t know why we hang out with you.”

“No, really,” insisted Seamus. “Take tonight as an example. Dean and Neville. You two are solid mates, yeah?” Both men nodded. “Right, so Dean goes up to the bar to get a new pitcher. Who comes up to wait on him but Hannah Abbott. Suddenly, Neville needs a glass of water. And what happens next?”

Neville turned red. “I uh, I went up to the bar to ask Hannah for a glass while she was waiting on Dean.”

“And as soon as Neville appears and starts talking to Hannah, I gave him a nudge and say ‘I have to hit the head. Can you bring that back to the table?’”

Harry scoffed. “How does you sticking Neville with the tab help him?”

“You never did read that book I gave you, did you?” said Ron, incredulously.

“I didn’t take a piss, I came back to the table so Neville could chat up Hannah. And?”

Neville gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m taking her out tomorrow,” he admitted.

“Ha!” Seamus punched the air triumphantly. “One friend getting another friend laid. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a first date,” Neville protested. “We’re not going to-”

“We’ll work on it,” Seamus assured him.

“Ron’s never tried to get me laid!” Harry shouted desperately. This comment was met with general revulsion.

“Whoa! Come on,” said Dean, his face contorted.

“That’s his sister,” said Neville.

“For fuck’s sake man,” said Seamus disgustedly. The idea that Seamus was disgusted with him made Harry even more defensive.

“Hermione is like my sister!” insisted Harry.

“To be fair to Ron and it pains me to do so,” said Ginny. “Ron really only got in our way that one time after we broke up and as pissed as I was at the time, I think it came from a genuinely good place.”

“And I had no idea you liked Ginny until you snogged her right in front of me!” said Ron.

“You never said anything about Hermione until we were in the woods!’

“Oh, Harry, really?” said Ginny with pity. “I don’t think that’s the way to go.”

“Yeah, okay, but - hey, what about that one time with Cho?” Harry said accusingly to Ron.

“I called Cho out for being a bandwagon fan one time when I was 15 and now I’m doomed to a life of interrupted shags,” Ron appealed to the room.

“You’re together now,” said Harry weakly.

“Despite your best efforts,” joked George.

“And yet you haven’t relinquished your title as The Boy Who Blocked,” said Ron.

“You do have extraordinarily bad timing,” said Hermione.

“Back to Seamus’s original point, you two are pretty gross.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying that I still am-”

“In a much more literal sense now,” said Ron. Hermione gave him a playful smack on the chest.

“Give me an example!” Harry insisted heatedly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that was familiar to Harry but he didn’t recognize. “Harry, it really isn’t a big deal,” said Hermione reassuringly.

“Well, last weekend, right?” said George. “At Shell Cottage for Fleur’s birthday. You wanted to get Ron so he could try those beignets Gabrielle brought and we told you they would be back soon but you insisted on walking down the beach and…”

“Yeah, and I found them past the alcove and - wait,” Harry stopped suddenly. “Is that why you were-?” Harry made a gesture too vague to interpret but Hermione squirmed in her chair and Ron inhaled sharply.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “And last month when Ginny and I were over to listen to the Cannons’ match and you were so weird when I came in the kitchen to see why the snacks were taking so long…and Thursday? Hermione is that why you…” He trailed off as Hermione bit her lip and looked away while Ron rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my God,” said Harry incredulously.

“Harry, we’re so sorry if we made you uncomfortable,” said Hermione, sounding sincere for the first time all night.

“Oh my God!” Harry repeated louder, this time, disgusted.

“We were making up for lost time, which you have a part in,” Ron pointed out.

“Oh my God,” Harry said a third time, his tone full of realization.

“Are you okay Harry?” asked Ginny gently.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly. A quiet set over the group within the roaring pub.

“So Neville,” said Angelina in a voice full of forced cheer. “Where are you taking Hannah tomorrow?”

“Oh, you should take her to this great new place in Hogsmeade. Padma and I had lunch there last week and the dinner menu looks amazing,” Parvati said.

Harry looked glumly at his drink, barely noticing the glances his two best friends were exchanging.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Harry?” came a familiar voice from the fireplace.

It was the next morning. Ginny was off to practice and would be staying the evening with her team, as she did the day prior to every match. The standing tradition was that on these days, he had lunch with Ron and Hermione. As much as he loved Ginny and knew that Ron and Hermione did too, he liked having time as just the three of them.

But he had cancelled this morning, citing a hangover and crossed his fingers that Ron would be able to persuade Hermione to leave him be.

No such luck.

He heard a whoosh, followed by a second. “Harry?”

He sighed. “In here,” he called quietly from his armchair. Both of his friends popped around the corner. “Couldn’t hold her off?”

Ron sank into the chair across from him, threw his legs on the ottoman and grinned. “Actually, I didn’t even try.”

Hermione tapped Ron’s feet and he scooted them over to give her enough room to sit on the ottoman. “Harry, why are you avoiding us?”

“‘m not,” he mumbled. “Just drank too much last night.”

“You got there after everyone else so you missed the first two rounds of shots Seamus forced on us and I only saw you refill your glass once.”

Harry shrugged. “I had a couple drinks when I got home.”

“Look, we didn’t mean to upset you. Like Hermione said, we had a few before you got there and we were just having a go,” said Ron.

“Yeah but it was true,” said Harry sullenly.

“Well,” said Hermione, flattening her skirt nervously. “Yes, all of those things happened. But it was a long time ago. We’ve been together almost three years now. And we were certainly exaggerating a bit to have some fun. So there’s nothing for you to be upset about.”

Harry straightened up in his chair. “You don’t get it! Since I started at Hogwarts, you two have been the most important people in my life and you still are, plus Gin and Teddy. And you cared about me and you two always tried to do what you thought was going to help me and be best for me and last night I realized...I didn’t do that for you!”

“Harry, you know that’s not true!” said Hermione.

“Yes it is! I thought about how Cho and I couldn’t even look at each other anymore and I didn’t want that to happen to you two. It was always best when it was the three of us and I didn’t want anything to mess that. You were right, I was so self absorbed!”

“Harry,” said Ron, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you were,” said Hermione dismissively.

“Okay, now I am regretting letting you come over here,” said Ron.

“We all were!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Harry, Ron and I were so wrapped up in our own drama sixth year that we didn’t realize the depth of your fixation with Malfoy until you had practically murdered him!”

“Well, whose fault is that? There would have been no drama had I said something! And all our friends think I didn’t say something because I was in love with Hermione. I mean, you must have thought that too,” Harry said miserably, gesturing to Ron.

“I never really thought you were interested in Hermione but I was terrified Hermione would fall for you,” said Ron.

“What’s wrong with me that you didn’t think Harry would be interested?” said Hermione in a teasing tone that was clearly meant to lighten the mood, flicking Ron’s foot.

“Absolutely nothing. This git doesn’t know what he’s missing, thank God.”

Harry ignored them. “Had we cleared that up the year before, we could have avoided a few devastating weeks during the hunt, yeah?”

“Harry, there’s no way I’m letting you take responsibility for what the Horcrux said or for me leaving you two,” Ron said.

“We’re certainly not re-litigating any of that,” said Hermione. She turned and looked at Ron. “But when we were talking about all of this at home last night, we both agreed that once we were on the run, we made conscious decisions to not start anything until the war was complete.”

Ron nodded. “It’s true, I felt the same.”

“Great, I did it again,” Harry moaned. “You two were worried about me instead of enjoying your evening.”

“Harry, we still enjoyed our evening-”

“Twice,” interrupted Ron.

“But you’re our friend and we are always going to worry about you,” Hermione finished, paying Ron no mind. “It actually made me realize that we maybe could have had a relationship and taken care of you.”

Harry groaned.

“Harry, you took care of us too,” Ron said. “I mean, in the end, you didn’t want Hermione and I to stop being friends because you knew that would make us just as miserable as you. And you weren’t wrong. And I don’t know, maybe this was all just the way it was supposed to be. Maybe Hermione and I are better because we got all the petty shit out before we were together. Maybe the three of us are better friends because we focused on that for so long. So we’re okay, if you’re okay.”

Harry sat silently for a moment. “I’m going to try to be better about the .. you know, blocking. But seriously, I know we have a bit of a don’t ask, don’t tell on the subject but you could have clued me in,” Harry complained to Ron.

“Fair enough,” laughed Ron.

“Or you could not shag at parties.”

“Just… if you suddenly don’t see us, wait at least 10 minutes before you come and look for us,” suggested Hermione.

“Oi! 10 minutes?” said Ron, offended.

“Harry,” Hermione sighed. “It is apparently very important for you to know that Ron satisfies me sexually.”

“I assumed that once I figured out you were willing to do that for him there on Thursday,” Harry said.

Hermione blushed. “You’re making that sound much worse than it was. And you keep biting your tongue!” she finished, pulling her legs up and shifting back so she was sitting in the chair next to Ron.

“I didn’t say anything!” Ron said, although he looked very pleased with himself. “Now, can we please go get lunch?”

“All right, you two figure out where to eat. Give me 10 minutes and we’ll go,” Harry laughed, standing up from his chair.

“Harry, have you learned nothing? Make it 20,” said Ron.

#ROMIONE #fanfiction #fanfic #hp fanfic #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #trio friendship

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